Installation view of 《Artificial Garden》 © VODA Gallery

Plants do not speak. They have neither a nervous system capable of feeling pain nor the ability to move. For this reason, plants are often regarded as the most fragile among living beings. Yet Greem Kim, Im Ji-hyun, and Yoon Ye-je discover powerful vitality within these entities. Their exhibition 《Artificial Garden》 reconsiders the meaning of existence by using each artist’s brushwork to metaphorically express the forms through which plants breathe with the world.

Greem Kim reconstructs images of plants based on her interest in ecological systems and how plants change depending on their environments. During her expeditions to high-altitude regions such as Mongolia, Siberia, and South America, she encountered hairy alpine plants whose adaptive qualities reminded her of the resilience required to survive harsh climates and terrains.

These transformed plant forms sometimes resemble animals, revealing their fierce will to live. Their hairs—soft at times, sharp at others—show how the viewer’s own senses are projected onto the subject. Her paintings of plants glowing in darkness present an imagined ecology, prompting viewers to reconsider small but never insignificant forms of life.

Im Ji-hyun shifts her gaze to the unfamiliar in what is usually familiar. In works such as Orchid, the subject is indeed an orchid, yet the image evokes muscular tissue or rugged, reddish soil. The titles “Bone” and “Wing” hint at structural qualities reminiscent of animals. Moving beyond her previous practice rooted in embodied experience through walking and care, the artist now explores bodily imagery to express the powerful vitality embedded in plants. Layering pigment, sanding it down, and masking the surface adds material depth to her images.

Installation view of 《Artificial Garden》 © VODA Gallery

Yoon Ye-je projects her own presence and way of life onto plants and their surrounding environments. Thus, changes in her living conditions naturally lead to changes in her work. The resulting images carry a sense of place and time. Daegu, where she currently resides, offers a slower and more languid atmosphere compared to Seoul, where she lived previously; this shift has gradually brought a more structured form to her paintings.

Viewing the purple hue of saline-tolerant samphire as the color of dawn, she expresses the familiar yet unfamiliar contemplative time she currently experiences. The strong grasses intertwining and growing upward, along with her meditative working process, reflect a calm openness—an attitude that does not avoid the unpredictable variables that intrude upon daily life.

This exhibition contains neither lush greenery, nor the warm sunlight that covers one’s eyes in the afternoon, nor the pleasant crackling of dry leaves brushing the ear. Instead, plants that no one can confidently claim to fully understand beckon from garden soil, from briny water, and from unknown territories. Each, in its own way, sends roots downward—ever downward—and sustains life. Flowers and fruit are not their only abilities; like us, they breathe and persist in their own forms.

 
Text │ Ji-hye

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