After the exhibition

I’m writing this on my way home with my artwork after my solo exhibition.

Holding a two-week exhibition about non-binary and trans people at one of the most public spaces in South Korea was surreal. I’m sure it was also surreal for many of the people who visited the gallery space since most Koreans don’t acknowledge our existence. 

In 2019, when I returned to Korea, I gave up making art because I was scared that this country wouldn’t accept my work. Most people told me I needed to stop making art and find a “real job.” That didn’t last long. I went back to making art, thinking I was starting from ground zero again. I told myself that I was no longer the person who drinks every night because of not having a purpose in life. Now I have this passion I found in another country — a passion that I would give up everything to keep.

I didn’t tell people that I made art unless they asked me what I did because I wasn’t sure about my work. I fought with my uncertain future every night (I still do lol). I kept telling myself, “Just a few more years….” Whenever I felt down, I went to gay bars to feel a sense of belonging. And, of course, to see my friends who have supported me since day one. 

In 2021, things started changing a bit … more and more people recognized my work. I began to process projects that I would have never thought I would do in Korea. Most of my projects involve queer individuals who live in South Korea. (I'm glad I enjoy going out and talking with others; it allows me to have participants for the project). I submitted my work whenever I saw an open call for artists and I haven’t stopped working. I finally believed in my work and was true to myself again.

Fast forward to the beginning of 2022. I had a chance to hold a solo exhibition and a drag show at the N Seoul Tower for the first time in history. At the beginning of this year, I held a solo exhibition sponsored by the Hanan Cultural Foundation. I was featured at the gallery as an openly queer artist. The foundation had never before sponsored an openly queer artist or an exhibition about nonbinary and trans individuals. 

At the gallery, I heard people talking about gender, sex, and sexuality freely while looking at my work, and it made me cry. The space that my work created provided these people a safe space to talk about things they would never discuss at a dinner table. I still feel overwhelmed by it but, at the same time, I don’t feel it is enough. I believe this is only the beginning and I can’t wait to do more for the community I trust and love and for the society I live in.  

Thank you, everyone who came all the way to Ha-Nam. I know it’s far. And thank you to everyone who believed in my work, even when I didn't. I wouldn’t be here today without you guys. Thank you.