An insight into the visionary universe of the world’s first media artist
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| Nam June Paik: Electronic Superhighway: Continental U.S., Alaska, Hawaii (1995). Smithsonian American Art Museum. Photo: Steven Zucker (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0) © Nam June Paik Estate |
I have been planning to write about one of the most famous Koreans, Nam June Paik—the world's first media artist—for a long time. The exhibition that has opened at the Korean Cultural Center now provides a particularly good occasion for this, as it focuses on the works of the contemporary generation in a way that continuously reflects on the great predecessor in the background. Therefore, it is not useless to linger a little on the question of who Nam June Paik is and why he is so important.
The history of modern art is, in fact, nothing less than the history of a series of questions being raised, and consequently, the history of losing traditional anchors. Every element of the academic concept of art has been questioned since the inception of the avant-garde, and the answers have led to surprising results. At first, disconcerting questions were asked only within the scope of individual branches of art regarding their subject matter, form, and essential carrier materials, which were soon followed by propositions dissecting the boundaries between everyday life and art, just as by experiments with the permeability and cooperation of individual artistic branches. Art moved out into the street, the utilitarian objects of everyday life moved into museums, the viewer entered the process of creation, and the artist often created almost nothing but conceptual ideas... yet all this still within the reality of colors, forms, sounds, bodies, objects, and in real-time processes. Up until the electronic medium was born: television, followed by a technical multitude of image recording and playback devices, from videotape to the computer.
Everyone knows the history of television also in the respect that the device itself is just an object; life is breathed into it by the broadcaster, which in the beginning was a state privilege everywhere—and it is largely still so today. The well-earning citizen buys the device, pays the monthly service "tax," and in return can enjoy the centrally rationed mind alteration designed for one-way consumption. We know that Orwell had a shocking social vision regarding this—famous for the concepts of the "Two-Way Telescreen" and "Big Brother is Watching You" (George Orwell: 1984, Secker & Warburg, 1949)—but what business could art have with all this? The question was posed by Nam June Paik, and he gave a resounding answer to it.
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Portrait of Nam June Paik. Photo: Unknown author, cropped by Shizhao (CC BY-SA 3.0) via Wikimedia Commons. |
How Paik, born on July 20, 1932, in Korea—historically one of the most isolated countries in the world, which moreover was precisely under annexation at the time—became the number one media artist of the globalizing world would in itself be worth a biographical novel, or perhaps more stylishly a film, an unconventional internet performance.
Nam June was born as the fifth child of a textile manufacturer. He loved music
and the arts, and also studied piano in Seoul. The family fled the Korean War
to Hong Kong in 1950, and soon after they moved to Japan, where the boy
attended university. At the University of Tokyo, he studied art, music
history, and philosophy, and then in 1956, he wrote his graduation thesis on
the work of composer Arnold Schoenberg. His path led to Germany, where over
the next two years he studied music history at the University of Munich and
composition at the Freiburg Conservatory. During this time, he came into
contact with the Fluxus group, whose name referred to the constantly
fluctuating, changing nature of their activities. The members of the group,
denying the boundaries between life and art in the Neo-Dadaist spirit of
"Everything is art" and "Everybody is an artist" (philosophical concepts
popularized by Joseph Beuys and the international Fluxus movement, c. 1960s),
created their works characterized by experimentation, playfulness, and the
blending of different forms; thus Paik also crossed experimental music with
theatrical performance. Yoko Ono also belonged to the group, whom they had
already met in Japan.
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Nam June Paik: Victrola (2005). Photo by the author, taken at Tate
Modern. |
Among contemporary composers, Paik also worked together with Karlheinz
Stockhausen, but the greatest influence was made on him by John Cage, who on
one hand started him towards the electronic arts, and following whom he moved
to America, to New York, in 1964—inspired by Cage's definitive philosophy:
"Art is not an escape from life, but a penetration into it." (John Cage:
Silence: Lectures and Writings, Wesleyan University Press, 1961).
But before that, in 1963, he made his debut in Wuppertal as part of the
exhibition "Exposition of Music: Electronic Television." He placed thirteen
television sets in a room, some of which were not turned on, some displayed no
image, and the rest showed distorted images that Paik created using magnets
placed around the TVs. In addition to music, he was also fascinated by the
technical possibilities of television and video. Working together with
engineer Shuya Abe, they created the first video synthesizer, with which they
were able to modulate the original image and transform the image on the TV
screens into abstract pictures with an external magnet.
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| Nam June Paik: Nixon TV (1965/2002). Photo by the author, taken at Tate Modern. |
This play ran counter to the centrally controlled application of televisions described above. However, the production of "one's own show" received a huge boost in 1965 with the appearance of Sony's first video camera, as the camera offered an easily portable tool accessible to anyone for electronic image-making. And this also served the philosophical approach not foreign to Paik, which was about making image-making—and the creative process itself—democratic, destroying the rights arrogated to themselves by power monopolies.
Paik's works, on one hand, extract the television set itself as an object from the world of homes and place it in another context as part of exhibition objects. On the other hand, he detaches the devices from the ready-made broadcast stream and fills them with his own content. In doing so, he also experiments with the technical possibilities of audio and video delivery devices.
However, these experiments are not self-serving. Paik is fascinated by the
concept of time in relation to human life—in general, as a philosophical
question, and also in relation to the possibilities offered by the new medium.
"The future is now" (Nam June Paik:
Video 'n' Videology 1959–1973, Everson Museum of Art, 1974), he declares, and with this, he attributes a
future-shaping effect and responsibility to all our current decisions and
actions, emphasizing that the future is not an entity existing independently
of us, occurring sometime just like that, hypothetically.
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| Nam June Paik: Three Egg (1975–1982). Photo by the author, taken at Tate Modern. |
Video technology makes him reflect and prompts him to insights in which he predicts many phenomena of the reality of our current age with astonishing accuracy. He recognizes that electronic image recording and replayability are the first to be able to disrupt the linear flow of time and enable, for example, the experiencing of chronologically successive events in a reversed chronological order.
The youth of today perhaps cannot even imagine that at the dawn of image recording, putting the videotape into the device, we could only proceed linearly, but we could not jump from one part to another like on today's DVD or especially in a digital file. Paik could not know about all this, nor could he see digital television, yet he writes these:
"Video tape can be rewound, but our lives can’t. There are four buttons on the VCR: 'Fast Forward,' 'Fast Rewind,' 'Go,' and 'Stop.' But our lives have only one button: 'Go.' Today we have the Betamax, this machine that surpasses even God, since man can see the play starting at nine even before the seven o'clock news. Such a thing never happens in life. If I had known at age 25 how I would feel in New York as a 47-year-old poor artist, I would have planned my life differently. We cannot know anything in advance; our lives have no 'Fast Forward and Rewind' button. Therefore, we proceed step by step and try to correct our mistakes with further mistakes. On the other hand, we hire teachers and pay for their work, because the teacher, just like the Betamax, can also fast-forward." (Nam June Paik: Historical Context and Future of Video Art, 1980 / Reprinted in The Collected Essays of Nam June Paik, MIT Press, 2000).
But let us return to non-temporal information. Temporal and non-temporal
information are distinguished from each other by the two types of storage
modes. The "book" is the most ancient form of non-temporal information.
Television and video tape are bad because both are temporal information
systems. Man has not yet learned how to properly record and store temporal
information because the phenomenon is new. No one claims that the Encyclopedia
Britannica is a boring read, despite the fact that it contains a lot of
information, because a lexicon can be opened at any of its pages, at the
letter A or B, at C, at M, and at X as well, but when man watches video or
television, he must go through the entire alphabet. Although the comparison is
simple, the difference is nevertheless great. Therefore, the book will remain
alive until electronic information overcomes the problem of non-temporal
information.
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| Nam June Paik: I’m a Painter too (1993). Photo by the author, taken at Tate Modern. |
He predicts technical solutions that are already a natural part of our lives:
"Painting in the next century is likely to be electronic wallpaper that can easily be programmed for simple or complex images. There will be standardized electronic canvases, so that if one wants to exhibit one's pictures in Ireland or the Republic of the Congo, one simply mails a program card, which is plugged into the machine on site, and the canvas lights up behind it. Such a system must come into being, otherwise communication among artists will cease. Photography will also be electronic, which by the way can be traced back to the same energy situation. Since film stock is becoming more and more expensive, there is no point in taking photographs. If one records a situation electronically and can make a high-quality paper print from this, one skips the chemical processes. The next step will be the development of electronic cameras. It will be possible to take photos even under poor light conditions, so nobody will have secrets. Even today we see miniature video cameras. Devices similar to Super 8 will appear, in which both the camera and the recorder will be built-in, and they will make high-quality recordings on one-hour video tape." (Nam June Paik: Historical Context and Future of Video Art, 1980 / Reprinted in The Collected Essays of Nam June Paik, MIT Press, 2000).
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Nam June Paik: Untitled (Newspaper Drawing) (2003). Photo by the author, taken at Tate Modern. |
His artistic reflections also lead to thought-provoking insights regarding the problems of the present age:
"The oil and energy crisis can therefore be traced back to the problem of weight. Today there is an oil crisis because for millions of years we transported the 60-kilogram human body with the help of a 60-kilogram human body. But in the last 50 years, we transport the 60-kilogram body with a 300-kilogram car. This is the stupidest system the world has ever invented." (Nam June Paik: Selected Writings, c. 1970s). "Art's job is to think about the future. Currently, however, it is difficult to predict the future. Herman Kahn, the best-known futurologist, was wrong about two things. In 1967, he published his study about the year 2000. He spent a lot of scientific fellowships writing the book, but in 1967, Kahn did not mention ecology and environmental pollution with a single word. In 1967, the hippies were dealing with ecology. Kahn, the best-known futurologist, understood even less about things than the hippies. After this, in 1970, this same Mr. Kahn wrote a book about the seventies, and in it, he did not commemorate the energy crisis with a single word. Even today, he still makes a living being a futurologist." (Nam June Paik: The Future of Art and Technology, Lecture transcripts, 1980).
Paik foreshadowed the image of the "global world village" back when the
internet did not even exist, and the creation of a concept is also credited to
his name: he first used it in 1974, and much later, the title of one of his
works became "Electronic Superhighway." Twenty years later, when "information
superhighway" became a commonplace term, Paik jokingly said: "Bill Clinton
stole my idea."
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Nam June Paik: Untitled (Collage with Playing Card Motif and Drawing)
(1990s). Photo by the author, taken at Tate Modern. |
The artwork titled “Electronic Superhighway: Continental U.S., Alaska, Hawaii" was created using 336 television sets, 50 DVD players, and 575 feet (170 meters) of neon light. The massive, 40 by 15-foot (12x4 meters) neon-video sculpture shapes the map of the United States, and on the TVs of each individual state, a broadcast characteristic of it can be seen—for example, in the territory of Kansas, a clip from the movie The Wizard of Oz, or in the territory of Alabama, footage taken of Martin Luther King. The artwork is thus also defined by how much Paik himself understood America and its cultural phenomena.
Orwell's vision did not let Paik rest either. Of course, he was aware of all
the dangers of the watching eyes of "Big Brother" penetrating individual
living spaces. With no small amount of irony, the year 1984 was launched on
January 1st by Paik's project, which was the first "satellite installation."
However, disputing the dangers, he placed the emphasis on the advantages
offered by technology, with which it can serve communication and cultural
understanding between different countries and peoples—conceptualized in his
famous satellite broadcast project titled "Good Morning, Mr. Orwell" (Nam June
Paik: Good Morning, Mr. Orwell, WNET/Thirteen, Center for New Art Activities, 1984). The program was
broadcast across America by national television, in Paris by the Pompidou
Center, as well as by several stations in Germany and South Korea, to a total
of about 25 million viewers
Sally In The Garden (Arts & Entertainment Network Cable 1984) (Video via Internet Archive)
Paik was preoccupied with Zen Buddhism throughout his life; we encounter its imprint at every turn in his works. He never smoked, never drank alcohol, and never drove a car. Yet, to the question of whether he was a Buddhist, he answered, "No, I am an artist." At the same time, the essential thoughts of Zen are inherent in his works—in the broadcast-replacing candle placed inside the TV box just as in "Zen for Film." In the latter, the projector in the empty room projects a film on which nothing can be seen. And Zen says to understand life intuitively, without thoughts or language. Look inside yourself to discover the truth, clear your mind, and simply be, rather than do something; think instead of speaking. In a chaotic and noisy world, this is the possibility of achieving peace and tranquility.
Of course, the creation also raises a question of art theory, namely whether the projection of an imageless light frame is film, similarly to how Cage also played with the possibility of music without sound consisting purely of a pause in 4'33"—echoing Cage's definitive Zen-inspired principle: "There is no such thing as an empty space or an empty time. There is always something to see, something to hear." (John Cage: Silence: Lectures and Writings, Wesleyan University Press, 1961).
Paik also hands out playful jabs in bringing together Western technology and
Eastern spirituality. The Buddha of the
TV Buddha series
contemplating his own projected image speaks equally about the question of
"who is watching whom?", the self-complacency of the situation, the intrusive
and mesmerizing nature of the television media into the private sphere, as
well as the Buddhist belief in reincarnation with the endless cycle of "I
watch the one who watches me."
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Nam June Paik: TV Buddha (1974). Video installation with bronze sculpture and monitor. Photo by "gregoryg" on Flickr / Creative Commons. |
Paik confoundingly united the world created by man with the natural one in his
works. He professed that these two must be in balance because man cannot exist
without either.
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Nam June Paik: TV Garden (1974/2000). Video installation with live
plants and monitors. Photo courtesy of the Smithsonian American Art Museum / via Flickr. |
Paik's oeuvre cannot be presented even in outline within the scope of an article like this. But the pieces of perhaps the most playful series, which he built with immense creativity, cannot be left out. The sculptures shaping three generations of family members and other famous people mostly came together from discarded, old TV and radio sets into individual pieces, full of character and recognizable by their namesake. Originally based on the idea of remote-controlled toys, the robots capable of walking and talking were made, which later became static; only their screens remained in motion, making them alive.
The first remote-controlled robot, K-456 (1964), met a sad end. In 1982, Paik
took it out to the street from the exhibition of the Whitney Museum of
American Art and directed it onto the roadway, where a car hit it. All this
formed part of a documented performance, with which Paik wished to express the
"catastrophe of twentieth-century technology" and stated: "We must learn to
live with it." (Nam June Paik: "The First Accident of the Twenty-First
Century" Performance, 1982 / Archived in Whitney Museum of American Art
Records, 1982).
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Nam June Paik: Bakelite Robot (2002).
Photo by the author, taken at Tate Modern.
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One of Paik's biggest projects was connected to the Olympics held in Seoul in
1988 and bore the title "Wrap Around the World." Measured by the standards of
the time, it was a global event, because although there were no such developed
connections between continents as today, ten countries participated in the
live event and it had over 50 million viewers. Everyone shaped their own
message, which mainly concentrated on entertainment; thus images of kung fu
and pop music arrived from China, salsa from Rio de Janeiro, a rainy
motorcycle race from Ireland, a concert held in the parking lot of Brahms's
birthplace from Hamburg, and the Die Toten Hosen performance in front of
Beethoven's birthplace from Bonn, to which New York contributed with footage
of the Earth taken from space. A lot of pop musicians and other stars of the
art world participated in the project from David Bowie to Merce Cunningham.
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| Nam June Paik: The More the Better (1988) at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Seoul. Photo by perspective (CC BY-SA 4.0) via Wikimedia Commons. |
This extraordinary occasion led Paik back to his homeland, with which his connections had been severed for twenty years. Korea also bowed its head before the prodigal son who had achieved world fame, and the huge birthday cake of the Olympic project, which Paik built from 1,003 televisions, went to the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Seoul under the title "The More the Better" (1988). Self-irony towards himself, and a small question mark next to the aspirations of Korea wishing to catch up with the world's leading economic powers. Around the huge tower of Babel consisting of TVs sat Korean drummers, and Paik, who had started from his homeland as a composer, now put on the hanbok, and while they served a real birthday cake that served as the model for the installation, Paik's words were repeated: "Keep music going."
Paik suffered a stroke in 1996, which paralyzed one side of his body. Although he could walk with assistance, he spent the last decade of his life mainly in a wheelchair, but worked actively even like this. He died in Miami, Florida, in 2006, leaving behind a huge oeuvre inspiring generations. As the father of video art, he made a deep impression on successors such as one of the greatest today, Bill Viola.
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