Youjin Yi (b. 1980, Gangneung, ROK) is a Munich-based painter whose work explores the concept of “background” (Hintergrund) as both a physical and psychological space. Her artistic path led her from initial studies at Sejong University in Seoul to Germany, where she attended the Akademie der Bildenden Künste München. During this formative period, she studied as a guest student with Leiko Ikemura at the Universität der Künste Berlin in 2008, before ultimately becoming a Meisterschülerin under the mentorship of Günther Förg in 2011.

Her process is deeply intuitive; working on the floor, she uses spontaneous, gestural brushstrokes to carve out forms from her subconscious and biography. The resulting dreamlike paintings feature ambiguous figures and landscapes that mediate between Eastern and Western philosophies. By blurring the lines between figure and ground, her work creates a meditative space that invites viewers to explore their own inner nature and layered sense of identity.

This distinct approach has garnered significant international recognition. Yi has held major solo exhibitions across Europe and Asia, with notable shows in Seoul (WOOSON GALLERY), Berlin (68projects by KORNFELD), Munich (BRITTA RETTBERG Galerie), Paris (Galerie Vazieux), and Zurich (Lemoyne Project). Her work has been presented at leading global art fairs such as The Armory Show, Art Basel Hong Kong, and UNTITLED ART Miami Beach, and she is the recipient of prestigious awards, including the 2023 Kiaf SEOUL Highlights Award and the working grant 2021 from Stiftung Kunstfonds. Affirming her growing institutional importance, her paintings have been acquired for the permanent collections of the SeMA – Seoul Museum of Art and the Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammlungen in Munich. Her work and artistic journey are further documented in the monograph YOUJIN YI FUSION, published by VfmK Verlag für moderne Kunst.

Can you tell us about your background and how you started your artistic journey?

My artistic journey truly began with the thrill of self-discovery. As a child, winning school art contests with just a few worn-out pencils gave me my first taste of affirmation. But the pivotal moment came at twelve, when a teacher introduced me to Western techniques. As I drew a still life of apples, I suddenly understood perspective, the power to translate my vision into three dimensions. It felt like a profound confirmation of my ego, igniting an obsession that this was what I was meant to do.

However, my formal studies in Seoul felt stifling. A trip to Europe confirmed an intuition that Germany, with its “sober” character, was the right place for my artistic soul. This led to a life-changing decision to leave Korea.

Such a bold move was only possible because of my parents’ unique support. They had faced poverty and never had the chance to study, so their main wish was for their children to take responsibility for their own lives. As the second daughter, I was free from the traditional pressures placed on a son, which fostered a deep independence. We built trust on the simple principle that “my happiness is their happiness.” So, when I decided to leave for Germany, they didn’t intervene.  Instead, they provided a “protective shield”.  A loving, stable, and pressure-free environment where my artistic sensitivity could flourish.  Their quiet faith in me was the greatest support I could have ever received.

My move wasn’t impulsive. I methodically learned German and toured art academies, but my choice of Munich was singular: I went there for Professor Günther Förg. The chance to learn from him was my sole aspiration. In his open studio, his persistent question “Where does it come from?” led to a lightning-like realization about the German word “Hintergrund,” or “background.” I understood he wasn’t asking about the back of the canvas, but the very source of my being: my subconscious, my biography, the unseen roots of my artistic world.

This dual meaning of “background” has become the cornerstone of my work. My process (gestural, intuitive, often carried out on the floor with the brush wielded like a knife) is a physical akin to carving into the canvas, as if to expose the invisible background of my inner life. Through this, I invite the raw energy of my own story to emerge, transforming into a living, breathing image.

What are the main themes or concepts you explore in your work?

The central concepts in my work are the ‘subconscious’ and the ‘background,’ which are inextricably linked. The ‘background’ in my work has a dual meaning. The physical canvas is a stage for the subconscious to unfold, but the true background is my inner world. I don’t paint nature by observing it; I paint from a “library of my heart,” reacting to a lifetime of accumulated sensations. My process delves beneath everyday logic to explore what resides in the profoundest depths, so the elements in my paintings are allusions, hinting at this unseen world rather than stating it explicitly.

This is why nature (especially animals) features so prominently in my work. I am drawn to their profound authenticity and innocence, qualities that often feel more genuine than those found in humans, and to the mystery of their unknowable consciousness. This mystery grants me a sense of freedom, and I often humanize them as a way of bridging that gap. I am equally fascinated by more complex symbols, whether they appear as beings, plants, or gestures, because they seem to reside deep within our collective subconscious, presenting a profound artistic challenge.

To access this inner world, my process is one of intuition and spontaneity. I don’t sketch beforehand because I don’t want the painting to be a mere technical execution of a plan. Laying the canvas on the floor forces me to use my entire body, making the spontaneous lines that emerge a direct expression of my body’s memory. This ensures the painting is not a static image, but a “trace” or an “event”. A living record of engagement. My work isn’t about painting a preconceived ‘thought,’ but about thinking and feeling through the very act of painting.

How do you develop your artistic expression that mediates between the East and the West?

My entire artistic expression is a conscious mediation between East and West, a fusion that unfolds through my personal history, my physical technique, and the philosophical space I create for the viewer.

It begins with my biography. Leaving Korea for Munich forced me to see my own identity through the lens of another culture, deepening my understanding of both myself and the world. This journey is mirrored in my art, where fragmented, dreamlike landscapes serve as metaphors for an identity shaped by both inherited heritage and acquired experience. I intentionally blur the boundary between the natural and the artificial, creating ambiguous forms that reflect this ongoing path of self-discovery.

This bridge is built through a physical process that blends Eastern and Western philosophies. By painting on the floor, I rely on memory and spontaneity, a method that resonates deeply with East Asian art’s emphasis on intuition over rigid control. It frees me from a fixed perspective and allows me to engage with the canvas gesturally, using my entire body.

When the finished work is hung upright, it becomes an invitation. I use expressions of nature to invite viewers to discover their own inner nature. The result is a language of open ambiguity, where lines are not boundaries but openings, and the distinctions between figure and ground are deliberately blurred. I call this the “beauty of the void” a meditative space where meaning emerges from what is suggested, not what is explicitly shown.

Ultimately, my work seeks to capture identity not as something fixed, but as an ever-evolving convergence of past and present. It is an open space where belonging and exclusion can coexist, inviting viewers to explore their own layered states of connection with the world.

There are recurring animal and human figures in your painting, which seem blurry and dreamlike. What do they mean to you?

That blurry, dreamlike quality is intentional. The figures in my work aren’t meant to carry specific symbols, but to evoke a sense of connection, mystery, and the fluid nature of identity itself.

They exist in a space of open ambiguity. This reflects my own journey of leaving Korea and seeing my identity through the lens of another culture. The way the figures blur the distinction between inside and outside mirrors this experience; their lines are openings, not boundaries, inviting a mutual exploration of what it means to be human. They are a visual metaphor for how identity is complex, fluid, and often lacks clear definition.

With animal figures, I’m drawn to their profound authenticity, an innocence that can feel more genuine than that of humans. Yet their consciousness remains a mystery to us. This combination of genuineness and unknowability is deeply compelling. I often find myself humanizing them, perhaps as a way to bridge that gap and explore a universal desire for connection.

This dreamlike state is also a natural result of my physical process. Painting on the floor, I rely on memory and sensation rather than direct observation. The figures emerge from an inner, subconscious space, carrying with them the layered ambiguity and emotional weight of that origin.

Ultimately, whether human or animal, these figures act as conduits. They reflect my own journey of navigating belonging and exclusion, and they are intended to create a space where viewers can connect with their own sense of identity in a world where clear boundaries often dissolve.

What challenges have you faced as an artist, and how have you overcome them?

Perhaps my greatest challenge hasn’t been a single obstacle, but a continuous one: the act of balancing contradictory forces, much like a skillful tightrope walker. This challenge came into sharp focus during what I call my “second adolescence” in Germany.

In Korea, my identity was as natural as breathing. But being placed alone in a completely different culture forced me to ask fundamental questions about who I was. It was a challenging, liberating process of moving beyond the identity reflected back at me by society and discovering what was truly inherent to me, a kind of “reset process.”

Many might see the pull between two cultures as a conflict, but I learned to embrace it as a vibrant, dynamic balancing act. I overcame the challenge by reframing it. Life in Germany didn’t cause me to abandon my Korean roots; on the contrary, the distance allowed me to understand them more clearly than ever. It became a catalyst that constantly reaffirmed my core identity while simultaneously expanding it.

This internal resolution is manifested directly in my work. My artistic style became the playground where I could combine contradictions to create something new. The lines in my paintings are no longer boundaries but open passages. Figure and ground seep into one another, forming new relationships. Ultimately, the challenge was to find what was most “me” in the space between two worlds. I overcame it by realizing that my roots and my present are not in conflict but together nourish all my work in the fertile space where memory meets the present.

What do you hope people take away from your art when they experience it?

Ultimately, I hope people take away not a specific message from me, but an invitation to discover something profound within themselves. My aim is to create a space for them to explore and connect with their own inner nature and fluid sense of identity.

To achieve this, I intentionally craft a world of open ambiguity. The lines are openings, not boundaries; figures and landscapes blur, encouraging a more fluid way of seeing. At the heart of this is a concept central to my work: “Qualia” the subjective, personal quality of an experience, like the unique “feel” of a color, which can’t be fully described in words. While I paint from my own qualia, I believe my subconscious is connected to a vast ocean we all share: the collective unconscious. The archetypes in my work (animals, figures, elements of nature) are fragments of universal sensation drawn up from this deep, shared ocean.

My creative process is a form of “active imagination”, a conscious dialogue with images that rise from within. I don’t sketch; I listen and wait for a moment of “synchronicity,” a meaningful coincidence when an inner image aligns with an accidental mark on the canvas to reveal a complete form. That moment of deep resonance is when the work feels most vividly alive to me.

I share this because my process is a model for what I hope the viewer experiences. When you stand before my work, I invite you not to ask “What is this?” but to quietly listen to what sensations, your very own qualia, the painting awakens within you. I hope you can engage in your own form of active imagination and discover a fleeting, luminous moment of synchronicity.

If my creative process is an endless questioning of my inner self, then the deep resonance you might feel is the most tender and beautiful answer the universe can send back.

Text & photo courtesy of Youjin Yi

Website: www.youjinyi.com
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/yiyoujin/