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jinseok choi, Before the Last Spike 2 (2023). Fabric scraps rust-dyed with railway spikes, 87 × 128 inches. Image courtesy of the artist and Peter and Merle Mullin Gallery. Photo: jinseok choi.
jinseok choi’s exhibition Before the Last Spike at Peter and Merle Mullin Gallery interrogated the histories of labor, immigration, and visibility, bringing forgotten narratives into focus through sculptural and multimedia works. The exhibition derived its name from one of the most iconic yet incomplete photographs in U.S. history—the 1869 “Champagne Photo” commemorating the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad.1 While the image captures a jubilant moment of industrial triumph as engineers and workmen from the Central Pacific Railroad and the Union Pacific Railroad share a handshake and cups of champagne, it deliberately omits the thousands of Chinese laborers whose grueling work made the railroad possible. With a keen sensitivity to materiality and historical resonance, choi reactivates these erased histories, centering his work on the politics of invisible labor. His dramatization of absence seems to offer an alternative mode of remembrance: a reimagining of labor as something shaped by its own erasure—by the traces, omissions, and exclusions that structure our understanding of work. In doing so, he exposes the unseen forces that sustain economies and challenges dominant narratives in the United States that celebrate industrial progress while concealing the racialized labor that made it possible.
Through a practice rooted in reclamation, choi transforms salvaged materials—antique railroad spikes, discarded fabric from garment factories across Los Angeles, and remnants from his own labor as an arts fabricator—into sculptural assemblages that speak to labor’s imprint on memory, time, and space. The exhibition’s central series of work, which was displayed in the main gallery and is similarly titled Before the Last Spike (2023–2024), stitches together scrap fabrics imprinted with the oxidized marks of antique railway spikes into messy patchworks united by the layer of rust that covers them. Two of the four textile-based sculptural assemblages in the show were controlled by an Arduino (an open source software for creating simple electronic systems) system of moving metal armatures that causes the fabric to shake and flow in randomized sequences. In the gallery, this motion captured the viewer’s attention without immediately revealing the source of the movement, as if an imperceptible wind was lending the textile works life. With their subtle, almost melancholic motions marked by the impressions of the spikes, these textile works—halfway between flags and sails—seem to serve as silent witnesses to the histories they invoke, linking the history of the railroad with that of garment manufacturing, another industry invisibly upheld by immigrant labor. By evoking these industries through traces of labor made invisible, choi resists the nationalist mythologies that have long erased the role of immigrant labor in shaping infrastructure and production in the U.S.
Another series featured in the exhibition, We Return (2022–24), consists of wooden masks crafted from scraps left over from choi’s work as a professional woodworker and arts fabricator. Inspired by traditional Korean Talchum masks used in folk dance-dramas, these sculptures recall historical trickster figures who, through satirical public performances, critiqued social hierarchies, offering a subversive commentary on class, labor, and erasure. Traditionally animated through dance and storytelling, the masks here were mounted on the wall, stripped of their performative function, and instead held a ghostly presence. Some of the masks incorporate as decoration incense made from sawdust collected in choi’s studio. The incense awaits ignition, symbolically mirroring the catharsis that masked performances once provided to their audiences. Two masks in the series, Saja (June) (2024) and Bibi (April) (2024), reference South Korea’s long history of protest movements, pointing to the April Revolution of 1960 and the June Uprising of 1987 through their titles. Unlike the others, these masks feature large, irregular holes across their faces, alluding to the bodily harm inflicted by police forces during these uprisings.
Together, the works in Before the Last Spike weave a network of entangled narratives, embodying both the resilience and disposability of the laboring body within a capitalized world. We Return was installed adjacent to Town Square (2021), which extended choi’s exploration of material agency and labor histories. For this sculptural work, choi assembled small wooden fragments from his carpentry work into a composition that reclaimed the value of these discarded materials. Rather than treating these offcuts as mere waste, choi allows them to dictate the structure of the piece upon each installation, emphasizing the inherent agency of the objects through their shapes, textures, and histories. The result was a free-form assemblage that wove through the space, its formal logic dictated by the materials themselves. Integral to Town Square are incense elements crafted from hazardous sawdust, inviting an olfactory engagement with the work, the pungent woody smell lending a sense of gravity to the otherwise playful tone of the sculpture. This material choice compels viewers to consider the overlooked risks embedded in everyday labor. Sawdust, produced through sanding, cutting, and other woodwork- ing processes, poses serious health hazards when inhaled over time, yet its dangers often remain unacknowledged. By transforming this hazardous byproduct into incense —a material traditionally associated with ritual, reflection, and purification—choi subverts its usual connotations, urging viewers to confront the bodily costs of physical labor and the broader structures that render such risks invisible.
By transforming industrial debris and discarded materials into objects of resistance, choi not only restores the visibility of forgotten histories but also prompts reconsideration of the ethics of labor, material consumption, and historical amnesia. Through its material and conceptual inquiries, Before the Last Spike operates as an act of remembering, an insistence on visibility, exposing how U.S. identity is constructed through cycles of extraction and erasure. The work ultimately urges a reckoning with the histories that underpin U.S. industry and expansion at the expense of marginalized labor.