The Re-Enchantment of Magic
Nayeon Gu
In the Western context, if the foundations of modernity were established through the economic transformation of the Industrial Revolution and the political transformation of the civic revolutions, then modernity may be understood as being oriented toward disenchantment, both as a rejection of the obstacles to these transformations and as a response to the contradictions of premodern society. Scientific thought, grounded in rational reason, provided the intellectual foundation that made modern society possible. Accordingly, the emergence of Classicism as a precursor to Modernism, along with the modern foundations that later gave rise to Romanticism, took dissimilarity from the past as one of their central principles. Yet even amid the persistent drive to distinguish new artistic forms from those that preceded them, one element continued to endure: what Walter Benjamin identified as aura, along with the singularity that gives rise to it. As is well known, in A Little History of Photography, Benjamin describes aura, or atmosphere, as “a strange weave of space and time,” and as “the unique appearance of a distance, however close at hand.” The singular experience encountered in the presence of a work of art can ultimately be understood as a magical moment, one that arrives unexpectedly and only once, revealing itself to the viewer in that particular encounter alone.
In the process of modernity’s disenchantment, the cult value and exhibition value of art ultimately return to an emphasis on the value of aura. In other words, they continue to evolve as mechanisms that sustain the myths of originality, as well as the authority of artistic institutions. Benjamin’s discussion of aura emerged from the historical necessity of recognizing technological reproduction as both the subject and form of art—that is, from the demand for a new kind of art shaped by new media. What is particularly striking, however, is that in explaining the mode of existence and operation of traditional art as the basis for this demand, he paradoxically brought aura itself into sharper focus as a powerful criterion—the very magical condition of art. The aura of natural objects, and its relationship to the uniqueness of our own presence, is captured in Benjamin’s well-known, if somewhat elusive, observation: “On a summer noon, resting, to follow the line of a mountain range on the horizon or a twig which throws its shadow on the observer, until the moment or hour begins to be a part of its appearance—that is to breathe the aura of those mountains, that twig.” Though ambiguous, this definition remains deeply persuasive, and it continues to exert a powerful influence on notions of Modernist purity and the mystery of art.
The reason for invoking this long historical context in approaching Arong Chung’s work is to revisit the meaning of “magic,” a concept the artist identifies as central to their practice. The magic surrounding art operates in two directions, both centered on the artwork itself. The first is the magic that precedes the works: the magic experienced by the artist in the act of creating it. This may be understood as the intimate and distinct emotional bond that emerges between artist and artwork during the creative process. That bond undoubtedly becomes embedded within the work itself, yet demonstrating precisely how it manifests there remains firmly a matter of subjective experience. The second is the magic experienced after the work comes into being. This belongs not to the artist’s domain but to that of the viewer: the magical quality of aesthetic experience that arises from the form of the object, encountered through a stance of disinterested contemplation. These two forms of magic, broadly speaking, merge and intermingle, exerting a profound influence on Arong Chung’s work.
Arong Chung explains that the starting point of the work was a question: what is it that moves us when we encounter the works of the great Italian masters? In tracing that question, the artist sought to identify the magical qualities of art that have remained meaningful across centuries. The artist’s way of re-experiencing those qualities was to work with the very techniques employed by those masters. This is why the artist works with egg tempera. A traditional medium made by mixing pigment with egg yolk, tempera requires the repeated application of fine, delicate strokes, layered one upon another until the image gradually acquires substance. In the practice of egg tempera, the act of building up countless brushstrokes accumulates an intimate relationship between artist and artwork. In the artist’s words, it eventually leads to “the moment when an image manifests itself as if by magic.” This experience, in turn, offers a way of understanding the aura encountered in historical works of art. Such a moment emerges when the artist focuses on the magical instances generated through the creative process itself, while simultaneously embracing the sense of wonder inspired by the magic discovered in artworks of the past.
Moreover, egg tempera was the primary medium used until the Early Renaissance, before the widespread adoption of fresco and oil painting. The age of tempera coincided with the medieval period in the West, when mysticism was institutionalized through religion. Widely used in religious art such as icons and altarpieces, it served as a material through which Christian symbols and doctrine were visualized. Through this medium, Arong Chung reinterprets imagery associated with witches—figures that remained taboo well into the modern era—and transplants them into painting. In Be Careful What You Wish For (2024), the artist hand-carves a triptych from willow wood and fills it with secretive scenes and symbolic imagery rendered in egg tempera. To create a form reminiscent of the altarpieces for which egg tempera was once the primary medium, the artist repeatedly carves and refines the wood before applying countless fine brushstrokes to complete the painting. Beyond this return to and reenactment of a historical form, the work also evokes both the mystery and the danger that characterized the era in which tempera altarpieces were widely used, as suggested by its title, Be Careful What You Wish For. The stigma attached to witches, which persisted into the early modern period, served to justify violence against the deeply held beliefs and lived experiences of ordinary women. Yet the women regarded as “witches” were victims of irrationality and unreason, much like Joan of Arc, who was burned at the stake for wearing a man’s armor and acting in accordance with the voice of God in support of Charles VII of France. The woman clad in armor, seemingly rising from the water, may be a figure who enacts “hope” (make a wish) and “surrender” to truth, as depicted in the panels to either side, while also serving as a conduit for the transmission of magical power.
This power offers an optimistic reinterpretation of realms excluded from modern society following the rise of Enlightenment rationalism. At the same time, it is a form of mystery born from the reemergence of forces once suppressed and abused throughout the medieval and early modern periods. These qualities represent a continuing fusion of the ritual value and performative value that art has preserved into the present day. Arong Chung connects the possibilities inherent in the craft-based, performative dimension of art to a distinctly painterly methodology. Like a path winding through a forest, this methodology serves as a foundation for art that can never be encountered through the rigid logic of a thoroughly disenchanted rationality. As with egg tempera, Arong Chung constructs forest landscapes through the accumulation of countless brushstrokes. The repetitive nature of the painterly act places demands on the artist’s body, yet at the same time sustains a continuous magical rhythm.
This attitude is also reflected in the way the artist paints forests interwoven with signs that correspond to invisible experiences, including imagery associated with witches. For example, Into the Wood (2024) may at first appear to depict a forest landscape composed of grass and trees. Yet, much like anamorphosis—the technique used in medieval and early modern painting to conceal hidden imagery and meanings through visual distortion—it contains symbols associated with witches, faces, and suggestive cloud forms embedded within the scene. Arong Chung describes the forest as “a mysterious, magical, and archetypal world inhabited by myths, legends, and spirits.” Within this world, witch symbols once used discreetly throughout the medieval and early modern periods function “like talismans endowed with magical power.” In order to invoke and propose the mystery of painting, and to reveal the profound mysteries latent within its materiality, the artist’s practice seeks out the lingering echoes of rituals that have persisted from the origins of art to the present. The countless traces of action condensed into these modestly scaled works ultimately serve to reenact the magic that art itself carries within it. The paintings unfold as metaphors for a magic that lies hidden, quietly embedded within the world of the forest. This is an act of re-enchanting the disenchanted world of modernity through the magic of art. At the same time, it brings to light a form of mystery that we continue, quietly and persistently, to find in art.
