On September 7, the Leeum Museum of Art unveiled the solo exhibition of artist Suki Seokyeong Kang, titled Willow Drum Oriole. Recognized as a leading mid-career artist in Korea, Kang is celebrated for her exploration of both traditional and contemporary socio-cultural contexts. This exhibition, being showcased in one of Korea’s largest-scale art museums, has naturally attracted significant attention. Centered on her new creations, the Leeum Museum of Art presents a novel landscape of Korean traditional paintings, suggesting a stirring journey for viewers. The exhibition title Willow Drum Oriole depicts a landscape in which diverse elements merge without boundaries. Kang prompts viewers to discern the relationship between the words, “willow,” “drum,” and “oriole,” much like deciphering the subtleties within a poem.
The willow transforms into a thread,
The cuckoo evolves into a drum,
My sorrow unfolds through ninety spring days.
Who claims verdant early summer surpasses flower-filled spring?
The title of this exhibition is inspired by the Korean traditional song, “The Willow.” The song paints a picture of the oriole weaving its way through willow tree branches, reminiscent of a thread moving through fabric. However, while the oriole’s movement during the challenging three months of spring is captivating, it evokes a deep-seated sorrow in the observer. The vibrant green grass and foliage, rather than being symbols of beauty, seem to express melancholy and distress. This title poignantly captures the artist’s emotions and presents a reflection on her personal odyssey marked by numerous challenges, both as an artist and an individual.
Willow Drum Oriole is also the name of a new piece. This work, presented in a video format, unravels as a synesthetic landscape with the seamless coalescence of visuals and sound. The Korean traditional song stands as both the overarching motif and the anchor of the exhibition. The harmonious integration of wind, rain, and bird sounds with visual objets signifies this landscape as a potential turning point in Kang’s creative journey.
The unique aspect of your work is its ability to deconstruct and reconstruct the conditions and frameworks of painting, translating traditional art into a contemporary language.
It’s challenging to encapsulate the world of art with just one keyword. The multiple layers and directions my work possesses make it hard to define in a single statement. I’ve heard comments that my pieces aren’t always easy to interpret, but I, too, am still in the process of seeking my unique artistic voice. My exhibitions present this ongoing journey, not the endpoint. Rather than offering viewers a polished, finalized narrative, I am constantly deliberating and researching the direction of painting. I aspire to be an artist that showcases the immediacy of such contemplations.
I heard that in addition to the Leeum Museum of Art, your artworks can also be encountered at the Tina Kim Gallery and the Kukje Gallery booths at Frieze Seoul, co-hosted with KIAF. Could you please describe your works for us?
Mountain series are all new creations. Mat is akin to a flat, painting-like piece. My previous exhibitions at the Venice Biennale and the Philadelphia Museum of Art were narrative-rich, focusing on my personal story and offering a close-up view of the landscapes and states I encountered. However, after those exhibitions, my creative boundaries gradually broadened, reflecting an imagination of the subject in a space and landscape where everything coexists. More often than not, when preparing a new exhibition it feels as if my previous work has set the stage for the next, with everything interlocking and proceeding in tandem.
Mountain is a piece connected to the narrative of my Seochon studio. I set up my studio in Seochon due to its proximity to Inwangsan Mountain. Although hiking isn’t a passion of mine, I’ve been drawn to mountainous landscapes since my school years. The concept of
“painting,” especially as it captures tangible landscapes, has always fascinated me. Inwangsan Mountain has held a special place in my heart since my youth, and I’ve always been enamored with any depictions of it. My journey in painting began with illustrating this mountain. There was an innate desire to transpose the romantic essence of this mountain, which I’ve always admired, into a tangible form and this lead me to create a piece that mirrored the silhouette of a diminutive mountain.
The warmth in the title of my new work, Hours, is intrinsically linked to this context. It encapsulates my desire to have the present environment and the landscape I aspire to, right beside me. Hours conveys the preciousness of the present moment.
To explain conceptually, my previous series Mat was about the space where a body stands, never exceeding the size of another’s physique. It depicted a cautious form confined within the space and plane I occupied. The new work embodies my contemplation of where I currently stand. Given that it was crafted after navigating various recent challenges, it holds special significance to me. In contrast, Grandmother Tower occupied a space equivalent to my grandmother’s height. Grandmother Tower-tow evolved to [literally] lean further, becoming taller and larger than my own height, thereby distinguishing itself from the new Mountain and Hours series. My new work is perhaps a representation of another facet of myself, one existing right beside me.
Your artworks stem from reflections on paintings. Could you elaborate on this?
Would it be accurate to say that I’ve translated my contemplations about painting into spatial forms? I transformed the method of landscape painting into a conceptual, abstract language. It is an organic process as a contemporary artist. Nothing is created with absolute intention. The “why” behind something always necessitates ongoing reflection. Just as we, in the present day, interpret ancient paintings and history, I harbor a curiosity about sculptural languages crafted through personal interpretation. My eagerness to move to the next phase doesn’t merely stem from a desire to reach a wider audience. Instead, it’s an innate exploration process for me. Therefore, as an artist, I don’t create new works specifically for exhibitions. I continue with my work, and when an exhibition comes around, I invite the pieces that represent that particular moment in time to be shared with the audience.
I was deeply intrigued by your mention of the “grid” in your work, describing it as a “living, breathing space.” This naturally evokes thoughts of artists like Agnes Martin and Sol LeWitt, both of whom were profoundly captivated by the grid concept. How does your take on the grid distinguish itself from theirs?
In Korean, the word “grid”—when penned down—possesses a unique aesthetic due to its angular typography. However, my introduction to the grid wasn’t rooted in its literal definition. Previously, my paintings were my torso-sized, measuring exactly 55×40cm. These pieces were sculptural in nature and emphasized the lateral view of a painting. Originating from the Black Mat, these structures slowly expanded in size. Within the confines of my then-cramped studio, and factoring in what I could physically handle, this dimension emerged as the most apt unit. The grid, for me, started as an effort to progressively augment this dimension. Therefore, my conceptualization of the grid deviates from the traditional Western art discourse. For me, the grid bridges the body in the studio with the artwork. As my paintings evolved, I became increasingly curious about adjusting their scale, which eventually kindled my aspiration to craft larger art pieces.
While my art is centered around abstract narratives, this process doesn’t manifest overtly in the final pieces. The poem “Ssanghwajeom” is a love tale rooted in a dumpling shop. Around 2014, I stumbled upon a manuscript-styled board, each square of which was inscribed with lyrics from “Ssanghwajeom,” and it captivated me instantly. The Jeongganbo, a unique musical notation crafted by King Sejong, stands apart from Western musical sheets. Within the Jeongganbo, instrument pitches are ascertained by the placement of specific characters and symbols. It’s an abstraction when juxtaposed against modern musical notations. My intrigue wasn’t solely for the music that Jeongganbo rendered but more for its underlying concept, which was subsequently infused into my artistic endeavors. The Jeongganbo allowed for the inclusion of both lyrics and the movement of instruments in a spatial framework. This notion seamlessly aligned with my aspiration to redefine and expand the dimensions and scope of paintings. The discovery of Jeongganbo was a personal “Eureka” moment.
Later on, I also familiarized myself with Chunaengmu. As I delved into the artistic language of square grids, these squares occasionally morphed into the “well” symbol (井) or mirrored the dance sequences of Chunaengmu. The allure of archives, which offered a novel lens to interpret spatial compositions, propelled me to broaden this theme, culminating in the Mat series.
Was the inspiration for your new Mountain series drawn from Inwang jesaekdo?
The Mountain series is an extension of my painting. The very colors of the threads that make up the artwork are derived from my paintings. While audiences might perceive it in varied ways, I approached its creation with the mindset that all of my pieces are intrinsically linked to painting. This philosophy reflects the path I’ve taken as an artist. Rather than presenting a distant view of mountains, my recent Mountain series is distinctively marked by closely observed layers of mountains veiled in mist. The series emanates from my yearning to touch, behold, and depict mountains. Jeong Seon’s Inwang jesaekdo (Scene of Inwangsan Mountain after Rain) is similarly entrancing with its portrayal of clouds and mist. An image from Inwang jesaekdo was even showcased as a reference in my 2018 exhibition catalogue. As a professor in the Korean Painting Department at Ewha Womans University, I frequently refer to this masterpiece, highlighting my deep admiration for it.
Many people have been eagerly anticipating your exhibition at the Leeum Museum of Art. What is the highlight of this exhibition?
Approximately 90% of the pieces showcased at the Leeum Museum of Art are new works. This exhibition, titled Willow Drum Oriole, spans two floors of the M2. I believe it marks a new turning point in my artistic journey. In preparing for the exhibition, I went through significant personal changes, and these influenced and transformed my work profoundly. I spent time reflecting on both my surroundings and myself. This introspection was challenging, pushing me to deeply contemplate parts of my past I hadn’t questioned previously, as well as my present position. The Mat series, initially presented in a smaller format at the 2019 Venice Biennale, is now comprehensively displayed at the Leeum Museum of Art, showcasing the flow of the series. While I’ve been engaged with the series for an extended period, this is the first time I’m revealing its entire developmental process through an exhibition. The artworks on display at the Leeum Museum of Art are the culmination of numerous novel attempts. The audience will notice a distinctive departure from my previous works. While some may not perceive this shift, I hope they appreciate the considerable effort invested. For instance, when we contemplate a mountain, we often think of the countless trees and fallen leaves it encompasses. Yet, from a distance, we perceive only its majestic silhouette. I invite visitors to this exhibition to pause and discover moments of tranquility and romance within the times we inhabit.
In 2019, your work was showcased at the main exhibition of the Venice Biennale, and you also had a commemorative exhibition at MUDAM, The Contemporary Art Museum of Luxembourg, in recognition of your Baloise Art Prize win. That year must have been particularly memorable for you.
Absolutely, it was an enriching year. Works from the Rove and Round and Grandmother Tower series were acquired by MUDAM. Before that period, I was constantly on the go, always preparing for one exhibition while transitioning to the next. This relentless pace often prevented me from genuinely connecting with my audience. However, during my time in Luxembourg, I had the rare chance to linger a while, wander amidst my artworks, and participate in activations with the visitors. To me, my work, in essence, is also a journey. It’s vital to be able to communicate with the local audience in the space where the artwork resides. I deeply value those moments when I can genuinely “click” with visitors from various backgrounds and locales. The experience of “clicking” with individuals from different spaces, epochs, and cultures is deeply meaningful to me.
Your artworks are renowned for their unique and captivating colors.
Indeed, material and color are crucial elements of my work. For example, the Mat series is a conceptualized painting for me, and the starting point is the color of the painting. The colors I use possess a distinct tone, stemming from the fusion of ink and a delicate white. This blend has gradually evolved into my signature color, sustaining the feel of my paintings.
You’ve been teaching as a professor in the Department of Korean Painting at Ewha Womans University. What advice do you offer to your students?
Currently, I’m taking a brief sabbatical. To my students, I often recount numerous stories from my creative journey, including those experiences that might not have yielded the expected outcomes. It’s challenging to pin down a distinct artistic vision or discuss art through a single lens or keyword. In my painting process, I feel as though I’m constantly swimming through a sea of exploration, encountering multifaceted paths. I’ve created countless pieces over the years, and while some might be viewed as “failures,” they are integral to the evolution of my current works. I share with my students the diverse artistic methodologies I’ve dabbled in and the challenges I’ve faced along the way. I urge them to roam, absorb the world around them, and to put pen to paper to capture their reflections about their own creations. After all, an artist should be proficient in articulating their work.
I store in my studio all the works that have never made it to the public eye. Though some might label them failures due to their absence from exhibitions, they are treasures to me. Perhaps, when I become a hoho halmeoni (or a granny with silver hair), these pieces will find their moment of revelation. Instead of dubbing them “odd or unsuccessful ventures,” it feels more apt to describe them as brief detours I took during my artistic endeavors.
I studied Korean and Western painting, and I wasn’t formally trained in handling diverse materials. So, I’ve often attempted to teach myself, experimenting with everything from welding to woodworking. Admittedly, I’ve had my share of mishaps along the way. My journey is one of perpetual experimentation and boundary-pushing.
You draw inspiration from traditional elements. Do you perceive any differences in how local and international audiences interpret your art?
Most viewers approach my work through the lens of contemporary art, rather than with a purely Korean sensibility. While my creations are influenced by traditional motifs, they are firmly grounded in the lexicon of contemporary art. International viewers, including curators, engage with and appreciate the essence of my pieces without necessarily categorizing them as distinctively “Korean” works.
You’ve collaborated with a diverse range of professionals, from choreographers and musicians to Hwamunseok artisans (who weave mats with patterns using dyed sedges) and performance artists. Can you describe the pleasures and challenges these collaborations present?
Collaborating across different domains is always an invigorating challenge. I’m constantly engaged in a wide variety of collaborations. I’ve worked with artisans to create Hwamunseok, and we’ve dyed sedges together. For these artisans, the Hwamunseok mat serves as a canvas. Every decision, from choosing to combining colors, is meticulously executed by hand. When engaging with artisans, choreographers, musicians, and other specialists, the delight often lies in our dialogues, where we uncover shared passions or perspectives that neither of us realized before. As I engage with historical texts or dive into traditional heritage, it’s fascinating how my interpretations can vary from others. In such instances, conversing with scholars and getting a glimpse into their insights is truly enriching. Yet, one of the enduring challenges is finding the right collaborator, someone who resonates with my vision. I remember journeying to Ganghwado Island multiple times in search of a particular Hwamunseok artisan. My expedition, filled with countless inquiries, felt akin to solving an intricate puzzle. Surprisingly, even in our digitally connected era, locating such skilled individuals remains an odyssey. This journey, in many ways, parallels the synesthetic journey I embark upon when exploring the realm of painting.
You’ve established yourself as a mid-career artist. Have your feelings towards art changed over the years?
My love for art has always been profound, but with time, it has deepened even more. Though art remains a challenge, it’s a pursuit I hold close to my heart. All of my signature series are ongoing; rather than seeing them as completed works, I view them as continuous explorations, much like a never-ending round. As I prepared for my recent exhibition, I experienced many of life’s milestones, including childbirth. Yet, throughout all these events, I never let go of my work. Even during times when I was physically unable to visit my studio, my mind was always engrossed in my work. While my body endured fatigue, my love for my work intensified, propelling me to invest even more of myself. Interestingly, the tougher my situation became, the more I yearned to create. My future plans are straightforward: to stay inquisitive and pour my all into my art. Life, in my eyes, is a continuous series of challenges.
Lastly, is there a message you’d like to share with our readers?
I wish I could convey the intricacies of my exhibition at the Leeum Museum of Art, but the constraints of text make it challenging. I hope for an opportunity to guide you through the artworks in person at the exhibition. If I were to give you a keyword or hint about what to look for, the Mat series is characterized by many overlapping layers. The Hwamunseok acts as a canvas for me, which I then dye and structure. From here, its composition aligns with choreography. While the focus is on abstract and pronounced bodily movements, the starting point remains the Hwamunseok artistry. Through this exhibition, you’ll be able to witness the progression of my contemplations over the years and see how they culminated in the new pieces on display.
Written by LEE SO YOUNG.
