Backpacking in India, Turkey, and China in her twenties, Namu Choi relished the chance to discover diverse landscapes and cultures while conversing with travelers far and wide. Although mesmerized by the vast array of plant species, the color of the soil, and even the density and smell of the air, she always felt as though the dynamics of residents in local communities, as well as their coexistence with nature, took on similar patterns irrespective of the geographical location.

Having married a Japanese national and relocated to Japan, Namu’s status shifted from the intrepid traveler to that of a migrant. Previously, nationality was merely an entry pass needed to pass between borders, but now, Namu’s nationality morphed into a starkly different and omnipresent marker of stigma. To spark up conversations with locals, she often found herself having to prove that she was Korean and craft narratives of Korean-ness on the fly. Unable to cultivate roots in either country, a feeling of estrangement from both Korea and Japan began to set in.

After a long hiatus, the desire to unfold her lived experiences as a transnational artist inspired Namu to start painting again. The figures in her works emerged as tiny, faceless, and manifold. Expressionless, these alter egos showcased their feelings only through subtle gestures, all the while acclimatizing to the creative landscapes in which they happened to reside.

For Namu, a house is both an anxiety-laden construct as well as a sanctuary, often expressed as floating about unrooted, without windows or doors, or engulfed by gigantic mountains or waves. Symbolic of social media, her tiny figures can be seen walking on or clinging to fragile threads that subtly connect one house to the next. These frail, thus easily breakable strands of chance encounters provide Namu with a shred of hope, reinforcing the fact that she does exist, and is not isolated in this world after all.

In a surprising turn, the COVID 19 pandemic tempered down the burdens of Namu’s migrant status. Her works entitled “Hide and Seek” and “Exit” demonstrate an inner shift that took place during this period, with Namu’s figures growing in stature and sporting more developed and nuanced faces. Appearing as trees and animals in all corners of her paintings, they symbolize her efforts to actively shape the landscapes of her life as opposed to quietly assimilating into given circumstances. Although certainly surreal, the pandemic for Namu reinforced the borderless nature of the Information Age, as well as new possibilities to care for one another regardless of nationalities, languages, or cultures.

Following the pandemic, Namu drew inwardly even more. Indeed, the overwhelming burden of protecting her family in the face of danger ended up driving her to the verge of extreme lethargy. It was at this point that she decided to revive her long-neglected and withered plant pots, rejuvenating herself with the strong vitality of nature and reclaiming memories of the incredible flora that graced her life in South Okinawa during the early days of her immigration. In her “Green Fire” series, fire is represented as a resuscitating rather than an all-consuming force. Despite being positioned at the ecosystem’s rock bottom, the energy emanating from her flora is fiercely positive, constantly reproducing and spreading like wildfire to create entire forests amidst otherwise desolate environments. Moreover, the figures in these paintings imbibe the condensed energy of nature, projecting inner fire via laser beams in a more determined manner, and evolving into strong-willed creatures with newfound twinkles in their eyes.

Namu’s take on the identity of a transnational artist is to do away with the notion of stereotypical understandings and break down the binary sentiments defined by boundaries and borders. When unaware of Namu’s residence in Japan, her audience tends not to read nationality into her paintings. Upon discovering her residence, however, many comment on the “Japanese influences and Korean sentiments” that underpin her works. Having met with these rather ironic encounters, she concluded that these points of view on “difference” are not necessarily a matter of belonging, for a sense of isolation or identity crisis might even occur among those who have lived exclusively in their home countries. At the end of the day, “difference” for Namu is not delineated by nationality. Instead, it is best understood by celebrating “individual diversities,” and the unique ways individuals explore and nurture their inner worlds in the context of their multidimensional surroundings.

A Person Who Sets Green Fire 01 (2023). Oil on canvas. 112.2 x 145.7cm.

Tear Beam 06 (2023). Oil on Canvas. 72.7 x 60.6cm.

Green Fire 01 (2022). Oil on Canvas. 53.2 x 45.6cm.

Fireworks 01 (2023). Oil on Canvas. 60.7 x 50cm.

Discover more of Namu’s works in Issue 5 of our magazine!