| As a child growing up in Korea near the new power plants that my father was responsible for building shortly after the Korean War, I became fascinated by the magical quality of electric light, which suddenly illuminated and brought to life what once had been towns left in darkness. |  |
Pauline Choi
As a child growing up in Korea near the new power plants that my father was responsible for building shortly after the Korean War, I became fascinated by the magical quality of electric light, which suddenly illuminated and brought to life what once had been towns left in darkness.
Initially I was intrigued by the process of light production as well as the creation of moving images, which led me to make animated films in my teens in Canada. During further studies at art school in Toronto and in New York, I became interested in different media, including installations, sculpture, and painting.
By the time I turned my attention to painting, I wanted to combine the quality of movement, change, and transition that I had previously explored in the other disciplines. About 20 years ago, I started making light boxes, by simply mounting oil paintings done on thin transparent film (Mylar) onto large windows, which resulted in an effect similar to that of stained glass. Over time, I developed a technique of superimposing several layers of Mylar, which creates an intangible, elusive impression. Later on I devised boxes that could accommodate fluorescent lights behind the paintings. This allows artificial light to illuminate the work from within—producing a shimmering movement in the painting—while natural light illuminates it from without. Since each final image comprises several layers of Mylar, the work dramatically changes appearance depending on whether it is seen with interior lighting, exterior lighting, or a combination of the two.
All of my light boxes make vivid use of the interplay between light (artificial or natural) and shadow. They create an ambiance and a glow that extend beyond the work itself and helps transform the space around it. As a room darkens, the light box itself becomes more vivid, and projects its own ambient light. The light from the work is constantly in motion, shifting, enlivening, and playing with and into its surroundings.
When people look at my light boxes, I want them to see the works’ duality: an inanimate object come to life by means of light; something both cosmic and, at the same time, microscopic: a window onto distance itself, the unknown, but onto intimacy and proximity too.
My light boxes, depending on their size, color, and content, help create different atmospheres in areas ranging from large, open, public spaces to private, intimate settings.
