Récurrence 1995

Kim Tschang-yeul made this painting with layers of oil paint, building up a surface of repeated shapes, mostly in beige and bronze. I can imagine Kim, patiently, in his studio, gently coaxing each tiny drop into existence. The way they catch the light, those dewdrops, each one a tiny universe of reflection. They hover over a grid of shapes, reminiscent of printed letters. Is he thinking about language and the way it drips and merges into form? Maybe he’s thinking of On Kawara, also obsessed with the repetition of simple acts. There’s something meditative about it, a ritualistic accumulation of moments, like counting beads on a rosary, or the act of dabbing paint, building up and tearing down. These tiny gestures; there’s such a fine line between control and surrender. And that’s painting, isn’t it?