Language
Where Does the Wind Come From, Where Does It Go?
Choi Junkun
This space presents the work of Choi Jun Geun, whose quiet yet resonant paintings invite deep contemplation on presence, time, and emptiness.
Upon the canvas, a few heavy stones are scattered across a field of near-white. At first glance, the composition may seem sparse, but this stillness is anything but empty. The spaces between the stones—the voids—carry with them questions about existence, nature, and thought.
The work is rooted in Choi’s impressions of Jeju Island’s black basalt stones. Though he employs traditional East Asian ink (muk), his background in Western painting lends the composition a unique density and spatial tension. The result is a surface that feels both meditative and intense.
The canvas is layered dozens of times with white pigment. Upon this subdued field, each stone is rendered with a fine brush dipped in diluted ink, using a technique akin to pointillism. Yet this act of painting is not simply depiction—it is a slow accumulation of time, a record of process and presence.
The title of the work is taken from a classical phrase: Where does the wind come from, and where does it go?
Each stone, each interval of space, becomes a trace of that question—echoes of impermanence and philosophical introspection.
As viewers stand in this space, they are invited into a journey that begins with a single stone, but gradually unfolds inward. The stone is no longer a mere object—it becomes a point of reflection, a mirror of the self.
Pause for a moment.
As one watches the path where the wind once passed,
one may begin to encounter the quiet landscape of the mind.
This still space—
has been waiting for you.
Upon the canvas, a few heavy stones are scattered across a field of near-white. At first glance, the composition may seem sparse, but this stillness is anything but empty. The spaces between the stones—the voids—carry with them questions about existence, nature, and thought.
The work is rooted in Choi’s impressions of Jeju Island’s black basalt stones. Though he employs traditional East Asian ink (muk), his background in Western painting lends the composition a unique density and spatial tension. The result is a surface that feels both meditative and intense.
The canvas is layered dozens of times with white pigment. Upon this subdued field, each stone is rendered with a fine brush dipped in diluted ink, using a technique akin to pointillism. Yet this act of painting is not simply depiction—it is a slow accumulation of time, a record of process and presence.
The title of the work is taken from a classical phrase: Where does the wind come from, and where does it go?
Each stone, each interval of space, becomes a trace of that question—echoes of impermanence and philosophical introspection.
As viewers stand in this space, they are invited into a journey that begins with a single stone, but gradually unfolds inward. The stone is no longer a mere object—it becomes a point of reflection, a mirror of the self.
Pause for a moment.
As one watches the path where the wind once passed,
one may begin to encounter the quiet landscape of the mind.
This still space—
has been waiting for you.