In this interview series, Kim Yong-deok, founder of Terarosa Coffee, takes on the role of interviewer, engaging leading figures from the worlds of art and culture in thoughtful conversations over a cup of coffee. Ranging from visual art and music to architecture and space, the discussions explore a wide spectrum of cultural topics.

The first guest of the year is painter Seo Sangik, whose figurative paintings have attracted widespread attention.

Through his work, Seo Sangik interprets the many stories embedded in everyday life with luminous color, delicate brushwork, and a distinctive visual perspective.

Kim Yong-deok Since I was young, I've had the opportunity to interact with many artists in the art world. One impression I've often had is that the compositions and color harmonies of Korean artists tended to remain confined within established conventions.

A great deal of time has passed since then. How do you view contemporary Korean art today?

Seo Sangik Fundamentally, I think there are far more artists today with exceptional visual sensibilities. They are highly receptive to new influences and have an impressive ability to absorb them and transform them into something of their own.

To me, the defining characteristic—and perhaps the very identity—of Korean culture is its hybridity.

If you look at K-pop, for example, it brings together rock, disco, jazz, and countless other genres to create an entirely new musical language. In much the same way, I see contemporary Korean art as a convergence of traditional aesthetics, modern and contemporary elements, and current international artistic trends.

Whether this process will ultimately lead to the development of a truly distinctive artistic language that gains global recognition remains uncertain. Even so, I remain quite optimistic about its future.

Kim Yong-deok Speaking of contemporary art, it often seems that many works are difficult for the general public to understand. Yet we frequently hear stories of such works selling for hundreds of billions of won. It makes me wonder whether marketing creates a certain phenomenon, one that the public then follows until it becomes a kind of myth.

In your view, do these works possess such value in themselves, or is that value the product of artistic merit combined with marketing?

Seo Sangik I agree with that perspective to some extent. Because the art world is relatively small as a cultural ecosystem, institutional authority can assign value to works of art, and that inevitably leads to certain distortions. If one were determined enough, it might even be possible to manufacture a particular "star" artist. That said, I believe those are exceptional cases and, to some degree, speculative. Most works ultimately possess values that can be reasonably justified.

What interests me more is the recent shift taking place within the art world. As the general public and private capital have become increasingly involved, the balance of power has changed. In the past, authority largely rested with critics, curators, galleries, and professors at art schools. Today, however, the influence of the public has grown significantly.

Many young artists now introduce their work through social media, attracting public attention first, only to be approached later by galleries and museums that choose to exhibit them.

In other words, whereas artists once had to receive the blessing of established institutions in order to enter the art world and gain recognition, many today make their debut supported by the interest and enthusiasm of the public. In that sense, the institution-driven art world of the past has become considerably less dominant. It is, in many ways, an effect produced by the combined forces of the public and the market.

Kim Yong-deok Public taste is certainly important, and it undoubtedly expands the market. But can popularity alone be called art?

Seo Sangik There are certainly works that capture attention quickly, but public taste matures remarkably fast. People gradually become interested in an artist's life and philosophy, and eventually even develop an appreciation for works that are wounded, darker, or more difficult.

For that reason, I believe public taste not only changes rapidly but also evolves. Korea's coffee culture is a good example. It began with instant coffee such as Maxim, then Starbucks introduced many people to espresso. As cafés became places for conversation, people's interest in better spaces and better coffee naturally grew, and our coffee culture developed along with it.

In much the same way, I believe the public's growing interest in and appreciation for art will gradually contribute to the advancement of Korean art.

Kim Yong-deok Then where do you draw the line between art and what is not art?

Seo Sangik I don't believe art has to be profound or solemn. On the contrary, I think there is an important place for more accessible, casual works that invite people to engage with art comfortably.

Whether a work is good or not ultimately emerges through direct experience—it is something we perceive intuitively rather than define through rigid criteria. I don't think it's possible to live by drawing absolute boundaries around what constitutes art.

It's much like asking someone, "What's your ideal type?" No matter how clearly I describe mine, it doesn't mean I'll inevitably fall in love with someone who fits that description.

So, regardless of its form, if a work can offer its viewer a different perspective—whether intellectually or sensorially—I consider it both a successful work and a work of art. For me, the boundary of art lies precisely in refusing to impose boundaries, instead expanding the range of our perception and our senses.

Kim Yong-deok People often say that artists have a muse—someone who inspires them deeply or leaves a lasting emotional imprint. Was there someone who played that role for you?

Seo Sangik When I was in graduate school, I mainly painted large-scale portraits in the manner of Chuck Close. Simply hearing people tell me that I painted well was enough to convince me that this was the path I should pursue.

But after painting faces over and over again, I eventually grew tired of it and found myself at a creative impasse. At the same time, I had always loved comics since childhood and kept a notebook filled with doodles. My girlfriend at the time especially enjoyed looking through those drawings.

Seeing me struggle, she said, "Why do you think oil painting has to be solemn and serious? The answer isn't on the canvas—it's in this notebook. Why not turn these drawings into oil paintings? I think you'd actually enjoy painting every day."

So I chose one of those doodles and turned it into a painting: Sunday PM 4:00, the image of a lion lying on a bed.

After that painting, people began responding strongly to my work—some loved it, others didn't—but it was the first time my paintings truly attracted attention. More than anything, my girlfriend helped me break free from the unconscious preconceptions I had held about painting, and for the first time I found genuine enjoyment in making art.

Not long afterward, I held my first solo exhibition. The art market also happened to be thriving at the time, and the exhibition received an overwhelmingly positive response. The recognition I received then has continued to serve as a foundation that enables me to keep working today. That's why I still remember her as one of the most important muses in my artistic life.

Kim Yong-deok Of all animals, why did you choose a lion?

Seo Sangik To be honest, I'm an extremely lazy person, and I've never had a very regular daily routine.

Back then, I would spend entire nights painting in the graduate studio, come downstairs in the morning for a bowl of hangover soup, then drift in and out of sleep until around five in the afternoon. One day, while half-asleep, I happened to be watching a wildlife documentary on television.

It explained that male lions sleep for nineteen or even twenty hours a day because their muscles are so heavily developed that, without sufficient rest, lactic acid builds up in their bodies. If that accumulation isn't relieved, the pressure on the brain can become fatal. In other words, they have no choice but to keep sleeping in order to recover.

In that hazy, half-conscious state, I experienced what felt like a surreal overlap. For a brief moment, it seemed as though I was asleep on a great rock in the African savannah, while at the same time a lion was sleeping in my own room.

It wasn't intended as a metaphor or a symbol. It was simply an irrational overlap of two moments. Sunday PM 4:00 was my attempt to paint that experience.

But viewers immediately began searching for a logical narrative. Looking at the lion, they would say, "The lion represents the artist himself," or, "The artist is powerful, lying dormant for now but destined to awaken one day."

In reality, though, I had only painted that fleeting overlap of images. If anything, I'm not even as capable as a cat.

That experience taught me something important about narrative in painting. I may provide the starting point of a story, but it is the viewers who complete it.

From then on, I deliberately began preserving a degree of ambiguity, allowing the narrative to be completed through the interpretations of those who encountered the work. What I find fascinating is that viewers will always find a way to continue the story, and, at some point, those countless interpretations began making my paintings even more interesting to me.

Kim Yong-deok This time, you collaborated with us on the theme "Peggy Guggenheim's Artists."

What initially inspired this project was a desire to tell the story of how Peggy Guggenheim—someone who was not originally an insider in the art world—entered that sphere, gradually came to understand art, and ultimately became a pivotal force in shaping its history. What did this project mean to you as an artist?

Seo Sangik At first, I suggested working within the same format as my ongoing 'The Temple of the Artist' series.

To be honest, because the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York remains one of the most influential institutions within the American-centered narrative of modern and contemporary art, I initially approached the project with a certain sense of discomfort rather than affection.

However, as I worked, I found myself thinking more deeply about Peggy Guggenheim's life. I wondered why, after losing her father at such a young age, she chose to devote the immense fortune she inherited from him to art. I became fascinated by the sequence of events—her move to France, her encounter with Marcel Duchamp, the artists she came to know through him, and the many remarkable talents she later discovered and championed.

What I also found intriguing was that many of these artists were figures with intensely masculine personas—often fiercely macho and notorious for their complicated private lives—yet they were nurtured through the interest, support, and affection of Peggy Guggenheim.

Learning about her life made me realize that, in many ways, she occupies a role in modern and contemporary art history not unlike that of the Virgin Mary. The project became a valuable opportunity to reconsider both the structures of power within the art world and the remarkable individuals who have shaped its history.

Kim Yong-deok For many people, art can still feel unfamiliar or intimidating. Finally, is there any advice you would like to offer Terarosa readers on how they might develop a greater appreciation for art?

Seo Sangik I actually think following market trends can be a perfectly good place to begin. It doesn't really matter what first draws you in.

These days it's become quite common for young couples to visit museums together, and I think that's a very positive development. Of course, many people may simply be following social media trends, visiting exhibitions because they're popular rather than because they already have well-defined personal tastes.

But regardless of where you begin, if you continue exploring through those trends, sooner or later you'll develop your own preferences. You'll eventually discover artists whose work resonates with you in a special way.

If you want to go a step further, I also recommend visiting national and public museums. Personally, I enjoy going during quieter hours. Public museums, in particular, often have expansive galleries, and when they are relatively empty, you can experience a work of art almost as though you were encountering it one-on-one.

At that point, the artwork ceases to be merely something to look at—it becomes something to experience. The space, the scent, the passage of time, the light—everything comes together with the artwork to form a single experience. As those experiences accumulate, your own taste gradually takes shape. And I believe that the sensibility cultivated through that process ultimately enriches one's life and allows one to live with greater depth and openness.

So rather than avoiding art because you feel you don't know enough about it, I encourage you simply to think, "Everyone seems to be visiting museums and galleries these days—maybe I'll give it a try too." The difficult part is not art itself; it's simply taking the first step.

For this collaboration, Terarosa has installed a selection of works throughout its newly opened Jeju Jungmun Eco Lounge under the theme "Peggy Guggenheim's Artists."

Just as Peggy Guggenheim's life became a decisive catalyst in discovering many of the artists we admire today, Terarosa hopes that coffee can likewise foster broader cultural and artistic exchange throughout society. With that aspiration, we conclude this conversation.

References

• [인터뷰] [2023년 특별 기획] 명사와의 대담 1: 서상익
  [Interview] [2023 Special Feature] Conversations with Cultural Figures 1: Seo Sangik