KID, LAPIS PHILOSOPHORUM’S JUST A LEGEND — Younsik Kim @Space Uooyoung, Seoul

Submission
March 22, 2026

KID, LAPIS PHILOSOPHORUM’S JUST A LEGEND

Younsik Kim @Space Uooyoung, Seoul
February 11 — 22, 2026

If the soul of photography is the image, its body was the celluloid film—at least until the advent of digital photog- raphy. Regardless of the era or medium, the most essential element of a photograph is the image. In the pre-digital age, film and image were often seen as one and the same; thus, film was the most vital element for preserving a photograph. Only with a developed film could one print, enlarge, or duplicate a photograph. While this mechanic technically remains valid today, the public perception of film has shifted drastically.

As “digital photography” took over the status of photography, few people immediately think of film when they hear the word “photo.” Consequently, what we once called a “photo” is now specified as a “film photo.” To develop film today, one must search for specialized labs or send film by mail rather than visiting a local studio. Once developed, the film is scanned, and the digital data is sent via email or messenger. Unless one specifically pays for the return of the physical film, it is often discarded at the lab. In this process, the celluloid film is treated merely as a byproduct of obtaining a digital scan. For most contemporary film users, the digital image is the only necessity. Considering the cost, time, and physical space required to preserve film, this shift seems inevitable. Yet, can we

truly declare that film photography has been completely “converted” into digital, or that it has become just another method for producing digital images?

The video work “Umzug1 2023”, the centerpiece of this exhibition, calmly portrays another case of “transformation” through the modern relocation of the artist’s family grave. While the traditional meaning of “umzug “ (relocation) is moving a grave, its modern implication goes beyond simple migration. Whether for convenience of management or the sale of land due to development, the process usually involves cremation. Because this involves handling what human civilization considers most sacred, it requires strict protocols, formalities, and government permits. Even after the human body is transformed into a different material through cremation, we still recognize the contents of the urn as “having been a human body” and treat it with respect.

At this juncture, the artist defines the phenomenon where the digital image overrides the materiality of a sculpture as the “physical death of sculpture.” Just as we maintain dignity and procedure for the “transformed body” after a funeral, the artist contemplates the physical death of sculpture and the “body” that remains thereafter.

From his experience photographing artwork and exhibition views as a side job, Kim Younsik Kim witnessed sculp- tures being treated as waste after an exhibition, or being dismantled without any promise of reassembly surviving only as exhibition photos or catalog plates. He began to deeply question whether the current trend of sculptures being treated as mere byproducts of the digital conversion process is simply a matter of storage costs and logistics. His concern extends beyond the shortening lifespan of physical sculpture. He observes a “cool” contemporary atti- tude where effort is concentrated only on the “front” of a work to make it more “instagrammable,” prioritizing social media engagement and views over the “sculptural experience”—texture, scale, and active viewing. The artist asks if we must simply accept this as the “New Normal,” or if the transition to digital media can truly be the “Philosopher’s Stone2” that enables a perfect migration/transformation.

When something is converted into a digital image, certain elements are inevitably lost, whether intentionally or not. Essentially, optical media like photography and video do not “replicate” reality; they “represent” it. A represented object is merely a 2D transformation; it cannot be the object itself. Consider the process of a painting becoming a plate in a book. Although a painting is a 3D object (albeit a flat one), it is often treated as if its sides and back never existed. Fine textures and brushstrokes become blurred and flattened. If we apply this to sculpture, the loss is even more vast. Because sculpture cannot be reduced to a 2D plane, everything except the recorded “front”—the texture of materials, the pedestal, the sense of volume, and the surrounding structures—is discarded. These excluded elements are often far more vital to a sculpture than the back of a canvas is to a painting. While higher resolution or VR might preserve some of these elements, technology is not yet a fundamental solution for replicating the 3D medium of sculpture. Ultimately, the complex experi- ence of facing a work in person—moving around it and feeling the atmosphere of the space—is something that cannot be fully converted into digital media.

The “Ghost Touch” series appears to mimic a digital interface with its vertically scrolling text, yet it performs no actual information exchange or interaction. The phrases etched on glass do not function as connected sentences; they leave only a faint impression. While they look like mechanical devices, they perform only a “sculptural function.” In this way, the works in “Ghost Touch” exist to maximize the sculptural experience for the viewer, standing in direct opposition to the “flat sculptures” that lose their essence through digital repre- sentation.

Similarly, the cold, hard sensation of the ceramic blocks in “Ground Seater” (the sunbed-like structure used to watch “Umzug 2023” is a “sculptural experience” that cannot be fully translated into digital media.
This theme continues in the ceramic series “Migration.” The artist dismantles the surfaces and structures of sculptures that can no longer be maintained and migrates them into new ceramic bodies. While these forms and materials may be impossible to fully replicate digitally, they gain the possibility of longer preservation as “bodies.” Rather than trying to subvert the irreversible trend of the “physical death of sculpture,” Younsik Kim continuously examines, questions, and experiments with alternatives. Through this, he responds to the help- lessness felt as a sculptor and seeks a way to continue his practice.

— Kiwon Lee