Missing Home

1. lacking, absent, or not found
2. to disappear, become lost

1. a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family or household.
2. the place in which one's domestic affections are centered.
3. a person's native place or own country.
4. the dwelling place or retreat of an animal.
5. the place or region where something is native or most common.
6. (in games) the destination or goal.

Mostly my work has been about a relationship with my mother since I moved to New York and being separated from my family in a long distance. It became interests about a difficulty of communication, a fear of unconnected relationship, and a burden of being independent. I express my mentality caused by these problems with symbolic objects, human body and red thread in my drawing.

Since I moved to different cities and countries, I've been obsessed about
home physically and psychologically. In recent work, I simplify a shape of house and objects, and rearrange them in different situations. The embroidered houses are connected each other by thread and get joined with another object, which I found from everyday life or new environment. Simplified and symbolized objects, such as a house, a yarn ball, grasses or threads are altered conceptually in my drawing so that their meanings and original uses are re-purposed and make a story of what I want to talk about. My drawings are simply the record of my intimate life, but also imply the psychological narratives of human being living in a new environment.



Most of my work is drawing and sewing on Korean paper dyed with coffee or tea. Drawings get joined together with mixed media, such as threads, plastic bags, fabrics, pills and buttons. Since I was a child, drawing has been a habit like playing, writing a diary and having a conversation. I never thought of drawing as something out of my life. Drawing has always been my companion with its honesty and playfulness. When I work, I place the large paper on the floor, sit on the paper, or sometimes lie down, and draw something not only in large scale, but also with very tiny details. Therefore, I can feel the touch and the smell of paper with all of my body and senses. It makes me enjoy the moment not only physically, but also psychologically. In the meantime, the paper can be another world where I can imagine and communicate with myself.


The Room of Obsession

In the room where I used to stay, I believed that everything was in my control. It was my own world where I could breathe, and I could trust that I was safe. Everything surrounding my room connected to me, supported me, and was focused on me. In the room, there was a string connected to somewhere. I was not sure if I was holding the string or it was holding me. However, I knew that it was the only thing that I could rely on. Sometimes, I heard a whispering from somewhere. There was a woman who always tried to talk to me. I was not sure what kind of story she was telling me, but, I knew that she was crying. At that time, I could not imagine there would be a time when I would have to release the string and leave my room.

On that particular day, something was different. Somehow I was conscious that this room was not safe for me anymore. However, I was not sure that I was ready to leave. Regardless of my intention, the warm water surrounding me started to drain away from my room, and I could not breathe. There was nothing I could do, except to try not to release the string. I also could not hear the woman’s whispering anymore. Enduring an unbelievable pain, I felt that my feet had slipped away from my room. I still could not breathe. After I had persevered for a long time, I realized that I was no longer in my room. I thought this might be another world connected with the string that I was holding. I felt relieved. However, at that moment, somebody cut the string. My body was spilling blood, and I was crying. I did not know where I was anymore.



Silence is waiting

Silence is waiting.
Waiting to say something, waiting to hear something
But, hesitating to say, because it’s afraid there will be no response.