Since the mid-1980s, SUH YONGSUN has garnered acclaim for his bold use of vivid colors, powerful brushstrokes, and thematic exploration of modern history and mythology. While a large part of his oeuvre delves into themes such as Korea's tragic history through modernization or ancient myths, interpreting his practice solely through a political lens or within a certain time period somewhat limits his 40-year journey as an artist.

His recent survey exhibition at Art Sonje Center, titled 《My Name is Red》, effectively showcased the breadth of Suh's such diverse practice, particularly highlighting his relatively lesser-known City series. Radar had the privilege of meeting him in person in New York. Alongside the constant evolution of themes and subjects, his deep-seated affection for human existence has long underpinned his practice.
 
Suh’s major solo exhibitions include 《Suh Yongsun: My Name is Red》 (Art Sonje Center, Seoul, 2023), 《Pain, Symptoms, Signs: Drawing the History of Suh Yongsun》 (Art Center White Block, Paju, 2019), and 《Utopia’s Delay: the Painter and the Metropolis》 (Geumho Art Museum/Hakgojae Gallery, Seoul, 2015). His works could be found in prestigious institutions, including the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Seoul Museum of Art, Busan Museum of Art, and the National Gallery Singapore.

When I reached out for the interview and discovered you were currently in New York, I was genuinely excited. Do you visit New York often?
 

I make the trip occasionally, usually once or twice a year, for both leisure and work. Fortunately, I somehow came across a fellow Korean running a deli in Manhattan, who generously offered me a spare workspace nearby. So, that's where I've been working. During the daytime, I'm mostly in Harlem, and in the evenings, I head down to Manhattan to unwind. In Harlem, I've been fortunate to utilize a studio space provided by a Korean couple who have been running a wig shop for quite some time. The neighborhood is safe enough and, most importantly, it's fascinating to observe a lifestyle vastly different from that of Midtown. I typically spend my days and early afternoons working there before venturing downtown for the evenings.

Traveling around the world to cities including Berlin, New York, and Sydney, you have been working on your ongoing City series, which began in the early 1980s. It reflects your deep passion for urban landscapes. Whether it's people walking along the streets or commuting via public transportation, there's a consistent theme in your work of capturing the essence of urban life.
 

I certainly do. I truly enjoy observing people living in cities, and I’m particularly curious about urban life and existence. Manhattan, in particular, stands out for its unparalleled diversity, even compared to other cosmopolitan cities around the world. It's a place that prompts reflection on humanity, race, and ethnicity, evoking a unique sense of curiosity.

One of the noticeable traits of the City series is its vibrant use of color. While portraying familiar and serene urban landscapes, the series stands out for its bold palette—from City – in the Car (1998, 1991) to Bongcheondong-Sadangdong (1995), and more recently, 34th Street (2010) and 14th Street Exit (2010). Due to the expressive brushstrokes and nuanced facial expressions, the overall effect is strikingly intense and raw. Is there a specific reason behindyour preference for bold primary colors?
 

The ‘City’ series first started in Seoul during the 1980s, reflecting a significant shift in urban aesthetics. In the late 1970s, the streets of Jongno area were filled with stark black-and-white signage, emblematic of the era's conservative approach to color. However, as the 1980s arrived, a burgeoning embrace of vibrant colors emerged, which I believe coincided with the advent of color television.
 
One thing I realized after observing Korean cities for a while is Korea’s relatively conservative stance on usage of colors throughout history. Centuries of Confucianism fostered a culture that often suppressed individual expression, with ink painting prevailing as the predominant art form. Confucianism favored monochrome ink paintings, which partially contributed to the prolonged tradition of subdued palettes. Even during my college years, using vivid colors in traditional Eastern paintings was not so favored among colleagues and professors. Nonetheless, as the 1980s came and a transitional period of generational liberation took place, I feel like I witnessed and took part of such a transformative shift.

While the use of primary colors is a common feature of the series, one can assume each subseries took place in different cities and surroundings mainly due to the scenes in the background, such as signs, advertisements, or people’s attire. For example, whether it's Subway to Downtown (2010), Alexander platz (2015), or spanish bus, NJ (2013-15), each work illustrates distinct traits of the city it was created in, even adding the joy of comparing them. As a traveler and an artist, when encountering new cities or cultures, do you find yourself more inclined to the similarities or differences?
 

I think I lean more towards noticing the similarities, about 60-70 percent of the time. I don't deliberately emphasize the differences, but they tend to naturally stand out. For instance, visual arts in popular culture have developed in distinct ways in each city or country such as Australia, Germany, and the US—New York, to be specific.  I believe each city has characteristic colors influenced by environmental factors, which also play a role.

Manhattan, for instance, has many dark underground spaces, while places like Sydney tend to have more above-ground trams and the city is relatively exposed upwards. Consequently, the colors there seem brighter and more vibrant. On the other hand, Germany, in general, with its long winters, tends to predominantly have muted colors. While I don't consciously think about these while traveling, I believe they naturally manifest in my work.

Is there a particular reason why you pay special attention to public transportation?
 

That I don’t usually drive and need to rely on public transportation when I’m overseas had a significant impact on my earlier works. In New York, for instance, I constantly sketched every time I was on subway. For me, the subway in this city feels like the pulsating veins that supply the main driving force of the city: the labor.


 
When it comes to depicting urban landscapes, one could choose not to draw any people. And yet, in your practice, from very early on, there have always been human figures.
 

I'm deeply interested in the various ways people survive. Rather than depicting the way itself, I’m drawn to certain aspects that I come across. What I mean by that is each artist has one’s own skills and forms of expression, so what one sees also inevitably varies. In my case, drawing is the form that I feel most comfortable and familiar with. Therefore, finding the right place and setting up the proper environment and opportunities to record what I see from a certain angle becomes very important.
 
The matter of drawing people is directly related to observing them. For me, it would be difficult to draw on cold streets. But as I find the right time and place where I can keep a good distance from my subject, I would start sketching in my sketchbook. Sometimes I transfer the sketches into watercolors or paints, or if I'm in a hurry, I take photos. Drawing feels like a habit deeply ingrained in my body, and I spend a lot of time creating the perfect ‘conditions’ where this habit can naturally manifest. In New York, for example, I spent two and a half months commuting between Brooklyn and Manhattan, sketching on the subway every day. When the rush hour passes, just around 10am, I would then have enough space and distance from the crowd and would start drawing. I usually manage to draw 1-2 sketches in about 40 minutes each day.



 
So what you are saying is that you intentionally seek out places where your strengths or skills as an artist can be well expressed. How does a change in location influence your work?

 
Psychological space seems to be reflected in my work. Forms and colors become more daring, and the colors I observe outside naturally find their way onto the canvas, or I tend to favor colors that continually catch my eye. I’m currently staying near a construction site here, and my paintings have become somewhat bolder. Painting involves changing sculptural forms on the canvas, but being in an environment where materials are constantly transforming in physical space, that aspect seems to have become more noticeable as I work.

You mentioned changing sculptural forms, which reminded me that you also often work with collage and sculptureaside from paintings. A Man Taking Medicine (2020), for instance, stands out, with its use of Organic Valley milk cartons and Belcube cheese wraps.
 

Yes, that's correct. I've noticed for a while that here in the US,  a lot of packaging is used for commercial products. I often used to work with collage techniques with paper packaging from small delis or foil wrappers for food. All of these all started with the textures and senses I felt in the city. When traveling, I frequently found myself eating ramen for meals, so I even enjoyed using the metallic lining behind the noodle packaging. As one’s surrounding changes, so does the way one encounters everyday objects around us.


 
Another interesting aspect I noticed is that from your works made in the early 1980s to the recent ones, the same focus of interest consistently appears regardless of the time period – most notably, your interest in history or urban dwellers. While the subject matter may have stayed the same, have there been any changes in the way you view the subjects over time?
 

Previously, the use of paint as a medium for painting seemed almost intuitive, something taken for granted, which made me use it without much thinking. As time progressed, however, I feel like the significance of the paint carries as a medium is increasing. Rather than merely using paint to depict a subject, the process of creating paint itself began to hold greater importance. When you think about it, painting involves the application of powdered pigments onto a canvas, which requires the use of adhesive to affix them to the surface.
 
This is when various techniques come into play, each reflecting the artist’s interpretation and approach. Some might choose to meticulously apply dots, while others splatter paint, and some might put more emphasis on the underlying concepts rather than the physical act. That’s why the act of creating paint, the very act of painting, reveals one’s essential attitude as an artist. Simultaneously, such introspection naturally leads to the fundamental question of all times – why do we paint? Why do humans strive to reproduce what they perceive with their own eyes?
 
In other words, our surroundings and conceptual frameworks are closely intertwined, and the history of painting already shows the flow of our thoughts within its materials.

Why do humans feel the need to validate what they see with their eyes - that is an interesting question. It makes me wonder about the ultimate purpose of art.
 

To me, visual art is about validating one's existence. I think that’s where people’s interest in visual art started in the past centuries. Even as we perceive the reality in front of us, it remains uncertain. Even as an artist who has worked for many years, I feel that the reality we see and the reality within the canvas can never be the same. Masters like da Vinci, Picasso, and Van Gogh, regardless of the era, each tried to bring their desired reality onto the canvas in their own way, but there always remained a discrepancy from their observed reality.
 
Living in a city adds much more complexity than being in nature. Human existence is socially determined, and therefore, whenever someone walks by, we constantly and subconsciously judge them based on countless standards of our own. To objectively perceive something, in my opinion, is impossible from the outset. Trying to grasp the forms of visual entities that we perceive every second is thus ultimately linked closely to our survival, or in other words, life itself.

What you mean is that we, as human beings, inherently have the desire to get confirmation on what we are looking at or experiencing at the moment. This, on the other hand, also implies the perpetual anxiety that stems from uncertainty. When you say ‘confirmation’ on one’s own existence, is this assurance provided by oneself or does it have to come from other beings?
 

We, the busy urban dwellers in contemporary society, are inevitably running towards predetermined destinations every day, like school or work. Yet, there is a piece of reality that exists and floats in our subconscious that we do not perceive. For instance, let’s say we witness an accident far down the road while on our way to work. Rarely would one prioritize saving or helping the injured over getting to work on time.

Or think about the thousands of victims dying in a war across the oceans, and the selfless beings who are actually rescuing and saving them. Yet, when it comes to our own selves, our imminent problem for the day would be whether we reach our destination today or simply living out the day rather than the life and death issue of others.
 
As these moments constantly come and go, the feelings of inertia, or powerlessness, subconsciously accumulates within us. The desire to share and show such ebbs and flows of emotions and thoughts from things happening around us daily – this, to me, is the beginning of creativity. In other words, what we need as humans, who live by letting countless thoughts flow through us every second, is art.

References

• [인터뷰] 서용선 “존재의 확인”
  [Interview] Suh Yongsun “Validation of Being”