Under the Front-door is a memory-retrieval project centered on my grandfather. Through 3D scans of his former home and commemorative group photos from his years as a teacher, I began to examine the realities that shape my understanding of the past. The exhibition explores the ruptures and connections between family memory and generational identity. As conversations and interpretations are reactivated, the images once used as references become “instruments of measurement” between the personal and the historical.
The project began with my attempt to use 3D scanning technology to document and preserve my grandfather’s soon-to-be-demolished house. Due to poor lighting at the site, the resulting scans were fragmented, scattered, and misaligned. This unreconstructable reality stood in sharp contrast to the image I had of my grandfather—a firm, commanding presence that once filled the entire household. That presence now seems to fade, dissolving along with the broken images. What troubled me further were facts that contradicted my memories: this stern figure, who had grown up under the Japanese colonial education system and served as an elementary school principal, was often obscured by others in faculty photos, and barely mentioned in historical records of former principals. These repeated instances of erasure and absence made me question: where does the truth of my grandfather’s presence reside?
The exhibition features multi-channel video installations, photography, and sculpture. Through overlapping narratives involving 3D models, archival photos, and interviews with my father, it creates a viewing experience that hovers between the physical and the ghostly, memory and reconstruction. By opening a dialogue between private language and collective imagery, the work reflects on the transmission of educational roles across three generations—my grandfather, my father, and myself—and reconsiders my own position and interpretive role within the structure of the family.
Under the Front-door is both a search for a familial image and a personal inquiry into place and perspective. In a 1973 faculty group photo, children are seen standing at the edge of the scene, watching from a second-floor balcony—witnesses to the photograph’s taking, and to all that lies beyond the camera’s frame. I imagine myself as one of those children, standing at the margins of the image, trying to reconnect the gaze through what has been hidden, obscured, or left unseen.
