Yooyun Yang in the Studio

Yooyun Yang's lonely, contemplative scenes are enigmatic. Yang has a flair for making work with charged moods and mysterious atmospheres.

Her deft manipulation of shadow and light, and unusual choice of perspectives—which are often cropped and oriented at odd angles—result in almost-filmic compositions.

Yang recently completed her first solo show in Europe. Passing Time took place at Stephen Friedman Gallery in London from 1 June to 22 July 2023, and was shortly followed by an announcement that the gallery now represents her.

Before that show had even finished, Yang opened her debut solo in the U.S. Stranger (8 July–9 September 2023), currently on view at Night Gallery in Los Angeles.

We asked Yang about her fascination with jangji paper, the curious subjects in her paintings, and how she conjures feeling and atmosphere in her work.

How has your education in Oriental Painting at Sungshin Women's University in Seoul informed your practice?

In South Korea, a number of universities divide their painting departments into Western and Oriental art. Those pursuing Oriental painting receive intensive training with a strong emphasis on traditional Korean materials and techniques.

Throughout my studies, I've learned, researched, and experimented with traditional materials in various ways. Among these endeavours, my main focus was on practising how to handle jangji paper—traditional Korean handmade paper made from mulberry tree bark—and determining which materials and techniques were best suited to it.

Initially, I used bunchae (traditional paint pigment), but I learnt that acrylic paint better captured the colours and atmosphere I desired. As a result, I adopted my current colouring method.

How do you approach the construction of each work?

I tend to sketch directly on the canvas without esquisse [a preliminary sketch]. I start by applying a very light colour and gradually layer it, taking advantage of the fact that jangji paper absorbs water well. This technique allows me to erase or manipulate my paint marks, as the drying process is slower and requires a lot of deliberate actions.

What is unique about my method is that once the paint has dried, it becomes challenging to erase and I can't cover up areas like in oil painting. As a result, I have no choice but to think about the next steps right from the initial stroke. The results are colours that emerge from overlapping different colours.

Many of the paintings featured in your exhibition Stranger depict anonymous faces, mysterious gestures, and moments of contemplation. What draws you to the subjects you choose?

In Stranger, I wanted to convey the sense of unfamiliarity that can arise from familiar things. I sought to depict how figures and objects that I've observed countless times appeared distinct and unfamiliar depending on the context.

Nearly all the figures, with the exception of a few, are individuals and objects from my immediate surroundings, which I have encountered for an extended period of time.

I've had moments of realisation about the dual nature of objects and experiences. For instance, seeing a usually optimistic friend's depressed expression, observing how my life, which I believed was under my control, was ultimately influenced by government policies, and perceiving leaves on the roadside as a person hanging in the night.

Moreover, I found beauty in a moment when sunlight touched my hand, affected by a chronic skin disease that perpetually causes me pain. These moments of revelation are fleeting, but the emotions they evoke linger.

Your treatment of light is an integral part of your practice. How do you approach light and shadow

Since I was young, I've preferred darkness over brightness. The crimson scenery just before sunset would evoke feelings of solitude and melancholy in me. I liked lighting candles, reading books, and listening to music in dimly lit rooms. These childhood emotions naturally influenced my practice, leading me to paint dark landscapes and find meaning within that darkness.

Objects in darkness were hard to identify, which both frightened and intrigued my curiosity. I realised the crucial role light played in shaping darkness. As a result, my focus shifted towards observing and describing light. The mysterious boundary formed by the interplay of light and darkness continues to captivate me.

Your paintings have a cinematic quality. I read that you work from photographs that you crop and distort to create your compositions. Why do you take this approach?

When I encounter a painting, whether my own or another's, I like to keep looking at it if it isn't immediately graspable. I find myself more captivated by paintings that initially elude my understanding, evoking curiosity, rather than those with a multitude of complex elements.

To make such paintings, I tried cropping, magnifying, or looking from a distance. I also pay attention to overlooked edges and corners. This is one way of looking at things in an unfamiliar way.

I've noticed that when we revisit everyday moments, they can acquire a heightened sense of drama and meaning beyond their original context. This is why I often revisit old pictures, trying to see them from different perspectives at each moment.

White Cube is the latest international blue-chip gallery to set up shop in Seoul, where the second edition of Frieze Seoul opens in September. As an artist living and working in Seoul, how has the arrival of Frieze affected you, if at all?

It doesn't have a direct impact. I'm just a painter whose life is all about painting in my studio. But if such big events take place around me, it's good because I can see the works of international artists that I've not seen in person.

On the other hand, I'm not sure whether such a huge influx of international galleries will help revitalise the Korean art world or help Korean artists to expand overseas. I think it depends on how we move forward in the future.

What's next for you?

In August, my solo exhibition, Afterglow in between (11 August–23 September 2023), will open at Primary Practice in Seoul. I will also be participating in the Taipei Biennial (18 November 2023–24 March 2024) in Taiwan.

This year, I've had three solo exhibitions and I feel like I've painted the most I can handle. The experience has made me work more intensely than usual, so I've been able to express my world of work as richly as possible, but I need a little rest now.

In the future, I would like to study more and work on new things. I've always felt that the ultimate purpose of my work is to create an unfamiliar image. Although there may be no new paintings in this era, I'm interested in finding subjects that we've not yet seen. —[O]