His lie was, in fact, the truth.

Seven billion… perhaps more. That is the current estimate of humanity’s population. Seven billion people inhabit this Earth. But do we even wonder exactly how many there are? For now, the most immediate reality is simply that I exist, living my life in this moment. Perhaps all that my life pursues—or is already pursuing—are the easiest, most accessible ways of living. Seven billion people coexist on Earth, each carving out territories, or systems.

In the endless past, when humans roamed in search of food, their language was brutally honest. Life followed the principles of hunting, and this mode of existence was mutually recognized. But as life grew monotonous and the repetition of boredom persisted, a new strategy emerged: lying. Homo sapiens invented lies for self-preservation and, literally, for survival. With thought—distinct yet similar across individuals—humans could eliminate rivals and assert themselves. Thought begins here. Yet, whenever thoughts deviate even slightly from one’s own, the response is to say: “I think as you do.” And to the next: “I did not think that way.” The birth of lying, for self-satisfaction.

Park Jung Hyuk’s silver PET vinyl paintings initially struck me as almost contrived, based solely on their material. Perhaps this was another medium to exploit or experiment with—after all, we live in the plastic era. Bronze, iron, plastic… millennia from now, people might even call us Homo sapiens plasticus, the master plastic-makers. Painting on a perfectly flat surface made of plastic seems entirely plausible in such a context. Yet for Park, silver vinyl carried another significance. It was not merely a material discovered to escape the conventions of canvas; it was a device where his childhood memories and painterly concerns could find resolution. Silver vinyl was not mandatory, yet it was the medium through which his story could be most fully realized.

Lies invented by humanity—whether for self-satisfaction or avoidance of corruption—form the starting point of Park’s work. Lies, at the forefront of wordplay, wield immense persuasive power. We lie most desperately, and it is then that we invest absolute faith in those lies. Scammers know this instinctively. Lies manipulate memory; we tell lies to manipulate what we remember and come to believe them as our own. How convenient is such a mental force? Religion, art, philosophy… perhaps these grand inventions are merely elaborations on humanity’s initial lies, all of which pertain to the psyche.

Park appears to first interrogate everything, whether truly a lie or humanity’s great legacy. Myths, allegorical masterpieces, and the comforting structures of religion—all are mixed into his paintings. His works function as parody and metaphor. Familiar or seemingly familiar images are reorganized, and viewers are led to unconsciously believe that these constructed lies originate from canonical myth and religion. This suggests, without irony, how readily our beliefs can be consciously structured.

Silver vinyl was crucial to the completion of Park’s pictorial strategy. Consciousness can manipulate memory for convenience. Could this have been expressed on a traditionally fixed canvas? Rather than merely discovering a new material, Park needed a fluid surface to articulate his story accurately—a surface where traditional pictorial expression, the viewer, and the artist’s narrative could coexist. In his mother’s pharmacy—his childhood refuge and sanctuary—he found comfort and healing, where pills wrapped in silver vinyl left a lasting impression. Shimmering, mirror-like, these silver surfaces may have symbolized protection, solace, and the bright promise of a healthy future. In this sense, Park’s choice of silver vinyl was not experimental but inevitable—a medium necessary for his mutable vision.

The trembling, reflective, and shimmering silver vinyl records the act of painting while simultaneously incorporating the act of viewing. It transforms the viewer into an integral part of the work. As I read Park’s story through the artwork, I see myself within it—the clothes I wear, the colors I choose.

● Moreover, Park records these same narratives on paper, under the title ‘Muscle memory drawings’. The content parallels his silver vinyl paintings, but the expression is more direct. Like smoke or fire, the materials constantly shift, reflecting the inherent instability of memory. Whereas the silver vinyl works illustrate the conscious structuring of mental frameworks, these drawings interweave religion, myth, and human imagination more overtly. The act of drawing inscribes the work onto his muscles, as if the myths, religious symbols, and the collective forces of human thought are already forming and evolving within him.

Those who have unexpectedly stepped into a quagmire understand the sudden shock when the ground fails to support them. Park’s silver vinyl paintings encompass that very sensation of betrayal—the treacherous instability beneath one’s feet. From the immediacy of my presence to the mental forces perhaps born from humanity’s lies, his fluid surfaces provoke a shift in perception: truth exists solely as mutual agreement.

References

• 《나른한 부유 (Drowsy Floating)》