A person places an apple on the table and then enters the apple’s interior to listen to the vast silence within; is such a person’s pursuit of something so insignificant due to cowardice? Although more people may be obsessed with or possess a worldly façade, those who see from the inside are not impressed—they find that all that they see and feel is not particularly worthy of admiration or surprise. The shy and the innocent have given up their place like Alice in Wonderland when she falls into the rabbit hole and discovers that there is an unexpected open plain hidden within.
The exploration of the interior is a kind of absolute where the limits of matter may also be a part of the world’s fundamental principles. Of course, not all these fundamental principles are practical, especially within the vast personal domain. The alchemists of the Middle Ages peered into the base of their slender-necked flasks as they assiduously strove to crystallize a large fern leaf, ignoring such worldly questions as ‘What is the use of this?’ Their behavior is in and of itself a search for pure joy. Imagine relying on experiments to achieve this lonely pursuit of a dream. Discovering the hidden and unknown secrets of the past was an ostensible driving force, but the more obvious motivation lies in their astonishing devotion to the fundamental principles of matter.
George Chang’s paintings do not correspond to the visible world. The size of his paintings are so small they might seem to lack ambition, but his unusual composition truly has a uniquely singular perspective that belongs to the endless fantasy that surges out of matter’s interior world. It is like the integration of science and magic: art can also merge with magic, or perhaps all three elements strive for the same purpose to discover “the world that does not exist in this world.”
Fundamental principles are characteristically microcosmic; thus, Chang lets his imagination run wild as he endeavors to establish precise physical models, chemical molecular structures, and even architectural forms. Although what he expresses may be extremely hard to believe, he does it with complete earnestness. Scientific consensus in understanding the mysterious principles of matter, however, is elusive: for example, there are numerous models depicting the phenomenon of atomic nuclei like the droplet model, optical model, unified model, or the single-particle shell model, but none of them are fully applicable to all phenomena and processes. In fact, these models have had very little revolutionary impact on humanity’s process of understanding atomic nuclei. As such, Chang’s use of the art form to adapt evidence and blur the lines is justifiable. He furthermore creates a kind of conjectural formula where the distortions of this mischievous practical joke may perhaps lead to the essential core.
Beauty is a part of the core of all things. Science also contains beauty. Even the ordinary person knows this but does not ask why, just as D.H. Lawrence wrote in his volume of poetry, “Pansies:” I like relativity and quantum theories because I don’t understand them and they make me feel as if space shifted about like a swan that can’t settle, refusing to sit still and be measured; and as if the atom were an impulsive thing always changing its mind.
There is an incredible law and order within all things, which is beautiful to behold and can only be explained as being part of the will of God. While both science and art attempt to sum up this profound mystery, science differs from art in that its ultimate purpose is practical functionality. Technology developed for medicine or war has a minimum ethical requirement, otherwise it would harm life and tend towards “evil.” To those who explore the fundamental principles of nature, the unavoidable impulse of mankind is similar to the artist’s actualization of bypassing the concept “why do you do this?” Likewise, when Salvador Dalí discovered the so-called “morphology of the ear-shaped vortex” in the structure of everything from a head of cabbage, a snail, to the atomic nucleus and the universe, he was subsequently delighted to find this ear-shaped spiral in all things.
Gaston Bachelard said, “the so-called universe is my resting place, my idleness, but it is definitely not my way of thinking;” only a child can think like this. Chang uses physical models to create his own playground, which does not preclude his own curiosity or his appreciation of one’s private secrets. When these images of physical models manifest themselves on the page one by one, the external, public world fades away and leaves behind one person’s happiness and sorrows. The more skillfully he shrinks the world, the more accurately he is able to contain the world. Although physicality cannot be restored, Chang creates a mysterious crystalline place filled with an innocent poetic.
Poetry is the metaphysics of transience. The prospects of the universe, the secrets of the soul, the joy of existence—all of this is contained within poetry. If poetry only obeyed life’s logic, then it would be less than life; that it is superior to life is only because it can simultaneously enjoy varied experiences that come in myriad forms. In this respect, Chang has created his own metaphor; his imagination hovers between material and form as he tenaciously grafts together unusual objects. Chang has furthermore tirelessly maintained an intense intellectual space between peaceful unity and hostile heterogeneity wherein he launches into a length of his imaginary journey like Antoine de Saint Exupery’s Little Prince, who sees that things are actually smaller than the universe and closer to clarity, lightness and insightfulness.