PHANISM — Color as Pause, Memory, and Emergence

Qwon Sun Wang Solo Exhibition at Gallery FLUX
July 14–30, 2025 | Seoul

By Vily Magazine

At first glance, the works in PHANISM appear abstract—gestural swirls, layered brushstrokes, and vibrant spills of color across quiet, off-white paper. But stay with them, and they begin to feel like something else entirely: moments. Fleeting, charged, and deeply emotional.

Qwon Sun Wang’s solo exhibition at Gallery FLUX presents a collection that feels like a slow unfolding of memory. Color is his language, but not in any decorative sense—rather, it pulses with tension, lightness, and sudden collapse. Hot pink collides with acid green; ultramarine sweeps through sheets of negative space; a pale dot trembles against a jagged stroke. His palette speaks in oppositions—bold but fragile, fluid yet deliberate.

The paintings sit on arches paper, a soft, absorbent, high-quality surface made of 100% cotton. That material choice is crucial: the way the pigment sinks, bleeds, or clings varies from stroke to stroke, allowing Qwon’s colors to act more like memories than shapes—hazy at times, piercing at others.

I often look for control, spontaneity, and emotional charge in an artist’s mark-making. Qwon balances all three with remarkable instinct. His visual language recalls the energy of Joan Mitchell’s color bursts or Helen Frankenthaler’s fluidity—but there’s something uniquely Korean in his rhythm: more subtle, more personal, almost meditative.

Several works feel like emotional montages: fragments of motion, grids disrupted, lines that appear to dissolve mid-thought. Looking at them evokes a strange sense of déjà vu, like you’ve seen these compositions before—but only in dreams or in brief, unspoken feelings.

There are many paintings in the show, each carrying its own emotional weather. I’ve chosen to highlight only a few—the ones that struck me most—but the entire collection deserves to be seen in person. Photos fail to capture the subtle shifts in texture, the softness of color transitions, or the quiet gravity of each piece.

If you’re in Seoul this July, step into Gallery FLUX. Let the color move you. Let the brushstrokes pause you. And most importantly—let the silence between the lines say what words can’t.