Seungyeon Yi is a Seoul-based visual artist whose practice explores absence through the lens of geological time and material transformation. Beginning with personal experiences of mourning, her work has expanded to consider how traces of time become embedded in landscapes, materials, and human existence. Working across sculpture and installation, she creates handmade clay using minerals and collected earth to investigate erosion, sedimentation, and the material memory of place. Her recent practice is expanding through site-based research and international collaborations.

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

When I was young, I suddenly lost members of my family in an accident. Since then, death has always felt like something that exists beside me. My thoughts naturally gravitated toward those who had disappeared and those who had passed away.

The memory of death that I carried was impossible to hold onto—it was like mist you cannot grasp or the scent of something invisible. So I began recording the traces they had left behind.

Even if we cannot physically touch the dead or communicate directly with their spirits, I believe we can still witness their presence if we pay close enough attention. It can be found in a gentle breeze moving through a room with all the windows closed, sunlight lingering a little longer on wallpaper, a strand of hair brushing against your cheek, or an unexplained cracking sound in an empty space.

Whenever I encountered these moments, I would stop, look closely, and spend a long time with them. As I continued to observe, time seemed to expand. Within that expanded sense of time, my dulled perception allowed me to sense the possibility of ghosts.

A ghost comes into existence for the living only when we notice it—through the act of sensing something unfamiliar, holding our gaze, and giving it our attention. Focusing on what still remains where nothing seems to be left, on someone who continues to exist in a place they have already departed from, gradually shifted my perspective toward the opposite shore of life.

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

I record and remember the moments when I sense the presence of those who are absent. I believe that the absence of the dead exists wherever there is someone who remembers them. Every place carries buried histories and traces of those who are no longer there.

When I spend time quietly observing a place, every existence—including those who have disappeared—seems to emerge like dust, drift like smoke, and slowly fade away again. Sensing absence feels similar to looking into the past. It is an afterimage that only I can see, a form that only my own body seems to remember.

My practice is a record of trying to understand death by giving form to things that are scattered and disappearing. Through making, I collect time as if performing a kind of archaeological excavation for preservation. I dig through layers of accumulated history and the countless moments that passed before I could fully understand them, tracing the subtle vibrations of memory that remain in unfamiliar places.

Ultimately, my work asks how the experience of personal loss and death shapes the way we understand the world. By following material traces and invisible residues, I explore how absence can continue to exist through memory, place, and time.

Are there any particular mediums you prefer working with? Why?

My early works began as graphite drawings on paper. Over time, I wanted the forms and ghostly presences I created on a flat surface to occupy real space—to become something viewers could physically encounter and even touch. That led me to make three-dimensional forms using air-dry clay, a material that shares a similar tactile quality with paper, and to cover their surfaces with graphite powder.

My current practice has developed further through material experimentation. To recreate the textures of cliffs, soil, and landscapes that I have seen and touched, I make my own air-dry clay by mixing collected earth with different minerals and binding media. I use this material to create reliefs and sculptural works.

Just as I used to rub graphite powder and soft pastel into paper and clay, I now build up my handmade clay by layering, pressing, and rubbing together different soils and mineral powders. The making process itself becomes a way of accumulating traces, allowing the material to carry its own history and texture.

As my practice continues to evolve, I expect my choice of materials will evolve with it. I’ve always been interested in shaping the exhibition space itself rather than presenting individual objects alone. In the future, I’d like to expand my installations by incorporating projected video and photographs that I have been collecting as part of my research process.

What is your creative process like? Do you follow a routine or work spontaneously?

I usually begin my projects with research trips to specific places, where I spend time observing the local geology, rocks, and soil. Although I don’t set out to focus on particular historical events, I often find myself drawn to places that carry memories of loss. Those places naturally resonate with the themes I explore in my work.

The textures, materials, and sensations I encounter during these trips often become the starting point for new works. If I’m working in Korea, I sometimes collect soil directly from the site and use it to make my own air-dry clay. When I’m researching abroad, I usually work with clay powders produced in that country instead.

Material experimentation is also an important part of my process. I test different combinations of minerals, soil, and binding media by mixing them in various proportions and creating sample pieces. After comparing the results, I choose the combination that best suits each project. I also keep detailed records of these recipes so I can revisit and refine them in future works.

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

One of the biggest challenges I faced was expanding my practice from drawing into sculpture and installation. I had to figure out how to create the forms and textures I imagined, and what materials could best express them. Because I didn’t have a formal background in ceramics or sculpture, the process involved a huge amount of trial and error.

I sought advice from artist friends who work with sculpture and installation, and I also joined mentoring programs related to ceramics. Through continuous experimentation, documenting my material tests, and learning from each failure, I gradually developed my own methods and techniques. Looking back, I realize that all those experiments became the foundation of my current practice.

Beyond the technical challenges, I also experienced a conceptual one. My work began with a very personal experience of loss, but over time my interests naturally expanded toward broader questions about death, time, and the traces that remain beyond individual experience. The challenge was finding a way to express those ideas without simply telling personal stories.

That question is still part of my practice today. Rather than explaining loss directly, I try to explore it through materials, landscapes, and geological time, allowing viewers to encounter those ideas through physical experience rather than narrative alone.

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

At the moment, I am preparing a new work for a group exhibition in October. It develops from Time Eroded Cliff, a large-scale wall relief that I presented in June. In that work, I used a single type of clay to cover a broad, undulating surface. For the new piece, I plan to use combinations of two or more clays on forms that appear to grow out of the walls, floor, and columns of the exhibition space. Through these layered materials, I want to create patterns and formations resembling lichens that grow almost imperceptibly over many years on the surfaces of rocks.

In December, I will also take part in Ingles, an exchange project and exhibition in Scotland involving lesbian artists from Korea and Scotland. As part of the preparation, I am planning a research trip to study Scotland’s volcanic landscapes. I am especially curious to see how these landscapes differ from the geological environments I have encountered in East Asia.

In the future, I would like to become more actively involved in international residencies and research trips, where I can remain in one place for an extended period and observe how it changes over time. I want to explore more deeply how those gradual changes and traces can be translated into my work.

To record the traces of time embedded in a place more effectively and bring them into the exhibition space, I hope to expand my practice toward installations that engage the entire space, including video projection. My work began with a personal experience of loss, but it is gradually expanding toward nonhuman time, geology, and the memory carried by materials. I am interested to see how this direction will continue to evolve.

Text and photo courtesy of Seungyeon Yi

Website: https://seungyeonyi.com/
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