(EN/KR)
Dinosaur
Alien
Cemetery
Flower
Programing
Light
Pattern
Ghost
Universe
Paradise
Dogma
Purgatory
Glitch
A Cross-Section of Light
Have you seen a city’s nightscape from a bird’s-eye view?
The city is a vast constellation of lights—countless buildings and roads, the glow of car headlights, traffic signals, and endlessly flickering LED billboards... People commuting home by car, those working late in brightly lit office buildings, and travelers heading to the airport for business or leisure. Each of them carries their own stories and contexts. They are parents and children, lovers and friends. And yet, from above, all these individual narratives are blurred into a singular sea of illumination. A city brimming with movement and energy, when seen from a distance, flattens into nothing more than a field of light.
That day, the city was shrouded in fog. By chance, I found myself looking at an LED billboard from the side. When viewed head-on, the billboard presents a coherent visual message—text, images, videos—all perceived as information. But from the side, that information vanished, leaving only scattered particles of light. The tiny water droplets in the air scattered the light, dissolving the original message into fragments of color floating in the mist.
I began to relate this phenomenon to communication and the transmission of information. What we commonly recognize as "information" is structured light—delivered in an organized manner that can be understood as language. But when approached from a different angle—when expressed in an unstructured way or through an unexpected medium—information breaks apart and dissolves. It ceases to be something we can decipher as language and instead transforms into an abstract pattern. And yet, paradoxically, those fragmented pieces of light carried a sense of calmness, simplicity, and even beauty.
Must all information adhere to order? Just as the vast nightscape of Seoul compresses into a single, two-dimensional scene from above, the scattered particles of light create their own form and sensation. Information that cannot be read or interpreted as language still exists in its own right, and at times, new meaning emerges precisely from this disorder.
In the end, even a chaotic scene that we cannot comprehend may become beautiful only when the light that once structured its information loses its order.
Artificial Light
The comfort that night provides is undeniable.
During the day, unnecessary information floods in indiscriminately, sometimes even aggressively. Colors, in particular, feel overwhelming. This reminds me of Chromophobia, a book by David Batchelor, my theory tutor during my time at Goldsmiths University. He argued that colors have often been perceived as foreign, associated with the East, femininity, childhood, vulgarity, or even pathology—leading to a deep-seated cultural aversion. Having spent nearly a decade in the muted, monochrome landscape of London, I found myself unconsciously influenced by a form of civilizational elitism. When the pandemic and my visa expiration forced me to return to Korea—a place teeming with vibrant colors, I became more aware of how much this perspective had shaped me. Adding to that, my identity as a man made Batchelor’s theory feel even more personally relevant. Perhaps that is why it resonated with me so strongly.
For various reasons, I still prefer the night. While it does not grant complete freedom, it allows for a certain level of control over the visual environment. Night becomes a kind of sandbox, a space where things can be shaped with greater autonomy.
Architect Yoo Hyun-jun explored a similar idea from an architectural perspective on his YouTube channel Sherlock Hyun-jun.
“During the day, we have no control over lighting—it is dictated by the sun. That means everyone sitting here, everyone standing on the podium over there, receives the same sunlight. Shadows fall equally on all, making daytime a naturally egalitarian space.
One of the most significant moments in Western art history was when shadows began to appear in paintings. That happened during the Renaissance. It marked the beginning of a shift in how humanity perceived itself—acknowledging human equality, but also human finitude.
Before that, in medieval art, paintings were always centered around God, and shadows did not exist. The compositions were flat, untouched by the passage of time. But with the introduction of shadows, figures in paintings became mortal, finite beings. The problem, however, is that during the day, a dictator and an ordinary citizen both receive the same sunlight. But at night, lighting can be manipulated. Artificial lights can be adjusted—one person alone can be illuminated by a spotlight. You can erect massive pillars hundreds of meters high, all bathed in carefully placed lighting.
That is why dictators must make use of the night.”
Night is also efficient in economic terms. During the day, information must often be conveyed in three-dimensional form, with depth and volume playing a crucial role. But at night, such considerations are no longer necessary. Information can be transmitted effectively in just two dimensions—or even one.