Thomas Illmaier
The Field is Tilled.
Nam Tchun-Mo presents his Stroke Lines in the major marketplaces of the world where art meets demand and exposure. Going from Cologne over to Karlsruhe and on to San Fransisco, a stop in Melbourne, not far from Shanghai--art knows absolutely no boundaries in the globalized world. Art is sought after--but what else remains to be seen?
Michael Burges, who is most familiar with the art and spirituality of Asia, who himself is a painter, and who holds German newspapers in suspense, finds the new work of Nam Tchun-Mo "quite alright". It is of benefit, he says, that Mr. Nam has freed himself from "Tachiste rubbage", as today isn't so much about "grand Solipsist gestures of post-war self-discovery, but about the diffusion of material and spiritual knowledge". That's a good starting point. Nam says of his own work that it reflects the "spiritual reality of the industrial world". This interests journalists, for that which is open to philosophical discussion can also be written about.
Nam Tchun-Mo began his career traditionally, as well an academically-educated painter should. His first works, female nudes, bear the strong influence of Cézanne and a very concrete, earthy physicality. His subsequent phase of dissolution produced works that are not well known. In Germany in the nineties Nam's exhibition of his works at the Galerie Epikur in Wuppertal represented a climax. It was here that he developed the "Tachist rubbage" that the unflattering Burges once fussed over. What Burges at the time did not see is the primal force and gesture of the work, how form is affixed with a tension that asserts itself in and permeates a diffuse, pictorial periphery. Not much later, Nam Tchun-Mo's work would transform. First, the form would free itself from, and then grow in importance over the pictorial surroundings of the painting itself. One could imagine a skeletonization, in an operational, picturesque and even medical action, if things had indeed stayed that way. Elements of this remain prevalent today, at least so far as his sketches are concerned. He next introduced, to our surprise, his Stroke Lines.
At first glance, these Acts, tucked into boxes, not as stylized lines and grooves, appear from the bird's eye view as plowed furrows. Using an encaustic technique, they are turned into three-dimensional projections joined by a thin mesh arched outwards, deepened again in the rhythmic fashion of the tilled field, furrow by furrow, line by line, finely drawn strokes, tactile up to the edges where the furrows are brought up to a line that isn't too perfect, at least not so much that the handwork of the artist--the Golden Line--doesn't reveal itself.
This allows the line to appear gentle, yet at the same time inexorably severe in terms of its rigid seriality. This makes for a good appearance; warm red, yellow, and ocher tones, but also green and even light violet, the natural purple tones speak to the observer. The three-dimensional form catches or disrupts light in the speckled, almost transparent material--especially spectacular radiating in the sunlight.
In order to not merely be pleased by the art of Nam Tchun-Mo, but to in fact understand it, one must accompany the artist out of the museum, out into the open field, and preferably into one of these Stroke Lines of man-made ruin.
Abandoned homes, shelters of concrete, stone, in their barrenness, places that are disgustingly lonely. In these desolate zones, Stroke Lines truly come to being; not so much that they make an art venue out of ruins left behind (which they in fact do), but they place the divine principle, the plow furrows, in the midst of a civilization that has been destroyed by humans. This is the real alternative world, the spiritual reality of the technological world. There is an old Native American saying that after humankind fells all of its forests, finally, it realizes that money cannot be eaten. To this extent, Nam Tchun-Mo's images, especially his Stroke Lines, are reminders and admonitions of what should be valued most in life. Bread is holy, land is sacred--how else are we to survive?
Insofar, Nam Tchun-Mo is superior to Burges, Burens, and all other Western artists who run down the paths to God's gates, if they think they can create a new entity of art through the natural sciences and mysticism. This theme is ancient. But the fact that the artist wants and must show us the farmer's field as a work of art--that is new. Lines and geometry of the images are adapted to nature; its waves, valleys, mountains, the stylized farmer's field brought into the living room, abstract and three-dimensional, as an idea, an aim, and a wish, that cannot replace true nature but can, for those of us estranged from nature, remind what the divine principal really is and what it can realize. The prelude to a new spirituality, an art that makes its way around the world and stirs up a new faith. Therein rises the ancient Buddha, saying, "In a cluster of cities, I rediscovered an old path, the path to knowledge, enlightenment, and liberation.
The art of Nam Tchun-Mo would like to share this idea with its audience. It does not seek merely to please, for it seeks deeper purchase. This is the way of the old path, where enlightened ones have always trodden. The field is tilled.