🥂 Apéritif (let’s get to know you)

Welcome back to Korea! How was your day and how has the install been?

Oh, my day’s been really good. I’m fairly well-rested, and it’s been so nice to come back and see the final installation of the work. It’s just so different seeing the pieces in the gallery space — you get so used to them in the studio, but here, in this beautiful setting, it’s like revisiting an old relationship. You see the work again and think, “Oh, this isn’t too bad.”

Daegu is known for foods like Makchang, Jjimgalbi and Mungtigi. Do those kinds of foods bring back a sense of home for you? Or.. do you not like those foods?

I’d say jjimgalbi is more my thing. But honestly, it’s just been so nice to have authentic Korean food here. In New York, we’re really lucky to have great Korean food and so many other cuisines, but there’s just something special about eating it here. There are a few restaurants I grew up going to, and I always try to revisit them whenever I come back. I’m a big foodie, so honestly, all I’ve been doing is eating.

🥖 Entrée (let’s get to know your show)

Speaking of Daegu, it’s your hometown. And this is your first solo show in Korea, 18 years after leaving. More than just a return to where it all started, was this show particularly emotional or reflective for you in any way?

Yeah, it was really important for me that my first solo show in Korea be here in my hometown. It’s been two decades since I moved to the States, but I come back almost every year to visit family, so Daegu is still such a big part of me. It feels surreal — like I’m sharing what I do with a community I was too young to fully understand or appreciate back then. But now, every time I come back, I feel like I’m falling in love with it again, seeing it in a new light. And, of course, I think of my grandparents — especially my grandmother. So much of my creative inspiration comes from her. I wish she could be here to experience this with me. I think about her a lot, especially while preparing for this show, because usually, this is around the time of year I’d be visiting her.

You are dedicating this exhibition to your grandmother. How did memories of her influence your work in this show?

Growing up, I always saw my grandmother working with her hands. She was just so good at it. She would make these stuffed animals — honestly, they looked like something you could buy. But back then, I never really thought of it as “art.” Looking back, though, I realize that her skill wasn’t just a hobby; it was a necessity. She needed to be good at it to take care of her kids. I think seeing that growing up made me believe that I could also create things — things that could make people happy and that I could share with others. I often think about how, in her generation, women had far fewer choices. Watching them, I realized how much freedom I have now — the freedom to create, to pursue a career in art, to make my own decisions. That’s something they didn’t always have. So in a way, I feel a responsibility not to take this privilege for granted. Whenever I’m struggling with a piece or feeling stuck, I think about them, and it kind of grounds me. It reminds me that I’m not just doing this for myself.

What are some new elements in this show that we are seeing for the first time or that you’ve explored in more depth?

I’m exploring more themes around pop art. I don’t want to put my work in a box, but because I’m constantly looking at pop culture — whether it’s YouTube, Instagram, or wherever — it just naturally seeps into my work. And for this show, I think I’m leaning more into text, but in a way that feels more cohesive. I’m also trying to merge both sides of my style: the frenetic energy of my older works and the more refined, almost polished portraiture I get from advertisements. I feel like I’m finally finding a good groove in balancing those two.

🍗 Plat (let’s get to know you on a deeper level)

You once described art as a “fixed point” in your life—even as everything else was constantly changing. For us, we often approach art as an escape for when the going gets tough. What were some of the experiences you were going through across life, and why was it that you always kept coming back to art?

For a lot of people, but especially for me, art has always been that fixed point. While it’s an immense privilege to be able to move around, as a young kid, it can feel really destabilizing. You don’t have a say in it. Because I couldn’t control my surroundings, I became pretty insular. Art became my stable ground — something I could always turn to, no matter where we moved. Every time we moved somewhere new, I knew I could still draw or paint in my room. It started out of necessity, and it’s something my friends and I talk about a lot — without art, I genuinely don’t know what else we’d be doing. It saved a lot of us in a way.

And on the flip side, beyond being an escape, what about the joy of making art? What keeps you creating?

Definitely — it’s not all just dark and heavy. (laughs) I think it’s kind of twofold for me. On one hand, it’s my anxiety — but in a weirdly happy, productive way. I have a lot of energy that I need to get out, and creating art is how I channel that. Honestly, I’m happiest in the studio, just making work.

You recently created drawings inspired by The Substance, a film that explores beauty, aging, and self-obsession through body horror. The film also taps into overstimulation and societal pressure, which are recurring themes in your work. How did you translate that sense of chaos or unease into your drawings?

Oh, that film struck me so deeply. It’s such a campy, over-the-top take on this desperate grasp for youth, and I see that everywhere — in American culture, Korean culture — where beauty standards are treated like the highest value. It really resonated because, with this show, I’m grappling with my own body image and changing views on aging. It’s so different now compared to when I was in my early twenties. And it’s not just me — it’s something a lot of my girlfriends and I talk about. Whether it’s about getting work done, the pressure of maintaining a certain look, or seeing celebrities who look so flawless… It’s just so unrealistic. But we’re constantly fed those images as if that’s what we should aspire to. And I think the real pressure is that if you dare to age a certain way, it’s almost seen as, “What’s wrong with you?”

So with this show, I guess I wanted to celebrate women in a way that says, you’re not lacking in any way. We should be able to just sit in our bodies, to be okay with them. Aging is beautiful. Visually, The Substance was so fun but at the same time, it’s a really sad and painfully accurate reflection of how Hollywood and everyday media present women’s expectations. That’s something I wanted to explore through my work.

You’ve mentioned that you collect memes and random images from the internet as part of your process, and have even described yourself as being “chronically online.” As someone who’s immersed in that stream of digital noise, how do you decide what’s worth holding onto—and how does that material find its way into your work?

Honestly, it’s a bit like the pile of clothes in the corner of my room — this organized chaos. I just keep piling things up, and then, I sort through and pick out what I need. I think I’m a bit of a hoarder that way. I’m constantly consuming images, scrolling, saving, and I kind of justify it to myself as research — like, “It’s okay to spend this much time online because it’s for work.” But really, there’s no strict method. Sometimes it’s a phrase that sticks with me. Other times, it’s a random portrait. It’s not always about choosing the most striking image — sometimes it’s the most mundane thing that triggers something.

In your artist note for Good Girl, you’ve mentioned that today’s social media trends seem to signal a return to more “traditional” gender roles—emphasizing baking, domestic life, and child-rearing. How has that shift influenced the way you think about femininity or how you approached the works in Good Girl?

I’ve definitely noticed this sort of glorification of a “traditional” idea of womanhood — you know, women baking bread from scratch, this whole image of the perfect domestic life. A lot of women my age, and even younger, seem to gravitate towards that. Maybe it’s a reaction to how chaotic the world feels — like looking back at something simpler as a kind of comfort or safety. But it’s also this very curated, idealized version. It doesn’t show the other side of that life, the struggles, the lack of options women had back then. And ironically, we’re able to explore these roles now because we’ve moved away from them. I don’t think it has to be so binary, though — like either you’re the independent, working “boss lady,” or you’re all about traditional values. There should be more nuance.

I really wanted to touch on that tension — the pressure on women to do it all, to somehow embody all these conflicting ideals. And a lot of it comes from social media, where we’re constantly shown this perfectly curated version of what women should be. It’s exhausting, but it’s also something I wanted to explore.

🎨 Palette Cleanser (let’s get to know your artworks)

Just before we move on to dessert, let’s take a moment to cleanse our palette with one of your works. I noticed the ‘25 percent longer’ text and I’ve got my own guesses, but I’m curious—what’s the story behind that?

Okay, the slogan actually comes from an old Newport cigarette ad: “Alive with Pleasure.” I found it really ironic—these ads show people being active and full of life, but they’re promoting something that will literally shorten your life. That contradiction really struck me. A lot of my work, including this piece, explores the pressures women face—always racing against time. There’s this sense of urgency. By 35, you’re considered “geriatric” if you’re thinking about having kids. I feel like we have all this time, but biologically, there’s a ticking clock—whether it’s about relationships, career milestones, or just where you’re supposed to be in life. In the piece, there are three main elements.

First, the Mary Jane shoes symbolize youth, reflecting the pressure to stay young, especially under beauty standards. Second, there’s a melon shaped like a vagina, which speaks to how women are sexualized and objectified—like something served on a platter. I was inspired by Judy Chicago’s “Dinner Party.” Third, the couple almost forced together represents the traditional pressure around marriage—the idea that if you’re not in a relationship or married by a certain age, something must be wrong.

The “25 percent longer” text is a bit of a double entendre. Studies show that married men live longer than single men, but married women don’t get the same benefit—they often live shorter lives than their single counterparts. So there’s an ironic twist to it. And yes, there are some cheeky phallic shapes in the background—because honestly, it’s about the expectations placed on women, and sometimes you just have to laugh at the absurdity of it all. In a way, this piece is about how my relationship with these expectations has changed. I used to reject traditional values, but now I feel more conflicted. I just think everyone should be able to live their life however they want—there’s no single right way.

🍮 Dessert (the future)
While the themes and styles of your work have evolved, you have consistently stuck with charcoal as your main medium. The layering of Hanji (Korean traditional paper) gives your work a special sense of depth. And the charcoal on Hanji even feels like traditional Korean ink (Meok). When you use these materials, are you consciously influenced by Korean aesthetics or traditions?

Definitely. Initially, I gravitated towards paper because it felt comfortable — it was always the medium I was used to. But I think there’s also this connection to my childhood. I remember in school, we would use ink (Meok) for traditional calligraphy, and that memory has always stayed with me. So in a way, it felt natural to use these materials. And especially now, being able to show these works in Korea, it feels really fitting. It’s almost like a nod to traditional Korean materials, but I’m exploring very contemporary themes through them. I think that tension — between something so traditional and something so current — is part of what makes it interesting. I’ve also stuck with charcoal because, even though the themes and ideas in my work keep evolving, I wanted something that would remain constant, like a steady thread running through everything. Charcoal gives me that — it’s this stable medium I can always come back to. And then there’s something about the monochrome palette — black and white — that creates these clear boundaries but also allows so much freedom within them.

People often separate painting and drawing, but you treat drawing itself as a full and independent artistic language. The fact that you elevate a material like charcoal — historically seen as a preparatory tool — feels like a way of bringing marginalized mediums to center stage. Is there a specific reason why you continue to work this way?

Honestly, I just love drawing so much. But beyond that, I think there’s always been this hierarchy in art, especially when I was in school. Drawing was often seen as a stepping stone — something you did to prepare for a “real” work, like a painting. And I’ve always had this issue with that hierarchy, this sort of problem with authority. So many people would ask, “When are you going to start painting?” as if drawing wasn’t enough on its own. But for me, there’s no real difference between drawing and painting. I see them as different sensibilities, not just tied to specific mediums. I wanted to put drawing in the spotlight and show that it can exist as a complete, finished work — not just a means to an end. It’s not just a preparatory stage; it’s a full and expressive language of its own.

There seems to be a shift in your work—from external environments to more internal reflections. What has guided that evolution, and where do you see it going next?

Yeah, that’s true. I think when I first moved to New York, I was just so overwhelmed by the energy of the city. I was constantly observing — almost like a voyeur — just trying to capture everything around me. So a lot of my early work was focused on my surroundings, on the people and chaos I was seeing. But after almost a decade in New York, I started to look inward. Part of it was just not feeling ready to talk about my personal experiences — it felt too vulnerable. I didn’t know how to express them in a way that felt relatable to other people. Maybe I was even a little scared too. But as I got older, I became less apologetic, more confident in who I am — and that naturally found its way into the work. As for where it’s going next, I honestly don’t know — and that’s the exciting part. I hope I can keep expanding this language, but right now it’s a bit of a question mark.

🍸Digestif (last question)

How do your travels — from the chaos of New York to the quieter, calmer atmosphere of Daegu or the different environment of somewhere else entirely — influence your work?

I think I only really understand how a place has influenced me after I’ve made a body of work. It’s like, I don’t even realize it while I’m creating — I just follow this subconscious instinct. And then later, when I step back and look at the finished pieces, I can see, “Oh, that’s where my mindset was.” For example, coming back to Daegu, it’s such a contrast to New York. It’s quieter, less chaotic — and that feels like a break for my mental state. But whether that will actually show up in my work? I won’t know until I’ve made something. It’s the same with places like Bali. I might soak in the atmosphere, but I won’t really know how it’s impacted me until I see it reflected in what I create. For now, I’m just enjoying the day-to-day life here. It’s been really nice.

What’s one (or two) exhibition you’re looking forward to seeing while in Korea this time?

There’s a painting exhibition at the Daegu Art Museum — it’s a space I’ve always loved. I remember going there as a kid. Back then, my mom had to drag me along, and I didn’t really understand what it was about. But now I really appreciate it — it’s such a beautiful space. We also went to the MMCA in Seoul to see the surrealist exhibition, which was so interesting. It featured a lot of lesser-known Korean surrealist painters, and they paired them with more historical pieces, which was kind of unexpected but really cool. Honestly, I’m just excited to see art in Korea. There’s something about seeing works here that feels different, especially now coming back as an artist myself.