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Empty Tomb

빈 무덤

Three-channel video with synchronised lighting

The empty place — a presence that cannot be held

This work began with a prayer experience during a thirty-day retreat. The day before, I had strongly experienced Jesus’ presence. The following day, I spent an hour venerating each fold of his garments. After fifty-nine minutes, his body suddenly disappeared. The clothes remained, but the body that should have been within them was gone.

I realised that I had to release even the image of Jesus I had encountered the previous day. However intense or beautiful an experience might be, it must not become an image of Jesus that I possess. “Do not hold on to me” came not so much as a prohibition of touch as a request not to confine him within the form I believed I knew. Noli Me Tangere began with this experience; the image of clothes remaining after the body had disappeared became the starting point for Empty Tomb.

Rowan Williams reads the empty tomb alongside the empty throne. In John’s Gospel, the two angels at the head and feet of the place where the body lay recall the cherubim of the mercy seat, between whom no image was placed. In this reading, the empty place resists making Christ the possession of an image or a community. The risen one goes ahead of his disciples, interrupts the hand that holds, and disappears at the moment of recognition.

Yet I attend to the difference between a place never occupied by an image and a place where a body lay and then departed. The tomb was not empty from the beginning. A body lay there and is no longer held by death. “He is not here” therefore does not end in absence. It opens toward “he goes ahead of you.”

I do not treat the cloth left in the tomb as material proof of resurrection or as the direct cause of belief. John says that the disciple “saw and believed” without specifying exactly what he saw or believed (John 20:6–9). What interests me is the cloth’s material and narrative force within that scene. Without showing the body, it invites us to consider both that a body has passed through this place and that it is no longer held here.

The lifted cloth — where the gaze begins to move

At the centre of a dark screen, a cloth-wrapped body lies on stone. Light gradually enters; a small bell sounds, and the cloth rises. At that instant, the body that should be beneath it is revealed to be absent. For about a minute, the cloth ascends and floats, folding and unfolding. It neither preserves the body’s outline nor settles into a completed form.

I am not making a scene in which a covering is removed to expose a body. The cloth is lifted, yet it does not return the risen body to the gaze. Its movement releases the gaze from the empty stone and invites the imagination toward the direction in which the unseen body has gone ahead. The cloth does not stand for Christ’s body or humanity; its ascent does not mean that he has discarded the body.

David Bentley Hart’s account helps me resist reading this emptiness as pure absence. The empty tomb signifies not the disposal of the body, but death’s failure to possess it. Yet resurrection’s fullness must not become a victory that erases wounds. The risen body still bears the marks of the nails. The beauty I seek is neither a spectacle covering over suffering nor a contemplation that possesses empty space itself.

Cloth, stone, light, and time think through this question together. The long wait and slow ascent allow time for the gaze to change, rather than revealing a hidden object all at once. Two figures in the side panels mark the ends of the place where the body lay. Physical lamps synchronised with the video extend attention beyond the screen into the space and the bodies of those present. These lamps are timed electrical devices, not mechanisms that produce grace.

When installed in the Adoration Chapel, the video sits beneath the consecrated Eucharist exposed in the actual liturgical space. The empty tomb on screen and the Eucharist are not the same kind of visual object. The Eucharist is neither a sculpture filling the image’s vacancy nor a symbol made by the artwork. The video is placed beneath what Catholic faith confesses as the sacramental real presence of Christ’s body. Rather than possessing the Eucharist as one of its elements, the work allows its images and interpretations to be judged before that presence.

The non-possession emphasised by Williams and the life of resurrection articulated by Hart are not sealed into a single answer here. I leave their tension within the cloth’s movement. The work is not an illustration of theological theory: it is a place where cloth, stone, light, and time make the question a perceptible event. The space opened beneath the cloth is not the finality of absence, but a place where the gaze moves toward a presence it cannot possess.

References and source essay

Adapted for this page from the artist’s essay “The Lifted Veil: Rowan Williams, David Bentley Hart, and the Empty Tomb” (15 September manuscript). Selected references follow. The connection between the cloth’s movement and Christ’s going ahead is the artist’s interpretation of the work, distinguished from a direct exegetical conclusion about the biblical text.

  • Williams, Rowan. “Between the Cherubim: The Empty Tomb and the Empty Throne.” In On Christian Theology, 183–196. Oxford: Blackwell, 2000.
  • Hart, David Bentley. The Beauty of the Infinite: The Aesthetics of Christian Truth. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003.
  • Quash, Ben. “Brought into the Fold.” In Image as Theology: The Power of Art in Shaping Christian Thought, Devotion, and Imagination, edited by Mark McInroy, Casey Strine, and Alexis Torrance, 181–201. Turnhout: Brepols, 2022.
  • Hills, Paul. Veiled Presence: Body and Drapery from Giotto to Titian. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2018.
성체 아래 세 화면과 양옆 램프가 빛나는 성체조배실 설치 전경 — 조명 합성 이미지
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