TITLE_NAME :
BAE BIEN-U LE GRAIN DU TEMPS
25/03/2023 - 29/04/2023
RX & SLAG GALERIES
522 West 19th street
NY 10011 New York
www.galerierx.com
There is like a grain, the slight peculiarity of flesh that makes each being different. On the lagoon in Venice, the still water evokes skin, the hairs undulate on its surface. Nothing is surrounded, the light slides, nebulizes, undulates. With Bae Bien-U we remember the trees; they seem to walk. With Bae Bien-U I remember that the body is everywhere. The trunk in front of the lagoon hides the sparkle on the mirror, it is the hand that protects our eyes. These algae are the secret bushes of the body, this is the next moment. The grain of time. The foliage is like hair in the wind. In Bae bien-U's gaze nothing is literal, everything speaks of something else, the being is everywhere yet nowhere to be seen. He is the very language of images. He is the measure of the world; he has become indistinct by the interplay of glances. Near or far? Landscape or detail? And the absence of the sky, or often its milky sinking into the space of the photo, its disappearance, maintains this ambiguity of a deciphering which can be done according to two quite different prisms, the apparent and the hidden.
25/03/2023 - 29/04/2023
RX & SLAG GALERIES
522 West 19th street
NY 10011 New York
www.galerierx.com
There is like a grain, the slight peculiarity of flesh that makes each being different. On the lagoon in Venice, the still water evokes skin, the hairs undulate on its surface. Nothing is surrounded, the light slides, nebulizes, undulates. With Bae Bien-U we remember the trees; they seem to walk. With Bae Bien-U I remember that the body is everywhere. The trunk in front of the lagoon hides the sparkle on the mirror, it is the hand that protects our eyes. These algae are the secret bushes of the body, this is the next moment. The grain of time. The foliage is like hair in the wind. In Bae bien-U's gaze nothing is literal, everything speaks of something else, the being is everywhere yet nowhere to be seen. He is the very language of images. He is the measure of the world; he has become indistinct by the interplay of glances. Near or far? Landscape or detail? And the absence of the sky, or often its milky sinking into the space of the photo, its disappearance, maintains this ambiguity of a deciphering which can be done according to two quite different prisms, the apparent and the hidden.