sooim lee : Xinyi Liu
May June July August September
Xinyi’s question:
Dear sooim,
I am intrigued by the delicate choice to write your name as "sooim lee" in lowercase. There’s a certain quiet elegance in this decision, a subtle rebellion against convention. I wonder what inspired this choice—what does it signify for you? Is there a story or sentiment behind the soft-spoken letters?
I look forward to hearing the tale that weaves through your name.
A story about my name written in lowercase
Xinyi, just a few days ago, a woman I met at the gallery asked me,
"Why do you write your name in lowercase?"
It wasn't the first time I'd been asked such a question, and I've also been asked,
“Isn't it a mistake that your name is written in lowercase?”
Of course, I had a reason when I decided to write it that way, but it wasn't until you asked me that I began to think about it more deeply.
In life, there are people I never want to see again, and others I can’t forget even after many years. For me, there is someone I would like to meet again if I ever get the chance. I was 26 years old when I met him, studying at NYU. One day, after class, I was waiting for the subway to go home. The man standing next to me spoke up.
"I know you."
he said. I was taken aback. I never expected a tall, handsome man with pale skin and sad, dark eyes—A person who resembles movie star Jake Gyllenhaal—to start talking to me. Embarrassed by my shabby appearance, I tried to hide behind a pillar, but he just laughed and said in a gentle voice,
"I live in the building next to yours. I’ve seen you a few times."
A neighbor who also went to the same university! And he spoke to me first! My heart was pounding, and I was so flustered I didn’t know what to say. He was a man from Colombia who came to the United States to study music. He was a very sensitive and quiet person. After a while, he left for Europe, but we were friends for a short time. Before he left, I asked him,
"Why are you leaving without finishing school?"
He replied calmly,
"I just want to live as a new person in a new place. And I want to keep moving on to another place and forget my past life, becoming someone new."
It’s been a long time, but I still can’t forget what he said. I wonder, ‘Is he still wandering, searching for a new place?’ I’ve been tempted to Google him, but while I remember his first name, I’ve forgotten his last name, as it was hard to memorize.
Unlike him, who sought to become a new person by moving to a place where no one knew him, I settled in New York and tried to live a new life in my own way. For me, that ‘newness’ meant living quietly, with a name as small as my presence, blending in rather than standing out. I’ve always preferred things that are subtle and fleeting, almost invisible. That’s why I majored in printmaking, specifically etching, which creates fine lines. Perhaps my preference for delicate, faint, and trembling lines explains why I write my name in lowercase.
sooim’s question:
Xinyi, when I first saw the black and gray work that covered an entire wall at your A.I.R. solo exhibition, I felt as if my heart stopped for a moment. It felt like standing in front of a medieval fortress, where each brick was carefully and painstakingly laid. As I circled the piece, I felt as if I were walking along the Great Wall of China. I even imagined that if the wall were larger, the effect would have been even more overwhelming. I was deeply moved by the quiet yet profound nature of your work. Though I usually refrain from commenting on others' work, I felt compelled to share this with you.
In your text you mentioned last time, you said,
"My understanding of freedom might be that I don’t want to own the sea, but rather, I want to become the sea."
Your words felt like peering into the depths of the ocean, just as I would face a fortress, and helped me understand why you could create the work that evokes the feeling of a medieval fortress.
My question is, when and how did the idea to create such a monumental wall-like piece first come to you?
sooim, thank you for perceiving my work with such delicacy and sincerity. As I read your description, I am transported back to that wall, and the time of quarantine reappears. The inspiration for this work came from a touch during the quarantine—a tactile exploration of wounds and healing.
During the forced quarantine, I felt disconnected from the outside world, as if time had come to a standstill, with days blending into one another within the same space. Each day, I used disposable facial wipes, having the most direct contact with my skin. The softness and ritual of daily use became my sole connection to the flow of time. Thus, I began to preserve these daily wastes, dyeing them with my skin and allowing them to retain my skin imprint. This is not just a record of quarantine life but my reflection on the resilience of life itself.
I also collected wipes used by my female friends and family. Their lives intertwine with mine, their routines shared with me. These seemingly insignificant disposable wipes are given new life, symbolizing domesticity, femininity, and fragility. Each wipe is a touch, a moment, a story of human tenacity amidst a period of stillness.
As these wipes gradually spread out to form that massive "wall," they transcend mere accumulation of everyday items and become a poetic metaphor. It is like a canvas filled with scars and marks of healing, telling of our resignation to life's brevity amid the global environmental crisis. Each wipe is a fragment of life. In this pandemic, we continue to create waste while seeking the meaning of existence in these wastes.
Thus, this wall becomes a fortress, a Great Wall. It encases us, protects us, while also reminding us of our insignificance and vulnerability within this vast expanse of time and space. During the pandemic, quarantine forced our lives to a standstill, with invisible walls separating us from one another. The wall represents that sense of confinement, isolating us from the external world, compelling us to confront ourselves within limited space. It is also a form of protection. Behind this wall, we seek safety, trying to shield ourselves from external turmoil. However, this protection simultaneously binds us, making us face the stillness of time and the constraints of our freedom.
The wall also symbolizes fragility and resilience. It is constructed from seemingly fragile materials but becomes substantial and undeniable through their layering and weaving. This transformation symbolizes resilience, showing how we confront immense pressure with softness, how we face great challenges with fragility, and discover our strength in the process.
The wall further embodies wounds and healing. Each wipe, having intimately touched the skin, carries the imprints of the body, as if documenting the scars and healing of life. When these wipes are dyed and spread out to form a colossal "wall," it resembles a canvas marked with wounds and healing traces.
Finally, the wall represents the relationship between humanity and the environment. Against the backdrop of the global environmental crisis, this wall reflects on the waste produced in our daily lives. Disposable wipes, often discarded after use, become an environmental burden in our time. However, when they are collected and assembled into this "wall," they also gain new life. In the process of our continuous production and consumption, we are also looking for a way to live in harmony with the environment.
In front of this wall, I want to feel my own insignificance and fragility, but also see the indelible power and hope.
Xinyi’s question:
Dear sooim,
In your paintings, there is a rhythm, a mesmerizing dance of lines and dense clusters of points. These elements appear like a language of their own, as if each stroke and mark is a whisper of something deeply felt, perhaps something unsaid. I find myself drawn into this intricate web, where every line seems to breathe, every point resonates with an untold story.
I wonder, what is it that compels you to weave these patterns so persistently? Are they echoes of memories, fragments of a landscape, or the quiet murmurs of your inner world? The lines seem to stretch endlessly, like veins pulsing with life, or the threads of fate intricately woven into the fabric of existence. And the points—are they stars scattered across the vast canvas of your mind, or perhaps the minute traces of moments that slip through our fingers, impossible to hold but ever-present?
I am captivated by how these lines and points create a sense of rhythm, an almost meditative repetition that feels both calming and chaotic. It is as if they are mapping out an inner cosmos, charting the constellations of your emotions and thoughts. Could it be that through this dense layering, you are seeking to capture something elusive, something that words cannot quite touch?
Your art seems to speak of the infinite within the finite, the grand tapestry woven from the smallest of gestures. I would love to hear what these lines and points mean to you, how they come to life on your canvas, and what they whisper to you as you paint.
Dear Xinyi,
Rod
What I see before me is just a small part of the world. I often fall into the habit of thinking, this is it, this is all there is. But that’s not true. The world is much deeper than I can fathom, with hidden places and invisible layers everywhere.
Usually, I can’t access those places or see those layers. I only have two feet and two hands and two eyers. My view is limited. And yet, there is something I can do.
I stay still. I focus. At first, nothing happened. Then something does.
Clock slow. Bees buzz. Rain patters.
Colors gradually begin to hint at their true selves, like creatures they can disappear instantly at any sign of movement.
Somewhere a microscope’s, knob turns, light reflects, and what appears to be a simple thing becomes something else. Something different. A hidden place that was there all along, invisible in plain sight.
Everytime I bring my brush to the empty canvas, I try to access the hidden place. The bright, the dark, the space between them.
Building the layers, one stroke a time, takes time
Oftentimes I get frustrated. There is a kind of relentless silence from the canvas: no directions to follow or instructions on how to proceed., But I keep going. I push and I push and I push.
And then one slow, rainy moaning–
I put down the brush and all the creatures reveal themselves.
Xinyi, who flows quietly like a deep river, thank you for listening to my sound of rain and embracing and holding me.
I hear rain.
Is it the sound of the river?
The sound of the river pulls the sound of the rain.
The rain bounces and rolls.
The sound of the river recedes.
The rain sobs.
The river whispers comfortingly.
The two sounds continue endlessly.
The rain stops crying.
The two sounds pull and chorus together.
May June July August September
August, 2024
August, 2024
Life choices and “freedom”
Dear sooim,
After reading about your childhood, student years, and life after marriage, I've come to see the stories you find boring and unromantic as incredibly brave and romantic from my perspective. While struggling to write my own life story, I realized I don't have as many interesting stories to share, so I didn't keep my promise because I couldn't think of anything worthy of matching your stories. Perhaps our "boring" and "unromantic" stories hold different charms in each other's eyes. Therefore, I thought maybe we could continue our communication by asking each other questions and answering them? They may give inspiration to both of us. Here are some questions I've thought of:
Sooim, have you ever thought about if life could start over, would you choose to become a supportive wife and nurturing mother, or would you pursue your dream of becoming an artist? Would you still choose to support your husband's career at the expense of your own, only able to paint secretly at night? I was deeply impressed by what you said last time about pursuing "freedom," but what exactly is freedom? Perhaps each of us has our own understanding of what freedom means, and I'd like to hear yours.
Looking forward to your thoughts.
August 4, 2024
If I Could Start Life Over
Xinyi, your question, "If life could start over?" made me reflect on my past life.
I think I have always lived in the present. As someone once said, "The past is history, the present is a gift, the future is a mystery." I firmly believed in this. I thought that if I did well in the present, both the past and the future would be good too. I never looked back on the past with regret. I didn't want to waste time thinking about an uncertain future.
Fortunately, I had wonderful parents who raised me with love and provided me with an education. I married an artist and struggled in my youth to survive as a full-time artist. Unexpectedly, my husband's paintings began to sell. I have received his love in a comfortable life. I raised my two sons to the best of my ability, even at the expense of giving up my own artistic pursuits. Looking back now, I am confident that I couldn't have created any better artworks than my children. Raising them, I matured. They brought me great joy as well.
Since I was four years old, I played next to my beloved mother, who was very ill. I would follow the patterns on the wallpaper with my eyes and talk to myself. "I must get used to a world without Mom so that I won't feel lonely when I'm alone. I must stand alone without being attached to or relying on any relationship."
I sought out things that others didn't do and chose a different path from others. If not the first lane, then the second; if not that, then I chose a country road. Along the way, small flowers would shyly peek out from the side of the road, greeting me. When the wind blew, they swayed together, and when it rained, they sheltered each other.
No matter how happy I have lived, it was not easy to live with others. If I could start life over, I would want to be a ‘wildflower,’ not someone's wife, mother, or artist. I would like to be a nameless nomad, I want to be as free as the wind that does not confine me, drifting freely.
Dear sooim,
Thank you for your answers.
I wasn't searching for a specific answer, nor did I have a preconceived notion of what the "correct" answer might be. Some see life as a journey to please themselves, others pursue success and recognition, while some devote themselves to giving and contributing. However, I think life doesn’t necessarily need to have a fixed meaning. I have always believed that each person's life has its own uniqueness. Perhaps even wasting time, or seemingly idling away one's days, can be an experience worth cherishing.
You mentioned that there isn't a grand, passionate love between you and your husband, nor are there lofty expectations, which has brought stability to your marriage. You might feel that this isn't romantic because it lacks dramatic ups and downs. However, after reading your stories, to me, what I see is an incredibly romantic and luxurious love—a love filled with responsibility, commitment, care, giving, mutual growth, support, and accomplishment, as well as a deep-seated happiness and joy shared between you both.
I’ve always believed that every phase of an artist's life is a part of their work because our life experiences shape our creations. Therefore, I am not in a hurry to reach a certain height in my career, nor am I concerned with the amount of resources or achievements I have. Sometimes, I even want to step away from viewing art as a career and explore more freely. My understanding of freedom might be that I don’t want to own the sea, but rather, I want to become the sea.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me, which have given me more to ponder about life and art.
sooim’s questions
When my youngest son received his acceptance letter from Cornell University, we visited the school. That day, it was drizzling and windy. The surroundings were dark, gloomy, and desolate. While walking around the campus, my son said,
"Mom, I want to go to a different school."
"Why don’t you like this university?"
"I just feel depressed."
He ended up enrolling in a different school. Even now, the atmosphere of the campus that day vividly comes to mind.
Xinyi, how did you adjust to life at Cornell, a remote school far from your parents, especially coming from distant China? Did you ever feel lonely? If my question isn't interesting, feel free to share anything else. For example, how has life in America affected you? What are the things you did well, and are there any regrets?
August 15, 2024
Dear sooim,
Thank you for your question. Contrary to the experience you described, the day I arrived at Cornell University was bright and sunny, with a gentle breeze carrying the golden rays of sunlight across the lush, green lawns. The campus resembled a beautiful painting, where the colors of trees, grass, and sky were so poetic and pristine that they seemed almost otherworldly. In that moment, I was deeply captivated, filled with immense joy, as if I were in a dreamlike campus. My professor took us to the university's botanical garden for sketching, where the vibrant colors of the plants were breathtakingly beautiful.
I have also experienced the kind of weather you mentioned. I imagine your visit on a sunny day would offer a completely different experience. Although the long snowy seasons sometimes bring a sense of melancholy, having grown up in the southernmost city in China where it never snows, I have always yearned for the cold and snowy landscapes. Having been raised in a bustling metropolis with skyscrapers, heavy traffic, busy streets, and noisy crowds, the idea of studying in the countryside felt like a cherished dream. Despite being far from China, there were many Chinese students at the university, as well as friends from all over the world. We often gathered for meals after class, and I never felt alone. In contrast, now I often find myself alone in the studio, immersed in my work.
Living in the U.S. has had a profound impact on broadening my perspective on the world. Even regarding familiar East Asian cultures, I have learned to view them from different angles. This diverse perspective has enriched my artistic creation. I began drawing at the age of four. After coming to the U.S., I explored various forms of art, such as sculpture, installation, and digital art. I integrate both familiar and unfamiliar materials into my work, unrestrained. Although I haven't painted traditionally in a long time like I used to, returning to the canvas I once familiar but hadn't touched for a while has sparked new creative inspiration. I now use materials like mulberry paper (Asian traditional paper) in place of traditional brushes, incorporating them into my art, my paintings.
Xinyi’s question:
Dear sooim,
I am intrigued by the delicate choice to write your name as "sooim lee" in lowercase. There’s a certain quiet elegance in this decision, a subtle rebellion against convention. I wonder what inspired this choice—what does it signify for you? Is there a story or sentiment behind the soft-spoken letters?
I look forward to hearing the tale that weaves through your name.
Hi Xinyi
I was very pleased in early August when our work began with your excellent question, like a train placed on the tracks. Now, we just need to push the train and proceed safely.
I greatly appreciate you for coming up with ideas for this project. On the other hand, I feel sorry that I couldn’t guide you better.
Your other question, “Why do you use your name ‘sooim lee’ in lowercase?” is also a very good one. Incidentally, the curator of my group show on September 20th asked me the same question. Due to time constraints, I just smiled and parted ways with her, but I would like to have a longer conversation with you about it.
I have a suggestion. How about we move the question regarding the name to the September project? I think we’ve done enough work already with your questions in early August. We can probably start the September project early with my response as well.
Thank You.
May June July August September
July 18, 2024
July 18, 2024
A sleepless night
In a high-ceilinged and spacious warehouse, people are sitting around making sculptures. As the teacher leaves work, she tells me to clean up. Thunder and lightning accompany the pouring rain. The lights go out. I organized the surroundings with the flashing light of lightning. The slow progress makes me anxious. A fear creeps over me that something might jump out from the dark corners. It feels different from my usual surroundings. It's abnormal.
"This is not the real world I'm in. It feels like a dream."
I opened my eyes. I woke up from my sleep. I thought it was early morning, but it was 12:30 at night. I tried to go back to sleep but ended up checking if there were emails from you. Your reply hadn't come. Sleep had already escaped me. I paced by the window and looked outside. It seemed like my neighbors were also having trouble sleeping, as their lights were on. There are so many people who can't sleep and are awake at night.
July 29, 2024
Dear sooim,
When we video chatted last time, your compliments about my writing made me feel a lot of pressure. I felt I must write better to live up to your praise and the beautiful stories you wrote. You mentioned that many people are still awake at midnight, which reminded me of my school life and daily routine in the studio. Staying up late and pulling all-nighters seems to be my norm; there's always a light on at midnight, and it’s probably mine.
During my graduate studies, I often worked in the school studio until five or six in the morning, frequently disregarding my health for the sake of my work. Last month, while I was in Hangzhou for a residency, I video called you after not having slept for two days. This cycle repeats itself, and sometimes I wonder what I'm doing it for and if my efforts are worth anything. Perhaps the answers come each time I create a piece of art I love or put on an exhibition I'm happy about.
When I'm exhausted, I think of the window in my small studio back in college and the words left by someone before me: "It's dark because you're trying too hard." I really liked this quote and often gazed at the clock tower and beautiful scenery outside the window when I was tired, though I couldn't fully understand its meaning then. Now, after many years on the path of a professional artist, facing numerous setbacks, difficulties, and challenges, I reread those words and think that maybe life can allow a bit of relaxation. Perhaps I can approach my work, life, and uncertain future with the mindset of experiencing life rather than constantly striving.
July 23, 2024
In the heat of midsummer
Staring at the sizzling sun, he said in a suffocated voice from the midsummer heat,
"Let's just go home."
I felt that my meeting with him was the last, and I slowly walked down the steep hill under the blazing sun. Another meeting with a man also happened around 3 PM under the scorching sun. As we parted, I turned back to look at him three times. He also turned back to look at me twice. When I looked back for the last time, he shook his head in annoyance and disappeared around the corner, out of my sight. My heart ached with the sadness of another 'last meeting.'
Perhaps that’s why, when I stand under the blazing sun, the pain of parting with someone gradually seeps into my whole body, as if it's hitting my bones. At some point, to avoid facing the pain that hit my bones, I began to frequently use the word
"Just do whatever you want."
While I handle tasks alone decisively, my attitude towards doing things with others is lukewarm, as if diluted with water. Frustrated by my ambivalence, a third man finally snapped,
"If you're going to do it, do it. If you're not, then don't,"
and shouted angrily.
August 1, 2024
I dye it over and over again, dye it over and over again, until the pale discarded materials turn into layers of skin, each telling its own story. I hang up the layers of skin to dry. Here, there is only skin, no gender, no shackles.
May June July August September
June 10, 2024
June 10, 2024
Having Wings On
Xinyi, receiving your letter made me feel as if I were sinking into a pleasant stupor, relieving my tension. In fact, I worried and speculated a lot about what might have happened to you. You didn’t reach me at all. Why didn't I think that the internet might be down? Perhaps because I thought the internet, like electricity, was always with us. The internet provides us with convenience, but without it, we would have to anxiously wait for communication.
Since coming to the United States, I used to write letters to my father in Seoul once or twice a week. He passed away in 2014. If he were still alive, would I still be writing letters to him? He didn't know how to use email. Nothing in this world is unchanging, but it's not easy to live in a world that changes so quickly with each passing moment.
Switching to another partner due to our communication breakdown is more challenging than waiting. It is because I have to meet someone new and get to know her again. Of course, I can't say for sure that I know you well, but we have met three times. At your solo exhibition at A.I.R., my performance at Print Center New York, and our many conversations on the train to and from Beacon, NY. I thought we had built a solid foundation for working together.
Long ago, I left Korea at an immature and shy age. According to Maslow's hierarchy of needs, there are five stages (physiological, safe, love and belonging, esteem, and self-actualization). Lately, I've been thinking that the reason I left Korea was the desire for self-actualization. I came to the endless expanse of America, specifically New York, leaving behind a comfortable life to pursue the need for self-actualization.
An example of self-actualization is a woman who was a school teacher in Korea. She retired at 50, gave half of her retirement pay to her husband, with whom she had no bad relationship, as a condition of divorce, and left Korea with just a small backpack. She now wanders around Southeast Asia, working part-time when hungry, living as a free spirit. She even has an Indian lover, another free spirit. They sometimes meet by chance, spend a night together, and part ways, continuing their wandering lives. Though I can't be sure if this is an appropriate example.
I was an art teacher before coming to New York. Teaching gave me a lot of burden and stress. I wanted to go to a new world, to learn and feel anew. My father also encouraged me to go to New York, saying, "Even if you just stand in the middle of Manhattan for a week, your eyes and ears will be opened." Not only did my eyes and ears open, but all my five senses seemed to awaken, and I fell in love with New York.
Though I am not as free as that wandering woman, just leaving Korea made my daily life enjoyable as if I had wings on my back.
June 12, 2024
Dear Sooim,
I was delighted to receive your letter. This way of communication feels quite novel to me. I don’t think I’ve ever written a letter like this to anyone, not even my family. Perhaps it’s because ever since I was born, phone calls have always been available. Writing letters is something I’ve only seen in textbooks.
I am currently working in my studio, feeling detached from the noisy, chaotic world outside. Writing to you makes me feel as if time has slowed down, transporting me back to those bygone days. It’s as if I am in the countryside, amidst fields, writing a letter, reminiscent of the picturesque scenes from your childhood.
When I left China for the United States, it was solely for my education. My father wanted me to study in different countries to broaden my horizons. There’s an old Chinese saying: “Reading ten thousand books is not as useful as traveling ten thousand miles.” Every time I live in the U.S. for a while, I start to miss living in China because life is more convenient, art materials are more affordable, and the food is better. However, after some time in China, I begin to miss the artistic atmosphere and the inclusive environment for women in New York. My ideal situation would be to be invited to hold exhibitions in various countries, so I can keep traveling to different places.
Starting this week, I’ll be staying in Hangzhou for a month. A gallery in Hangzhou has invited me for a month-long residency, and they will hold a solo exhibition for me from the 13th of next month until September 8th. I am working on new pieces and looking forward to sharing them with you. I’ve never lived in Hangzhou before, but it’s a beautiful city with a rich history. I’ve always wanted to come here.
I’ve never been to Korea. I’ve only experienced it through Korean movies and dramas. I hope that one day I can participate in art events in Korea, and then I will visit and see the beautiful places from your childhood.
Dear Sooim,
I am currently immersed in my studio, dyeing some pink "skins" with mulberry paper. I remember when I was in the United States, many people asked me if my work was about race when they heard it was related to skin. After all, race is a significant issue that needs attention in the United States.
In fact, I grew up in a country where the vast majority of people are Chinese, all with similar faces and skin colors. My childhood textbooks in China only taught me that "there are three skin colors and races in the world: yellow, black, and white." Thus, before I went to study in the United States, I didn't even know there were so many different races in the world.
After returning to China, no one ever asked me whether my skin-related work was about race. However, here, my use of flesh tones and pink hues often leads to my work being defined as possessing "feminine qualities." This is because pink is traditionally seen as a "female" color. But why can't pink be a color for all genders? Isn't our flesh and blood the same color? Why should pink be exclusively defined as feminine?
I hope these reflections provide some inspiration.
June 22, 2024
Still Shiver
Xinyi, thinking of you reminds me of when I first came to New York. There was a time when I, too, looked as youthful as you do now. Of course, my school days in New York (1981-1984) were quite different from when you were in school in New York.
Back then, without the internet, I had no idea which college to attend when I was about to go to New York. I remembered the movie ‘The Great Gatsby’ starring Robert Redford. The setting of the movie was Garden City, Long Island, New York. I thought I could live in such a wonderful place if I went to New York, so I came to Adelphi University in Garden City, full of hope. However, I didn't get to see any beautiful mansions like in the movie. Instead, I lived in a gloomy red brick dormitory with a roommate from Africa, spending dark days together. Later, I couldn't speak English well, couldn't eat Korean food, had no friends, and felt so lonely that I transferred to NYU.
With the funds sent from my home in Seoul, I somehow managed to graduate, but my visa to stay in the U.S. was about to expire. I couldn't find a job either. Fortunately, I met a classmate from Seoul, HongIk University and got a green card through marriage. I thought that getting married would mean living as I did under my parents' care, but the hardships began as soon as I got married.
My husband and I lived in Soho for three years but rent was on the rise so we decided to move to Brooklyn. We crossed the Williamsburg Bridge to look for a new living and working space when we came across a huge empty factory building in Greenpoint, at the very end of Manhattan Ave, situated right next to the East River. The landlord simply drew a line on the wooden floor with a piece of chalk to divide the huge lofts for different tenants. We built an improvised wall for some privacy. There are only shared bathrooms for every floor. We loved the cheap rent and the beautiful views of Manhattan. The owner warned us that there was no heating available but since we moved in during the middle of summer, we didn’t mind much. Then, winter came.
Even on a hot day, when I think back to those bitter cold winters, I still shiver. We didn’t realize then that no heating meant absolutely zero heat. Mind numbingly cold winds chilled our bones through the infinite cracks in the windows and walls. I cannot believe I survived through several winters of freezing nights without losing any toes. Yet, we managed to survive.
May June July August September
May 15, 2024
May 15, 2024
Dear Sooim,
I feel incredibly fortunate to have met you and to be working with you. I am very grateful to Jiyeon for pairing us together. You are like a shining star. Knowing you has helped me to see the beauty of women at different stages of life. I hope that when I reach your age, I can be as beautiful, wonderful, open-minded, and vibrant as you are.
On our way to Dia Beacon, listening to your life stories, I was amazed at how rich, full of possibilities, and filled with serendipities life can be. What you consider your "unromantic love story" seemed incredibly romantic to me because I would never dare to do such things. Courage itself is a form of romance. I hope to be as brave as you.
I, too, was born and raised in an East Asian country. Although I came to the United States in my teens and have lived here for many years, East Asian culture still influences me to some extent. From a young age, I was taught to study well, get good grades, be well-behaved, go to good schools, and follow a prescribed path at every stage of life, as if these were the correct paths to follow. I grew up adhering to these expectations. Perhaps choosing art as a career was the most rebellious thing I have ever done.
As I grow older and travel more, meeting people and hearing their stories, I have come to realize that there are no absolute standards by which to judge a good life. There are no essential tasks one must complete. Life is full of possibilities. It is not a set track but a vast wilderness. While I agree with your views, I still struggle to be as brave as you, perhaps due to the cultural constraints I grew up with.
I have always worked hard to do everything in life well, but now I sometimes wonder what truly makes me happy and satisfied. It seems I do not know, like a machine on an assembly line. Fortunately, creating art brings me peace and joy, but pursuing a career as an artist inevitably comes with many pressures, challenges, misunderstandings, and criticisms.
Therefore, meeting someone as bright as you has been a real delight. There is so much I can learn from you. Every time I hear your stories, I feel enlightened. I think that when I reach your age, I might look back and regret missing out on many wild adventures, haha.
Thank you for the inspiration and strength you bring to my life.
May 20, 2024
To my partner Xinyi Liu
Xinyi, after meeting you, I felt at ease. Before we met, I was a bit anxious. In your photos, you looked like a model. Your slender body and small, concave face reminded me of a popular Korean celebrity, and you looked so young. I just assumed you were in your mid-20s. I was also intimidated because you had a good education and a great career compared to your age. Could I partner with you to Collaborate? I wondered. You're probably wondering why I had such a silly idea, but that's what happens when you get older. When I look at people younger than me, they all look pretty. It's a natural psychological phenomenon.
I went to your solo exhibition at A.I.R. As I expected, you looked like an actor in the Korean Wave. You have an actor's look, an intelligent and beautiful smile, I thought that if I could go back to my childhood, I would want to look like you. You greeted me cheerfully, and in Korean. You told me that you learned it from watching Korean dramas, and you were very kind to me, defying my expectations that someone with your appearance would be cold and arrogant. On top of that, you were intelligent and sensible, which made you shine even more. I feel your warm heart and I am at ease. I am grateful and happy to have you as my partner.
May 22, 2024
Dear Sooim,After attending your performance with Kyoung Eun, I was deeply moved. You looked absolutely beautiful in your white dress. I can't quite find the words to describe your beauty, powerful and tempered with elegance. You stand there, as if narrating a story.
Every time when I saw your artwork, I found myself drawn to the simplicity and lines of your minimal compositions. Your works evoke a serene and delicate emotion. After returning from Dia Beacon, I often imagine you as you were at my age. When you mentioned having two graduate degrees in the United States, I picture you studying and imagine the atmosphere of that time. You must have been as beautifully cinematic as a scene in a movie.
I imagine there were not many Asian female artists at that time. Even now, when I return to China, East Asian culture seems to push the idea that a successful career woman might be labeled as “dominant” and “hard to manage,” while marriage and motherhood are regarded as the standard path and the definition of a good woman.
In this cultural context, female artists are often misunderstood. However, I believe women can achieve extraordinary accomplishment in the arts, not merely by fulfilling traditional family roles. As you mentioned, “freedom.” Freedom is something I give to myself, not something defined by external expectations or judgment.
Thank you so much for inspiring me.
Reply to Sooim’s letter on May 20:
June 10, 2024
June 10, 2024
Dear Sooim,
Thank you so much for your warm letter and kind words. Actually, my appearance brought many challenges to my career, as people often judged my abilities based on my looks. I wanted to be an artist who spoke through their work, not by relying too much on outward appearances.
Therefore, I adopted a very minimalistic routine. I made a point of getting up in the mornings and diving straight into making art, without makeup, grooming, or skincare for years. I wore work clothes every day, as if I were on a construction site, because I believed that an artist’s worth should not be measured by their external appearance.
I feel that at thirty, I am more beautiful than I was at twenty, as my journey and the lessons I’ve learned have enriched my soul and my features. When I turned thirty, I was truly fond of the person I have become. I have a deeper understanding of the world and life, and I have found clarity on many issues that once seemed beyond my grasp. In my career, I have received more opportunities, as more people saw my work and generously offered me more chances to grow.
I understand when you say you find younger people beautiful, but when I see you, I see a different kind of beauty, one that time has refined and shaped into something unique, more beautiful than the allure of youth. I find your beauty to be timeless. I hope to be as elegant, wise, and beautiful as you when I reach your age.
When we meet next time, I will share some of the new words I’ve learned from Korean movies.
Water front
sooim lee
I am a woman who was born in Seoul but has lived in New York longer than in Seoul. I grew up in a Buddhist family. I remember my childhood playing in the temple yard, watching over my mother's white rubber shoes as she prayed, wondering who might take them.
I came to the United States to study, got married, had children, and insisted on being an artist. Sometimes, being an immigrant artist was difficult for me, but having my own unique emotions that people here can’t image also made me happy.
The warmth of wearing clothes washed and dried on the rocks after bathing in the stream in my country house, waiting on the hill and falling asleep in tears for my mother who promised to come get me—all these childhood memories have greatly helped me create my own unique works.
After getting married, I had neither the space to paint nor the money to buy materials. I feared hearing an artist's husband say,
"You should just focus on raising the kids."
So, at night, when my husband and children were asleep, I would sit at the kitchen table and start painting with leftover materials from my husband. Most of the paintings I did in secret were small. Would there be any brilliant ideas for the paintings I cautiously create at the table at night, fearing my husband and children might wake up? However, the fact that I started drawing made me happy.
What kind of philosophy can a woman exhausted by life have? As I transferred the emotions of my daily life onto the canvas each day, a lonely woman, a tired woman, a contemplative woman, and a woman enjoying the moment came to life in my paintings.
One thought that has dominated my mind and followed me since childhood is the need to simplify myself and my surroundings. Therefore, in my paintings, I aimed to simplify stories that only I know. This approach applies to my life, my space, and my relationships as well. Just as I prevent situations from becoming complicated by keeping them simple, the lines in my artwork are also simple.
I visited my mother's grave, which overlooks the river. Hoping to hear a farewell from her buried in the ground, I lay down with my ear to the earth. But all I could hear was the sound of the river. I painted ‘Waterfront.’ I wanted to stop what I was doing and sit under the shade of a willow tree to watch people passing by, so I painted ‘No Loitering.’ Wishing to lie leisurely on the clouds, free from worries and cares, I painted ‘Cloud Drifting.’ ‘Gossip,’ the main character has no mouth. Often, I think about how life would be simpler if I had no mouth and only ears. This fear stems from the possibility that my simple life could become complicated because of my mouth.
In the largest city, New York, when I step outside, I confront the pinnacle of the material world: reality. Conversely, the moment I lock the door to my studio, I find myself in a place as isolated as a deserted island. Here, I work as my heart desires, like writing a diary. I paint with the hope that, after many years, a more mature woman than I am now will be present in my work.
Reply to Sooim’s “WaterFront”:
June 10, 2024
June 10, 2024
Dear Sooim,
I really love the childhood scenes you depict, as if you have transported me into the beautiful visuals of old Korean movies. I have watched many Korean movies and have enjoyed them immensely, so I can imagine those picturesque countryside landscapes and scenes of your childhood. Maybe one day, we can turn these and your story into a movie.
I was deeply moved by your story. Have you ever thought about if life could start over, would you choose to become a supportive wife and nurturing mother, or would you pursue your dream of becoming an artist? I have always pursued a career in art that I love, but I am also open to the prospect of marriage and children. In fact, I have always longed for a loving marriage, like my parents have. However, I find it challenging to meet a partner who truly understands and supports my career, who genuinely respects women. But I don’t feel pressured by it because I see life as a journey of experiences. Whether I marry, have children, or not, it’s all part of the experience.