My desire for accurate drawing on paintings led me to develop a drawing machine. However, this attempt almost always ended in failure. This is because the drawing machine was only a tool to draw as accurate a replica of my ideal world as possible. Furthermore, despite the accuracy/speed obtained, it became clear that my ideas were limited to what the machine could do. As a result, I thought I was controlling the machine and painting, but I ended up in a situation where the machine was controlling me and making me paint. As a result of this experiment, I was confronted with the question of what painting is.
Human can no longer keep up with the ever-advancing capabilities of machines. The depiction of shapes, the arrangement of colors, and their repetition, these processes are executed by machines with same priority and same precision. No matter how complex or how simple the process is, the machine will perform them with the same accuracy and importance. What's more, even the developer's mistakes are executed accurately with the same importance. Machines do not make mistake. If a machine fails, it is just a bug that should be fixed. If a developer makes a program that intentionally makes a mistake, the machine will reproduce that mistake exactly and the program will succeed. What this tells us is that machines are incapable of making mistakes.
Machines do not inherently make mistakes, and it is the people who use them that make mistakes. Therefore, in order to prevent machines from making unintended actions, input must be accurate. There is no room for error or trial and error. As a result, I felt uncomfortable with the fact that mistakes were not allowed in the production process using my drawing machine. In addition, by leaving the accurate drawing to the machine, I became distracted from drawing and concentrated on accurately illustrating my opinion, and my work became a mere just illustration. I realized that these frustrations came from a lack of what I needed to know about painting, and a fear that trial and error and mistakes would disappear from my work. This experience made me rethink the way I approach my work, and I am now focusing on trial and error as an essential part of my work.
About my new style. When I draw an subject, I try to capture the essence of the subject by using auxiliary lines and arrows. Although auxiliary lines and arrows are superfluous elements in painting and may be erased in the end, I try to leave them in their original state. This is an attempt to observe and capture the unique space that is created on the canvas by these elements used to observe the subject. This space is not a vector space (linear space) in mathematics, but a unique space developed on the canvas plane, a special space that is independent of each work and cannot be shared objectively. It is a special space that cannot be shared objectively and is independent of each work. The parts that need to be described in detail will naturally appear by viewing the unique space.
At this time, the subject to be painted is not important, and there is no message, story, or argument about it. The only thing that is on the canvas is the motive for painting. The purpose is not to illustrate my point. What is important is to reveal this unique space by following the traces of trial and error. Like the sonar of a submarine, I follow the traces of drawing and observe my choices, ignorance, evasion, compromise, etc., to make this unique space clear. I record directly on the canvas, as if I were mapping a new land, or following the tracks of wild animals. If I can capture what worked, what happened, what could not happen, and what I was afraid of when I was facing the canvas with my brush, I may discover the next possibility.
