Fakewhale in conversation with Jin Lee
Liminal Ring (2024) by Jin Lee caught our attention for its subtle yet powerful reflection on how humans try to control natural forces, and where that ambition falls short. With its use of 384 laminar-flow fans set against the unpredictable nature of turbulence, the work becomes a meditation on the limits of certainty, the illusions of mastery, and the fragile balance between order and chaos. Through this installation, Jin Lee invites us to reconsider the relationship between human intervention and the irreducible complexity of nature, prompting a deeper look at the systems we build and the forces we can never fully tame.
Fakewhale: Liminal Ring plays with the tension between natural chaos and artificial control. What first sparked your interest in exploring this balance?
Jin Lee: I’ve long been fascinated by humanity’s desire to impose order on a world that is, by its nature, beyond complete control. In both natural and technological systems, I am drawn to that fragile boundary where order dissolves into chaos — where our understanding and control begin to lose their stability.
Liminal Ring emerged from this recognition. My practice often involves electronic circuits and code-based systems designed for precision and predictability — symbols of human control. Yet, when these artificial systems encounter natural elements such as turbulent flow, their inherent limitations become visible. Through this confrontation, the work reveals the tension between human intent and the indeterminate vitality of nature — a reminder that even our most refined systems remain temporary gestures within a larger, uncontrollable order.
You used 384 fans to generate laminar flows, la precise, engineered system inserted into a turbulent environment. How did this setup come together technically and conceptually?
The technical structure of Liminal Ring was conceived as both a physical and symbolic system. The 384 fans are arranged to generate laminar flows — streams of air designed to be smooth, uniform, and mathematically predictable. Each fan is individually controlled, creating a highly engineered network that attempts to construct a perfect, stable circulation of air.
Conceptually, this precision serves as a metaphor for humanity’s systematic approach to nature — an attempt to design order through technology. However, when these controlled laminar flows interact with the surrounding turbulent air, they inevitably collapse and merge into chaos. That moment of breakdown is where the work truly exists: between precision and dissolution, control and surrender.
Technically, intervening in the natural turbulence with artificially generated laminar flow was far from simple. I used industrial-grade CFD (Computational Fluid Dynamics) simulation software to study the behavior of air, even though I initially had no professional background in fluid dynamics. It took a long period of research and experimentation just to understand and operate the software. After countless simulations, I was able to refine not only the control parameters of each fan but also the physical structure of the installation — designed according to the Coandă effect to sustain laminar flow as stably as possible.
The work raises questions about humanity’s desire to control what can’t be fully understood. Do you see this piece as a kind of critique?\
I wouldn’t describe Liminal Ring as a direct critique, but rather as a space for reflection. It doesn’t aim to condemn humanity’s desire for control — that desire is deeply human and has driven much of our progress. What interests me is the point at which this desire meets its own limitations.
The work invites viewers to sense that tension — between human precision and nature’s indifference, between the will to control and the inevitability of uncertainty. In that space, critique becomes contemplation. It’s less about judging our behavior and more about observing the fragile balance between what we can design and what remains beyond our grasp.
For me, Liminal Ring asks whether we can shift from trying to dominate nature toward coexisting with its complexity — to recognize that uncertainty is not an obstacle, but a condition of life itself.
Even with all that control, the airflow never becomes truly “natural”. Was it important to show that artificial systems remain incomplete?
I am not seeking to imitate nature, but to confront it — to let an artificial, laminar order intrude into the field of turbulence. This gesture reveals a fragile coexistence where human intention and natural indeterminacy temporarily overlap.
The ring-shaped flow embodies an incomplete circulation. It gestures toward continuity yet inevitably dissolves into chaos. In this sense, the work becomes a reflection on our condition: humanity’s pursuit of perfect systems, only to encounter the impossibility of closure.
Within that gap — between control and dissolution — something essential emerges. It is the recognition that our technological structures, like ourselves, are transient forms within a larger, unfathomable flow. The artificial is not opposed to nature; it is simply another manifestation of its endless becoming.
Did your interest in turbulence come more from a scientific place or a philosophical one?
My interest in turbulence started from a simple question: why is it that we can’t completely understand or control even the smallest flow of air? That question slowly became a doorway into something much deeper.
In physics, turbulence is one of the most complex and least predictable phenomena — but for me, it also became a metaphor for natural systems that escape human control. It reflects the living complexity of the world, the kind that never fully fits into our engineered frameworks.
So while my exploration began with scientific tools — simulations, data, experiments — it soon turned into a philosophical pursuit. Every attempt to model or control turbulence eventually led me to a deeper question: how should we relate to phenomena or beings that we cannot fully control or completely comprehend?
In that sense, studying turbulence feels less like trying to solve a problem, and more like learning how to live with uncertainty. It became a way to confront the boundaries of human knowledge and reflect on our place within the complex, unfolding systems of the world.
The word liminal suggests being in-between, while ring evokes a kind of closed system. How did the title take shape, and how does it relate to the form of the piece?
The title Liminal Ring emerged from the intersection of concept and form. “Liminal” evokes the space between states — neither fully one thing nor another, a threshold where transformation occurs. In the work, this reflects the meeting point of human control and natural turbulence, where certainty and uncertainty coexist.
“Ring,” on the other hand, refers to the circular form of the airflow the installation generates. It suggests continuity, circulation, and the illusion of completeness. Yet, as in the piece itself, the circulation is never fully closed or perfect; it remains incomplete, fragile, and ephemeral.
Liminal Ring captures the paradox of the work: a system that gestures toward wholeness but exists precisely in the tension between closure and openness, control and surrender. This tension reflects a process that has unfolded naturally since humans first developed intellect — the primordial desire to control nature in pursuit of completeness. The title mirrors the experience of witnessing the airflow — a delicate balance between order and chaos, presence and absence, shaped by a desire as ancient as human consciousness itself.
Since the Industrial Revolution, we’ve been trained to think of nature as something to be mastered. In what ways does Liminal Ring push back on that mindset?
Liminal Ring does not seek to oppose technology or human ingenuity itself, but rather to expose the limits of our mastery over nature. Since the Industrial Revolution, we have been conditioned to treat natural systems as problems to be solved, as forces to be subdued. The work confronts that mindset by making visible the fragility and incompleteness of artificial interventions.
The installation inserts precise, human-designed laminar flows into turbulent, unpredictable air. Even with careful control, the resulting circulation is never fully complete or natural. This incompleteness reminds viewers that nature cannot be fully dominated, and that human attempts at control are always provisional and partial.
In this sense, Liminal Ring does not offer a simple opposition, but rather presents a visual trigger for reflection. It encourages viewers to consider the limits of control, to sense uncertainty as intrinsic, and to recognize that our technologies exist within, not above, the complex systems they seek to shape.
The technology in the work feels precise but also out of sync with the organic. How do you see your relationship with technology in general—partner, tool, or something more ambiguous?
I see technology as a source of new possibilities rather than merely a tool. My approach is to use it as a medium — a way to generate points of contact with elements that are unpredictable, uncalculable, and impossible to fully replicate.
Through technology, I can visualize these fleeting interactions, create tension, distort perception, and explore new potentials. In that sense, technology becomes a kind of “media” in the truest sense: a conduit for experimentation and for revealing phenomena that would otherwise remain inaccessible.
You suggest that artificial systems can never really match the completeness of nature’s cycles. Can art offer alternative ways of seeing or relating to those cycles?
I believe art can offer alternative ways of seeing and relating to natural cycles. While artificial systems can never replicate the full completeness of nature, art allows us to experience fragments, tensions, and patterns that are usually imperceptible.
Rather than replacing nature’s cycles, I see art as providing a lens for reflection. Through this lens, we can engage with the complex, ever-changing rhythms of uncertainty, recognize the limits of our attempts to fully understand or control them, and contemplate the meaning of our interventions within those systems.
Are you continuing to explore these themes in future works, or are you feeling drawn in a different direction now?
Yes, these themes continue to guide my exploration, though each project approaches them from a slightly different perspective. I remain interested in the interplay between human intention, technological intervention, and the unpredictable forces of nature.
Future works seek to extend this investigation by exploring new forms of interaction, materials, and sensory experiences — always with the aim of highlighting the partial, fleeting, and often fragile nature of our interventions.
fakewhale
Founded in 2021, Fakewhale advocates the digital art market's evolution. Viewing NFT technology as a container for art, and leveraging the expansive scope of digital culture, Fakewhale strives to shape a new ecosystem in which art and technology become the starting point, rather than the final destination.
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