• Interview | Busan and Gwangju-based Artist Kam Min Kyung

    Interview | Busan and Gwangju-based Artist Kam Min Kyung

    Through drawing and painting, Kam Min Kyung captures traces of life and inner memories within changing environments. She metaphorically visualizes the relationships between fragmented bodies, narratives, and embedded memories, exploring their connections through experiments of juxtaposition and layering. By allowing different perspectives to intersect, she invites viewers to experience unfamiliar worlds and leaves space for open interpretation. This journey is a contemplative process that questions the nature of common human experience.

    Her major exhibitions include The Sad Nipple at The SoSo, Seoul (2023); We, on the rising waveat the Busan Biennale, Museum of Contemporary Art Busan (2022); I Was His Metaphor at PS Sarubia, Seoul (2022); Wrinkle of Memory at Area Gallery, Damyang (2021); A Night Be Gone at Gallery Chosun, Seoul (2019); A Memory Without a Roof at Künstlerhaus Bethanien, Berlin (2018); and Wouldn’t It Be a Blue Flower? at Hongti Art Center, Busan, and Kyushu Geibunkan, Fukuoka (2016), among many others.

    She has also participated in both domestic and international artist residencies, including White Block, Cheonan (2018–2019); Künstlerhaus Bethanien, Berlin (2017); Hongti Art Center, Busan (2016); Kyushu Geibunkan, Fukuoka (2016); and Open Space Bae, Busan (2014).

    Miss Lee, wild dog, 2023, Charcoal on Korean paper, 217 x 450 cm

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

    My work began with drawing—walking through and observing the corners of my surroundings in Busan, the place I call home. These drawings were not simply about documenting landscapes, but about reflecting on human existence through what I saw. Early on, my studio was in a redevelopment area, and I began documenting the transformation of these spaces—first through drawing, then translating them into oil paintings. These abandoned sites felt like reflections of our inner lives, revealing layers of memory and loss. Through this process, I realized that drawing is never a perfect reproduction of reality. The gap between what is seen and what is depicted led me to explore the technique of sfumato, using layered and obscured surfaces to create blurred, atmospheric images. 

    Over time, I became increasingly interested in how fragments of personal memory and sensation could be transformed into images, and how those images might connect to larger social narratives. I explore the traces of life left behind in shifting environments and the memories etched within, developing a working process in which observation, recollection, perception, and material experimentation are closely intertwined. For me, art has become a way of understanding both myself and the world around me.

    The Tides, 2022, Watercolor on paper (outside), charcoal on linen (inside), 242 x 300 cm (outside), 196 x 200 cm (inside)

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

    My work begins with personal memories that are evoked in reality. Personal experiences feel isolated, but they are also deeply connected to the larger world. Images of parents, familiar people, and lived spaces become central to my work. These memories intersect with the history of Korea’s common people, where fragments of oppression and resistance surface in a non-linear way. Specific smells, lights, and sounds do not follow the flow of time or causality; instead, they emerge as fragmented images or waves of emotion, becoming the starting points of my work. Through metaphor, I unravel fragments of memory, revealing emotional layers where longing meets unease, and warmth fades into quiet solitude, all rendered in a lyrical tone. Recurring themes in my work include the metaphorical use of the body, the tension between presence and absence, and identities that remain fluid within the passage of time.

    bat, 2023, Charcoal on Korean paper, 250 x 300 cm

    How has your artistic style evolved over time?

    My early works focused mainly on representational painting based on observation. 

    Gradually, my approach shifted towards expressing inner sensations through abstract images and fragmented compositions. I often combine contrasting materials and techniques—such as paper and linen, watercolor and charcoal, color and monochrome—to create scenes that incorporate multilayered perspectives rather than a single viewpoint. In particular, drawing has evolved from being a simple sketch to an independent language of its own. Over time, my work moved away from a singular narrative structure toward an open-ended narrative that embraces ambiguity and multiplicity.

    Installation view of I was his metaphor, 2021, PS SARUBIA (SARUBIA Outreach & Support) EXHIBITION, Seoul, Korea

    Can you describe a recent project or artwork that you are particularly proud of?

    Participation in the 2022 Busan Biennale with <We, on the Rising Wave> was a profoundly meaningful project for me. All three works in We, on the rising wave start from memories of Busan. Songs heard in childhood, the intersection of fact and fiction, dreamlike landscapes of life, and the presence of someone who shared those times linger as a bittersweet nostalgia for Busan held deep in the heart. “Songs of Dongsook” centers on a woman of the mother’s generation, embodied in the figure ‘Dongsook,’ capturing the emotions of that era. It was inspired by a song and novel of the same name. “Zero o’clock” and “Wave” recall places where life and death, hope and despair coexist. They combine fragments of mold in the home and dreamlike memories of alleyways, unfolding these images across the surface.

    Zero o’clock, 2023, Charcoal on paper, 42 x 29.7 cm

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

    One of the greatest challenges has been maintaining a balance between the demands of everyday life and the focused, extended periods of concentration that my work requires. There have also been physical and environmental difficulties—for example, working in unstable or inadequate studio conditions. I have tried to turn such situations into catalysts for new work. In fact, many of my projects have originated from unexpected events or constraints.

    A Song of Dongsook, 2022, Charcoal on canvas, 259.1 x 193.9 cm

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

    While conveying a specific message can be important, I believe that in my work, it is even more essential to create a sense of openness—a space that resonates with something within the viewer. I hope my work serves as a contemplative space that asks how we remember one another and how we are connected.

    Text & photo courtesy of Kam Min Kyung

    Website: http://kamminkyung.kr/
    Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/minkyungkam


  • Interview | Shanghai and Brooklyn-based Artist Wen Liu

    Interview | Shanghai and Brooklyn-based Artist Wen Liu

    Wen Liu is a visual artist born in Shanghai, China, and based in Brooklyn, New York. Her work investigates the emotional architecture of migration, memory, and belonging – using sculpture, installation, and mixed media to explore the tension between permanence and impermanence. Drawing from personal and cultural experiences as an immigrant, she reflects on what it means to build a sense of security in unfamiliar environments, confronting the overlap of public recollection and private memory.

    Liu is a 2025 MacDowell Fellow and a 2022 grantee of the Roswell Artist-in-Residence Foundation. She has received multiple awards from the City of Chicago’s Department of Cultural Affairs and Special Events (DCASE) and was awarded the Illinois Arts Council 2020 Artist Fellowship. Her past residencies include MASS MoCA, Vermont Studio Center, ACRE Projects, and Hyde Park Art Center.

    Her work has been exhibited nationally and internationally at institutions such as The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum (CT), Roswell Museum (NM), Lubeznik Center for the Arts (IN), the Chicago Cultural Center, and the National Grand Theater in Beijing. Through nuanced material exploration and deeply personal inquiries, Liu creates poetic and spatially resonant works that question what endures and what fades.

    Ouroflora, 2025, Prescribed herbal medicine, epoxy clay, resin, acrylic, varnish, 46 x 34 x 1.5 in

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

    I began with a very traditional arts education in China, where I trained in figurative sculpture for five years. That rigorous academic background gave me solid technical foundation, but after a while I felt an urge to move beyond representation and explore more conceptual ways of working. Coming to the U.S. opened up that possibility. I began experimenting with different media and processes to find a language that felt true to my own experiences.

    Inarticulate Trace No5, 2024, Prescribed herbal medicine, epoxy clay, resin, paint, UV resistant varnish, 40 x 43 x 1.5 in

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

    My practice often begins with questions of absence, belonging, and estrangement. I explore how private memories and cultural traditions can be preserved, or sometimes fractured, through objects and materials. Lately, I’ve been working with Chinese herbal medicine as both a material and a metaphor, connecting ideas of healing, inheritance, and what cannot always be articulated in language.

    In Light, Where Edges Yield, 2025, Prescribed herbal medicine, epoxy clay, resin, acrylic, varnish, stainless steel, 65 x 65 x 3.5 in

    How does your mixed cultural background inspire your practice?

    As an immigrant, I am constantly navigating between cultures. That duality shows up in my work, whether through references to Chinese medicine or Western devotional forms like stained glass. I see my practice as a way of bridging those influences, creating a dialogue between heritage and adaptation, personal memory and collective space.

    Inarticulate Trace No1, 2023, Prescribed herbal medicine, epoxy clay, resin, paint, UV resistant varnish, 37 x 32 x 1.5 in

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

    I treat it as a full-time job. I’m usually in the studio from 10 to 7. My process is quite structured at the beginning: I sculpt in clay, make molds, cast, and refine the forms. But within that structure, I leave space for improvisation. The final step, embedding herbs into the sculptures always feels like a quiet ritual, a moment where the work becomes both an archive and a container of memory.

    How do you approach exhibiting your work? What are your goals when showing your art in public spaces like galleries?

    I think of exhibitions as opportunities to create relationships between the work, the space, and the viewer. My sculptures often filter light or hold a kind of permeability, so I consider how they might function like thresholds—inviting intimacy while also holding space for reflection. Ultimately, I hope to create environments where personal memory can resonate with collective experience.

    Inarticulate Trace No2, 2024, Prescribed herbal medicine, epoxy clay, resin, paint, UV resistant varnish, 40 x 43 x 1.5 in

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

    Never underestimate a small opportunity, and don’t overthink a big one. Being an artist is not just a career, it’s a way of moving through the world, one that constantly negotiates uncertainty. In a culture that often rewards speed and instant results, I think artists have to defend slowness. Let the work unfold at its own rhythm. Trust that time, care, and persistence will carry you further than urgency ever could.

    Text & photo courtesy of  Wen Liu

    Website: https://wen-liu.com/
    Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/wen_liu_1217/


  • Interview | Hong Kong and Xi’an-based Artist YAO Cong

    Interview | Hong Kong and Xi’an-based Artist YAO Cong

    Working across diverse mediums, including moving image, photography, performance, and installation, YAO Cong (b. 1992) investigates the intricacies and contradictions of contemporary existence. His artistic practice confronts the dual crises of ecology and identity, creating a compelling body of work that engages with these urgent challenges.

    His works depict human figures in states of vulnerability, isolation, and alienation, prompting contemplation on the manufacturing and deconstruction of the body and wilderness within the context of the Anthropocene. Additionally, he critically examines how collective influences shape individual mentality through emotions and moral frameworks in modern life. Through an empathetic and fluid artistic approach, Yao Cong aims to provoke introspection and cultivate meaningful dialogue about the intricate interplay between humanity, wildness, and society.

    Yao Cong received his BA in Intermedia Art from China Academy of Art in 2014 and his MA from the Royal College of Art in 2017. Currently, as a recipient of the Hong Kong PhD Fellowship Scheme (HKPFS), he is pursuing his PhD at the School of Creative Media, City University of Hong Kong.

    Yao Cong’s works have been exhibited extensively. Recent exhibitions include: A Mountain of Closeness, Beiqiu Museum of Contemporary Art (Nanjing, China, 2023); ART SG-Film (Singapore, 2023); Jimei X Arles International Photo Festival (Xiamen, China, 2022); Chengdu International Photo festival (Chengdu, China, 2022); Flies beyond the Clouds (Shanghai, China, 2021); Golden Flow – Beijing Contemporary Art Expo (Beijing, China, 2020); From/To: the Frontier of Chinese Art Education (San Francisco, USA, 2018); Holographia: 2018 International Art Festival, Times Art Museum (Beijing, China, 2018); VIDEONALE.16, Kunstmuseum Bonn (Bonn, Germany, 2017); Loop Barcelona (Barcelona, Spain, 2017); 14th Beijing Independent Film Festival (Beijing, China, 2017); 13th Athens Digital Arts Festival (Athens, Greece, 2017) among others.

    Still images from The Square Reserve, 2020-2021, Ten-screen video installation, 15’ each, Courtesy of the artist and Capsule Shanghai

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

    I’m YAO Cong, an artist born in Xi’an, China. I’ve studied and lived in different cities over the years. Currently, I’m pursuing a PhD in Hong Kong. My hometown, Xi’an, has been an incubator for my artistic development in many ways, through experiences that have been both enriching and challenging.

    To speak about an artistic journey is to speak not only of “art” but also of the idea of a “journey.” It is a way of looking back. If we define it through formal education and immersion in the art world, then my journey began during my BA studies at the China Academy of Art in Hangzhou. That was where I entered a concentrated artistic environment, where I was encouraged to focus on creative work and to cultivate artistic sensitivity. I was trained to become an independent artist. Most importantly, that experience helped shape both my personality and my aesthetic perspective. I also came to understand that ideas of beauty are shaped by social power structures and are always evolving, though I will not expand on that here. 

    If I consider the artistic journey more personally, as an attitude toward life, then it began with my family. When I was a child, they never stopped me from drawing on the walls. My mother helped me make many handmade objects, which I now recognize as artistic, such as flowers made from colorful buttons and animal masks crafted from recycled paper. My family respected my interests and supported my creativity from a very young age. 

    My hometown is known for its peasant paintings, and over time, the public tends to be more accepting of art, though often understood narrowly as painting. I began watercolor around the age of seven, Chinese ink painting at nine, along with folk dance and Latin dance. Later, I trained in drawing, sketching, and gouache to prepare for the national art college entrance exam. I mention this because I’m still impressed by the courage and sincerity, and the idealism that this path required from both my family and myself. Choosing to study art is never easy, especially for a family from a suburban area in a non-first tire city in China. In most cases, the decision about education shapes one’s future. Art involves high investment and uncertain returns. Within that context, it was a challenging decision. I feel fortunate to have remained on this path, continuing to work as an artist, supported by both my family and my own determination.

    Still images from Count, 2020, Single channel video, 7’50”, Courtesy of the artist and Capsule Shanghai

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

    I think the most important thing is to remain sensitive. While part of this may come from genetics, much can be cultivated through reading, watching, listening, and studying different ways of seeing and thinking. Sensitivity allows one to perceive and respond more fully to the world, whether it’s the atmosphere or the events happening around us. It often deepens empathy, though that doesn’t necessarily mean being fragile or overwhelmed. That depends on individual temperament and the strength of one’s inner beliefs. Sensitivity sharpens perception, and deeper perception often leads to richer, more nuanced emotional experiences. Emotions carry moral content, and more importantly, they’re often the driving force behind action, even more than rational thought. 

    In my experience, it’s also important to be brave enough to remain a beholderwho keeps seeking the truth of life. This kind of awareness takes courage, because it’s easy to become entangled in the moment or to ignore it completely. But the beholder notices, observes with a certain distance, and tries to understand the structures behind what is seen. Learning how to enjoy solitude is part of this. I consider solitude a form of wisdom and a precious gift from life.

    Another key is to stay committed to practice. This isn’t only about making physical works, but also about continuing to think. Thinking itself is a kind of artistic practice. This isn’t just an influence from conceptual art in the 1960s, but also a more organic and sustainable way of working that connects art with life and truth.

    Finally, I think it helps to be a bit of an idealist. To trust intuition. To keep imagining. And at times, to allow a little madness. That’s part of how we stay balanced, vivid, and alive in the world today. Life itself is the inescapable reality of art.

    Installation view of The Square Reserve at Flies beyond the Clouds, 2021, Capsule Gallery, Shanghai, China, Courtesy of the artist and Capsule Shanghai

    How has your artistic style evolved over time?

    Before answering that, I’d like to reflect on what we mean by artistic style. I believe it gradually emerges from the interaction between internal and external conditions. It often carries an experimental quality and fluctuates naturally over time. Style is not something to search for, but something that grows through practice and lived experience. This applies not only to art forms but also to themes. They may tend to appear at the right moment if you stay attentive, engage in honest conversations with yourself, and remain open to the world around you. 

    Still, in the context of the art world, this process can be compressed. For young artists, artistic inquiry is often shaped, or even constrained by the needs of the art market. Certain mediums, recognizable motifs, and obvious visual identities are often expected. These become familiar tags for collectors and audiences. People often fear uncertainty and fluidity, yet these are at the core of both life and art, are they not? 

    As for me, during my BA studies I explored a wide range of forms, including painting, installation, photography, dance, theatre, sound, and moving image. This helped me reconnect with hidden interests and long-standing intuitions. I’ve always been sensitive to rhythm and bodily movement, which continue to shape my practice today. 

    That period also shaped my values. I’m grateful to art, and to art college, for introducing me to powerful expressions from marginalized communities and non-normative narratives. These helped me become more honest and accepting of my own identity and sexuality, even though this was difficult in China’s social environment fourteen years ago, and still complex today. In my third year, I began focusing on moving image, drawn to its ability to weave together diverse media. I’ve continued to develop this form through my MA, using it as a tool to investigate sexuality, gender, and the body.

    Step by step, I’m not sure if this is a style, but it reflects what matters to me now. Sensitive emotion remains the driving force behind my work. I intend to create exquisite, compelling body of works that critically reflects on how body, and landscape are manufactured and deconstructed today, and how individual and collective experience transforms the political into the personal, circulating through the complex dynamics of emotion, judgment, and ethics.

    Installation view of Gold Words at Golden Flow, Beijing Contemporary Art Expo 2020, 2020, CHAO Art Center, Beijing, China, Courtesy of Beijing Contemporary

    What’s the most rewarding aspect of being creative in your experience?

    Interestingly, this question brings me back to the second one, it feels like a circle. The creative process heightens my sensitivity to the world, especially the ability to discover beauty and awe in everything, whether vast or small. Creativity sharpens my way of seeing. 

    For me, interest is the best engine for action. It not only motivates me but also helps me maintain a healthy balance between life and work. Being creative allows me to explore different layers of my own interests, to understand them more deeply, to respect them, and to love them more fully. In a way, interest becomes a resilient bridge between the self and the world.

    Another rewarding aspect is composure. Creativity gives me the strength to face reality more honestly, to investigate the deeper social structures that shape our lives. Through this process, I’ve learned how to stay calm amid complexity, and to become what I’d call a beholder, someone who observes with patience and awareness.

    I also want to speak about the power of being non-normal. In China, and I think in many societies shaped by rigid norms, being creative or being an artist often implies a kind of freedom, a refusal to fit into conventional molds. Art is a profession without a rulebook, and that ambiguity is part of its strength. In that sense, the artist’s non-normality can be a subtle yet powerful form of resistance, one that points toward a better world.

    Installation view A Mountain of Closeness, 2023, Beiqiu Museum of Contemporary Art, Nanjing, China, Courtesy of BMCA

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

    Honestly, this question brings me back to reality.

    One of the first challenges I faced was figuring out how to translate creative ability into income, how to survive, simply put. I’m still not sure whether being a professional artist can offer the same stability as a more traditional job. Maybe that doesn’t matter. Some artists receive consistent support through galleries or institutions, but for those working in forms outside of established markets or frameworks, such support is far from guaranteed.

    Another challenge has been sustaining creativity amid the instability of life and income. In a fragmented and niche art world without consistent infrastructure or reliable systems, how do we create space for our voices to be heard?

    Eventually, I came to accept that being an artist often means living both inside and outside the system. With that in mind, I chose to keep creating and imagining from the heart, while also seeking a more structured path that could offer some financial stability. Teaching art might be a natural choice, one that many artists pursue. I worked as a part-time teaching assistant at an art academy in China, and during that time, I realized not only that I enjoyed it, but that I had a capacity for it. That experience led me to pursue a PhD, which has opened more possibilities as an independent artist, while also offering me a protected space to reflect, research, and create.

    At the same time, I’m learning to stay in dialogue with myself, and to find path that truly aligns with who I am. It’s still an ongoing process, learning how to keep creating while remaining true to myself, and how to live better together with family,  friends, the land, nature, and the earth.

    Still images from Seeds of the World, Overture, 2022, Three screen video installation, 10’ each video, Courtesy of the artist and Capsule Shanghai

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

    I’m continuing to explore the themes I’ve developed in recent years, aiming to approach them from deeper, more nuance dangles. For me, artistic practice is not simply a mode of expression, it is a vital research methodology. My recent works engage with ideas of re-wilding and queer ecology, investigating the affective and experiential dimensions of human and nonhuman relationships, as well as the hidden anxieties and crises that modernity tends to suppress.

    Since 2020, I’ve been developing an ongoing project titled A Mountain of Closeness, which explores the overlapping growth of “wilderness” and “body” within the context of contemporary civilization and the Anthropocene. The project is planned around three interconnected parts: Wilderness, Mountain, and Garden, each reflecting a different perspective on re-wilding and queer ecology. These range from the entanglements between queer bodies and wild landscapes, as well as explorations of identity and memory rooted in local culture and environment. 

    Through this project, I hope to challenge singular patriarchal and anthropocentric narratives, opening up space for more plural, relational ways of understanding the world. It’s also an invitation to reconsider how we relate to the land, to one another, and to the unseen rhythms that shape our lives.

    So far, four works associated with this project have been completed, Gold WordsCountThe Square Reserve, and Seeds of the World: Overture. I recently returned to Northwest China, where I am currently planning my next works and preparing for an upcoming solo exhibition.

    Text & photo courtesy of  Yao Cong

    Website: http://www.yao-cong.com/
    Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/congoyao/?hl=en


  • Interview | Munich-Based Artist Youjin Yi

    Interview | Munich-Based Artist Youjin Yi

    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.

    Napping, 2024, Charcoal, oil, oil pastel on Korean paper Hanji, mounted on canvas, 40 x 50 cm, ©Youjin Yi, Courtesy of the Artist and WOOSON GALLERY

    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.

    Mask, 2013, Oil on canvas, 190 x 240 cm, ©Youjin Yi, Courtesy of the Artist

    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.

    Sparrows, 2023, Acrylic, oil on canvas, 250 x 190 cm, ©Youjin Yi, Courtesy of the Artist and KORNFELD Glerie Berlin

    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.

    Plants, 2020, Oil, oil pastel on canvas, 180 x 160 cm, ©Youjin Yi, Courtesy of the Artist and WOOSON GALLERY

    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.

    Schwalbe, 2021, Acrylic, oil, oil pastel on canvas, 200 x 260 cm, ©Youjin Yi, Courtesy of the Artist and KORNFELD Glerie Berlin

    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.

    Merging with the Environment, 2024, Acrylic, oil, oil pastel on canvas, 140 x 100 cm, ©Youjin Yi, Courtesy of the Artist and WOOSON GALLERY

    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.

    The Spirit of the Pond, 2025, Acrylic, oil, oil pastel on canvas, 40 x 35 cm, ©Youjin Yi, Courtesy of the Artist and Jiwooheon Gallery

    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.

    Plant Gesture, 2025, Graphite, oil pastel on Korean paper Hanji, 18 x 25.5 cm, ©Youjin Yi, Courtesy of the Artist and BRITTA RETTBERG Galerie

    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.

    Entwined, 2020, Charcoal, acrylic on korean paper Hanji, 200 x 138 cm, ©Youjin Yi, Courtesy of the Artist and WOOSON GALLERY

    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

    Photo by Dirk Tacke, Courtesy of BRITTA RETTBERG Galerie

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


  • Interview | Seoul-Based Artist Eunsi Jo

    Interview | Seoul-Based Artist Eunsi Jo

    Eunsi Jo (b. 1999) is a Seoul-based painter whose works unfold like meticulously constructed codes and riddles. Through the use of symbols, signs, and diagrammatic forms, she visualizes complex narratives about the relationships between individuals and collectives, parts and wholes. The artist focuses on the “irresistible structures” of the world—such as family, the food chain, and natural disasters—that cannot be controlled by human will, as well as on the principle of “resemblance.” “In contemporary society,” she notes, “we exist both as integral individuals and as parts of a larger whole.” Her practice probes the meaning of being within this web of interdependence.

    Hardboiled, 2025, Oil on panel, 25 x 70 cm

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

    My studio is currently located at Seoul, South Korea. The start of my artistic journey is closely -tied to my family background. Though I am no longer in touch with my father, he was a programmer and my uncle was a solo game developer, exposing me to a wide variety of games that now influence not only my habits and appearance but also the ways I construct compositions in my work. This led me to an interest in the inevitability of resemblance and other forces beyond our control. From there, my curiosity expanded to explore the relationships between part and whole, and between the individual and the collective.

    Disressed Day, 2023, Oil on canvas, 162.2 x 112.1 cm

    What is the underlying logic and narrative embedded behind your painting? (e.g. the juxtaposition of symbols, signs, diagrammatic forms…)

    My work explores the concepts of resemblance and inevitability to investigate the relationships between parts and wholes, and between individuals and communities. I construct visual narratives using symbols, signs, and diagrammatic forms, translating both natural and social laws—such as gravity, cycles of life and death, kinship, and cultural idioms—into a pictorial language. By layering these elements, I aim to reveal the invisible structures and forces that shape identity, inviting viewers to trace connections and construct meaning through their own inferences.

    How has your artistic style evolved over time?

    In my early practice, I focused on capturing irresistible forces found in natural disasters and phenomena, such as earthquakes, whirlwinds, and volcanic eruptions. Later, I began exploring the idea of resemblance, and more recently, I have expanded my themes to include conventions and proverbs. I am also experimenting with a wider range of approaches to installation work.

    Scallywag, 2023, Oil on panel, 80 x 120 x 30 cm

    Can you describe a recent project or artwork that you are particularly proud of?

    Among my recent works, I am most fond of a series consisting of Siblings Below and Siblings Above. In Siblings Above, ten eggs are depicted side by side in a single nest. Each egg is marked with a pattern corresponding to the numbers from zero to nine, as if they were siblings arranged from the eldest to the youngest. However, I wanted to suggest that the pattern (cardinal number) on each egg does not necessarily correspond to the order in which it is born (ordinal number).

    In Siblings Below, ten beans are depicted. Some sprout, while others wither away, meeting different ends. Through this, I wanted to express that not all beans planted in the ground will grow, and that they do not necessarily sprout in the order they were sown.

    Siblings Above, 2025, Oil on panel, 35 × 70 cm
    Siblings Below, 2025, Oil on panel, 35 × 70 cm

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

    I try to avoid working out of mere habit, as I always want my practice to feel alive and exploratory. One of the biggest challenges I face is when I want to experiment with new formats or approaches, yet nothing comes to mind. To move past these moments, I make a conscious effort to immerse myself in new experiences— by playing unfamiliar games, reading through encyclopedias, or cycling to neighborhoods I have never visited before. These encounters often spark unexpected ideas that eventually find their way into my work.

    Chronicles of the Earth, 2025, Oil on panel, volcanic stone, 45 x 30 x 30 cm

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

    In my work, I assign distinct roles to each image that makes up the composition. They create narratives either on their own or in connection with others, which I see as resembling how we live—sometimes as part of something larger, and sometimes as a whole in ourselves. Through the worlds these images construct, I hope to invite viewers to reflect on the meaning of relationships within the systems that govern our lives, and to consider the attitude with which we navigate them. Ultimately, I wish to offer a moment of contemplation in which they can question the reason for their own existence.

    Text & photo courtesy of Eunsi Jo

    Website: https://eunsijo.com/
    Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/reallygoodpoem/


  • Interview | Osaka-Based Artist Takuma Uematsu

    Interview | Osaka-Based Artist Takuma Uematsu

    Takuma Uematsu was born in 1977 in Kanazawa, Ishikawa, Japan. After graduating from Kansai University in 2000 and working in publishing, he began presenting sculptures, paintings, and installations in museums and galleries in Japan and abroad from 2001 onward. With a background interest in natural sciences and philosophy, his practice explores boundaries and relationships, as well as the function of place in life and society.

    SCULPTOR’S SNACK, 2025, Tin can, corn kernels , 11.3 x 7.6 x 7.6 cm, Open editon © Takuma Uematsu, Courtesy of Yumiko Chiba Associates

    Could you tell us about your background and how you started your journey as an artist?
    I grew up in Minoh City, Osaka, a place rich in nature, in a family where both of my parents were artists. From a very young age, I was constantly surrounded by art—it was simply a natural part of my environment.

    After graduating from university, I began working at a publishing company where I was involved in editing magazines. I was in charge of artist interviews, and through listening to the words of numerous artists, I became increasingly drawn to the idea of “living as an artist.” Gradually, and quite naturally, I found myself starting to create art myself. After leaving the publishing company, I started creating artworks while working as a freelance writer and part-time assistant at a modeling production studio.

    In 2001, the year I officially began my artistic practice, I participated as a performer in Fluxus Trial, a performance by Mieko Shiomi—one of the original Fluxus members—held as part of a special program for the Fluxus in Germany 1962–1994 exhibition at The National Museum of Art, Osaka. That same year, I also saw Plateau of Humankind, curated by Harald Szeemann, which left a powerful impression on me. It was an exhibition that re-examined the fundamentals of humanity during a time when the internet was beginning to shift values in dramatic ways. As a young and impressionable artist, that experience deeply influenced my creative direction.
    Since then, I’ve had multiple opportunities to take part in Fluxus performances curated by Mieko Shiomi.

    Earth-Palette 3, 2013, Watercolour, wood, plastic, iron, 34 x 25 x 27 cm, © Takuma Uematsu, Courtesy of Yumiko Chiba Associates

    How do you maintain inspiration and motivation when creating new works?
    I try to view things without prejudice or fixed assumptions. Detaching objects and ideas from their existing meanings or contexts, and looking at them anew—that’s the starting point of my creative process.

    Art has the power to transcend time and touch people’s hearts, changing the way we see the world. By encountering how past artists viewed the world, one can gain insights even more profound than personal experience. Such encounters and moments of realization are what drive my motivation to create. I believe that living as an artist means to actively seek out those transformative experiences.

    Noosphere, 2013, Agate stone, iron, mirror, 2013, Dimension variable, Installation view, ART BASEL HONGKONG © Takuma Uematsu, Courtesy of Yumiko Chiba Associates

    How has your artistic style evolved over time?
    In the early stages, my work was rooted in an interest in natural science and philosophy. I focused on themes like invisible relationships and connections in the increasingly digital society. For example, my transmigration series was inspired by the Buddhist concept of reincarnation, while noosphere explored collective consciousness in the information age through the use of minerals. In world tree, I re-examined the structure of the world through the symbolic lens of the tree of life. Using forms from nature—such as animals, plants, or minerals—to capture the present moment is, in a sense, akin to how ancient people found meaning in nature and translated it into forms.

    Later on, I began creating works like the palette series, which actively generate relationships. These works incorporate chance and interaction with viewers. Through these experiences, I started to shift my interest from borders and relationships to human warmth, energy, and the power of coincidence. My video piece observatory, which documents energy exchanges between astronomers and living organisms at an observatory, is one such example that focuses on the energy shared between people and nature.

    Worldtree 2, 2019, Mixed media, 315 x 130 x 105 cm, Installation view, Jing’an Sculpture Park © Takuma Uematsu, Courtesy of Yumiko Chiba Associates

    How do you balance visual beauty and conceptual depth in your works?
    My mentor, the artist Yoichi Hirata, once told me, “Don’t create forms based on secondhand ideas. Instead, feel nature directly and output from there.” That guidance remains with me to this day. I don’t always know exactly where my ideas come from, but I value those moments in everyday life when my emotions are stirred—moments when intuition leads the way.

    Your works often contain a sense of playfulness or humor. Is this something you consciously include?
    Yes, humor and playfulness have become especially important elements in my more recent works, which involve relationships with viewers. That’s because humor functions as a smooth entry point into the work. For example, everyone is familiar with popcorn. When viewers enjoy popcorn while engaging with themes like sculpture or philosophical inquiry, something seemingly simple can begin to take on layered meanings. In this way, humor lowers the viewer’s defenses and tension, allowing the work to reach them from unexpected angles. This sensibility may also come from my involvement with Fluxus, whose works and performances often used seemingly silly or absurd gestures to deliver sharply insightful critiques of society and humanity.

    Colony-Star Globe, 2016, Vinyl chloride, aurora-film, Dimension variable, Installation view, Chiba City Museum © Takuma Uematsu, Courtesy of Yumiko Chiba Associates

    Could you tell us about a challenge you’ve faced and how you overcame it?
    In fact, I’m currently in the middle of a significant challenge. I’ve had the idea for an installation that parallels the constant reversal of values in today’s world with the popping of popcorn. But due to technical issues, cost, and limitations in available exhibition space, it has remained unrealized for quite some time. Still, I know how to get through challenges like this. As many people say: never give up until it’s realized. I’m always open to collaboration and support.

    Through your work, what kind of experience or questions do you hope to evoke in your audience?
    Lately, rather than wanting to “present questions,” I’ve been more interested in creating environments where questions naturally emerge.
    When people think of sculpture, they often imagine a completed object. But I’m more drawn to the “events” and “relationships” that arise between people and the artwork. If someone finds personal meaning in a piece, or a conversation begins with another viewer, then I believe the work has fulfilled its role as art. If that encounter shifts one’s perception of the world, then even without gaining anything material, it may feel as though you’ve received the richness of two Earths.

    SCULPTOR’S SNACK, 2025, Mixed media, 180 x 270 x 180 cm, Installation view, OAG Art Center Kobe © Takuma Uematsu, Courtesy of Yumiko Chiba Associates

    Can you share any new directions you’re exploring or challenges you’d like to take on in the future?
    This year, I created a work called The Sculptor’s Snack. Through popcorn, this piece explores the fundamental themes within sculpture—gravity, surface, volume, boundaries, transformation through heat, and the concept of the readymade.

    Building on this, I created a sculptural version of Japan’s uniquely styled bar known as a “snack.” It’s a space where people can enjoy popcorn while discussing sculpture, with the hope that unexpected energy, relationships, and ideas emerge.

    Next, I’d like to turn this space into a mobile kitchen truck, where I wait for new ideas—no matter where they come from—while sharing popcorn with others.

    Text & photo courtesy of Takuma Uematsu

    Website: https://takumauematsu.com
    Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/takumauematsu_studio/


  • Interview | Busan-Based Artist Jinwoo Moon

    Interview | Busan-Based Artist Jinwoo Moon

    Jinwoo Moon is a Busan-based documentary photographer whose work serves as a visual bridge between history and modernity. With an attentive and contemplative lens, he uncovers the layered narratives embedded within urban landscapes. His photography immortalizes the intimate rhythms of daily life and ephemeral urban moments, transforming them into timeless visual archives. More than mere documentation, Moon’s images act as vessels—carrying the authentic spirit of the city forward for generations to come. Through his art, he resurrects the soul of Busan, allowing it to resonate anew with the world.

    The photographs featured in this exhibition are part of a poignant documentary series that intimately portrays Nampo-dong’s alleyways and residents. Shot with profound empathy, this collection preserves the vanishing memories and emotions of a neighborhood in transition, capturing the delicate interplay between change and permanence.

    Nampo-dong in 1992, 1992

    Could you tell us about your background and what led you to begin your artistic journey?

    I started photography as a club activity in 1975 when I was a freshman in high school. After graduating from college, I worked as a photojournalist for a newspaper. Since then, I have been fascinated by the documentary value of photography and have been working mainly on documentary works. However, I also occasionally present my artistic photography work.

    Jungang-dong in 1985, 1985

    How do you get inspiration and motivation when creating new works?

    When something comes to mind in my daily life, travel, or while working on a photograph, I start a new work based on that.

    How do you express the ‘gaze’ or ‘point of view’ of a photo when recording a place?

    First, I work to harmonize the whole (foreground) and the parts. Of course, the gaze is based on the subjective viewpoint of the artist. However, in simple recording work, I take pictures with an objective gaze.

    Gwangbok-dong in 1986, 1986

    What is the greatest reward you get from creative experiences?

    When each photo I took is recognized as having documentary value over time. The exhibition I had at the Busan Modern History Museum last year and the special donation exhibition at the Beomeosa Temple Museum are examples of this.

    Nampo-dong in 1984, 1984

    How do you avoid clichés when capturing urban life in photographs?

    The act of taking a photograph begins with establishing a relationship with the subject. The first step in establishing a relationship is physical distance. I maintain tension in the distance from the main subject so that it does not feel cliché.

    Munhyeon-dong Railroad Village in 1992, 1992

    What advice would you give to new writers who are trying to solidify their position?

    First, you must have the spirit of the times. This can be said to be an eye for viewing the world. It means that you must have an eye that sees through what the times are pursuing and what problems the times are facing. Second, your creative act should not be considered as ‘work’ but should become part of your daily life.

    Text & photo courtesy of Jinwoo Moon

    Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/imoonjinwoo/?hl=ko


  • Interview | Busan-Based Artists PTPC

    Interview | Busan-Based Artists PTPC

    PTPC (Public Transportation Photographer Crew) is a collective founded by Dongjin Lee and Junghyuk Lee, now comprising 26 members dedicated to capturing Busan’s iconic bus culture. Their lens celebrates the distinctive character of the city’s public transit – from vibrantly decorated buses navigating steep coastal hills to those traversing bustling harbor routes. More than mere documentation, their photography transforms ordinary commuter scenes into artistic portraits of urban life, inviting residents to rediscover the hidden poetry of their daily journeys.

    Marine City View 1006, 2022

    How did PTPC form? What united photographers around public transportation as a subject?

    PTPC is an organization that my friend and I founded for more systematic public transportation photography. At first, it was a small group with friends living in Busan. But over time, we recruited people to film public transportation nationwide and became the PTPC we are today.

    Are there rules or ethics your group follows when photographing transit systems?

    When photographing public transportation, look for the subject and place to photograph. After that, the composition is expected through the road view on the online map, and if necessary, the composition is identified through a preliminary survey before photographing. And the filming is conducted with people who can choose an appointment place and time.

    The section from Dadaepo to Daewoo Apartment Station, Photo by Lee Jung Hyuk of PTPC

    Do you prioritize spontaneity or meticulous composition?

    We prefer careful composition. is We like scenery and buses together.When filming below thorough plan below, the results of the picture is better to think the results.

    What’s the most rewarding aspect of being creative in your experience?

    There is a place called ‘Dadaepo Beach’ that I always visit. It is famous for the sunset. I feel most proud when I take pictures of buses with the sunset that always changes and see the beautiful results.

    야외, 나무, 차량, 육상 차량이(가) 표시된 사진

AI가 생성한 콘텐츠는 부정확할 수 있습니다.
    Dongwon Passenger No. 338, The section leading to Lotte Castle 201-dong from Dada Culture and Sports Center, Photo by Lee Jung Hyuk of PTPC

    Has documenting transit systems changed how you perceive Korea’s urban identity?

    There are events buses that symbolizes Busan, but there are many scenery that can only see Busan only Busan.In particular, the appearance of bus that can be said that it is the characteristic of Busan’s own characteristics. People living in Busan, I know where people live in Busan, so I know where people live in Busan.Thanks to the public transportation, many people who like public transportation.

    Sanbok Road, Hillside Road 86, 2023

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

    Now, Busan is ahead of the city bus diagrams and reorganize downtown buses in July 20225 this year. Most of the documents related to reorganize in Busan, and read most documents related to reorganize Busan. In addition, we are planning measures for the Busan bus to shoot through photos and broadcasting. Also, we’re filming the route where there is no reorganized by focusing on the line.

    Text & photo courtesy of PTPC


  • Interview | Hangzhou-Based Artist Cao Shu

    Interview | Hangzhou-Based Artist Cao Shu

    Cao Shu‘s works incorporate a diverse range of media, including writing, photography, 3D digital imagery, mixed-media sculpture, and video game installations. His recent interests explore topics such as nuclear energy as a ghostly medium, socialist historical science fiction, ant colony algorithms and superindividual life forms, Lovecraftian literature and the collective unconscious, and the relationship between digital technology and memory etc. Cao Shu is the recipient of the OCAT x KADIST Emerging Media Artist Award(2022), Exposure Award of PHOTOFAIRS Shanghai (2021), and BISFF Award for Outstanding Artistic Achievement(2017). He was also a finalist for the inaugural E.A.T. PRIZE 2024. He has been a residency artist at Atelier Mondial in Basel(2017), Yokohama Koganecho Bazzaar (2019), Muffatwek Munich and Goethe Institute(2023). The Works are collected by KADIST Art Foundation, Australian White Rabbit Art Gallery, Blue Mountain Contemporary Art Foundation, HOW Art Museum, and Zhejiang Art Museum. Recently years, the works have been exhibited in art Museums around the world, such as Kunsthausbaselland, Matadero Contemporary Art and Culture Center, M+Museum Hong Kong, Power Station of Art Shanghai(PSA), UCCA Center for Contemporary Art Dune, White Rabbit Gallery Sydney, BY ART MATTERS Hangzhou, Macao Art Museum, OCAT Shanghai, Sleep Center New York, etc. In addition, the works have also been shortlisted for the main competition units of film festivals around the world, including the Leipzig Documentary and Animation Film Festival, DMZ Docs, Message to Man International Film Festival, Annecy International Animation Festival, Milano Film Festival, Ottawa International Animation Festival, Film Festival Hannover, etc.

    Tired Sunset, 2022, Ready-made products, role-playing clothing, paper, aluminium, acrylic, wire, speaker, self-made circuit board, projector, Photo © Cao Shu Photo Power Station of Art Shanghai

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

    My earliest studies were in new media art. During my student years, my teachers were among China’s very first generation of new media artists. From them, I learned how to look at everyday things from different angles. Later on, I started blending my own generation’s unique experiences into my work. My pieces gradually evolved to include research-based moving images made with 3D rendering, along with interactive art games and space installations. During this period, my friends and peers had a big impact on me. We all shared interests and areas of study, and we grew together. Thinking back to the very start of my artistic journey… I guess it would be when I was about three years old, drawing at my grandma’s house. That first drawing was of the train near my home and the thick smoke billowing from a chimney. Even though it was over thirty years ago, I still remember the details of that picture. My grip on the pen also dates back to then – I started with heavy fountain pens, and I never managed to fix that tight, fist-like way I hold it. I still grip my pen with my whole fist wrapped around it today.

    Monster Outside the Windows, 2019, Text, Installation, 3D Rendered Moving Image, 3D Print, 6 x 5 x 3.2m, Photo © Cao Shu Photo, Koganecho Bazzar

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

    My creative process draws heavily from real-life experiences. I often spend long periods mulling over a particular idea or subject, but these thoughts don’t always find quick answers. It’s often a chance encounter in a specific place that finally sparks them into life. I always keep a sketchbook by my bed to capture those half-dreamed images, strange story fragments, and indescribable moods from the edge of sleep. These irrational, fleeting moments – like the floating childhood toys or warped apartment block corridors in my earlier work Corner of the Park – defy clear logic. Yet, they carry a strong sense of metaphor and time displacement. I see them as developer fluid for my subconscious. Recording them provides blurry yet real ‘geological samples’ for later reconstructing reality in my CG worlds. Family stories told by my parents, old photographs, even a faded train ticket stub… these seemingly trivial ‘pieces of evidence’ also form layers in my ‘memory archaeology’. I’m not trying to pin down historical ‘truth’. Instead, I’m fascinated by how these narratives and objects warp, shift, and become reshaped by personal perspective over time. This fascination is rooted in probing memory itself and a healthy wariness of technology. My goal is to capture the metaphorical power of technology. I see a striking parallel between how computer images are made and how memories surface: Both start with fuzzy static (the chaos of memory). Then comes ‘denoising’ (details emerging). Finally, they crystallize into something ‘false yet believable’. This ‘rendering vs. remembering’ analogy forms the starting point for many of my projects. I approach new tools like 3D software, game engines, and AI generation with enthusiasm for experimentation. But this is far from a chase after flashy tech tricks. What truly hypnotizes me is the inner logic of the technology itself and how it reshapes human perception – especially memory and imagination. The very act of using these tools becomes a perfect model for thinking about how memory works. This drives me to constantly question: What is the nature of the ‘realism’ CG technology creates? How do virtual spaces built in game engines change how we see the physical world? Could those unexplained ‘glitches’ and ‘distortions’ in AI images reveal glimpses of collective unconscious fantasies… or even traces of historical trauma?

    Scene of Solo Exhibition Go To Rome, 2021, Imagokinetics

    How has your artistic style evolved over time?

    In my earlier work, I was more focused on exploring experimental ideas and concepts through art. I used a mix of text, painting, photography, video, and animation. Back then, I had this kind of obsession with ‘stripping the meaning away’ from words. In pieces like An Uncountable Noun and the Color of Concept series, I tried to peel off the cultural baggage and emotional weight stuck to certain words. I wanted to reduce them to pure visual elements – just color, lines, movement, and sound. This wasn’t about ignoring feelings, but about finding a more direct, open way to experience things right where language starts to break down. Visually, things were simpler and more restrained. I was questioning how language itself holds power, and exploring whether visuals could become a more ‘neutral’ way to communicate. This approach was probably influenced by Modernist writers like Beckett and Robbe-Grillet.

    Later, my work shifted. Key ideas became CG animation, multi-screen installations, reconstructing memory, and spatial storytelling. My main medium became CG-animated videos, usually shown on multi-screen setups (double, triple, or more screens). This phase was really about building ‘memory detective stories’. A good example is my solo show, The Ocean of Solaris. Using multiple screens broke the usual single-story timeline. Viewers had to physically move around, piecing together the narrative by switching between screens showing different viewpoints, different moments in time, and different versions of memories. It was like trying to solve a puzzle you could never fully solve – mirroring how memory itself is fragmented, multi-angled, and constantly being reshaped. My drive during this time also came from being wary of technology’s dominance and consciously setting limits. Visually, I aimed for something between real and unreal. I avoided super-polished Hollywood-style CGI. Instead, I kept a digital feel – things like slight seams in models or deliberate visual ‘noise’. I even used ‘mistakes’ in the rendering process (like in Infinity and Infinity Plus One), letting the technology’s own traces become metaphors for how memory is imperfect and technology itself is often opaque.

    My most recent pieces often use game engines, focusing on ghostly themes and exploring historical echoes. Works like the video game Roam Simulator invites the audience to ‘walk’ and ‘play’ inside it. Or take my new work, Diffusion. It tackles AI image generation and what I call ‘techno-spiritualism’. I studied how AI image tools work (like diffusion models), especially the process of turning random noise into a clear picture. I saw a fascinating parallel between this and 19th-century ‘Spirit Photography’ – those old photos that tried to capture ghosts. I see the ‘glitches’ and weird distortions AI creates as a kind of modern digital ‘séance’. The AI’s hidden algorithms act like a medium. The ‘ghosts’ that appear unexpectedly in these images? They might be hidden collective fears, traces of historical trauma, or the forgotten voices from the edges of society, suddenly made visible in the chaos of the image-making process.

    Roam Simulator, 2021, Interactive Game, 5 x 5 x 3m, Image source by UCCA Dune

    What’s the most rewarding aspect of being creative in your experience?

    Lately, a really inspiring insight for me has been figuring out how to practice a kind of ‘digital ghostology’ at the excavation site of memory. Turning personal or collective history into a workable narrative model is essentially a method that redefines memory reconstruction as ‘historical detective work’ and ‘archival fiction.’ The first step involves evidence gathering and admitting contamination: I collect memory ‘evidence’ like photos, diaries, and oral accounts, but I’m fully aware this ‘evidence’ itself is already ‘contaminated’ and altered by time, emotions, and the narrator’s perspective; I don’t aim to ‘restore the truth,’ but instead embrace these traces left by time and their inherent instability. Next is building the ‘crime scene,’ not restoring facts: Like a detective, I use these fragmented, potentially contradictory ‘clues’ to construct a highly subjective ‘memory scene’ model in digital space using tools like 3D software and game engines – examples include the tube-shaped apartment maze in Melancholy of Tristes North Temperate Zone or the blended classroom-train space in Roam Simulator. This model isn’t a copy of the past; it’s a narrative engine designed to spark associations and hold multiple interpretations. Finally, I introduce ‘literary fiction’ as a catalyst, drawing heavily on influences like Kafka-esque absurd logic and sci-fi thought experiments, such as in Solaris. For instance, the vaguely mentioned, ‘password-recorded girl’ from my diary isn’t directly depicted in Corner of the Park; instead, she transforms into a constantly replicating, morphing, and ultimately dissolving figure. This kind of fiction acts as a lever to pry open cracks in reality and touch deeper emotions or existential dilemmas. My core aim is to understand the inner workings, historical lineage, and hidden philosophical/political meanings of the technological mediums themselves, then transform this insight into the intrinsic structure and poetic expression of my work: building temporally folded spaces in game engines where walking itself triggers Proustian involuntary memories; deliberately leaving unstitched seams or tiny rendering glitches in CG models to remind viewers of the medium’s artificiality and create space for emotional cracks; treating AI not as an ‘all-powerful creator’ but as an ‘uncontrollable spirit board,’ forcing viewers to confront the mystery, loss of control, and potential power imbalances beneath technology’s rational surface. ‘Ghosts,’ as a way to give digital form to the invisible, represent unspeakable, repressed, or faded feelings and events within personal memory; collective traumas and marginalized existences obscured, forgotten, or deliberately erased by mainstream historical narratives; the unexplained ‘noise,’ ‘errors,’ and potential biases within technical systems like algorithms and databases – seen as the return of repressed content; and finally, those existential experiences that escape the grasp of language itself.

    Tristes North Temperate Zone, 2018, 3-channel 3D rendered moving image installation, 4’10”, Photo © Cao Shu Photo, Zhejiang Art Museum

    Are there new technologies or mediums you’re curious to explore?

    Lately, I’ve been fascinated by the connection between MR technology (Mixed Reality) and ghosts. I think it’s a really interesting combination. Last year, I finished a project exploring historical ‘spirit mediums’, specifically the relationship between early photography and ghosts. It talked more about how when new technologies suddenly arrive, people often pin almost religious hopes on them (like expecting a savior), and how this leads to panic and ghostly fantasies. Those invisible spirits and ghosts represent the hidden fears and dreams we all share deep down – things history has pushed aside or forgotten. Facing new technology, we often feel lost and struggle to understand our place. In those moments, it can be really helpful to look back at how we got here. Looking at the path we’ve travelled often gives us surprising insights.

    Phantom Sugar, 3D rendered moving image, 4k, 15’10”, Photo © Cao Shu Photo, Artist Commissioned by X Art Museum Triennial

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

    I find it hard to give advice because I still consider myself an emerging artist. But if I had to share something that feels deeply true to me, it’s this: The most important part of being an artist is paying attention to the smallest, most subtle feelings in your lived experience. Be honest with them. Don’t let yourself be pushed around by trendy international topics or whether you win big awards. An artist’s unique voice often comes from the ‘imperfections’ or ‘quirks’ in their work. When you stick with these ‘imperfections’ for years, that’s often what makes it truly special – not making something that fits everyone else’s idea of what’s ‘correct’.

    Text & photo courtesy of Cao Shu

    Website: www.caoshuart.com
    Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/caoshuart/


  • Interview | Seoul-Based Artist VAGYOOMOO

    Interview | Seoul-Based Artist VAGYOOMOO

    Vagyoomoo focuses on beings in motion—those who share the fundamental drive for survival. She observes these beings within their environments, drawn to the mechanisms each employs to survive and the intersections where diverse lives converge. Vagyoomoo is particularly interested in these points of intersection and perceives their lives as closely intertwined with her own. She sees all life forms as influencing one another’s survival, understanding this interconnectedness as a kind of “chimera.”

    She finds the origin of art in a state of yearning. Regardless of how much time passes, human nature does not evolve at the same pace as technology. People still seek religion in times of crisis and look for phenomena, beings, or logic to rely on. Amid rapidly advancing technology, Vagyoomoo works with instinct as her compass, summoning entities that might serve as companions in survival or intimate deities. Trees, lions, and other entities that exist outside the realms of capital and technology—surviving in their primal state—offer the most fundamental kind of faith in the possibility of survival amid uncertainty, thanks to their ecological properties.

    Hernia Ttaekkal Tree, 2022, 39.5 x 44 x 36 cm, Glaze a pigment on clay, Photo by Jinsol Kim

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

    Since I was very young, drawing came naturally—it was simply something I did. Around 2008, while I was in middle school, a Damien Hirst exhibition was held at a gallery in Daegu, the city where I lived. A friend who knew how much I loved drawing gave me an invitation, and we went to the exhibition together. That’s where I first saw a skull densely covered in flies. I don’t clearly remember what kind of emotional impression it left on me, but I do know that it shattered my previous understanding of what fine art was.

    Until I saw that exhibition, fine art to me was like old paintings viewed on the flat surface of a textbook. (Though ironically, the more I create, the more I find myself captivated by those old paintings.) Behind the skull, I saw the pill series and remember reading the pamphlet detailing its implied meaning several times. The experience became a defining moment in my life—a kind of rupture that doesn’t come easily again. From that moment, I began to dream of becoming someone who could create a similar rupture in another person’s life, making their world feel more dimensional.

    Life Overlayer, 2022, 110 x 90 cm, Oil Pastel on Felt, Photo by Vagyoomoo

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

    I draw inspiration from the energy and mechanisms that all living beings—humans included—exert to sustain life. One key idea that often appears in how I experience life is the mitochondrion. Mitochondria carry their own DNA within our cells. I see them as something like another entity living inside me, a remnant that made the birth of multicellular organisms—and thus, me as a human—possible.

    This awareness that I contain something other than myself leads to thoughts of the microbiome or Demodex folliculorum. My existence wouldn’t be possible without these beings, and that realization makes me see myself as a kind of chimeric being. As I expand this awareness, I sometimes feel as though I dissolve and become part of a larger resonance that belongs to the Earth itself.

    On top of that, I observe the diverse survival strategies of different life forms and try to embody their will to live—like a totemic force—within my work. My hope is that these efforts can give viewers a bit of energy to get through their day. That hope, I think, is what drives me.

    The End of ARF7, 2022, 90 x 110 cm, Oil Pastel on Felt, Photo by Chullim Choi

    How has your artistic style evolved over time?

    My work has followed two major threads: a focus on desire, and a focus on how we experience life. In the beginning, I was drawn to the theme of desire. Later, I became more interested in lived experience. Now, I’m trying to find a way to integrate the two.

    When I was in college, appetite and sexuality felt strangely foreign to me—along with the desire to live well. I wouldn’t say I studied these things analytically; rather, I became immersed in their impressions. Thoughts like: Flowers are clearly reproductive organs, yet because of their beauty, they’re constantly displayed and consumed as gifts. A bouquet essentially strips a plant of its sexual function. Or: Ham, which is the remnant of a pig reduced to a single ingredient, with the entire process erased. Or: Ritualistic acts stemming from the human desire to live well, alongside ongoing wars and conflicts somewhere in the world. These fragmented thoughts formed the basis of my early work.

    Based on them, I created pieces such as a guillotine-shaped vase using ceramic clay, plates adorned with hybrid images of humans and animals along with food placed on top, and sculptures representing cyclical violence—bodies on top and heads beneath, echoing serial executions.

    Hernia Ttaekkal Tree, 2022, 38 x 36 x 35.5 cm, Glaze and Pigment on Clay, Photo by Jinsol Kim

    During graduate school, I was diagnosed with a pinched nerve in my neck and was physically limited for some time. During that period, I noticed trees on the street with large burls—those lumps reminded me of my herniated disc. I projected my experience of slowly regaining physical stability through gradual overload onto those trees that continued to grow despite their scars. This became the Hernia Ttaekkal Tree series. That was when I began working in both painting and sculpture.

    Now, I’m exploring comprehensive ways of expression—through sculpture, painting, and installation—that examine survival mechanisms across species, survival instincts, entanglements and clashes born from survival, and the superstitious or ritualistic behaviors humans engage in as one form of desire.

    Many pieces feature vibrant colors against dark backgrounds. Is this visual contrast symbolic of particular themes?

    Yes, it reflects the entanglement and clashes of survival energy. Just as individual struggles interlock to create the world, the colors collide to form waves across the surface.

    The material contrast also plays a role—oil pastels layered on felt add a certain tactile resistance that mirrors that tension. The intensity between colors is crucial in my work, though the reason for this might be quite simple: it’s how I feel the forces of life.

    Scattered and Gathered then Gone, 2023, 90 x 110 cm, Oil Pastel on Felt, Photo by Jungkyun Goh

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

    The greatest challenge has been financial instability and the resulting lack of time. It’s hard to keep creating under such conditions, but I try not to expect too much too quickly. I focus on making the most of what’s possible within my environment, and sometimes those constraints lead to unique and interesting results. Hardships don’t really end—they just shift form. So I try to be aware of that and build a kind of mental resilience or belief system to keep going. I also practice Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Like any sport, it teaches you how to face uncertainty and personal limits—much like art does. It helps me endure and move forward.

    Senery of Hernia Ttaekkal Tree, 2022, Photo by Jinsol Kim

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

    I’m still early in my career myself, so I don’t have definitive advice. But one thing that helps me is to accept critique carefully, trust myself, and consciously recognize the effort I put in. Acknowledging your own progress, even in small ways, can help sustain a life of making art

    Text & photo courtesy of  Vagyoomoo

    Website: https://vagyoomoo.wixsite.com/vagyoomoo
    Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/vagyoomoo/