I collect fragments of contemporary life. These include street trash, discarded toys, kitchen utensils, internet memes and more, which I then transform into visual and sculptural works that reflect our urban reality. I don’t limit myself to one medium. I work across painting, sculpture, installation, performance and video. My approach is multidisciplinary because I want to respond to society from multiple angles, using all parts of my body and being.

I’m fascinated by the emotional residue left by objects and images in capitalist cities. I often use industrial patterns, such as repetitive window grids on corporate towers, as visual motifs that echo Seoul and London’s architecture and the mechanical rhythm of mass production. These motifs serve as both aesthetic language and psychological balm. Repeating them becomes meditative, even therapeutic.

Lately, I’ve been incorporating more playful and cheerful objects, such as teddy bears, perfume bottles and bright colours, to create a contrast between visual pleasure and societal critique. This shift toward joyful surfaces is intentional. It is a kind of satire, a strategy to soften the harshness of modern life while still commenting on it.

It’s instinctive and adaptable. I resist being placed in a fixed category. The pattern work, the use of found objects, the colour palette: those are visual anchors, but my identity isn’t based on consistency or branding. It’s more about the logic behind the work, which comes from my lived experience in fast cities like Seoul and London. I believe in responding intuitively, depending on what the work or moment requires.

Process is central. I keep a strict routine: Monday to Friday, nine to six, like an office job. It might sound rigid, but it’s what keeps me balanced. It’s tempting to believe in the chaotic artist archetype, but I find rhythm and discipline more sustainable. Making work every day, even small things, helps me manage anxiety and remain grounded. The act of doing, not just the outcome, is the most therapeutic part.

My ideal interaction is not full comprehension. If viewers grasp 50% of my intention, that’s a success. The rest should be theirs : their background, emotions or associations. I love when unexpected interpretations emerge, especially when they teach me something new. That kind of alchemy, where intention and audience experience intersect, is one of the most beautiful parts of art-making.

I’m especially drawn to raw or industrial spaces, places with history, texture and atmosphere. I find that environments like old factories, disused buildings or unusual architectural settings create a strong dialogue with my work. These spaces carry a sense of decay and transformation that mirrors the emotional and social themes I explore. That said, I enjoy the challenge of working in different contexts, including more conventional gallery settings, particularly when there’s room to adapt the space or create a site-responsive installation.

For my July show, I’m introducing live performance into my practice for the first time. I’ve created sculptural headwear from discarded paper bags. I’ve painted over them with my signature city patterns and will wear them as part of a movement-based piece. It’s a playful but serious attempt to use my own body as an extension of my visual language. I’ve worked with video before, but this is my first time performing live and it feels like a natural evolution of my desire to fully inhabit space.

My July exhibition in Seoul is a big focus. Looking forward, I would love to realise projects in abandoned or underused spaces. These environments reflect the contradictions I’m always working with: beauty in decay, silence in chaos. I dream of creating full-scale installations in derelict factories or rusted-out warehouses, where my work can breathe and resonate with the rawness of the setting.

Yes — the recent series featuring cheerful or sentimental objects feels like an important shift. I’ve moved from direct confrontation to more subtle contradiction. By wrapping critique in softness, I hope to draw people in and offer a more complex emotional experience. These pieces are still political and psychological, but they wear joy as a kind of mask or maybe a mirror.

I hope it opens up a space. Not just a physical space, but an emotional one. Somewhere between trash and tenderness, critique and comfort. I can’t control how people respond, and I don’t want to. But if my work allows even one person to feel something deeply, or to see their surroundings in a new way, that’s a meaningful success.