Thread of Attachment

It was an event from 30 years ago, in 1994, yet I still vividly recall being in a scene pulled by some thread of attachment. It was October, the perfect month to visit Madrid—neither too cold nor too hot, just pleasantly clear.I went to Madrid with my acquaintances to exhibit. We rode in a yellow Volkswagen Type 2 van, driven by painter Kyung Ryul Yoon, who lived there at the time. Yellow floral curtains were hung on the van’s windows. I felt excited like a child going to kindergarten. I pulled back the curtain and looked outside. As I gazed at the fields where bushes peeked out here and there, I drifted into a vague memory.

The endless field lay beneath the sun, as if asleep, dozing under cottony clouds. The bushes leaned on one another, whispering as they swayed in the wind. The van continued to drive through a landscape where only distant serenity breathed—without resistance or collision.

We arrived at the edge of the vast field and entered Mr. Yoon’s studio. Having been immersed in the achromatic world of early monochrome painting, I momentarily held my breath at the boldness of his orange, yellow, and purple colors. His honest and unpretentious painting style—like bringing the warm Spanish weather and nature into his work—drew me back to the purity of childhood. These were not works forced into creation by stubbornly clinging to monochrome. Just as New York and L.A. artists use color differently, I was captivated by his uniquely Spanish sense of color.

The scene of Yoon’s wife in the heart of Madrid, which is different from the scene of visiting Yoon’s studio, comes to mind clearly. Despite raising several children and working in a difficult environment, the couple warmly welcomed us from New York. They drove us all over Madrid in their Volkswagen van and even invited us for dinner. Their hospitality left me flustered, and I nervously sat in a corner, unsure of what to do.

It was dusk in bustling downtown Madrid. I was looking out the window. Mrs. Yoon was walking alone in the darkness. Seeing her head bowed in exhaustion, my heart ached with emotion. How difficult must it be? Supporting her artist husband while studying abroad, raising several children—and now, entertaining a group of excited visitors who had flown in for an exhibition. Her bowed figure is still etched in my memory. That same year, 1994, Mr. Yoon left Spain and settled in New Jersey.

Kyung Ryul Yoon’s solo exhibition is currently on view from April 10 to June 7 at Po Kim Gallery (417 Lafayette Street) in Manhattan. I had eagerly waited for the opening and arrived at the gallery early. Though his works have evolved from figurative to abstract, the sincerity and truthfulness of his work—still holding onto that thread of Spanish color—once again pulled me in with a strong sense of attachment.