'Art Which Escaped to the Ceiling of a Room' by the artist, LEE Kun Yong

Art dies while the artist attempts to harness creation. Art is a form of interfering or intervening in worldly affairs. It comes and goes and also breathes in our imagination, in our reality, our future, and in the analogy of our memories.

Art exists in making something, in self-generation; it brings together that which might not necessarily be expected to be together and so art provokes, and is something which makes us smile just as when we observe the joyful playing of children. Art is still alive in a mental hospital, in the future, the morning, the daytime, the evening, the night, and even at the special time of daybreak.

I think we cannot expect much from art. This is because it is like that which rises from the surface of the water to make rainbow in the sunshine, and then disappear into the wind, the wind which whips swiftly through a subway tunnel, to curl among the people waiting for the rail, to glisten on the fingertips of people who clasp cups of coffee in their hands, and finally to just disappear. However, I cannot abandon art, like a person who bends himself and draws a big circle on a wide playing ground in the early morning, and like a person who cleans a dusty mirror, I look at the art which escaped to the ceiling of a room whose floor is cracked and whose furniture is broken and learning. Art is always pessimistic but still optimistic.