Part 1: Kwon Chulhwa of Studio Concrete and His Curious Life-ful World of Art
For this week’s Artist Conversations, I present a translated text of the conversation between painter Kwon Chulhwa and freelance artist Jung Surim. Based in Seoul and a member of creative collective, Studio Concrete, Kwon is an artist who is full of life. So much that even mere lines and traces of colour that he etches into his sketchpad gives it away. Jung is a dear friend of mine who, for some bizarre reason, was the person who came to mind when the artist ever-so-graciously accepted my invitation for the interview (btw, they’d never met before). Something about the artist (of course, I only knew him through his Instagram profile), and my impression of Surim were already vibing in my head. As you will soon read, the vibes were definitely *on*.
Read Part 2 here.
The conversation is meant to read like a script. What you’ll realise is that the exchange between the two people begins a bit formally, but that wears off really soon when the curiosity in the room gets gleefully reciprocated between the two. The conversation fans out into a hearty share-and-tell, and if you’re a visual learner like me, maybe you’d be able to imagine the scene of the conversation when it took place…earlier this March.
JS:
Please introduce yourself.
Please introduce yourself.
KC:
Hello, I am artist Kwon Chulwha, and I am a person who paints.
Unconfinement, I think, is my genre. But when other people see my work they can say that it all looks the same—but of course, that’s because they’re all painted by me anyways. Because it’s something that comes from within, my way of expression is probably my style, but when I ask myself if it’s free? It’s not determined.
I started drawing figures when I was young. My memory begins at around when I was 7 years old, but I think I was also drawing figures before then and I’ve always enjoyed drawing. Drawing was all I had.
JS:
Then would you say that drawing people preceded observing people in your practice?
KC:Then would you say that drawing people preceded observing people in your practice?
I didn’t really go through traditional drawing practices like Croquis, and rather, I usually draw from my imagination. I’ve been drawing a lot since I was young, and naturally I’ve come across emotions that I could feel from the paintings of not only figures but objects as well. Indescribable feelings or emotions like these are what I wish to embrace in my paintings.
JS:
Do you paint the emotions that you feel when you see people?
KC:
There aren’t many occasions where I paint contemporary figures. During my teenage years and in my 20s, residues of certain emotions would be left when I would be painting figures. For example, if I draw two figures, it would feel as if they’ve just broken up; if I draw three figures, even if they’re all friends it would feel as if they were all involved in a strange relationship with each other– interestingly, it would all show in a single piece of drawing– the drama– but I didn’t like that. Because it happened so naturally, it somehow felt that it was too much– I wished that there would be more nothingness. I wished that emotions could not be felt. And along those lines I practiced to achieve that ‘nothingness’.
If I drew a painting of a chair with tables, it would feel lonely– I really didn’t like the subtle emotion that all arrived so naturally. Maybe I had a syndrome to make things seem apparently plain? I would routinely try to rid my paintings of that kind of emotion, even when no one asked me to. I just wanted people to think ‘oh? This is pretty.’ when I hung my paintings. But recently, that’s changed entirely. As a painter, I realise that I kept restricting myself with things that I should or should not do. But with time, now I wonder why I did so, because in the end I was still being myself– and that was all still me. Because I had that phase, I can reflect upon it now– and these days I’m enjoying the internal conflict
JS:There aren’t many occasions where I paint contemporary figures. During my teenage years and in my 20s, residues of certain emotions would be left when I would be painting figures. For example, if I draw two figures, it would feel as if they’ve just broken up; if I draw three figures, even if they’re all friends it would feel as if they were all involved in a strange relationship with each other– interestingly, it would all show in a single piece of drawing– the drama– but I didn’t like that. Because it happened so naturally, it somehow felt that it was too much– I wished that there would be more nothingness. I wished that emotions could not be felt. And along those lines I practiced to achieve that ‘nothingness’.
If I drew a painting of a chair with tables, it would feel lonely– I really didn’t like the subtle emotion that all arrived so naturally. Maybe I had a syndrome to make things seem apparently plain? I would routinely try to rid my paintings of that kind of emotion, even when no one asked me to. I just wanted people to think ‘oh? This is pretty.’ when I hung my paintings. But recently, that’s changed entirely. As a painter, I realise that I kept restricting myself with things that I should or should not do. But with time, now I wonder why I did so, because in the end I was still being myself– and that was all still me. Because I had that phase, I can reflect upon it now– and these days I’m enjoying the internal conflict
You have many paintings that depict figures and bodies. I’m curious to know what it is about the body you find attractive.
KC:
When I was young, I wanted to draw perfect bodies– like the ones that you would find in a medical book. The belief was that if I could draw bodies in a textbook-perfect way, then I would be granted the freedom to truly express in my own style– and luckily that worked well for me. Especially if I didn’t want to be embarrassed by my paintings– because I would be the first one to see it complete every time.
When I was a teenager, I wanted to be a cartoonist. And when I sat down to draw the human body, there would be complicated parts that were hard to draw. Practicing hands, for example, were processes that I engaged in religiously because I wanted to make the lines completely mine. I then realised that the reason why I enjoy drawing the body was because I could express moods as I imagine them, and indirectly, it was through the structured-ness of the human body that I could feel freedom when depicting them onto a canvas or a piece of paper. Regardless of how big or small [(of the body)], the painter would still be me. Everytime I would re-interpret life in my own way, the realisation that there is no true standardized answer gave me immense freedom. So for me, drawing the human body is a personal expression of freedom.
The reason why I’m fascinated by the Modern dance genre is because each movement and poses have their own meanings and even if a movement is incomplete, they represent unique emotions.
KC:
Speaking of dance, I actually have a small series called ‘Body Language,’ and it depicts dancers of my imagination who communicate through their body. I had a lot of fun painting it. A friend of mine was pleasantly surprised that I was able to capture the details of the fingertips to the toes of these dancers, despite how bad I am at dancing. They told me that I have a dance genius inside of me because I somehow knew how to express it.
I also really enjoyed reading foreign fashion magazines when I was younger. I can’t remember why or how, but maybe I naturally absorbed the poses and gestures of the models from it.
I’m curious to hear the reason why you enjoy painting, and your philosophy and mindset behind the act of it.
KC:
For both I can’t say why– because I don’t know. I wonder if the question mark behind both concepts hits close to the reason why I’m alive? Everyday, and probably for the rest of my life, I walk into the studio and ask myself that question as I paint. I don’t even make sketches the canvas, but why is this fun? Enjoyable? Perhaps if you ask now, I’d answer because it is fun? Yes, fun. Maybe because it is the act that I have the most fun in?
It sounds like pure joy. Pure happiness.
KC:
When I was young I’d visit my grandfather’s (on my mother’s side) place where I would rip off a page from the calendar and have lots of fun drawing on its unprinted side. That is still the feeling I have when painting– and that’s really the entirety of it.
It’s incredible that that feeling has stayed constant.
KC:
I find it fascinating myself as well. Because thats so strong for me, painting is like–
I’ve personally had many times where I felt like I was being swallowed by the very thing I liked, so the way that pure motivation hasn’t deteriorated for you is really amazing.
KC:
Occasionally there are moments like that– and even now as well– but I like to think of it as a mere step that I also can enjoy. Painting daily and immersing myself in it seems to help. Looking back, the days where I also felt like I was being swallowed up also happen to be the days where I wasn’t painting as much. I see it as a lack of confidence. Because I wasn’t confident, I felt like I was being swallowed up. I ask myself why I feel emotions like pressure, but I just continue painting, and by the time I realise we are buddies again.
In some of the videos of yourself at the studio, rather than sitting down and letting your mind wander around the canvas for a bit, you begin your brushwork immediately. Do you start your canvases by thinking beforehand of what you want to paint?
KC:
Most of the time my hand reaches out first, and then the thought of what I should paint follows immediately after. It’s become a habit because paper is abundant. I think that’s how my habit has shaped me. Whether it is paper or canvas… but I guess a canvas can’t be ripped up as casually as a piece of paper– so I make a quick composition in my head and then I start. If I start after completing the painting in my head, I end up ruining it because I feel as though it’s not good enough. I still do that a lot. (Laughs)
I’ve noticed a few interesting things from your videos: you’re right handed but sometimes you paint with your left, or even when some of the paint is not fully dry you purposely paint on top of it or draw more lines on it.
Do you have difficulties in anticipating the unknown through experimental or unexpected situations and do you enjoy those situations– and why?
KC:
Well, I think it has to do with how I am – like interestingly, the friends or artists around me grow to resemble their own respective work. I’m slightly on the disorganised side (laughs). I’m not very good at sitting at the same spot for a long time, and of course even when I’m with my brush I work with bursts of concentration at a time. My studio is very messy but I believe that there’s order in the chaos, just like my desktop screen– chaotic, but I know exactly how to find everything. If I were to visualise it, everything is messy, dirtied or even empty– but collectively it is beautiful.
On another note, as I paint more and more the initial thought of ‘Am I ruining it? But how can I ruin my own painting?’ began to cease as I arrived at the understanding that if there is an answer, then there must be an incorrect answer as well, but because there isn’t an answer for my paintings then I can’t ruin it in the first place… The parts of me that I’ve contemplated for a long time and were ruined have become much more free now. In the past I told myself that there aren’t any answers when it comes to painting, but then there were also many times where I would feel ashamed after thinking that I’ve ruined a piece. So after repeatedly confronting those moments, I think I’ve found my own method.
In the scenes where you would paint on top of wet paint I was like, ‘Oh no? Oh nooo???’ and was surprised.
KC:
Even if it feels dangerous, I might find myself a new idea or be presented with a new kind of feeling– and I have a perverted tendency to anticipate those moments because I’ve experienced it many times in the past. Perhaps it was in anticipation of that that I was able to more roughly play with my work.
Then I will gladly cheer for your perverted tendencies as so (laughs). How long do you stay in the studio everyday?
KC:
These days I wake up early– so I would be there at around 8 – 9am until 5:30 – 6pm? My lover goes to work early in the morning so I’m staying in the studio while I wait for them. Sometimes we go out together and come home together as well. There is only love in my life– love comes first so while I wait for them, I’m also working in the studio (laughs).
JS:
That is so sweet of you (laughs) and soft.
That is so sweet of you (laughs) and soft.