At first sight, you might think Youjin Yi’s paintings are symbolic. The Korean artist uses recurrent motifs like animals (especially birds and monkeys), plants and trees, and bodies of water; however, as she explains, they’re “less about specific, traditional symbolism and more about what they evoke. I find animals possess a profound authenticity, sometimes more so than humans.”
Today, Youjin Yi is what you’d call a successful artist: she lives off her artistic practice (already a milestone that many don’t achieve), she’s represented by different galleries worldwide, and her work is exhibited in art fairs and institutions. But looking back, that wasn’t always the case: after enrolling at Sejong University to study fine arts, she ended up dropping out. “The department was conservative, and the curriculum felt rigid,” and even more importantly, “ I looked ahead and couldn't see a viable path. The infrastructure just wasn't there.” Today we sit down with her to discuss winning awards, moving from Korea to Munich, her upbringing, and future plans.
Hey Youjin, it’s a pleasure to speak with you. What first attracted you to painting?
My interest in painting began at twelve, thanks to a village teacher trained in Western academic techniques who recognised my talent and tutored me. My first pivotal moment was painting a still life of apples. I grasped perspective and realised I could capture their true essence. The act of translating my vision to canvas and sharing it was incredibly fulfilling and affirming. That experience ignited an obsession. My parents’ fruit shop provided abundant subjects, so I constantly drew apples, strawberries, and watermelons. It was like a game for me, my version of playing with dolls.
While studying Korean painting at Sejong University, you felt frustrated and dropped out of college. That’s bold! Was it really that bad?
It was a significant decision. My early artistic drive, as I said, was fuelled by that thrill of understanding perspective. But after secondary school, when I began studying fine art at the university in Seoul, I found the atmosphere quite stifling. The department was conservative, and the curriculum felt rigid, more like an extension of formal schooling than a space for true artistic development. Perhaps more importantly, I looked ahead and couldn't see a viable path. The infrastructure just wasn't there. Municipal support for artists was minimal, and public engagement with art felt very low. It made me question what future I could possibly have in that field after graduating.
I know Asian families in general are super strict when it comes to education. How did your parents receive the news? Also, were they supportive in you pursuing a career in the arts?
That’s an interesting question. My parents’ own lives were shaped by hardship because poverty linked to Korean history meant they never had the chance for an education themselves. Their greatest ambition was simply to provide a better life for us, their children, and a core lesson they taught me was the importance of taking responsibility for myself.
Perhaps because I was the second child, and the traditional focus on a son carrying on the family name was still prevalent, I wasn’t under the same specific pressures. I developed a strong sense of independence, and over time, this built a foundation of mutual trust with my parents. I came to understand their philosophy: my happiness was, in a way, their happiness too. So, when it came to leaving university, while it wasn’t a typical path, their trust in my ability to manage my own life was key.
Their support for my arts career was less about direct intervention and more about the environment they cultivated. They created a loving and secure home, a truly protected space where I was never put under pressure. This understanding and freedom allowed my natural sensitivity to flourish, which is absolutely essential for my art. Ultimately, they simply believed in me, and that was the most profound support I could have asked for.
Perhaps because I was the second child, and the traditional focus on a son carrying on the family name was still prevalent, I wasn’t under the same specific pressures. I developed a strong sense of independence, and over time, this built a foundation of mutual trust with my parents. I came to understand their philosophy: my happiness was, in a way, their happiness too. So, when it came to leaving university, while it wasn’t a typical path, their trust in my ability to manage my own life was key.
Their support for my arts career was less about direct intervention and more about the environment they cultivated. They created a loving and secure home, a truly protected space where I was never put under pressure. This understanding and freedom allowed my natural sensitivity to flourish, which is absolutely essential for my art. Ultimately, they simply believed in me, and that was the most profound support I could have asked for.
You then moved to Munich, where you studied at the Akademie der Bildenden Künste. How did that education differ from the one in Korea?
Studying in Munich was a distinct experience. The environment at the Academy was notably open, with a curriculum that allowed you to set your own pace — a real departure from what I was used to. I also found that many people in the city were genuinely interested in art and culture, which was inspiring. The mentorship was also different. I benefited greatly from the intensive, ongoing dialogue I had with Professor Günther Förg. Equally important was the robust support system established for emerging artists.
I love how visual, visceral your brushstrokes are. They give the paintings an extremely human touch. How was the process of finding your style?
I appreciate that. My journey to this style has been about connecting with my core experience and expression. It began at university in Seoul, where I chose to specialise in Korean painting after exploring different techniques, immersing myself in traditional paper and brushwork. The brushwork itself is integral to capturing subjectivity.
I draw heavily from Asian ink drawing traditions, where the long, soft brush is used with dynamic energy. The lines can feel as if they cut into the surface. In this interplay, line and surface become interchangeable, with the brush’s angle and pressure shaping the density of the form. For me, this often means using the tip of my brush almost like a knife, searching for and carving out forms intuitively.
I believe that this intuitive, gestural approach, which includes working on the floor to bypass constant self-evaluation, combined with such direct engagement with the materials, is what allows that human, visceral energy to come through.
I draw heavily from Asian ink drawing traditions, where the long, soft brush is used with dynamic energy. The lines can feel as if they cut into the surface. In this interplay, line and surface become interchangeable, with the brush’s angle and pressure shaping the density of the form. For me, this often means using the tip of my brush almost like a knife, searching for and carving out forms intuitively.
I believe that this intuitive, gestural approach, which includes working on the floor to bypass constant self-evaluation, combined with such direct engagement with the materials, is what allows that human, visceral energy to come through.
What does a ‘normal’ day in your studio look like?
A ‘normal’ day for me is built around a consistent structure, which is crucial when you’re self-employed. I’m in the studio for a dedicated block of four to five hours, every day of the week. During this time, the space itself might seem a bit chaotic, with different materials spread around, but it’s an organised chaos for me. The core of my practice then involves putting the paper on the floor to paint. This act of looking downwards is fundamental to my work, as it doesn’t allow for constant evaluation of the process, letting intuition guide me.
Most of your artworks are filled with natural elements like animals, flowers, trees, and water bodies like lakes. How do you connect to the natural environment while being in the studio?
That’s an insightful question. My connection to nature in the studio isn’t reliant on its physical presence before me. Instead, my experiences cultivate a rich inner library of impressions and perceptions. Much of what I paint is, in essence, a reaction. I respond to everything I have previously perceived and absorbed, and because my heart continually gathers these moments and sensations, I am always reacting anew. I paint from this ‘library of my heart.’
My creative process, much like the subconscious, operates beyond the confines of everyday logic. Painting functions similarly. It delves into what transpires beneath the surface, under water, beyond the horizon, eluding the grasp of reason, and into the profoundest depths. In my work, these elements remain allusions, hinting at the unseen rather than stating it explicitly. I believe that this approach to my art resonates within our collective consciousness and even our unconscious.
My creative process, much like the subconscious, operates beyond the confines of everyday logic. Painting functions similarly. It delves into what transpires beneath the surface, under water, beyond the horizon, eluding the grasp of reason, and into the profoundest depths. In my work, these elements remain allusions, hinting at the unseen rather than stating it explicitly. I believe that this approach to my art resonates within our collective consciousness and even our unconscious.
“My creative process, much like the subconscious, operates beyond the confines of everyday logic. Painting functions similarly.”
I see recurrent motifs like monkeys and birds. Do they hold any specific symbolism to you?
For me, it's less about specific, traditional symbolism and more about what they evoke. I find animals possess a profound authenticity, sometimes more so than humans. Yet, at the same time, their consciousness remains a mystery. I can’t truly know what it's like to be them. The combination of their genuine nature and the inherent unknown is what I find so compelling. Their perceived innocence offers me a sense of freedom in my art and is a constant source of fascination. I find myself humanising them in my work, perhaps as a way to bridge that unknowable aspect and to find a connection.
Is there a specific animal or plant you enjoy painting? Or one that you haven’t done because it’s too difficult or you simply don’t like?
Trees, fish, birds, and monkeys are certainly my favourite subjects to paint. When I think about subjects that are more complex for me, whales stand out. My feeling is that our perception works symbolically within our collective consciousness, and the whale, in particular, resides deep in our subconscious. This symbolic depth is what makes them so complex to capture artistically. It’s less about a lack of appeal and more about the challenge of doing justice to such a powerful, subconscious symbol on canvas.
You won the Kiaf Highlights award, given by the Korean art fair. That must’ve felt awesome! How did you receive that accolade, and did you notice any change after that?
Yes, absolutely, it was a wonderful feeling. Being recognised as a Kiaf Highlights Artist was a significant moment that dramatically increased the international visibility and recognition of my work. This translated directly into heightened interest from collectors and galleries, valuable new contacts, and exciting opportunities to present my art to a much wider audience.
Beyond the external impact, the recognition was also a profound source of validation. It truly strengthened my motivation and encouraged me to continue pushing the boundaries of my artistic language. I am incredibly grateful to Kiaf for this invaluable boost.
Beyond the external impact, the recognition was also a profound source of validation. It truly strengthened my motivation and encouraged me to continue pushing the boundaries of my artistic language. I am incredibly grateful to Kiaf for this invaluable boost.
Besides painting and drawing, you’re also into sculpture. How did that come to be? And how different or similar is your process from approaching a 2D piece vs a 3D piece?
My paintings and sculptures are entwined in a continuous dialogue, each an extension and instigator for the other. My artistic exploration focuses on enriching this reciprocal influence, seeking more profound convergences between 2D surfaces and 3D forms. At the heart of this endeavor, in both painting and sculpture, lies the desire to capture qualia: the ineffable, subjective qualities of experience, such as the specific resonance of a hue or the felt sense of an atmosphere. I strive to shape environments where such personal feelings can find resonance.
While my paintings achieve this through an interplay of depth, structure, and the evocative tension between defined and unbounded spaces, sculpture empowers me to give qualia a tactile reality, a palpable physical dimension.
While my paintings achieve this through an interplay of depth, structure, and the evocative tension between defined and unbounded spaces, sculpture empowers me to give qualia a tactile reality, a palpable physical dimension.
For years, there’s been a growing passion in the West for Korean culture, from music to cinema, to gastronomy, fashion, and literature. As a Korean person living in Munich, how do you perceive that phenomenon?
I’ve definitely perceived this growing passion for Korean culture, and it’s quite remarkable. For me personally, this increased general interest has translated into more attention for my work as an artist, which is certainly an advantage I didn't have to the same extent before. It's also noticeable that people are generally much better informed about Korea now, which often leads to deeper and more nuanced conversations and understanding. This deeper engagement is evident in many ways.
For instance, my work was recently curated by Saskia Hendy for the exhibition Sehnsucht Sehen in Munich. As an art consultant specialising in photography and Korean art, she brought a deep appreciation for Korean culture to the project. Our collaboration was a wonderful example of the broader enthusiasm I’ve observed.
For instance, my work was recently curated by Saskia Hendy for the exhibition Sehnsucht Sehen in Munich. As an art consultant specialising in photography and Korean art, she brought a deep appreciation for Korean culture to the project. Our collaboration was a wonderful example of the broader enthusiasm I’ve observed.
Migrating is always a difficult decision. It’s thrilling to go abroad to live new adventures, but at the same time, there’s a sense of nostalgia and homesickness. After years living in Germany, how do you balance that dichotomy?
I balance that dichotomy through a process of active confrontation and reflection. My core identity, the ‘me’ that includes my personality, mind, and life philosophy, is fundamentally shaped by Korea. Living in Germany has been a catalyst, making me constantly examine what is intrinsically 'mine' versus what I experience in this new environment. It's by looking both backward to my roots and forward to my present life here that I find my balance.
This active engagement, this 'confrontation' with both sides of the experience, the nostalgia for what was and the engagement with what is, is what makes me stable. It's not about suppressing one for the other, but finding equilibrium in their dynamic interplay, allowing both the thrill of the new and the connection to my origins to coexist and inform who I am now.
This active engagement, this 'confrontation' with both sides of the experience, the nostalgia for what was and the engagement with what is, is what makes me stable. It's not about suppressing one for the other, but finding equilibrium in their dynamic interplay, allowing both the thrill of the new and the connection to my origins to coexist and inform who I am now.
This year, you’ve already had a couple of solo shows and participated in international art fairs. What’s coming next for the second half of 2025?
September looks like it will be a particularly active month. I’ll have a solo presentation at the Positions Berlin Art Fair, represented by Kornfeld Galerie. At the same time, Wooson Gallery will represent me at Kiaf Seoul. While in Seoul, I’m also looking forward to a solo exhibition at Jiwooheon Gallery. Closer to home in Munich, I'll be part of a group exhibition at Galerie Britta Rettberg.
Then in October, I'll be participating in Le Salon des Beaux Arts in Munich, which is a project by Maison von Mengden. November will see Rettberg Galerie showcasing my work again, this time at Art Cologne 2025. And to round off the year, in December, I'll be participating in the Jahresgaben (annual editions/gifts) at the Kunstverein Munich. I’m very much looking forward to these opportunities to connect with diverse audiences and contexts.
Then in October, I'll be participating in Le Salon des Beaux Arts in Munich, which is a project by Maison von Mengden. November will see Rettberg Galerie showcasing my work again, this time at Art Cologne 2025. And to round off the year, in December, I'll be participating in the Jahresgaben (annual editions/gifts) at the Kunstverein Munich. I’m very much looking forward to these opportunities to connect with diverse audiences and contexts.
