Raw Signal

Choi Woolga does not follow rules. Or perhaps he knows them and chooses to ignore them.

When humanity first placed a hand on a wall, there was no reason and no order. There was only the impulse of being alive. Choi Woolga’s canvas becomes that wall.

Wandering through the streets of Paris and absorbing the noise of Brooklyn, he has burned away what civilization has taught him. What remains line, eye, symbol, color is rebuilt without a fixed system.

Is this the scribble of a child or the mural of a shaman. A language that resists decoding yet is fully conveyed. A sensation that cannot be explained yet strikes with precision.

There is a grammar in the wild. We have simply forgotten it.