I twist wire. Again. Again. Again. Thousands of times until my hands ache and a porous structure emerges—something between shelter and cage. This repetitive, meditative labor became a method of thinking when language proved insufficient: first as a Korean woman raised to stay quiet, and later as an immigrant in America expected to be loud.

I am a multidisciplinary artist working across installation, sculpture, and painting. Born in Seoul and now based in New York, I build intricate, hand-formed structures from modest domestic materials—wire from my father's garage, twist-ties from my mother's kitchen drawer. My practice centers on repetition, endurance, and the slow accumulation of time.

Rather than planning a final shape in advance, I twist, bind, and accumulate material over extended periods—sometimes for months—allowing form to emerge through sustained physical engagement. Duration itself becomes material. In an era shaped by automation and speed, my work insists on the visibility of labor and the persistence of the body.

Growing up in Korea, I learned to occupy space quietly. Immigrating alone to the United States introduced a contrasting demand for visibility and self-assertion. Suspended between these two cultural logics, my art became a way of speaking when language failed. Over time, my work expanded into room-sized installations that respond directly to architectural conditions—insisting, without spectacle, on being seen.

Through repetition, touch, and sustained presence, my work invites viewers to slow their bodies and encounter accumulated time as something fragile yet persistent—holding the tension between control and surrender, structure and emergence.