The Mutable Line

One day in Paju, we (Choi Sujin and I) sat across from each other and spoke of the sounds coming from afar. As our conversation continued, the boundary between “here” and “there” became increasingly vivid—a line never directly felt, yet sharply present. That word—boundary—led me to the reason behind how the images scattered across Choi’s works found their way into the rectangular bounds of her paintings. They are drawn from memories of different times and places, but a connection so delicate, like the thinnest of threads, brings them together to form an endless chain. In tracing these memories, moments from today, yesterday, and the distant past easily converge into a single scene. It is not uncommon to find a fragment of yesterday sitting next to one from long ago. These fragments—ranging from nights echoing with propaganda and K-pop, to Henri Rousseau’s The Sleeping Gypsy, and moments of stillness pierced only by the faint chirping of insects—are stitched together by a deeply personal, intuitive logic. But their resonance lies in how they borrow the strength of shared images, inviting viewers to form their own associations and step easily across that seemingly sharp line.

It is a line that is at once firm and fluid.

Camilla Alberti once remarked that perhaps villains–monsters–aren’t always evil. She admitted to feeling more drawn to them, which I naturally acknowledged with neutrality, without a second thought. The division between you and me becomes stark when our sense of right and wrong diverges. Boundaries gain clarity and solidity through such dichotomies—growing into tall, impenetrable walls. But from doubt and resistance toward fixity, the boundary begins to waver. It unravels, shifts, and reconfigures. Like a banner at the front of a procession, it signals the possibility of a different path, swaying and leading change. The boundary, once rigid, flutters like a flag, suspending the line between self and other, human and nonhuman, order and chaos. It becomes a symbol of hybridity—fluid and continually entangled.

Some boundaries are not drawn as stark lines but exist as wide, hazy planes with no discernible edge.

On this surface-not-line hides an infinite state of potential. Haevan Lee directs her gaze towards the landscape found upon it, yet it is far, blocked, and out of reach. Her past has circled the peripheries of these borders, traversing countless visible and invisible lines, both near and distant. All is denied save the act of memorialization within the wide, static boundary that divides South and North Korea. It remains a vacuum state between the differences of “here” and “there”. Lee now departs from the moments spent hovering at the edge of this harsh border and travels easily across lines that may be crossed in a single step; in the blink of an eye. Through constant encounters with horizontal and vertical borders, distant points thought to be unreachable are unexpectedly brought into sharp focus. These unapproachable, yet ultimately inescapable zones reveal themselves as blurred temporal spaces, where the tension and vigilance from both sides quietly dissipate.

From the firmly drawn to the faintly fading, we find ourselves reimagining the boundary in all its layered forms. Sometimes distinct, sometimes elusive, sometimes visible, sometimes symbolic—it is a line that reveals absence through presence, and evokes presence through absence. This shifting threshold resists binary thought, navigating between clarity and ambiguity through sensory exploration. Haevan Lee, Choi Sujin, and Camilla Alberti each approach the boundary differently—drawing it, erasing it, reshaping it not as a line but a surface; presenting the possibility of connection and fluidity instead of separation and rigidity. Their works remind us that the borders surrounding us are not immutable lines but mutable terrains—forever shifting, entangling, and unfolding into new spaces for perception and connection.

Haevan Lee (B. 1990) is a contemporary artist whose practice investigates the geopolitical landscapes of borders and buffer zones across the globe. Her practice, which spans painting, installation, and video, combines storytelling and historical research to examine the complexities of border politics, ecological entanglements, and ideologically confined environments. Lee captures the regional contexts of specific sites while exploring the sublime of nature that persists in the aftermath of disaster. Research forms the foundation of her imaginative and painterly inquiries.

Choi Sujin (b. 1986) constructs painterly spaces based on places and moments encountered during walks and travels, layering sensory impressions, memories, experiences, and imagined imagery. Her work evokes dreamlike, disjointed scenes where the conventional logic of time and space dissolves. She develops spatial depth and narrative complexity by unfolding these layered traces of memory and internal reflections across the canvas. In recent works, she observes her domestic environment and surrounding ecosystems, integrating bodily rhythms and temporal perception accumulated through daily repetition into landscapes that merge the personal and the external.

Camilla Alberti (b. 1994) creates alternative scenarios for coexistence and collaboration among multiple species, challenging anthropocentrism through her practice. Drawing from ancient technologies and alchemical methods, she collects and experiments with discarded or readily available natural materials. By exploring material transformations such as drying, decay, and staining, she visualizes the organic network structures in which all beings are entangled—even at the cellular level. Grounded in a non-human-centric perspective and an awareness of complex interconnections between entities, Alberti seeks to reconfigure modes of perception that move fluidly between the microscopic and the macroscopic.