In 2014, I left my university in Seoul and moved to Germany to continue my art studies in a new context. I initially settled in Berlin and applied to several art academies across the country. In 2016, I was accepted to the Hochschule für Bildende Künste Dresden and relocated there to begin my studies.

Coming from Seoul, I was used to living in large capital cities, so Dresden initially felt quite small to me. If Berlin compares to Seoul, Dresden might feel closer in scale to a mid-sized city like Daejeon, also considering the distance between them.

But smaller cities have their advantages. Everything is within reach. Daily life feels efficient through the proximity between studio, school, and friend communities.

Dresden has an active art scene, though it is undeniably more intimate than a major city like Berlin. There are only a handful of commercial galleries and long-established off-spaces, while public institutions such as the Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden (SKD) play a central role in shaping Dresden’s art museums.

The network of artists and cultural workers is small. At exhibition openings, you often run into former classmates or familiar faces. Everyone seems connected by just one or two degrees of separation.

One of the greatest advantages of this intimacy is accessibility. Because the scene is compact, opportunities to meet museum professionals and curators feel more tangible. In larger cities, such encounters can seem distant or unlikely. In Dresden, collaboration can feel surprisingly possible.

Of course, the city’s art market is limited. Many professors encourage graduates to move to larger cities like Berlin or Leipzig, arguing that competing within a dense pool of ambitious artists can further push one’s development.

But Berlin comes with its own challenges such as high rents, intense competition, and an overwhelming number of applicants for every opportunity. In some cases, after the first round of selection, finalists are chosen by lottery simply because the overall quality is already so high.

Social media has shifted the landscape as well. I’ve seen artists based in Dresden gain international visibility through Instagram and receive invitations to exhibit in cities like New York, Seoul, or London. Today, it feels less about geography and more about how one positions oneself.

Both large and small cities offer different rhythms and possibilities. Ultimately, it’s about choosing what aligns with your personality and working style. I lived and worked in Dresden for about nine years before recently moving to Berlin, where I’m now exploring new directions within a different environment.

During my studies, I collaborated with a composition student from the Dresden Music University. What began as a small project gradually expanded, eventually encompassing stage design and spatial installation in a theatre context. We presented our work at Festspielhaus Hellerau as part of a music festival, and this experience later led to another collaboration in Munich with a directing student from Theater Academy.

Working across disciplines during my studies was invaluable. It helped me identify the artistic approaches that resonate most deeply with me, expanding my practice beyond painting, and opening up new possibilities for engaging with space and theatrical contexts.

In 2025, the exhibition “100 Ideen von Glück. Kunstschätze aus Korea” (100 Ideas of Happiness: Art Treasures from Korea) was held at the Residenzschloss Dresden in collaboration with the National Museum of Korea.

As an artist deeply inspired by Korean traditional culture, this exhibition held particular significance for me. I was invited to conduct a workshop titled “Draw Your Own Talisman,” based on my practice. Initially, I worried that Korean talismans (bujeok) might be perceived simply as superstition. To address this, I framed them as part of a rich folk-cultural and symbolic tradition and highlighted parallels with European folk practices. This comparative approach made the concept more accessible to European audiences. And this experience deeply influenced how I contextualize my work internationally.

What I value most about HfBK Dresden is its calm and focused working environment. Without the constant pressure of visibility or competition that defines larger cities, I was able to experiment freely, both conceptually and materially. I had the space to fail, to question, and to explore without urgency. That period became foundational for me. Instead of rushing toward results, I learned to sit with questions and allow ideas to mature over time.

Jan Švankmajer’s 2020 exhibition “Move Little Hands… ‘Move!’” at Kunsthalle im Lipsiusbau was remarkable. He is a true Meister, able to work across any medium (paper, sculpture, film, theatre) through his expressive artistic language. I might even call him a Czech David Lynch.

Another unforgettable exhibition was “FRAGMENTE DER ERINNERUNG (Fragments of Memory)” in 2024, also at Kunsthalle im Lipsiusbau, which presented centuries-old reliquaries from Prague. Each object felt almost like an independent artwork, meticulously handcrafted, full of small details, and created not for the artist himself but as an expression of profound belief.

These two exhibitions remain vivid in my memory, having had a strong and lasting influence on my own work.

Interestingly, it was while studying Western art history and philosophy in Germany that I began to look more deeply toward Asian Traditional Art and Culture.

Being in an environment where Western art often functions as the universal standard made me more conscious of my own cultural starting point. As I researched Asian traditional culture, I also began noticing parallels within European traditions. Protective symbols and talismans are not exclusive to Asia. Christian house blessings, Mediterranean Nazar amulets, or even gargoyles and grotesque architectural figures from the Renaissance all serve similar apotropaic functions; they are meant to ward off harm.

In Buddhist temples, the Four Heavenly Kings at the entrance are not there to threaten visitors, but to guard the space from evil. European gargoyles operate in much the same way. The aesthetics differ, but the underlying logic is strikingly similar.

Across cultures, I see a shared human impulse: the desire for protection, stability, and well-being. The forms may vary dramatically, but the emotional and symbolic structures often align.

This structural similarity forms the foundation of my practice. I analyze and reinterpret traditional image systems, deconstructing and transforming them into contemporary contexts. Rather than emphasizing cultural difference, I’m interested in revealing these underlying commonalities and the shared symbolic language that connects us.

In recent years, Korean culture has certainly gained visibility in Europe through K-pop, K-dramas, and K-food. However, when it comes to traditional Korean art and historical aesthetics, Korea is still often overshadowed by China or Japan in public discourse.

The phenomenon of Chinoiserie in 17th–18th century Europe is a revealing example. At the time, Europe constructed a romanticized and exotic image of “Asia,” often far removed from reality. These imagined constructions also contributed to enduring hierarchies within Orientalist thinking. Even today, I frequently encounter the perception of “Asia” as a single, homogeneous entity. Cultural and historical distinctions between East and Southeast Asia are often flattened, and Asian identity is sometimes casually equated with China or Japan.

During the height of European fascination with East Asian aesthetics, Joseon Korea, which was relatively closed at the time, remained largely invisible. Many visual and cultural elements were transmitted indirectly through China or Japan. In my view, Korean traditional art still occupies something close to a blank space within Western-oriented narratives, even as contemporary Korean culture enjoys widespread popularity.

I would recommend starting with Oktogon, the exhibition space of HfBK Dresden. The building itself carries over 250 years of history and was reconstructed after being bombed during World War II. Inside the exhibition space, traces of that layered history are still visible. If the timing aligns, you might also catch a student graduation exhibition.

I also find inspiration at the Museum für Völkerkunde. While it may not be the most popular destination, it offers fascinating insights into Saxon and German folk crafts. Another favorite is the Leonhardi Museum, tucked away in a quiet and picturesque district of Dresden.

The Saturday flea market along the Elbe River is also worth visiting. It’s a place to discover unexpected materials, and many small finds there have later found their way into my studio in some form or another.

I would also encourage short trips to nearby cities such as Meißen, Leipzig, Prague, or even Berlin for additional cultural exploration.

At the moment, I’m waiting to hear back from several applications, so I’m in a phase of anticipation. Hopefully, some good news will follow.

Although I officially graduated in 2025, I will return next semester to teach at my alma mater. So, even though I’ve recently relocated to Berlin, Dresden remains an integral part of my trajectory. I continue to visit for projects, collaborations, and academic commitments. In that sense, my relationship with Dresden isn’t ending, it’s simply evolving.