see1182 Painting

The act of life in painting became a reason to exist in the world. As a Artist, my concerns as a human being living in this country are isolation. A society that is not a society. A society where everyone who is trapped in us, not us, lives separately. The community is imbued with conflict and hatred, and the process of discussing art and the justice of the world itself is considered cumbersome. People are busy taking pictures of each other as part of capital in front of an apartment chicken coop-like space, which is plastered with traces of individuality, rather than works or merchandise that are densely packed in a cold white space. There is no culture of reflection and criticism on each other anywhere. What does it mean to exist as an artist and a human being in an era when abnormalities become a daily routine? The act I draw was a kind of struggle of psychological resistance to survive in the structure of the abnormality. Abstract and painting became life and everyday life. It has established itself as a pattern and style of life. I feel like I've become a companion and a family. But on the one hand, I am afraid. I wonder if each person will be a way of life for life, and I wonder if it is reflected on the surface like that. I want to find it. Where I came from and where I should go. What it means to live the social role of artists as artists without us in an infinite competitive society subordinated to capital, whether it is possible to dream of a utopian world in it, and whether it is possible to create modernism that defines the fence of us.