I like art that evokes a sense of infinity. There is something that goes beyond the artist in the landscape paintings of the Tang and Sung dynasties, which springs from a powerful and resonant space where the painted and unpainted parts interact. Also in ancient Roman murals, in which small remnants of painted images are pushed against the wide expanse of plaster that occupies the space around it. Buddhist images carved in natural stone in the mountains, worn by many years of wind and rain. The torso of Belvedere, whose absence of arms and legs interpenetrate with the surrounding space. All of these are works of art in which their legitimacy derives from a relationship with the outside world, exhaling an inexhaustible atmosphere of infinity.

When a certain critic uses the example of Claude Monet in a discussion of Lucius Fontana, the lie inevitably refers to infinity. Although Monet and Fontana’s paintings have a firm foundation in self-consciousness, they dramatically introduce immeasurable elements of the outside world and are permeated by the consciousness of it. Both Monet and Fontana present a moving world, Monet using color to suggest the infinity of time that changes at every instant, while Fontana cracks cracks in the fabric to suggest the infinity of space. In a brilliant way, they give visual form to the existence of the outside world and the relationships that are formed with it.

Works of art can speak, but they are not a language as such. Since works have a relationship with the outside world they are necessarily separate from language. According to modern linguistic theory, words are basically representative signs that express and represent the self. Sometimes I start from the language of the self, but I always want to maintain a relationship with the uncertain and unknown world beyond it. I don’t want to put the world into words or possess it with my ego, but I want to enter into a relationship with it that allows me to perceive it.

Therefore, even though my works are mine, they do not depend only on me. My job is not identical to mine. This is because the outside world penetrates deep into it. In other words, my way of approaching art is an expression of curiosity and an exploration of infinity. Infinity begins with the self, but only fully manifests itself when it is linked to something external beyond this self. I do not want to fix or represent the self as I do, but to recognize its existence in relation to otherness and to perceive the world in a place where such a relationship exists.

In the Point and Line painting series: https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/lee-from-line-t07301 I did in the 1970s, I tried to express infinity as a concept of repetition with variations unlimited. The emphasis was more on repetition and variation than on otherness. In the 1980s, as did the range of expanded variations, emptiness emerged on the pictorial surface. I paid attention to placing it as a territory where painting is born and evokes a sense of infinity through the corresponding relationships with point and line.

In sculpture, I began by establishing conflicts between different materials, such as stone and glass, encouraging an encounter with otherness by presenting the effects of forces beyond my will. Action and events were important elements in these works. Finally, I juxtaposed steel plates and neutral industrial materials with natural stones, objects that contain many ambiguous elements, presenting art as a situation created by putting certain things together. A confrontational relationship was thus emphasized, improving the capacity to respond to the outside world.

My paintings resemble those of Daniel Buren and Richard Trelawney in their images and sometimes in the use of repetition. My sculpture, in its themes and materials, resembles that of Richard Serra and Richard Long. However, there are decisive differences between my work and that of these artists. His work is characterized by the abstraction or generalization of the use of patterns or details of painting, or steel or stone acting to represent the logos of the artist. The canvas or material they use is familiar. It does not have a recognizable individual character and does not reveal a shift towards otherness. The work, whether painting or material object, does not accept things external to itself, does not have a close relationship with space and does not incorporate the atmosphere of the outside world. His work is wrapped in a concept of infinity derived from the eur or ego.

My works are completely individualized and specialized, unfinished and ambiguous, because they create a relationship between the inner and outer world. This may seem strange to the viewer, or even annoying. My paintings seem to be comparatively easy to understand, even if there are parts that remain unpainted or empty, perhaps because of the use of the canvas, the standard format of the painting. However, the use of natural stone without any embellishment seems to cause perplexity in people whose thinking is centered on the human ego. In the world of thought, theories that emphasize non-ego and otherness are gaining influence, but it is still difficult for people to recognize the existence of things external to the being / self / ego, especially the world outside of human beings. A young French philosopher told me "In your sculptures the stone speaks for itself without listening to you, so it disorients the viewer." The stone I bring for my work does not represent me. He has no purpose in saying my words. It is an uncertain entity that communicates with the outside world, accepting its limitations. I make art to see how I can relate to the indefinite and the unknown.

In Western society, there are many situations in which mutual recognition between the self and the other takes place in human relationships. In East Asia, on the other hand, there is a tendency to emphasize the territory of otherness in relationships with natural things, such as animals, plants, stones, and the Earth. My works show a preference for mediating a relationship with uncertain and inorganic things, rather than bringing to light human self-awareness. This is probably due to the environment in which I was raised.

My historical consciousness and my worldview lead me to see the self in connection with a larger outer world, which includes human beings. The world transcends me and is not transparent. From my approach, in confronting this other non-transparent one, the self continually loses its purity and is filtered and then reborn as the other. It shows that art is a kind of overcoming, a leap from one condition to another. Therefore, a work of art must be the site of such a leap, a place where there is interactive mediation between the self and the other. Unlike modern art, my work is not a dated, self-contained object that reproduces the self. It is arranged as an open place, through a relationship between themselves and others.

In my work, expression is not privileged as an expression or representation of the self, but is neutralized as a relationship with the other to form a non-objective place. My recent paintings bring to light a receptive relationship with the slightest touches and strokes, operating in an indefinite peripheral area, to become a place that evokes a feeling of infinity. Also in my sculpture, the emphasis gradually shifted from the relationship between one thing and another to the relationship between the thing and its surrounding space. I am currently concerned about the connection between expression and the outside world. In my painting, the empty margins and the wall mediate with each other; in my sculpture, things in the exhibition space correspond to things in the real world.

Ultimately, a work of art is neither reality as such nor a set of concepts. Due to the fundamentally intermediate nature of my art, it neither approaches reality nor takes a conceptual direction.

My art is both simple and complex. I limit myself strictly in the sense of keeping the choice of materials, the structure and the acts of doing to a minimum. However, the works are complex and difficult because I use irregular materials as they are and I accept the conditions of the space around them. In short, by limiting myself as much as possible I try to get involved with the world as much as I can.

My kind of minimalism is a method that requires my work environment to be more energized than my own work. The work is not a text composed of signs. I want it to be a living, energetic body possessing variability and contradictions. The situation of a brushstroke, a stone, or a steel plate must become a living organism full of energy in its relation to otherness. The inert strength of the materials used is more important than my actions, and these must function as parts of a relationship, an interaction between the materials themselves and between the materials and the surrounding space. This can only be achieved through the same kind of rigorous discipline that an athlete uses to hone his skills and a careful use of logic in the organization of materials.

I am responsible for the production of energy in the interaction, but I depend on the power of empty space to evoke a sense of infinity in the work. Thus, work receives vitality through reality and ideas, influencing them at the same time.

I want my works to be non-transparent entities that contain the unknown to me and to others.