“For to know its true nature, we must view it not marred by the body and other miseries... But though we have stated the truth of its present appearance, its condition... resembles that of the sea-god Glaucus, whose first nature can hardly be made out, because the original members of his body are broken off and mutilated and crushed and in every way marred by the waves, and other parts have attached themselves to him—accretions of shells, seaweed, and rocks. … Consider what it might be if it followed the gleam unreservedly, rose by this impulse out of the depths of the sea, and were cleansed and scraped free of the rocks and barnacles.”

— Plato, Republic

In his Republic, Plato likens the image of the deformed soul, altered by numerous miseries, to the sea god Glaucus. Glaucus’s body shattered and worn by storms, becomes encrusted with shells, seaweed, and rocks, transforming so much that his original form is barely recognizable, resembling a wild beast. The beast, “crushed and damaged by the waves in all sorts of ways, and accretions of shells, seaweed, and rocks have grown over him... so that his original form is hardly recognizable.”¹ Glaucus illustrates how the soul is intertwined with external influences and how its essence is distorted by layers that protect and, at the same time, constrain it. Yet, Plato’s philosophy also presents the possibility of change: “Consider what it might be if it followed the gleam unreservedly, rose by this impulse out of the depths of this sea in which it is now sunk, and were cleansed and scraped free of the rocks and barnacles which... cling to it in wild profusion.”²

In this metaphor, the shells, or barnacles, show the relationship between attachment, settlement, and survival. Barnacles anchor themselves to stable surfaces such as rocks or even ships, protecting themselves from external threats while forming a hard, calcareous shell in the shape of a cone. This dual characteristic reveals a paradox. While attached to a stable environment, they sweep their cirri through surrounding currents to filter plankton for sustenance, yet their attachment also binds them to the surface they inhabit, making them subject to environmental forces beyond their control. They are neither entirely passive nor wholly sovereign. Their survival is tenuous at best and possible only within the constraints created by their unavoidable dependence on their surroundings.

Yehwan Song focuses on the ecological characteristics of barnacles in her solo exhibition The Internet Barnacles 인터넷 따개비들 (January 8–February 15, 2025) at G Gallery. Building on her previous works addressing the discomfort and anxiety of digital users hidden beneath the veil of digital colonialism, technological utopianism, and expansionist ideologies, she presents a series of works exploring the relationship between users and platforms. The standardized platforms emerge as architectural forces molding our digital habitats into uniform spaces, like barnacle colonies tessellating into perfect hexagons. Each individual locked in geometric submission. Like waves violently eroding the bedrock where the users habitat, digital standardization etches away at distinct cultural and linguistic identities. Through this, she captures the hidden anxiety of its users whose cultural and linguistic identities are marginalized in these ecosystems.

The exhibition unfolds as a narrative movement, starting from the surface where users and interfaces first meet, and descending into the depths of the digital abyss. The Barnacles 따개비들 (2025) is an installation consisting of countless cardboard pieces assembled together, onto which video projections are cast. This modular installation operates as an interface through which the human body and soul connect to the digital world, while collectively forming a colony that mirrors the interconnected nature of digital ecosystems. Just as barnacles begin as free-swimming nauplius, undergoing multiple transformations before finally settling, our bodies and consciousness gradually adapt to and transform within the digital system. While smooth interactions are presented on the surface, obscured beneath them, predictive algorithms, surveillance mechanisms, and systems of data extraction operate continuously. These hidden currents subtly yet pervasively reshape our existence in ways we remain largely unaware of. This sculptural form, evoking both digital pixel arrangements and barnacle clusters, poses questions: Are we active agents in defining our digital presence, or do we, like barnacles, rely on the mercy of external currents to survive?

Our way of living, clustered together and constantly exchanging information and data, resembles barnacles inhabiting the surfaces of rocks or ship hulls in dense colonies. However, such adaptation and tightly packed coexistence can also constrain us. As we adjust to the demands of digital infrastructure, we continuously monitor and filter the flow of algorithms. Like a barnacle’s pulsing operculum plates, we open and close interfaces to check for updates, sift through the endless stream of plankton that is content, and engage in a perpetual exchange of notifications and messages with others. We drift through endless scrolling, indulging in fleeting moments. Anxiously checking view counts, waiting for notifications of likes and comments, and surrendering ourselves to the currents of the digital tide. Newly uploaded content pours in like plankton, yet as we struggle to keep up with the flow, we grow increasingly restless and frenzied. These repetitive digital behaviors further anchor us to the surface of platforms. Like barnacles secreting calcium carbonate to adhere to a surface, digital users leave traces of relentless interactions, adhering themselves firmly within the system. This process chains us to value-extracting systems, exposing the digital user's paradox: platforms promising connection and survival demand absolute submission, shattering agency into algorithmic fragments.

As visitors descend deeper into the exhibition space, they experience increasingly dense layers of digital ecology, like plunging into oceanic depths. Through two pieces, Yehwan Song dissects the user’s emotional and psychological dimensions. The Whirlpool (2025) creates a hypnotic vortex with its sculpture, mirroring how the algorithmic system inevitably pulls users into the tide/current/flux of interaction with content. The Surfers’ Suspicion 의심하는 서퍼들 (2025), a single-screen installation, fragments and proliferates the digital interface, creating a dizzying space of endless reflections and connections. These works not only present anxiety and fear as conceptual ideas but also embody them as physical, existential experiences. The relentless fear of constant surveillance, the anxiety of disconnection, and the stifling rigidity of overly standardized systems form a complex web of constraints. As Melody Jue suggests, the seemingly smooth interface hides complex control mechanisms beneath, transforming user experiences into a space of navigation and negotiation. Through this immersive environment, Yehwan Song draws a parallel between digital constraint and the existential challenge of deep-sea exploration. Both spaces rely on external systems for survival, where the scarcity of subjectivity reflects the scarcity of oxygen, and the pressure from surrounding forces shapes every movement and choice.

Through the exhibition, Yehwan Song re-contextualizes Plato’s fable of Glaucus for the digital age. Like the sea god covered in barnacles and debris, our digital existence is layered with algorithmic attachments and platform dependency. We continuously adapt to the digital tides, filtering and consuming to survive. Yet, the traces of data we leave behind gradually anchor us even more firmly to the platform, and we are slowly consumed by the system’s value-extraction process. Song’s work raises the question: Are users like the barnacles passively attached to the systems shaping their lives, or can they, like barnacles in dynamic ecosystems, adapt and assert their subjectivity? And what of the platforms? Are they immutable, massive structures, or can they be scraped off, reimagined, and reclaimed? Here, Plato’s metaphor not only invites critique but also asks us to imagine possibilities. If we were to “shed the rocks and barnacles” and “ascend boldly toward the light,” what could be possible?³ Yehwan Song’s installation reminds us that, even while swimming through the tumultuous currents of digital infrastructure, the essential, irreducible human nature persists beneath our networked existence. The remaining question is not how to escape completely from digital conditions, but how we maintain our soul while acknowledging our inescapable entanglement with the systems that sustain and constrict us.

Text by Eunha Chang