It all started from a scratching noise behind the walls. Every so often for a few days, I found myself unsettled by this sound. Soon, the stench of something rotting made me believe perhaps a rodent had died in this space. I was experiencing my own quiet decay around this time, and after a while, I realized what had been wearing at me.
At some point, I realized I had stopped smelling the odor. Death, the very evidence of absence, had disappeared. Come to think of it, because it all happened behind walls which I could not see, what remained was simply the sensorial memory of it. I fell into a conundrum: was my remembrance of that rodent enough to prove it had once been alive? Could I even trust my memory? And so, I dug into my photos from that period of unraveling. I had not intended them as evidence of anythingโyet threaded together, they revealed what I could not have seen then. What I found was not proof of the rodent, but of something else that had been decaying.
Archival Pigment Print, 16x24 inch, Edition of 5, 2012
์ด ์์
์ ๋ฒฝ ๋๋จธ์์ ๋ค๋ ค์จ ์๋ฆฌ๋ก๋ถํฐ ์์๋์๋ค. ๋ถ๊ท์นํ๊ณ ๋ถ์ํ ๊ทธ ์๋ฆฌ๋ ๋ฉฐ์น ๊ฐ ์ด์ด์ง๋ค ์ด์ฝ๊ณ ๋ถํจ์ ๋์๋ก ๋ฐ๋์๋ค. ๋ด๊ฐ ๋ฟ์ ์ ์๋ ๊ณต๊ฐ์์ ๋ฌด์ธ๊ฐ๊ฐ ์ฃฝ์๋ค๋ ๊ฒ์ ๊ทธ๋ ์์๋ค. ๊ฐ์ธ์ ์ผ๋ก ๊น์ด ํ๋ ์๊ฐ์ด์๋ค. ์ดํ ๋์๊ฐ ์ฌ๋ผ์ง์ ์ฌ๊ฑด ์์ฒด๋ ํจ๊ป ์ง์์ง๋ ๊ฒ ๊ฐ์๋ค. ํ์ ๋, ๋ชธ๋, ๋์ ๋ณด์ด๋ ์ฆ๊ฑฐ๋ ์์ด โ ๊ฐ๊ฐ์ ๊ธฐ์ต๋ง์ด ๋จ์๋ค. ๋๋ ๊ทธ ์์์ ์ค๋ ๋จธ๋ฌผ๋ ๋ค. ๊ธฐ์ต๋ง์ผ๋ก ๋ฌด์ธ๊ฐ๊ฐ ์กด์ฌํ์์ ์ฆ๋ช
ํ ์ ์๋๊ฐ. ๊ทธ๋ฆฌ๊ณ ๋๋ ๋ ์์ ์ ๊ธฐ์ต์ ์ผ๋ง๋ ์ ๋ขฐํ ์ ์๋๊ฐ.
ํ์ธํ๊ธฐ ์ํด ๊ทธ ์๊ธฐ์ ์ฐ์ด๋ ์ฌ์ง๋ค๋ก ๋์๊ฐ๋ค. ํจ๊ป ๋์ด๋์ ๋น๋ก์ ๋ณด์ด์ง ์์๋ ๊ฒ๋ค์ด ๋๋ฌ๋ฌ๋ค. ์นด๋ฉ๋ผ๋ ๋ด๊ฐ ์ํํ์ง ๋ชปํ ๊ฒ๋ค์ ์กฐ์ฉํ ๊ธฐ๋กํด๋๊ณ ์์๋ค. ์ด ์ฌ์ง๋ค์ ์ฎ๋ ํ์๋ ๊ณผ๊ฑฐ๋ฅผ ๊ฒ์ฆํ๋ ๋ฐฉ์์ด ๋์๊ณ , ๋์์ ์ด๋ฏธ์ง๊ฐ ์ด๋ค ์ข
๋ฅ์ ์ง์ค์ ๋ด์ ์ ์๋์ง๋ฅผ ๋ฌป๋ ๊ณผ์ ์ด ๋์๋ค. ์ด ์์
์ ๋ถ์ฌ์ ์ฆ๊ฑฐ, ๊ทธ๋ฆฌ๊ณ ๊ธฐ์ต์ ์ ๋ขฐ์ฑ์ด ๊ต์ฐจํ๋ ์ง์ ์ ๋์ฌ ์๋ค. ์์ด๋ฒ๋ฆฐ ๊ฒ์ ๋ณต์ํ๋ ค๋ ์๋๊ฐ ์๋๋ผ, ์ง์ ์ ์ธ ๊ฒฝํ์ด ๋ ์ด์ ๊ฐ๋ฅํ์ง ์์ ๋ ๋ฌด์์ด ๋จ๋์ง๋ฅผ ์ดํผ๋ ์์
์ด๋ค. ๋ณด์ด์ง ์๋ ๊ฒ์ด ์กด์ฌํ๋ค๋ ์ฌ์ค์, ์ฐ๋ฆฌ๋ ์ด๋ป๊ฒ ์ ์ ์๋๊ฐ.
2012
















