Jihee Han: Monochrome Whispers
The art historian Julija Palmeirao in conversation with
the artist Jihee Han
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Jihee, I have been wanting to talk to you as soon as I first saw your work. My first reaction was – what can possibly be the sources of all this serenity and harmony for someone who actually lives in the bustling district of Monmartre? Tell us a little about yourself – where were you born, where did you grow up, and what did you study?
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I was born in Busan, and grew up in Seoul, South Korea, where I studied plastic arts and graduated with a painter’s diploma. In 2010, I moved to France. During my studies, up until the third year, I took up as many courses as I could: drawing, etching, sculpture, photography and video, traditional Korean painting, contemporary painting, art history, contemporary philosophy, film history… And then, during the fourth year, I have finally realised that I wanted to study painting. Few years later I graduated from Sorbonne with the MA in Visual Arts (Art de l’image et du vivant).
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Why have you chosen painting? Why, after having studied all these other disciplines, you gave preference to this specific medium?
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I simply love creating imaginary spaces with brushstrokes, and then composing those images into scenes. As a painter, I can practice my own expressive language that pulls me away from reality, and allows me to keep the necessary distance between the real and the imaginary. In other words, painting best expresses my inner world and gives me plenty of space for imagination.
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What inspires you?
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I usually get a lot of visual inspiration during travel. Since I was I child, I always loved observing how water and clouds move, how they change colours, etc. But it isn’t only nature that inspires me. I might even say, it comes from my entire life, from my personal experience. Friendship, people I meet, classical music, my work space, death, travel… It’s all relative.
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Artists often have their favourites, indirect teachers, someone they admire and look up to. Have you got one too?
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They change with each stage… At one time, it was the writer Pascal Quignard, then the painters Mark Rothko and Jean Dégottex. And now it’s Franz Liszt. I’ve been listening to his “Transcendental Etudes” for some months now.
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What is your creative process? How do you prepare for a new painting, and how do you know when the work is finished?
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Before starting a new painting, I wait for the ‘right moment’. I spend a lot of time in my workshop, waiting. Although the idea of a ‘right moment’ might sound a bit too abstract. In order for it to arrive, I need to have a clear head and be in a physically good shape. I need to feel the subtle presence tension, but I need inner calmness too. I don’t need to have a mental image in my head in order to start on a new work. Nor do I need to search for an idea or inspiration. I know that they already are in me, and I just need to transfer them onto a canvas. In the meanwhile, I would rather do yoga or listen to music. When the ‘right moment’ arrives, the creative process becomes very fast. This is a state of total creativity, when I make instant decisions in order to complete the canvas. I cannot explain the moment of finishing the work. I have no idea how I know when the painting is completed. Somehow, I just do. Perhaps, this knowledge arrives when all the doubts disappear.
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When me and the Parisian collectors from “Cultur Foundry” visited your studio, your paintings struck us as particularly vivid, reminiscent of the minimalist aesthetic of the North. Where would you place your monochrome artworks in the context of the highly colourful and expressive landscape of French painting?
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I have spent a lot of time learning how to empty out and simplify both my ideas and my life. I aim to create landscapes that agree with my inner self. I don’t have to think about what needs to be added to the painting, I do it without reflection. I rather focus on creating a particular pattern with the help of as few elements as possible. This is why my paintings seem humble and contain a lot of free space (unfilled, yet not empty). So when I make decisions towards the completion of canvas, I try to avoid the compulsion to ‘add something’, and try to keep things minimal. I find French painting scene difficult to summarise, but it is true that, for some years, it was rather colourful – we saw a lot of bright coloured landscapes and figurative works. I feel like my art is closer to abstract painting. The landscapes I create are rather mental than real. I paint rocks, water, branches and sky, but I aim to express the energy they contain, I am interested in what lies beyond their shapes.
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How did you find Paris? The Korean and French cultures are rather different. Have you managed to reconcile these differences?
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Indeed, the Korean and French cultures are quite different, in some respects even contrary. As a country, Korea spends a lot of energy to advance and move forward. While being particularly sensitive to change, it is also quick to learn from it. Meanwhile, in French culture, tradition and modernity come hand-in-hand. French literature, film, and culture in general were a major influence for me since my teens. So moving to France did not feel to me as a shock. Only the language barrier took some time to overcome. I had to put a lot of effort until I was able to freely talk to the locals and feel part of the French cultural field. Eventually I found an equilibrium between the two cultural experiences, and I now try to appreciate the emotional and cultural privileges of both.
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Do you feel happy – as a person and an artist – in Paris?
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I have been living and working in Paris for over ten years now. Indeed, I feel quite comfortable here. I can simply be myself, which I like very much.
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Your cosy Monmartre studio has now temporarily moved to a public space – the Odile Ouizeman Gallery. What can you tell about your creative process being on display in front of the audience?
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Only the first and the tenth days were a bit strange. I just could not concentrate. But this also made me realise that, in this situation, I have to rely on a different kind of energy – not the inner one, which I normally cultivate in my private space. This way I am able to work with both the canvas, and my inner self.
Sometimes, through the gallery window I see children stopping by and watching me work. I see my neighbours passing by… Some visitors would approach to observe the process from up close. Some people come by regularly and follow how the artwork changes with time. I think they all find it truly interesting. The support from passers-by makes it easier for me to adapt to this new situation. Eventually, I realised that this does not have to be an obsticle for my moving forward, in fact it inspires me to progress in painting even more.
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The original interview was published in the Lithuanian magazine “Literatūra ir menas”
Photo: Daiva Kairevičiūtė
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Thank you
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