What Happens to Us When We Encounter Inverted Sculpture
Kim Nam-see (Professor of Fine Arts, Ewha Womans University)
Art and Sensory Pleasure
Discussions of “sensory pleasure” in art have become increasingly rare, a shift driven by several factors. Plato’s intellectualist stance, which positions truth beyond the sensory realm, contributed to the devaluation of sensory pleasure in art. Later, critical theory in the 1960s linked sensory pleasure to capitalist commodity culture, reinforcing skepticism toward sensory appeal. In this context, post-1960s art leaned heavily toward conceptualism, valuing intellectual complexity and theoretical depth over direct sensory engagement. This intellectualist approach often carries a disdain for the masses' pursuit of sensory pleasure, frequently intertwined with elitism. Adorno exemplifies this view, regarding entertainment in art as part of the "ideology of the culture industry," a mechanism designed to render the public passive and compliant. This perspective reinforces a rigid dichotomy between "low art" for the masses and "high art" for the elite, further cementing cultural hierarchies. As a result, biases that prioritize art’s educational or critical functions over personal, immediate experience have profoundly shaped both art education and institutional curation, ultimately leaving many people feeling alienated from contemporary art.
I must begin by admitting that I, too, have not been entirely free from this intellectualist bias toward art. When I first encountered Lee Yong Deok’s work through photographic images, I found myself in an awkward position. His practice revolves around figurative sculpture—an approach often regarded as outdated in contemporary art. His work is rooted in representation, a concept largely discarded by contemporary art, and engages with themes that modernist art dismisses as non-artistic. Was Lee fully aware of this? It was only later that I realized he was not only conscious of his approach but also resolutely committed to pursuing his own path, undeterred by prevailing artistic trends. This unwavering stance can be traced back to his early years when he refused to participate in the art collective Reality and Utterance, driven by his conviction that art should never serve as a mere instrument for something else. From his very first solo exhibition after graduation, he declared, “I will not walk the main road, but a narrow path instead.”
Despite his role as a professor at an art university—where he was responsible for educating young artists attuned to contemporary trends—Lee Yong Deok remained steadfast in his artistic direction. This persistence stemmed from his deep conviction that art, above all, should strive toward beauty. From his undergraduate years as a sculpture major, Lee demonstrated exceptional skill in modeling and sculpting the human figure, believing it to be the most beautiful subject of all. Just as classical Greek sculpture—the pinnacle of figurative sculpture—masterfully captured the dynamic energy of the human body through the folds of garments and the flow of hair, Lee, too, perceives fleeting glimpses of people in motion as “almost unbelievably beautiful.”[1] He photographs these ephemeral moments or finds similar images in magazines, then transforms them into relief sculptures, casting them into inverse forms. At the core of his artistic practice lies an innate attraction to beauty, a driving force that evokes a sense of visual delight in the viewer.
Lee Yong Deok’s work is inseparable from his fundamental belief that art should offer visual allure—a conviction reinforced by his exceptional artistic skill. While technical proficiency is essential for all artists, it is particularly critical for creating Inverted Sculpture, which demands a high level of sculptural expertise. The process begins with converting a photograph—either taken by the artist himself or sourced from magazines—into a relief. This step requires an extraordinary sense of spatial and sculptural intuition, one that cannot be reduced to mere mathematical calculations. The challenge lies in reconstructing a three-dimensional form from a flat photographic image, where parts of the subject are often obscured or compressed. Moreover, Lee must anticipate the depth of the negative form that will emerge through the casting process, adjusting the height of the initial relief accordingly. Such sculptural sensibility has allowed him to create deeply dimensional figures using a structure of twelve layered, bead-like components in oscillating bride 094181 (2009) and to construct a dynamic human form solely by stacking 500 uncut plywood sheets in encounter-submission (2014). Given these achievements, it is hardly an exaggeration when Lee claims he can accurately estimate a person’s height just by seeing their profile or spatially grasp the arrangement of objects in a room at a single glance.
The Aesthetic Characteristics of Inverted Sculpture
In this essay, I aim to explain the visual effects of Inverted Sculpture from a cognitive science perspective. Before doing so, however, I will first highlight some of its key aesthetic characteristics.
One of the most intriguing aspects of Inverted Sculpture is the contrast between its physical weight as a sculptural object and the light, almost floating visual effect it produces. Rather than evoking a sense of mass and solidity, Inverted Sculpture appears to hover and shift as if alive. Traditional painting has long sought to "fully exploit the sculptural means of light and shadow to create the illusion of three-dimensionality on a flat surface,"[2] whereas sculpture presents real three-dimensional objects illuminated by actual light and shadow. However, the images that emerge when viewing Inverted Sculpture do not conform to either of these traditional visual experiences. They are neither the sculptural illusions created in painting through shading and perspective nor the tangible, volumetric presence that conventional sculpture provides. Instead, the way Inverted Sculpture manifests—an image that appears before us and seems to move in response to our bodily motion—goes beyond the conventional "play of light and shadow"[3] that has long been central to art. As I will explore later in this essay, this effect is not merely a product of the artwork itself but arises from the intricate interaction between our eyes and brain.
Secondly, the visual effects of Inverted Sculpture cannot be replicated through photography. Its illusionary effect emerges only when a viewer with binocular vision positions themselves at an appropriate distance, shifts their gaze, and moves their body from side to side. A camera, with its fixed single-lens perspective and lack of movement, cannot capture this phenomenon. In today’s art world, where nearly all works can be reproduced and distributed through photography, Inverted Sculpture resists this process. While a photograph can convey information about the sculpture, it fails to reproduce its visual effect. Inverted Sculpture reveals its mysterious yet delightful presence only when a physically present viewer moves and engages with it directly.
Thirdly, this effect arises because the visual perception of the work dynamically shifts depending on the viewer’s movement. The appearance of Inverted Sculpture changes based on the observer’s distance and position. At times, it appears distinctly convex, while at other moments, it fluctuates ambiguously between convex and concave—or even disappears entirely from view. Kate Lim describes this phenomenon: "When an appropriate distance is maintained from a concave form, the shape resurrects into an outline with volume. The physical space between the artwork and the viewer holds an unusual quality—it provokes an almost rebellious urge to break that distance and step closer, to physically sense what is before them. The viewer, driven by curiosity, inevitably disrupts this ‘sense of distance.’ What unfolds before our eyes is an aesthetic feast with almost no rules or order. Ultimately, this distance is not just a simple measurement of space but an aesthetic distance. And once this distance is broken, the subject we believed we had just seen vanishes entirely, leaving behind only an unsettling absence within the concave shell."[4]
Fourthly, it is significant that the starting point of Inverted Sculpture was the silhouette. For Lee Yong Deok, the silhouette images projected onto a flat surface in his BOTH SIDES OF EXISTENCE exhibition (2000) served as a stepping stone toward the systematic development of Inverted Sculpture, which began to take shape in early 2003. In confrontation-encounter (2000), Lee experimented with the transformation of silhouettes—a male silhouette on one side shifting into a female one on the other, and vice versa. In aphasie-reflex (2000), light was projected onto silhouette sculptures, casting their shadows onto the wall. Meanwhile, in absence (2000), the projected shadows and silhouettes of the viewers themselves became imprinted as images on the wall.
Interestingly, the technique of generating human images in this manner also appears in ancient stories about the origins of art. In Naturalis Historia (Natural History), Book 35, the Roman historian Pliny the Elder recounts an anecdote about the origins of art. According to the story, a Greek potter named Butades of Corinth had a daughter named Debutade. She fell in love with a young man from her town, but one day, he was conscripted as a soldier and had to leave for war. On the night before his departure, Debutade brought him to her home and traced the outline of his shadow as it was cast onto the wall. According to legend, this was the first painting. The silhouette she sketched preserved the essential contours of her lover’s body, remaining on the wall regardless of any changes that might later befall him. Indeed, silhouettes served as a substitute for portraiture in Europe until the early 19th century, when photography emerged.[5] By omitting fine details and capturing only the essential features, a silhouette still allowed for the recognition of an individual’s likeness.
This was possible because the silhouette is a shared element between both the physical object and its shadow, as well as between its positive and negative states. It is the point where these two opposing forms of existence converge. From its inception, Lee Yong Deok’s Inverted Sculpture has embodied this duality—transcending the opposition between positive and negative space and instead containing their coexistence. His work confrontation-encounter (2000), which presents the silhouette in both void and mass, is based on the premise that the silhouette persists regardless of whether it appears in relief (positive form) or recess (negative form). Whether created by carving away the surrounding space to form a raised relief or by hollowing out the material to create a concave recess, the silhouette does not disappear. It remains at the core of the work, maintaining its presence as both essence and substance.[6]
The Visual Illusion of Inverted Sculpture
Anyone who has experienced Inverted Sculpture firsthand cannot help but feel a sense of delightful surprise at the unique visual effect it creates—something that conventional positive relief sculptures simply cannot provide. The subjects depicted are not particularly extraordinary, nor do they create grand spectacles. Instead, they portray everyday moments: a woman carrying a child wrapped in cloth (mother 091185, 2024), an elderly man washing his face in a basin on the floor (wash up 042483, 2012), a person covering their mouth in a shy giggle (giggle 110681, 2011), or people laughing wholeheartedly (laugh 055582, 2005). Some figures are sitting (sitting 140786, 2014), others are standing (standing 070184, 2007), lost in thought, or gazing into the distance—like the girls in looking 040783 (2004) and watching 240581 (2024). Before these sculptures, viewers instinctively move around, playfully engaging with the artwork. The figures’ faces appear convex at one moment, then suddenly shift to concave. As the viewer moves, the sculpture’s gaze seems to follow them. Some kind of visual illusion is clearly at work—yet, astonishingly, no matter how much one tries to consciously recognize it as an illusion, it does not disappear. Unlike the classic duck-rabbit illusion (where a single image alternates between resembling a duck and a rabbit depending on perception), this effect does not shift based on deliberate interpretation. Instead, the phenomenon operates beyond conscious control—at a cognitive-perceptual level independent of intentional thought. What, then, is actually happening here?
Before we explore further, there is a fundamental fact to acknowledge: our mind operates through countless agents, many of which function beyond our conscious awareness or control. Just as a driver can operate a car without fully understanding the intricate workings of its engine and transmission, our mind similarly manages our body in ways that bypass deliberate thought. For instance, if we decide to walk to a subway station, we consciously register only the general intent. The actual execution—moving our legs at the right moment, avoiding obstacles, and adjusting direction—happens automatically. In reality, even a simple act like turning while walking is an immensely complex process. If one step is too long or too short, we risk losing balance and falling outward. To execute a turn smoothly, our body instinctively leans inward first, shifts weight, and then uses centrifugal force to regain stability in the following step. This seemingly effortless adjustment is actually the result of an astonishingly intricate series of micro-coordinations involving muscles, bones, and joints—all interacting through hundreds of real-time adjustments. As Marvin Minsky explains in The Society of Mind: "All you think is ‘turn at that corner,’ and [somehow] your wish is automatically fulfilled."[7] This highlights how much of our behavior is governed by unconscious cognitive and physiological processes. Our body and mind rely on complex networks of electrical and biochemical signals, yet we are largely unaware of how these signals move through our brain and body to facilitate even the simplest actions. Building on this idea, Minsky suggests that the human mind should be understood as a society of interacting agents—each contributing to cognition and perception beyond our direct control.
How the Human Brain Operates
In The Society of Mind, Marvin Minsky explains how perception, thought, memory, learning, emotion, reasoning, and language all emerge from the intricate interactions of various agents within the mind. Among the book’s vast exploration of human cognition, certain concepts are particularly useful in understanding the visual effects of Inverted Sculpture: Frame, Default Assumption, and Frame-Array.
A Frame is a structural framework that the brain uses to interpret objects or situations we encounter. For example, when we enter a lecture hall, our brain automatically activates a lecture hall frame—a mental structure that includes expectations about the objects and people likely to be present, typical activities that occur there, and even details such as the room’s size and layout. Frames are formed from past experiences, and our brain stores millions of them. A Frame functions as a kind of skeletal template, containing numerous gaps that need to be filled in. Minsky refers to these gaps as terminals. A “lecture hall” frame, for instance, consists of terminals that encompass various possible room shapes and sizes, objects commonly found in lecture halls, and the types of interactions that take place within them. The more experience we accumulate with different lecture halls, the richer and more detailed our “lecture hall” frame becomes.
The frames embedded in our brain are activated by specific perceptions, allowing us to predict and understand many aspects of an object or situation without needing to experience them firsthand. For example, if we are invited to a birthday party, our birthday party frame is triggered, automatically filling in expected elements such as presents, a cake, and congratulatory messages. As one might expect, these frames are typically composed of stereotypical or generalized information. When we hear someone mention a dog, our brain instantly activates the dog frame, which includes assumptions that the animal has four legs, a tail, and may bark or even bite. This process is known as the default assumption—before we consciously analyze every detail, our brain automatically makes general predictions based on pre-existing frames and the terminals they contain.
Default assumptions play a crucial role in preparing us for action before we even begin to act. For instance, our brain assumes in advance that the ground we walk on will be solid, and based on this expectation, it controls our body’s motor functions accordingly. If we had to consciously assess whether the ground beneath each step was firm or unstable, walking itself would become impossible. Similarly, when we see the façade of a building, our brain instinctively assumes it to be a three-dimensional rectangular structure. Even if we cannot see the legs of the person sitting across from us at a table, our brain presumes they must be seated on a chair. This predictive mechanism extends to reading as well. While reading a sentence, we unconsciously activate a vast network of default assumptions. For example, upon reading "John threw the ball," our brain automatically fills in missing details—it assumes characteristics of the ball, such as its color, size, and weight, even if they are not explicitly mentioned. This is because storytelling relies on triggering the extensive network of pre-existing assumptions in the reader’s mind. As one scholar puts it, "A storyteller crafts sentences that activate the vast network of assumptions already embedded in the reader’s mind."[8]
Seen this way, perception is not solely based on the immediate sensory stimuli we receive from an object. As Minsky explains, "What we see does not depend only on what reaches our eyes from the external world. The way we interpret such stimuli heavily depends on what has already occurred within our cognitive system."[9] For example, when I see only the front of a person standing before me, I still perceive them as a fully present, three-dimensional being. This is because my brain does not assume they exist merely as a flat, one-sided image but rather as a complete entity—an effect of default assumption. Similarly, "When we look at a telephone, we perceive its color, texture, size, and shape, as well as how it might feel if we were to hold it to our ear as a tool. Furthermore, even without touching it, we can infer how heavy it might be, whether it is smooth or rough, and what its hidden side likely looks like. These perceptions arise from memory. This is why we feel that what we see is truly ‘present’ before us."[10] The reason we perceive an object as present in our reality is that (1) the partial sensory input received by our sense organs activates pre-existing frames stored in our brain, and (2) the default assumptions embedded in these frames automatically fill in the missing details with generalized expectations. In other words, what we recognize as an object is constructed far more from memory than from direct sensory input. We perceive and understand what is in front of us based on prior experiences and stored knowledge rather than purely on raw sensory data.
This nature of perception and cognition often leads us into illusions. For instance, after driving at high speeds on a highway, slowing down may create the sensation that we are moving much slower than we actually are. Distant objects, such as an airplane in the sky, appear much smaller than they truly are. We might mistakenly identify someone waving or smiling at us as a familiar acquaintance. These are all illusions created by our brain. Similarly, when someone startles us with a toy snake, our reaction occurs not because we consciously analyze what we see, but because our brain’s frames and default assumptions are involuntarily triggered. Moreover, this cognitive mechanism makes it difficult for us to perceive new things, as perception and recognition rely heavily on frames shaped by past experiences. Why has human perception and cognition evolved to function in such a conservative manner? The answer lies in survival. A cognitive system based on past memories allows us to respond to situations quickly and efficiently. If we had to interpret every sensory input from scratch and verify every detail in real time, survival would be nearly impossible. Thanks to frames and default assumptions, we can make rapid judgments based on minimal sensory data. For humans—biological beings that must quickly simplify environmental complexity in order to respond effectively—this mechanism provides a crucial survival advantage. Our brain has evolved to interpret sensory information in the most conservative way possible, minimizing uncertainty and protecting us from potential threats.
The Moment When Convex Becomes Concave
The peculiar characteristics of the human brain become strikingly evident when observing Inverted Sculpture. When viewed from a certain distance, the faces of figures in these sculptures appear convex. But why does this happen? The human brain has evolved to perceive nearly all objects in its environment as convex rather than concave. Among these, human faces have been particularly significant in evolutionary terms, prompting the brain to develop highly specialized mechanisms for facial recognition. The temporal lobe and frontal lobe are especially well-adapted for detecting facial patterns, allowing us to recognize faces even in inanimate objects such as clouds, rocks, tree bark, and food. Crucially, when interpreting a face, our brain operates on a default assumption—it presumes faces to be convex. This is an evolutionarily ingrained default assumption. A well-known example demonstrating the strength of this cognitive bias is the Hollow Mask Illusion.[11] In this illusion, no matter how hard we try, we perceive the concave interior of a mask as a convex face. Thus, it is not surprising that viewers instinctively misinterpret the faces in Inverted Sculpture as convex. This illusion is not a flaw in perception but rather an unavoidable consequence of inheriting a brain shaped by millions of years of evolution.
However, as we move closer to the sculpture, something astonishing happens. The seemingly convex face of the figure suddenly flips into a concave recess. The brain’s default assumption—that the face is convex—is overridden as the eyes begin to register actual depth information. This is the moment when the brain, which had been "seeing" based on prior assumptions, finally starts to align with raw visual input. This sudden perceptual shift, often accompanied by a slight dizziness or disorientation, creates a peculiar sensation—"as if the object that had just occupied space has suddenly slipped away."[12]
Face that Follows
The second illusion is just as astonishing. As viewers move side to side while observing the sculpture, the face of the figure appears to follow their gaze. How does this phenomenon occur? To explain it, we need to introduce the concept of the Frame-Array. Imagine entering a space and initially believing it to be a factory, only to later realize that it is actually a sculptor’s studio. In this case, your brain has switched from a factory frame to a sculptor’s studio frame. But how does this kind of frame transition happen? The key lies in the initial misperception—why did you mistake the studio for a factory in the first place? The answer is that the factory frame and the sculptor’s studio frame share many of the same terminals. For example, both frames might contain elements such as high ceilings, cranes, shelving, machinery, and dusty floors. Since these shared elements overlapped in your perception, your brain initially activated the wrong frame before later correcting itself.
The connection between frames through shared terminals also occurs when we observe an object while moving around it. For example, as we look at a cube from different angles and perspectives, its shape and size appear to change. However, instead of perceiving these varying sensory inputs as entirely separate objects, we recognize them as the various faces of a single cube. How is this possible? The answer lies in what Marvin Minsky refers to as the Frame-Array. According to Minsky, as we move and observe an object from different positions—left, center, right—our brain activates a different frame for each viewpoint. However, despite these changing perspectives, we still recognize the object as a single entity. This is because the different frames activated in our brain share the same terminals, allowing them to interconnect and form a unified Frame-Array. As Minsky describes it, a Frame-Array is "a group of frames that share the same terminals."[13] Although we can never see all sides of a cube simultaneously, we can still describe its details because, as we move around it, the different frames activated in our brain remain stored and interconnected. Through the Frame-Array, our mind groups these fragmented viewpoints into a cohesive mental representation of the object.
The fact that objects appear as stationary entities, even though their appearance changes depending on our movement, is a testament to the incredible capabilities of the human mind. To achieve this, our brain must operate through multiple layers of observers or agents. These include the visual system (first-level observer), which receives sensory stimuli that change as we move; the second-level observer (mid-level agent), which monitors the functioning of the visual system; and finally, the third-level observer (higher-level agent), which observes the functioning of the second-level observer. "Our higher-level agents do not directly ‘see’ the output from the sensors in our eyes. Instead, they observe the state of mid-level agents, which do not change as frequently."[14] The third-level observer, or higher-level agent, organizes the different frames used by the mid-level agent into a sequential array, allowing the brain to determine that they all belong to the same object. When arranging these frames into an array, this higher-level agent recalculates and adjusts the incoming sensory data, taking into account the movement of our eyes, neck, body, and legs. The reason we perceive objects as continuous, even while moving, is that this process occurs instantaneously in the brain. "The sense that we are always in contact with the world is not an actual experience but a form of immanence illusion. In reality, our sensory perception arises because our visual system responds so rapidly to every question it poses that the answers seem as if they were already there. It is the Frame-Array that provides us with this perception."[15]
What is crucial about the Frame-Array is that it "stores what we have learned about the world in the terminals that remain unchanged as we turn our heads and move our bodies."[16] In other words, the Frame-Array records not only that a cube appears different when viewed from the left or right but also that this variability itself is a fundamental property stored within the cube’s frame. Our brain does not simply recognize objects based on their immediate appearance; it also understands that objects look different depending on position and viewpoint—and, more importantly, it already knows how they will appear from various perspectives. This means that each frame in our brain contains information about how objects should look under different conditions, orientations, and perspectives. This is why we develop expectations about familiar objects.[17] If our brain did not store the expectation that rain darkens pavement, wind moves tree branches, or a glass shatters when dropped, we would be startled every time these events occurred. Similarly, the frame for a round plate includes the knowledge that it will appear elliptical when viewed from the side. Because this expectation is consistently met in real-world experiences, the plate "continues to ‘look’round to us." If, however, an expected transformation does not occur as anticipated, the object’s “shape will seem to change of its own accord."[18]
This passage is key to understanding why Inverted Sculpture appears to "change of its own accord" as our gaze shifts. Lee Yong Deok’s laugh 055582 (2005) depicts the faces of three people laughing exuberantly. As previously explained, these faces initially appear convex due to the brain’s default assumption about human facial structure. Additionally, the human face frame stored in our brain includes the knowledge that a face will appear different when viewed from the side. Based on this expectation, the brain anticipates what should happen when we move: if we shift to the right, we should see more of the left side of the face; if we shift to the left, we should see more of the right side. In nearly all real-world cases, this expectation is met, allowing us to perceive faces naturally without difficulty. However, in front of an Inverted Sculpture, something entirely different occurs. Instead of confirming the brain’s assumption, the sculpture contradicts it. Since the face is not convex but concave, our movement produces a reversed set of visual cues. As we move to the right, our eyes receive information that suggests the face is shifting to the left, and vice versa. This mismatch between expectation and perception creates the illusion that the sculpture’s face is actively following our gaze, as if it were moving of its own accord.
The visual effects of Lee Yong Deok’s Inverted Sculpture arise from the workings of our brain and sensory system—processes that we neither consciously recognize nor control. Fundamentally, the optical illusion created by Inverted Sculpture stems from the tension and conflict between the frames embedded in our brain and the visual system that processes sensory information. More broadly, this phenomenon results from the clash between what the brain knows and what the eyes see, shaped by past experiences. Knowledge and vision are closely interconnected, together defining our perception of the world. Without prior knowledge, we would be unable to see the world properly, yet if knowledge dictates vision too rigidly, we become incapable of noticing new things.[19] Through its striking visual surprise, Lee Yong Deok’s Inverted Sculpture prompts us to reflect on this intricate relationship.
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About the Contributor :
Kim Nam-See studied aesthetics at Seoul National University (B.A. and M.A.) and earned a PhD in Cultural Studies from Humboldt University of Berlin. He is currently a professor of Aesthetics and Cultural Theory in the Studies in Visual Art at Ewha Womans University. His research focuses on art theory and criticism and media theory. He has also translated works by Walter Benjamin, Friedrich Kittler, Aby Warburg, Boris Groys, and M
[1] B. Critic, interview, 2006.
[2] Clement Greenberg, Art and Culture, trans. Juyoun Cho (Busan: Kyungsung University Press, 2019), 199.
[3] Kate Lim, “Narrative of the Inverted Existence.”
[4] Ibid.
[5] “Silhouettes in History,” Silhouettes by Hand, accessed August 8, 2024, https://www.silhouettesbyhand.com/history.
[6] See Lee Yong Deok, Reflections on the Silhouette.
[7] Marvin Minsky, The Society of Mind, trans. Kwang-Dje Cho (Seoul: Saeroeun Hyunjae Publishing, 2019), 89.
[8] Ibid., 471.
[9] Ibid., 395.
[10] Ibid., 286.
[11] “Hollow Mask Illusion – Optical Illusion Explained,” YouTube video, 0:56, uploaded by The Royal Institution, May 11, 2017, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pH9dAbPOR6M.
[12] Shinseong Kim, “It Looks Convex but Is a Concave Engraving... Filling Through Emptiness,” Segye Ilbo, June 24, 2024.
[13] Marvin Minsky, The Society of Mind, trans. Kwang-Dje Cho (Seoul: Saeroeun Hyunjae Publishing, 2019), 487. Translation partially modified.
[14] Ibid., 488. Translation partially modified.
[15] Ibid., 491. Translation partially modified.
[16] Ibid., 488. Translation partially modified.
[17] Ibid., 492.
[18] Ibid., 488. Translation partially modified.
[19] Kim Nam-see, To See (Seoul: Nermer School, 2013).