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Chung Chang-Sup, Painting Accompanying Nature_정창섭 자연과 동행하는 회화

서성록

Chung Chang-Sup, Painting Accompanying Nature


Seo Seongrok


1. Encounter with Post-war Era Circumstances

Chung Chang-Sup entered the art scene in 1953, two years after graduating from the College of Fine Arts at Seoul National University. His career was off to a smooth start, with his work Sunset winning the special prize at the second Korean National Art Exhibition, held after Seoul was recaptured in 1953, and Workshop winning the special prize at the fourth Korean National Art Exhibition in 1955.1) The experience of being recognized at the National Art Exhibition must have been a great help and a source of encouragement for him to develop his own artistic world. Yet Chung was not complacent, jumping into a newly emerging art movement. The art scene at the time was roughly divided into academic and avant-garde camps with Chung joining the latter, to which he brightened “the dawn light of Korean art.”2)
Although the artist made his debut at the National Art Exhibition, he was technically more of a contemporary artist. White Porcelain (1956) and Mental Image B (1958) reveal his focus on constitutive or material elements rather than reproductive ones: White Porcelain is somewhere between concreteness and color abstraction while Mental Image B presents a canvas boldly driven by touch and material.
His participation in the Korean Contemporary Artists Exhibition, the first of its kind, in 1957, marked a breakthrough in his painting. Far from bureaucratic art fairs, the Korean Contemporary Artists Exhibition was a significant event that not only encompassed various styles of art but also played a considerable role in establishing Korea’s burgeoning abstract art movement. Moreover, it was a large-scale event that displayed the works of contemporary artists from different fields such as Western painting, East Asian painting, and sculpture—naturally resulting in a far-reaching effect on the Korean art scene. Chung’s third exhibition, held at Gyeongbokgung Art Museum in 1959, included new artists at the time: Park Seo-Bo, Lee Myeong-ui, Mun U-sik, Ha In-du, Lee Yang-ro, Jang Seong-sun, Chung Sang-Hwa, Kim Tschang-Yeul, and Lee Su-jae, along with established artists such as Jeong Jeom-sik, Kim Byeong-gi, Kim Yeong-Ju, and Yoo Young-Kuk.
And so Chung Chang-Sup became a part of “the arts,” sent out to sea with great fanfare as a contributor to the formation of Korea’s fledging contemporary art scene. In the late 1950s, the Korean art world was characterized by group exhibitions held within a shared formative ideology. This was a major change from the existing passive display pattern in which artists gathered and communicated with other artists in the same field. Chung did not belong to any group, but as his painting style resembled abstraction, he would associate with abstract artists. This relationship becomes more evident in light of the group exhibitions he participated in at that time. Such examples include: The Inaugural Exhibition for Actual in 1962 (Kim Bong-tae, Kim Tschang-Yeul, Park Seo-Bo, Chung Sang-Hwa, Ha In-du, among others); the Cultural Freedom Contemporary Art Exhibition in 1963 (Kwon Ok-yeon, Kim Yeong-ju, Kim Tschang-Yeul, Park Rae-hyeon, Park Seo-Bo, Yoo Young-Kuk, Chung Sang-Hwa, among others); the 8th Biennale de São Paulo in 1965 (Kwon Ok-yeon, Kim Jong-yeong, Kim Tschang-Yeul, Park Seo-Bo, Lee Se-deuk, Lee Eung-no, among others); the Korean Contemporary Painting Exhibition held at the Tokyo National Museum of Modern Art in 1968 (20 artists including Quac In-Sik, Nam Kwan, Park Seo-Bo, Yoo Young-Kuk, Ha Chong-Hyun); and the first Cannes International Painting Festival in 1969 (Kim Yeong-ju, Park Seo-Bo, and Seo Se-ok). 
After he showed pieces featuring concreteness in the National Art Exhibition, he began in the early 1960s to display works seemingly inspired by the Art Informel movement. Chung represented Korea in the second Paris Biennale held in 1961. Art critic Lee Yil, who was based in Paris at that time, expressed his impressions of Chung’s work as follows:

“In Chung Chang-Sup’s artwork I viewed at that time, a matière reminiscent of the surface of a stone or the rough thick bark of a tree, was congealed on one side of the canvas, and in contrast with the congealed material, the other part of the canvas was filled with an empty, open space.”3)

Mental Image, the work Chung released around that time, contained a thick material, the formative characteristic of Art Informel painting, along with fierce expressions and the reflection of unstable emotions. The canvas was cracked like a parched rice paddy, implicitly representing the trials of a poor ragged society and the hardships of life in the post-Korean War era. 
The rough surface is also seen in Work-65 (1965), in which vivid hues give way to “ink-and-wash abstraction.” Even with the rough surface of the canvas the ink blot spreads out on Korean mulberry paper, called hanji. This piece, however, is less an elegant world of ink-and-wash painting, than it is a display of intense gestures expressing inner anxiety—restlessness of the mind and psychological fear—as if inner unrest were exploding with a roaring sound.
The year 1957, when The Korean Contemporary Artists Exhibition was inaugurated, was an important time in Korean contemporary art, because that year, the contemporary art movement was spearheaded by a group of young artists. After the war that threw the country into pandemonium and chaos had finally ended, artists returned to daily life and started painting again, with a reinvigorated passion for creation. That year, two groups stood out: the Modern Art Association, consisting of established Cubists and Fauvists, and the Contemporary Artists Association, comprised of new-generation artists in eager pursuit of pure abstraction. The artists of the Modern Art Association valued subjectivity and individual style, while those from the Contemporary Artists Association advocated a clear formative ideology with their cause of “abstraction.” Judging only from the spectrum of these artists, it can be said that the Modern Art Association included a more diverse world of formative art.
The members of the Modern Art Association could not help but be conscious of the artists with whom they studied in Japan. Meanwhile, the members of the Contemporary Artists Association were mostly young artists fresh from college, and thus did not need to be self-conscious like the established artists, which in turn allowed them to disperse their abstract painting movement. On top of that, the added adventurous spirit of the young artists, anxious for freedom and liberation, ignited the advancement of abstract art. Amid those dark times, the young artists celebrated freedom of expression with an anticipation for a future open to more experimentation. Through the Contemporary Artists Association, the Korean art scene not only accomplished an epoch-making shift to abstract art, but also completely altered social attitudes towards the fine arts. 
The Contemporary Artists Association, comparable to the eye of a typhoon, held an opening exhibition in May 1957 and went through trials and tribulations such as members joining, withdrawing, and rejoining, before it was expanded and reorganized into Actual, founded by Chung Chang-Sup, becoming a more influential body. 
Although Actual was dismantled after only two exhibitions, the artists who participated in the group dedicated their boiling youth to making art that would sing of their hapless life. If Chung had settled for being within the walls of the National Art Exhibition, his paintings might not have been born. He became a participant in the adventurous journey of contemporary art by sharing the passion for Art Informel with his fellow artists. 
His colleagues were an unfortunate generation who had to spend their young days in the midst of the gunfire of war. Even after the war was over, they hardly recovered from war trauma, with their wounded hearts directly reflected in their work. Let alone being able to enjoy romance and freedom, the cheerful, young generation had been taken to the bloody battlefields. How can we guess how desperate they must have been? Bang Geun-taek described the situation at that time as “utter absurdity,” “victims of war,” and “bloody years spent in disguise of conscience.”4) Through their gloomy works, we can sense the dread and fear they felt at the crossroads of life and death as well as their horrible memories of war. That is, the horrifying war and the consequent post-war gloom was a trigger for “rugged and barren” art. 
The tragic times had a great influence on artists. We shouldn’t overlook this when viewing Chung’s work. This explains why we feel like passing through a dark tunnel while observing his works. In particular, Mental Image, one of his abstract artworks with a unique title, expresses the split and torn, scarred-heart image, to which we should pay attention. Like other artists at the time, he was not free from the tragedy of war. His unique style of art was not simply an expression of curiosity, but rather originated from the inevitable encounter with the horrifying circumstances of the times.

2. Abstraction Akin to Ink-and-wash Painting

Chung Chang-Sup unveiled the Circle series in the late 1960s. The Circle series shows how his art changed and developed until now. The series painted in oils includes a round circle like a full moon positioned at the top or bottom of the canvas, in a floating irregular form, soft and smooth as if it were shrouded with clouds. The works are reminiscent of East Asian painting—as the paint soaks, seeps through, smears, flows down, and leaves stains on the canvas. The series is particularly interesting because despite being painted in oils, it bears the beauty of ink-and-wash painting. Considering the fact that from that time until now he has used hanji as a primary material, the Circle series is a monumental work that shows how his art became full-fledged. 
Regarding his pieces created around that time, the artist said: “Instead of focusing on the rejection of a sense of order or the direct expression of actions, I tried to express, through inner visualization, the image by using oil-painting techniques of spilling, blurring, and smearing, based on the dualistic world of time and space, continuously changeable and unchangeable.”5) His words explained in great detail how the series was made. In other words, “circle” was used as an image to imply the unchangeable and the empty space, the changeable. Chung thought that the world consists of the unchangeable and the changeable, and reached the understanding that different things conflict with each other in order to be harmonized and fill time and space. If the unchangeable means “rationality,” then “coincidence” falls under the category of the changeable. By extension, the artist figured that this could also be applied to other contradictory elements, such as existence and environment, yin and yang, the Great Absolute and endlessness, action and non-action, form and non-form, and fullness and emptiness. “I focused on showing how such multi-layered principles can bear natural intrinsic prosody in East Asian time and space,” he wrote.
Chung must have faced frustration many times since he based his art on East Asian thought, but was not able to find a suitable material as a medium. He needed to take special measures to successfully express what he wanted. His choice for that was hanji, which later became a turning point in his journey to achieve a unique style of painting.
In Return 76-Ⅲ, created in the mid-1970s, the blurring resembles ink-and-wash painting. The canvas is divided into top and bottom, on which paper is attached to achieve a gradation effect. The hanji is scattered with the gentle infiltration of ink, making it unnecessary to layer paint on top of it. At times, it carries the look of crumpled hanji and stains or traces of paints as they are. Return 78-W (1978) is one of the works made by mounting hanji on canvas and then applying an ink-and-wash effect. This straightforwardly reveals the wrinkles of hanji and even the torn borders. We can also find imposing brushstrokes of a square filled with black, with stains, blots, and infiltrations in delicate harmony. Meanwhile, Return 80-101 (1980) is an example of maximizing the blotted ink effect. It is a work born as a result of experimenting with the friction and harmony of canvas and ink. However, the work failed to last because of the difficultly for ink to seep into canvas and make a delicate gradation. 
Through such a series of experiments, the artist sought what is more fundamental—the unity between objects and the self. He believed that the unity between objects and the self is an intrinsic quality formed in the time and space of tradition, which has been consistently transmitted. 

3. Painting of Materiality

After Chung made Art Informel paintings in the 1960s, reminiscent of the parched bark of a tree, and then hanji work in the 1970s, characterized by a circle drawn with ink, gradations glimmering around it, and the blur effect, he started in the 1980s to try something entirely different from his works before. Presumably, the first try started from the private exhibition held at the Duson Gallery in 1984, which displayed “a plane filled with materiality,” refusing any image or form.
His works during this period are completely different from the pieces made previously in a few respects. First, artworks based on paper began in earnest, and second, a primitive space that apparently remains intact was acquired. The two features are a kind of a phenomenon that emerged when he began using hanji as a medium of his artworks. This is a meaningful change in that he took note of the unique characteristics of the paper: Before that, hanji had only been used as a medium to enhance the gradation and blur effects.
As it happens, the 1980s was when the art arena’s interest in hanji works culminated. The unique softness and delicate texture of the paper greatly appealed to artists, which led to the emergence of ‘hanji painting’ in various forms. Enthusiasm for the paper was drawn through a series of exhibitions held home and abroad such as: Moulding of Contemporary Paper, Korea and Japan, 1982; Seoul-Work on Paper, Kwanhoon Gallery, 1984; Paper Art of Contemporary Koreans, Sarah Spurgeon Gallery, Washington, 1985; Six Artists, Horizon of Paper, Yoon Gallery, 1986; Moulding by Paper, Kyoto, 1986; and Paper+Pencil: Drawing of 13 Artists, Gallery Soo, 1986.6) The fact that such exhibitions were held one after another suggests the keen attention that Korean artists paid to the paper. 
Among them, selected artists include Park Seo-Bo, Kwon Youngwoo, and Jeong Yeong-ryeol. Park Seo-Bo’s hanji art, in particular, reached a higher level of Korean-style aesthetics of forms through the unity between material and action, contributing to raising the position of hanji from a simple material to an artistic level. Such a feat was possible because he was the first to discover the beautiful texture of hanji and its nature of absorbing external stimuli. On the contrary to Park who preferred to ‘draw’ with blunt pencils, Kwon Youngwoo preferred to make small holes with sharp tools. The artist abandoned painting brushes and ink and wrestled only with drawing paper, making openings on the back of the paper or tearing it to create paper work, through which he manifested “the perfect connection between his painting ideas and a medium of drawing paper.”7) Jeong Yeong-ryeol, just like Chung Chang-Sup, also set the unity with materials as a major challenge. To get various looks of paper, the artist uniformly put soft paper onto a wooden or plastic plate, and then, while the paper slowly got dry, he hammered it and scraped it with a chisel, or sometimes tore it with fingers. Besides them, a number of other artists made artworks with hanji to which artists paid attention so much as to give rise to a ‘hanji syndrome.’  
Cultural and environmental aspects also played a role in such a special attention paid to hanji. The tak-based paper is subtle and warm just like Koreans’ nature and at the same time highly durable, all of which amounts to its higher quality than any other country’s paper. The paper is naturally included in the Four Treasures of the Study, referring to the things frequently used by Confucian scholars, and has become a daily necessity, almost every part of daily life requiring it. As such, viewing Chung’s paper works, we need to remind an understanding of the Korean traditional culture transmitted from generation to generation. Hanji was penetrated deep inside the Korean culture and became part of it, and Chung was also in the same context. 
Chung let hanji, the supporting material of the canvas, make a remark by itself. He left cracks or wrinkles on the canvas, which do not look artificial, but rather look like they were born by nature, broken, worn, and aged like a mud wall formed through a long time. Just like wallpaper of an atmospheric old house, it is torn here and there, and the fiber of the faded, dense paper is seen trough. 
Like this, the artist was caught in the world of the pure abstract painting, having neither color nor form. His work is interpreted as an attempt to shift “human life” onto “the fundamental sensibility of material,” an attempt to “not display something on the surface of canvas, but reflect, inject, and assimilate the self into the materiality.” The artist kneads and batters hanji and adds his body odor and heat to go one step forward toward the properties of the paper. 
Chung’s relation with hanji goes back to his boyhood days spent in Cheongju, Chungcheongbuk-do Province. Here is his story. 

“When I woke up in the morning, the first thing I would see was soft sunlight filtering through the hanji attached onto the window. And right where the leaves of cosmos or chrysanthemum inserted between the paper layers were shining subtly and beautifully, I grew up eating white rice, along with bluish toasted laver and soybean paste.”8)

Hanji was an absolute necessity for Koreans. It was generally used as paper weather strips at traditional houses to shut out the wind and cold. But it was far from completely blocking the outside world, with its semi transparency allowing the filtration of sunlight or sound from the outside. To put it differently, the paper connected the inside and outside as a medium, instead of separating them like glass. Grown up in the circumstances, Chung was able to foster his artistic sensibility from an early age by communing with the natural environment around him. 
Hanji of subtle charm not only carries his childhood “archetypal sensibility”9), but it was like a friend through whom he could communicate with the outside world. As the Japanese critic Chiba Shigeo puts it, hanji was “a contacted area providing a connection with the outer world.” Through the paper, the artist absorbed everything from the outside: sunlight and moonlight, rain, wind, and snow, and flickering shadows of trees.10) There was nothing better than hanji to awake the afterimages that have gone into the other side of life. What he works on was not paper, but memory on which vivid patterns of life are engraved. 
  Hanji for Chung bears a meaning beyond a mere support. The duality of hanji lies in its unique nature that resembles the heart of Korean people on the one hand and mediates between outer world and self. It might be natural to fathom ethos of Koreans through hanji that has been with them through thick and thin throughout its long history. By the same token, it could be understood in this context that Kim In-hwan deemed that his hanji paintings is a part of the ‘roots-finding’ work and an outcome of efforts to graft ‘spirit of roots’ with contemporary art.11)

4. “An Ode to Hanji

An art piece at its highest level should seem effortless. East Asian painters held the communion with nature to be the highest level of art. The works by Chung Chang-sup could also be interpreted in such a context. Looking at his work means confronting coarse surfaces through the look of fibrous paper. For those who are accustomed to refined and elaborated pieces, it must be an embarrassing encounter. Chung sees the object as subject and focuses the existence of the object itself. He listens to the world of objects to the extent of confusion, but neither treats them by force nor with disrespect. As Lee Kyu-il aptly described, Chung “accepts whatever without defying it or being impudent.”12) 
Lee Yil, an art critic who delved into this fact, said that “paper draws a painting for itself,” focusing on the process of how Chung’s paintings on paper were made. “It thinks for itself, living its own life.”13) In fact, Chung obliterated artificiality from the canvas so as to say, “the surface of paper itself is creating a painting.”14) Thus, viewers can feel the breath of the paper and find that the artist surrenders himself up to the breath. 
Chung says he neither sketches nor sets up a plan in advance to complete a work. He simply dissolves the fibrous hanji into water, scoops it with hands and spreads it on the canvas, patting and touching the mulberry pulp, then ceases all actions at once. And then, he waits until the paper has dried. The artist must have added some steps but his eyes are rather fixed on extracting the essence of the paper itself as much as possible. In effect, the expression of hanji varies by humidity, temperature, and the thickness of the raw pulp. Since its outcome is unpredictable, even the artist has to wait and see the results. 
At this point, a question comes to mind: Can an artwork be truly complete without having set up a plan?” Some might wonder if the artist believes in coincidence, as do most surrealists, but that is not the case. The fact that Chung has no advanced plans could be interpreted to indicate that he emphasizes process more than results. As with many Korean artists, he falls in this category. He says he wants “to ultimately become one by dissolving my breath into the mixture” through the whole process of kneading, touching, and patting the pulp with hands. This reminds us of the self-discipline required to recover one’s pure self by emptying one’s existence as the Confucian scholars, the model citizens of the Joseon Dynasty, who tried to stave off wealth and power, resist self-indulgence, and purify their minds.
  Chung’s paintings are “generating, ongoing, and unfinished” in that he sends liquefied paper back to amorphous state15); his focus on condensed physical transformation, expression, and the minute breath of paper indicates that he fills his works with the intimate moments of the mind. In order to express the world as he sees it, he needed to have a close dialogue with the raw materials, the process of which necessitated refraining from unilateral intervention of artifice. 

“I valued the monistic sense of unity between the materials and myself— objects and self—through water solubility to spill, smudge, and soak of the raw material…..As time goes by, I came to capture the fundamental sentiment of the material through a one-off improvisation and unpredictability, instead of giving up method or formal logic by which an artist plans certain forms on the canvas and draws following that scheme.”

What is noteworthy in Chung’s works is that they demonstrate a “natural progression.” This is illustrated in his attempts to instill the artist’s breath in the unfinished paper, to revive the breath of tak paper, or to entrust his works fully to the flow of time. In other words, rather than defying the attributes of hanji and transforming it at his will, he allows his works to retain their original state, surface traces dried up or wrought by process, as time passes and the vestiges of time accumulated while weathering various hardships in life like an old clay wall. Paradoxically, he fills the space of the self with the material rather than revealing it; the artist maximizes the private waves and breath of materiality by focusing on the “life of the paper” coagulated, shoved, and crumbled on the canvas. At this point, there is no distinction between the self and the other and “mutual gain” and “harmony” have grave significance.  
The direct reason why many Korean artists prefer hanji lies in its attributes as a medium, whereas canvas has strong repulsion and resistance as a material, and exists as a mere means of expression, hanji responds to any action by the artist in any situation, as if naturally uniting itself with them. Such are the attractions of hanji, which captivated Chung. The reason that he could recall his childhood through hanji is presumably because he felt psychological comfort from the traditional paper that can absorb pretty much everything. We can see that the meaning hanji held for him was significant enough to make him forget himself and feel free in the midst of it. As far as the artist is concerned, painting is not an outlet to represent the tangible world, but is a space to recognize the principles of life. The artist deemed this view of naturalistic compliance, which unifies himself to the material, the hanji, as a suitable proponent for his own theory of art. 

5. Aesthetics of Tradition

Chung Chang-sup reached full creative maturity in the 1990s and 2000s. From this period onwards, following the Tak series, he released the Meditation series, where he continued to emphasize amorphous forms although this series could be said to be an extension of the Tak series. Sometimes he used colors, which were mainly tranquil, subdued ink hues rather than conspicuous ones. While sustaining homogeneity of space, his works revealed squares whose inner planes were filled with hanji. He hollowed out the space in the center, edging his works outwards to create a frame with the dense tactile material in relief. As with all of his works, the breath of the artist hidden behind the work is too distinct to confine his works within the structure of language used for formative art.16) What fascinates viewers is not the visual quality of the canvas but the profundity of his works. As could be felt from the title, his paintings approach viewers as spaces for meditation where utter silence prevails. It is understandable why Chiba Shigeo referred to his Meditation series as “the skin of consciousness.”17) Through the series, the artist expertly externalized his senses. By linking the artist’s actions onto the basic nature of materiality, he allowed the material to transcend its attributes as a medium and proceed to a purely natural world. It was a world that could not be expressed through figures or be characterized with any specific types and carried a depth that could not be tied to anything. The artist wanted to express such a world without being bound to any fixed forms or formats.
Chung has pursued the Korean aesthetics of art through many twists and turns from his early career to the 2000s. His canvases are tinged with unique Korean colors that evoke an afterimage flickering beyond the other side of life along with a profundity derived from the materials.18) Except for his early Art Informel paintings, which described postwar agonies, Chung’s works can be summarized as “art accompanying nature,” as seen in the ink-and-wash painting abstractions from the early 1970s, to the Tak series in the 1980s, and the Meditation series in the early 1990s. The artist not only revived the aesthetics of East Asian tradition by presenting the delicate, soft nature of hanji through the sense of touch, but also fully unfolded nature’s grace by focusing on the “life of hanji” from which artificiality was completely excluded. I may not be the only one who feels that a unique aesthetic sense quietly spreads through his works. In other words, it is all the more natural to find the traces of tradition inherited through a long history in his works. The nature-friendliness and graceful atmosphere carried in his works are something that can rarely be found in the artworks of today that seek modernity. There is an exquisite harmony accomplished in this way; it is the very reason that we pay keen attention to the works of Chung Chang-Sup, which continue to captivate our minds.     


                                                                                                                                             

1) The special prize winners of the 2nd Korean National Art Exhibition included Im Jik-sun, Yun Jung-sik, Park Soo-Keun, Jeon Hyeok-rim, and Kim Heung-su; the special prize winners of the 4th Korean National Art Exhibition including Byeon Jong-ha, Park Hang-seop, Jang Ri-seok, Lee Jong-mu.

2) The Kyunghyang Shinmun, November 26, 1953.

3) Lee, Yil. On Paintings by Chung Chang-Sup, Catalogue for Chung Chang-Sup Solo Exhibition, Duson Gallery, 1984.

4) Bang, Geun-taek. “A New Power in the Korean Art Scene,” Seoul Shinmun, December 11, 1958.

5) Chung, Chang-Sup. “Until the Birth of Works on Paper: The Emergent Logic Behind My Works on Paper, Before and After,” Year unknown.

6) For further details, see the biography in the following catalogue. Catalogue for Chung Chang-Sup: Unpainted Paintings 1953-1993, Ho-Am Art Museum, 1993.

7) Lee, Yil. Life of Paper and Its Transformations, Catalogue for Kwon Youngwoo Solo Exhibition, Gallery Hyundai, 1982.

8) Requoted from the catalogue, Chung Chang-Sup: Unpainted Paintings, 1953-1993, Ho-Am Art Museum, 1993.

9 ) Oh, Kwang-su. Foreword from the catalogue, Return to Archetypal Sensibility, Solo Exhibition, Gallery Hyundai, 1996.

10 ) Chiba, Shigeo. Between 99 and 100: Tak by Chung Chang-Sup, Catalogue of Solo Exhibition, Johyun Gallery, 2000.

11) Kim, In-hwan. Rediscovery of Hanji, Catalogue of The 6th Exhibition of Hanji Artist Association, Youngdong Yemac Gallery, 1994.

12) Lee, Kyu-Yil. Nature-friendly Paintings Matching Anywhere, Catalogue of Chung Chang-Sup’s Solo Exhibition, Pyo Gallery Beijing, 2007, p.51.

13) Lee, Yil. Fantasia of Papers, Catalogue of Chung Chang-Sup’s Solo Exhibition, LA Artcore Center, 1984.

14) Lee, Yil. On Paintings by Chung Chang-Sup, Catalogue of Chung Chang-Sup’s Solo Exhibition, Duson Gallery, 1984.

15) Oh, Kwang-su. Foreword from the catalogue, Return to Archetypal Sensibility, Gallery Hyundai, 1996.

16) Kim, Yong-dae. Unpainted Paintings, Catalogue, (curated by Kim Yong-dae), Pyo Gallery Beijing, 2007.

17) Chiba, Shigeo. Between 99 and 100: Tak by Chung Chang-Sup, Catalogue of Solo Exhibition, Johyun Gallery, 2000.

18) The Kyunghyang Shinmun, November 11, 1996.


Korean-English Translation of this article is supported by
Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism and Korea Arts Management Service.

Translated by Ewha Research Institute for Translation Studies 이화여자대학교 통역번역연구소





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