Wirtten by Luna Kim, Translated by Kate Choi

Painting, in a sense, may be considered absurd. While it is innate for humans, as beings of nature, to follow their instincts to create art, it is contrived and absurd to regard this activity as fundamentally different from the behaviors of other natural creatures. Henri Bergson, in his book titled Laughter: An Essay on the Meaning of the Comic, asserts that artificiality is central to the experience of laughter. This treatment of the natural as mechanical renders the subject absurd and evokes laughter.[1] In Henri Bergson's view, society, akin to a living organism, is comedic precisely because it adheres to artificial societal rules rather than natural laws.[2] Even if one becomes so accustomed to it that it fades from conscious awareness, the sudden realization of its artificial nature transforms solemnity into laughter and renders the object awkward and out of place.

From this perspective, the material surface of brushstrokes in expressionist painting appears absurd. According to Bergson, when the human body’s materiality alone is emphasized at the expense of its inherent flexibility and mental vigor, the result is comedic and provokes laughter.[3] In a comparable manner, Bergson posits that diverting attention from the mind to the body results in a comedic effect. When this concept is extended to human-made objects, “forms dominating content” — such as in overly formal or stilted writing — become laughable.[4] Consider the case of Clement Greenberg who argued that the essence of painting is flatness, thus causing abstract paintings to lose their spiritual status and become objects, or the case of abstract expressionism where the materiality of the brushstroke or the act of a painter is more visible than the spirit in a metaphysical dichotomy. Hal Foster, in his analysis of expressionism, posits that the material brushstrokes in expressionist art, through repeated use, evolve from mere representations into symbols. This transformation causes these brushstrokes to become detached from the canvas, signifying more than their immediate visual impact.[5]

The emphasis on color in expressionist paintings, along with their brushstrokes, is absurd. Humans perceive only a small portion of the light wavelengths reflected by objects and mistakenly believe these to be the true colors. According to Umberto Eco, the perception of color is not only influenced by light but also varies significantly across different cultures, altering its name and properties.[6] Even paint tubes bearing the same name can exhibit variations in color based on their country of origin and manufacturer. Nonetheless, painters trust that their trained eyes can discern subtle differences in shifting hues. For instance, the vibrant colors of autumn may appear disorganized to those with red-green color blindness. It would be presumptuous to claim that we can sidestep this absurdity by categorizing vision based on human standards or by fixating on colors that are merely light reflections. Painters can only create within the confines of what their eyes perceive.

Why, then, do painters pursue the seemingly absurd? It is because the very nature of human existence, a natural entity abiding by societal norms, is inherently comical. The aspiration to depict our observations and perceptions of the world encapsulates the essence of painting, a practice that dates back to the caves of Lascaux. If the subjectivity inherent in representation stems from this timeless human inclination towards absurdity, it remains irreplaceable, no matter how hard they try. In one of Michael Ende’s short stories, there is a chilling narrative about a man-made city that devours humans.[7] In this world of their own creation, humans struggle to retain their individuality without being consumed. Enlightenment comes from transcending the self, but few can sustain such a state throughout their lives. Thus, we live in a constant state of illusion. If the brushstrokes are sloppy, we think there must be something there, and we want to distinguish subtle colors and say something is different. This is why we are constantly fascinated by expressionist paintings.

When this desire becomes excessive, it hampers painters’ creativity. According to Lee Ufan, painters, themes, and materials function as machines fueled by the drive to create. Like robots, their function is to replicate. The robots’ incapacity to generate anything without input aligns with painters’ aspiration to recreate the world. Whether it is something they have observed or an image in their mind, artists strive to reproduce it. This effort represents a form of self-expression or narcissism, which may be indicative of the modus operandi of modern capitalism. Ironically, narcissism leads to a multitude of egos, resulting in an isolated and fragmented ego that can no longer construct the desired image. Consequently, many avant-garde artists sought to transcend arbitrary behavior: some found themselves with nothing to paint, while others chose to disregard and destroy it. Although the status of painting has risen, painters continue to be regarded as unintelligent. Nevertheless, painters believe that the world exists between the brush and the canvas, between the paint and the hand. They do not focus on completing the painting, because the act of painting itself belongs to a different plane of knowledge. If we were to talk nobly about painting, we would say that it is a way to move away from the ego and encounter the world.[8]

The irony lies in the effort to distance oneself from the self to maintain the drive to create. Comedy becomes more amusing, the more serious the protagonist. It is the inability to take reality seriously that renders life insightful. The artists of this era are creators not because of grand aspirations, but because they are compelled to create. Among them, painters are naïve and funny people who believe that the truth of their physical experience will be conveyed, and yet they want to erase their own ego to continue painting. Mark Twain called the typewriter “A Curiosity-Breeding Little Joker.” Initially, he purchased the typewriter out of curiosity. However, as time passed, he concluded that it was detrimental to his personality and subsequently passed it on to another person, who, for the same reason, handed it to someone else. It ultimately demonstrated that a truly curious individual was the one who did not possess a typewriter.[9] In playing the card game of Trump, the Joker is the key to flipping the board, but in the game of Old Maid, the Joker is a card that needs to be passed quickly to someone else. In the card, the Joker is laughing as he passes from one hand to the other without dropping the ball. If so, we could call an expressionist painter “A Laugh-Breeding Little Performer.” We might leave the interpretation and content to others, having a little room for it to be anything. What counts is to keep the ball rolling without dropping it. That is what a painter is supposed to do, to create laughter, the essence of humanity.

[1] Henri Bergson, Laughter: An Essay on the Meaning of the Comic, translated by Yeonbok Jung, second printing of first edition, Seoul: Moonji Publishing Company, 2022, p.49

[2] Ibid., pp.51-53

[3] Ibid., p.56