Park Wunggyu has consistently explored the boundaries between the sacred and the abject, order and chaos, and the internal and external, centering his painterly practice on the human body. In the series Dummy(2015–2023), he utilizes the motif of ‘dummy’ to navigate the tension between exterior and interior, and the sacred and the polluted. Through this, he arranges sensations of mixed repulsion and fascination within a refined formal order. By hybridizing images of insects, viscera, and religious iconography, the artist treats the imagery of the abject as a form of stylized oppression. Through a repetitive and obsessive act of drawing, he visualizes a state where shame and pleasure coexist. Since 2024, in the Body series, he has been systematizing this order further, constructing his own ecosystem through structures that serve as metaphors for the body.

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

I was born and raised in an ordinary family, far removed from the world of professional art. My journey began in early childhood with a deep love for cartoons; I started by mimicking and drawing them, which naturally evolved into the act of creating. Drawing has always been the most familiar and joyful activity for me. Consequently, when the time came to choose a career path, I decided without much hesitation that I wanted to pursue a life of drawing. The process was smooth, and I don’t think I ever harbored any doubts about this path. Quite simply, the act of drawing itself brought me happiness—and it still does to this day.

Who or what are your biggest influences, both artistically and personally?

My parents are devout Catholics. Growing up, our home was filled with numerous Catholic icons, and I often felt as though I was being constantly watched by them. Naturally, I became a Catholic from birth and was a very sincere and devout believer myself. At that time, faith was my entire world and an unquestionable reality.

However, during my adolescence, I once fell asleep without saying my bedtime prayers because I was exhausted. When I woke up the next morning, I was overcome by a strange sense of guilt—simply because I had missed a few lines of prayer. Suddenly, this felt profoundly unpleasant. I realized that I had been naturally controlled and tamed by religious oppression, and from that point on, I stopped attending church.

While methods vary, most religions function to suppress and manage ‘negativity’. Although I am no longer religious, I could not discard the habits internalized through religion. Since religion can no longer mediate this process for me, I had to repeatedly create my own sense of oppression and then find ways to resolve it. This is likely why I habitually seek out ‘the abject’—things that are scary, dirty, bizarre, or disgusting. The sense of hatred and rejection that arises when confronting these things makes me realize I am alive. I detest it, yet at the same time, I am captivated by it. I must then suppress and resolve it once again.

Ultimately, I believe most ‘negativity’ is not an external object but something that originates from within oneself. The ‘negativity’ I refer to in my work operates through this very mechanism. This is the most powerful motivation and driving force behind my work.

Your work often engages with themes of ambivalence and negativity. In what ways do you explore these themes in your practice?

Beneath the ‘negativity’ and ‘ambivalence’ that I address in my work lies a deep sense of shame. While the very fact that I am confronting the abject is uncomfortable, I simultaneously find myself ashamed of being fascinated by it. This sense of discomfort dictates how the abject should manifest in my work. I did not want the disgust and beauty I feel toward these subjects to lean too far in either direction. Instead of merely speaking about the repulsive or the sacred nature of the abject, I wanted to handle it through the methods of obsession and oppression that I internalized from religion.

I began to establish a visual order on the surface: making forms symmetrical, counting and painting each individual hair, and standardizing the structures of the body—much like the formal qualities found in religious paintings. I strive to find the point where ambivalence intersects and aligns, formalizing the amorphous and deforming the formal.

Creating order on the surface and depicting the abject in an obsessive manner does not mean that these elements are overcome or purified. Rather, only the sensation of ecstasy remains from the process of drawing them. I often find myself reflecting on the moment I first rejected religion. Perhaps what mattered then was not the unpleasantness of religious oppression, but rather a strange sense of ecstasy derived from violating that order. I believe the origin of my shame lies at that very intersection. Ultimately, the sensation of shame is the most crucial element and method in formalizing my complex attitude toward the ‘negativity’ that originates within me, rather than from an external object.

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

Although I have maintained a consistent thematic focus since I began my work, the journey was not smooth from the start. In particular, formalizing my attitude toward ‘negativity’ was not as simple as it sounds. At times, the process of creating forms felt like nothing more than an overly superficial arrangement of fragmented images.

It was then that I recalled the religious methods I had experienced. While religious iconography had appeared in my work from the beginning, it had not yet functioned as an intervention in my methodology. I felt that just as religion suppresses and manages human desire, I needed a means to control ‘negativity’ within my own work. This led me to begin studying Buddhism. I felt that Buddhism, rather than attempting to exclude the abject, seemed to embrace and encompass it.

However, instead of directly borrowing Buddhist elements, I began to reinterpret the structures of Buddhist doctrine and narrative as a formal order for my work. I also started to bring the actual subjects I encounter in my daily life to the forefront of my work. I create new formal orders that correspond to each subject and proceed with them through a consistent series of work each year. I feel that this shift in methodology has broadened the spectrum of my work and strengthened its narrative structure. Consequently, in my current ongoing series, Body, I am striving to systematize this approach even further.

How do you see your practice evolving as you continue to engage with traditional Korean painting techniques while exploring experimental subject matter?

Before arriving at my current work, I experimented with various mediums, including animation and sculpture. I did this because I felt the historical weight of traditional Korean painting materials was too heavy, which initially made me feel constrained. However, I found it difficult to express my obsession and compulsion toward ‘negativity’ through those other materials.

Unlike oil painting on canvas, traditional Korean paper and ink do not have layers. Strictly speaking, it would be more accurate to say they are “flat.” Every time pigment is applied to the paper, it does not stack on top; instead, it continuously permeates deep into the fibers. Once a certain number of applications is exceeded, the grain of the paper begins to distort and break down. I found that the resulting texture on the paper bears a striking resemblance to the ‘negativity’ I speak of in my work. I would like to refer to this quality as “density.”

I intend to continue my work with these materials. Beyond just the materials themselves, I have a deep interest in traditional forms. I am particularly interested in how these forms can be read in entirely different contexts at this present moment.

What projects are you currently working on, and what can we expect from you in the future?

After concluding the Dummy series with 108 pieces in 2023, I began the <Body> series. While this new series is an extension of the Dummy work, its defining characteristic is that I am striving to establish the formal order of the work myself, rather than relying on Buddhism. My goal is to create and systematize a grand order that encompasses all 108 pieces of the forthcoming Body series. I refer to this order, composed of six formal elements, as “Corpus Sutra.” I find that the way these elements are combined in a consistent manner depending on the subject is very similar to the way a body is structured. Through this process, I intend to create a unique ecosystem within my work. Beyond that, I am thinking about painting the “God” who governs that ecosystem.

Text and photo courtesy of Park Wunggyu

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