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Does it rain there too? grew out of the frustration I felt after moving to the UK, when I found that my emotions could not always be fully conveyed through a language that was not my own.
The work began with a letter written in Korean. Rather than translating its meaning, a musician who does not speak Korean listened to a recording of the letter and wrote down what he heard as English words and sounds. This transcription was then turned into a musical score and performed. A single emotion shifts form several times: from language to sound, from sound into another language, and then into music. Through this process, I ask whether an emotion can still be communicated as it passes through different languages and forms, and what remains through those transformations.
The letter was initially addressed to a particular person, but as the work developed, its addressee shifted toward myself over time. Does it rain there too? began as a way of asking someone elsewhere, “How are you?”, but gradually became a way of asking myself the same question across different moments in time.
The parasol brings together objects and images connected to personal memories. Along its circular structure, a figure pulls a bowstring without a bow, tracing a movement in which memories and traces are drawn outward before returning toward the self. Like the letter, these fragments move away from their original place, shifting in form as they return.
The work began with a letter written in Korean. Rather than translating its meaning, a musician who does not speak Korean listened to a recording of the letter and wrote down what he heard as English words and sounds. This transcription was then turned into a musical score and performed. A single emotion shifts form several times: from language to sound, from sound into another language, and then into music. Through this process, I ask whether an emotion can still be communicated as it passes through different languages and forms, and what remains through those transformations.
The letter was initially addressed to a particular person, but as the work developed, its addressee shifted toward myself over time. Does it rain there too? began as a way of asking someone elsewhere, “How are you?”, but gradually became a way of asking myself the same question across different moments in time.
The parasol brings together objects and images connected to personal memories. Along its circular structure, a figure pulls a bowstring without a bow, tracing a movement in which memories and traces are drawn outward before returning toward the self. Like the letter, these fragments move away from their original place, shifting in form as they return.