Every Sunday, my father goes on a long hike to the mountain. It’s an activity he looks forward to all week, or at least this is what I’ve chosen to believe. I imagine he sees many birds, and depending on the time of the year many kinds of flowers and insects too. Because he goes there so often he must notice the every change and witness every season for what it is. I see much value in the way he’s structured his time, to notice today is different from yesterday by a change in texture alone. This is perhaps only achievable by walking up a hike you’ve taken many times before. When he gets to the mountain top he sends me a photograph, for the most part it’s always the same photograph, only it’s obviously not. To the left there’s a wooden platform for viewing; to the right, a chestnut tree and some shrubs. In the distance you can see a valley breaking and above a grey sky. I’ve compiled a great number of these images in my phone, and I like to go through a bunch of them at speed. I hope I can do this for many years to come.

It reads as counting, something soothing about its continuum. Chaeheun’s recent work follows an abbreviating logic. Modularly present and indexical in nature. The items in display thinly tethered to the surface. Their inert quality, however, is short-lived often slipping out of objecthood and into a shadow-like presence more indicative of the delimitating contour of a former self. It’s about practicality (?), at the very least an apt strategy of containment. A city made in vacuum.

—Antonio López