Yang Seungwon (b.1984) utilizes digital images to produce pseudo-images that blur the boundaries between realities and fabrications and explores the possibility of expanding our epistemology as well as the domain of photography. He is working on fracturing the process of perception that we have faced of a certain situation or a landscape which is taken for granted, by revealing hidden parts of contemporary society. Furthermore, he captures the heterogeneity created by the interface between the real and the fictional or the difference in materiality seen in the gap between nature and imitation and also questions the decontextualized landscapes of reality that arise from a superficial understanding of region and place. Recently, he created landscapes of inexperience that everyone knows but has never seen in the process of visualizing experiences, memories and emotions, or has moved away from the flat and lightweight medium of photography to produce sculptural forms that are taken out of the frame like fragments of memory.

He has held solo exhibitions including Suspended Boundaries (Museum Hanmi Samcheong Annex, Seoul, 2025), Overwrite (N/A, Seoul, 2022), Glimpse (Seoul Museum of Art, Seoul, 2021), Covered Moment (HITE Collection, Seoul, 2019) and participated in various group exhibitions such as Shadow Index (PIPE Gallery, Seoul, 2025), The Observers Are Observed (CHEONGJU MUSEUM OF ART, Cheongju, 2024), The Hanging Gardens of Babylon (Nam-Seoul Museum of Art, Seoul, 2023), A Glimpse of Our Time (Kumho Museum of Art, Seoul, 2023), Another letter to nature (Culture Station Seoul 284, Seoul, 2023), Psychedelic Nature (ART SPACE BOAN, Seoul, 2019), Summer Love (SongEun ArtSpace, Seoul, 2019). He was selected as a resident artist for the SeMA Nanji Residency (Seoul, 2024), MMCA Residency Goyang (Goyang, 2023), Seoul Art Space Geumcheon (Seoul, 2022), Asia Culture Center Asiaplex Studio (Gwangju, 2021), Gyeonggi Creation Center Residency (Ansan, 2017) and KʼARTS Residency (Seoul, 2016).

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

My artistic journey began with the profound shock I experienced when I first encountered Seoul in my late teens. The cityscape unfolding before me—particularly the repetitive forms of apartment complexes—felt strangely unfamiliar yet oddly familiar, a sensation I began to document through photography. After completing my undergraduate studies in photography and a Master of Fine Arts, I started to question the structure and production methods of images themselves more deeply.

In the early stages, my work focused on directly recording urban and artificial environments with a camera. Since then, I have gradually transitioned toward synthesizing captured images with 3D renderings or generating digital imagery altogether. Currently, my practice centers on creating sculptural forms by printing images onto aluminum plates and manually bending or folding them. Rather than being fixed to a single method, my path has been a continuous exploration of how images are constructed, how they are transformed, and the specific materiality they inhabit.

You describe your work as creating “pseudo-images.” What does this term mean within your practice, and what possibilities does it open up?

The term pseudo-images refer to a state that has departed from the traditional expectation that an image must refer to or record something specific. In my work, an image is neither a photograph that captures reality as it is, nor a purely computer-generated virtual image. Instead, captured scenes and 3D-rendered elements coexist within a single frame, creating a state where the viewer cannot easily discern which part is real.

What matters here is not the act of blending itself, but the sensation that arises at the moment those boundaries blur. I am interested in the point where the habitual judgments we make when looking at images—the judgment that “this is real” or “this is fabricated”—are suspended; a sensory state that exists prior to such judgment. It is in this same context that I borrow the concept of epoché to describe this state. To place judgment in brackets, even for a moment—that is how my images function.

The act of bending aluminum plates also exists within this context. When a flat, printed image is transformed into a three-dimensional form, it appears differently depending on the viewing angle and the light. The image is no longer a fixed record but becomes something that constantly shifts into different states through its relationship with space and the body. The term pseudo-images points to that unstable and fluid state—a realm of undetermined possibilities.

Your work often challenges habitual ways of seeing. How do you think about disrupting the viewer’s process of perception?

I interpret the expression “disturbance” slightly differently. Rather than aiming to confuse the viewer, my goal is more about momentarily pausing the system of judgment that we unconsciously activate when confronting an image. The moment we see an image, we categorize it almost automatically: whether it is a photograph or a painting, reality or fiction, or where it was taken. The moment that categorization is complete, the image becomes something already familiar.

In my work, I attempt to create a situation where such categorization cannot be easily finalized. Captured reality and rendered elements are intertwined, and as flat images are placed upon bent aluminum, the very shape of the image changes depending on the viewing angle. This creates a situation where the viewer has no choice but to engage with the image by moving their own body. In this process, I hope for an experience to occur—one of “sensing” the image rather than merely “reading” it.

This is why I am interested in that brief moment when judgment is suspended—the moment when one feels how an image exists before questioning what it means.

How do you stay inspired and motivated to create new work?

The word “inspiration” often sounds as if something suddenly arrives out of nowhere. In my case, however, it is more often that a specific sensation or question lingers in my mind for a long time before eventually leading to a work. Having lived with long-standing questions about the nature of memory—specifically, how certain experiences transform over time—I felt that “water” was a material whose form was perfectly suited to contain those inquiries. Water is never fixed; it permeates, evaporates, and even leaves deposits. In this sense, it closely resembles the way memory functions.

Regarding how I maintain my motivation, to be honest, I believe it is the questions surrounding the work rather than the work itself that keep me engaged. Whenever I think I have found an answer, a new question arises, and that question leads to the next piece. Even now, I am constantly navigating the spaces between image and materiality, flatness and dimensionality, and record and transformation. The fact that the tension between these elements remains unresolved seems to be the very force that keeps me moving forward in my practice.

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

My most enduring challenge was the anxiety surrounding the shifts in my artistic methodology. As I moved from direct camera captures to 3D rendering, and then further toward sculptural forms with tangible materiality, I constantly asked myself: “Is this still my work?” Especially coming from a background trained in photography, the question of whether generating images via computer or manually bending aluminum plates still fell within the realm of photography remained a source of persistent discomfort.

Ultimately, what resolved this unease was not any external standard, but the realization that a consistent set of inquiries flows through my work. While the tools and methods may change, my interest in how images are constructed, how they are transformed, and the specific materiality they inhabit has remained constant from the very beginning. Recognizing this continuity for myself marked a significant turning point.

What advice would you give to emerging artists trying to establish themselves?

I believe it is crucial to identify, as early as possible, the recurring questions within one’s own work. Ultimately, knowing what you are constantly asking provides a sense of direction for your practice—more so than the specific materials you use or the forms you create. The clearer those questions are, the less you will waver, even when your tools or methods change.

Text and photo courtesy of Yang Seungwon

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