The horizon—where the sky and the sea converge in the distance and never comes closer no matter how close we approach it—is something we cannot physically reach or grasp. Within the cognitive framework of space and time, the existence of that exquisite and beautiful thin line isn’t a matter of location and distance. Nevertheless, our eyes perceive the horizon distinctly; its existence is visually evident. The same applies to the rippling water surface, which continually reflects and refracts light moment by moment. Due to the constant overlap of its interior and exterior, the water's surface is not the water itself, yet it is neither entirely within nor outside of it. However, we always gaze upon the water's surface. This exhibition, Horizon, which represents this elusive yet visually clear ambiguity, is therefore inherently pictorial.
Pictorial representation essentially begins by capturing a visual object with paint on canvas. As previously discussed, the horizon or water surface are not entities that can be grasped. Painting inherently acknowledges this fundamental limitation. This doesn't simply imply that representation doesn't equal replication. Because it is an object that cannot be grasped, the essence of pictorial representation is that in the end, only scenes are left where one cannot tell where it is, as in Night Driving, and where one does not know what it is, as in Summer Green Blanket. Similar to the circles etched (rather than drawn) on the rippling surface of Snowman, painting can only commence anew when attempting to somehow fix the enigmatic elements floating like illusions within the painting. The artist’s 'desire to capture things that are not clear beyond what is clearly visible' (from the artist’s note) only supports this endeavour.