Reflection, sensation, and quiet persistence shape the artistic path of Ashin Kim. Painting emerges from direct experience, careful observation, and a willingness to follow questions that do not always reveal immediate answers. Rather than forcing external themes, Kim allows lived moments, shifting environments, and internal perceptions to surface naturally within the work. Encounters with unfamiliar places, cultural tension, and personal transition have subtly informed this evolving practice. In this conversation, Ashin Kim speaks about artistic responsibility, the delicate balance between artistic integrity and public exposure, and the ongoing search for meaning through sensation, structure, and lived experience.

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How do you reignite creativity during those inevitable periods of self-doubt or stagnation?

Showing up at the studio.

How does your art engage with or comment on pressing contemporary issues—social, political, or environmental?

I do not intentionally observe social or political situations or make them the explicit subject of my work, nor do I aim to directly connect my practice to external factors. Yet I feel that, whether I want it or not, certain circumstances inevitably seep into the work and into the person making it. For example, shortly after arriving in France to study painting, I experienced the Paris attacks. Although ISIS was identified as responsible, to me the event felt like more than an act of terror, revealing the subtle tensions that had long existed between immigrant communities and those rooted there for generations.This experience deeply influenced my work at the time. I do not believe environmental or political conditions need to be forced into themes. If they are necessary, they attach themselves naturally rather than being deliberately explained.

What do you think is the most meaningful role an artist plays in society today?

I believe that one of the most meaningful roles of an artist in today’s society is to go through a wide range of sensations and experiences firsthand, and to reveal them to the world in their own way while sharing them with others. It may sound obvious, but actually experiencing something directly is never easy, either physically or psychologically. One can spend a long time focusing on a single sensation or experience and exploring it in depth, yet it is equally important not to lose the willingness to receive new experiences and new perceptions. I see the artist as someone who, within this openness, translates the world they encounter and shares those sensibilities with others.

How important is it for viewers to understand the intended message of your work? Does ambiguity add value, or do you seek clarity in your expression?

Personally, I believe that before explaining the intention or concept of a work, it is important for viewers to first feel a sensory attraction to the work itself. This is not simply a question of whether ambiguity adds value or whether clarity should be emphasized. If the work can persuade on a sensory level before any explanation, that is enough. At the same time, I think the viewer’s sensibility is just as important as the work itself. Whether shaped through training, formed through one’s environment, or rooted in innate sensitivity, the attitude and openness brought to the encounter play an important role. Ultimately, the work and the viewer meet within each other’s perception, and this meeting itself creates meaning.

How do you challenge yourself to continually grow as an artist while remaining true to your voice?

Since my first exhibition, I have tried to balance external exposure with the values I feel responsible for protecting. While remaining aware of the relationships among galleries, collectors, and artists, and of the expectations surrounding my work, I have sought to preserve its integrity throughout the process. Maintaining one’s voice can seem simple yet is often very difficult. It sometimes requires unsettling long-held relationships and balances, and then re-forming them in new ways. Recently, I have stepped beyond the familiar networks built in Korea and placed myself in a new environment to focus more deeply on my inner world. I believe this decision is what continues to challenge and move me forward.

Do academic institutions still play a vital role in shaping artists today, or has self-taught creativity disrupted this tradition?

I believe that strong art institutions still play an important role today. Learning how to realize the kind of art one wants to make, and observing mentors who sustain meaningful practices over time, can have a positive influence. For this influence to be meaningful, however, it is important that the learner first develops a sense of their own preferences and direction. Through self-directed creation, one can form personal questions, and then deepen or expand them through institutions or by learning from experienced artists. In the end, I see formal education and self-learning not as replacements, but as complementary paths shaped by the attitude of the individual.

Is art created for the artist, the audience, or somewhere in between?

If we think of art as a living organism, I feel that the purity of its first step belongs to the artist who creates independent work. Whether the outcome becomes commercial or remains strictly artistic is less important, because the purity we speak of can only be experienced within the process itself. Art born in this way later shifts through various external influences and reaches the audience. Viewers receive it intellectually or as a visual experience, and through their own memories, emotions, and preferences, they engage with it in personal ways, creating their own sense of time. In this sense, art can belong to the artist or to the audience depending on perspective. Rather than being fixed, it continues to move within the shared experiences of both.

Artificial Intelligence is increasingly infiltrating creative fields. Do you see artificial intelligence as a threat, a tool, or a collaborator in the art world?

I see AI as an effective collaborator in my creative process. Writing is an important part of my practice, and I often rely on it to shape thoughts that once drifted in abstract forms into clearer language. When ideas branch out and risk scattering over time, I treat the questions I have asked and the conversations I have had as a kind of archive. From this, I draw out shared directions and recurring ideas, and I return to them when writing about myself and my work. I do not see AI as a source of answers, but as a reference that helps me clarify my thinking and connect to new ways of reflecting.

What would the theme song of your artistic journey be, and how does it reflect your story?

The piece that reminds me of my artistic journey is “Following a Bird,” performed by Ezio Bosso at Sanremo in 2016. When I listen to this performance, I feel as if I am struggling to follow something that cannot quite be grasped. I feel that this sensation resembles my own way of continuing to work. While wishing to remain sensorially free, I am at the same time constantly chasing something that cannot be easily held. The movement of losing direction and finding it again along the way overlaps with how I sustain my practice. For this reason, the piece feels like a landscape that most clearly reflects my attitude toward art and my journey within it.

How do you envision the evolution of your work in the coming years?

Over the past four years, I have spent time experimenting with different possibilities in my practice and expanding in multiple directions. Through varied approaches and attempts, I believe I have broadened the language of my work. In 2025, I went through a process of gathering and focusing the many strands that had spread outward. Now, beginning in 2026, I want to continue working in a way that conveys sensation rather than explanation, revealing relationships and balance through structure rather than through specific imagery.

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Across each reflection, Ashin Kim returns to a central understanding of art as a living process shaped by experience, attention, and openness. Creation begins in solitude and gradually enters the shared space between artist and audience, where perception and memory generate new meaning. Commitment to personal integrity, curiosity toward unfamiliar environments, and a continued search for sensory clarity guide the direction of the work ahead. Within this practice, sensation remains more important than explanation, and artistic growth continues through the patient pursuit of balance, structure, and perception.