Na Kim

Meet the Residents / Siena is a seasonal series of interviews with Amant’s Siena Studio & Research residents. The conversations take place in the Amant residency studios in Chiusure, in the heart of the province of Siena.

In the summer of 2024, Amant’s Chief Curator, Tobi Maier recorded this conversation during a studio visit with resident artist Na Kim. With this transcript of their conversation, we introduce Na Kim’s practice to our wider audience and discuss questions such as: What is the impact of the Chiusure and Siena context on our residents’ practices? In what ways has the proposed project changed since arriving and why? And finally, what is artistic research and how is it done?

Tobi Maier: Na, thank you for receiving us in your studio here in Chiusure. Could you tell us a little bit about where you came from? Where were you before coming to Siena?

Na Kim: I’m a Korean artist based in Berlin, where I’ve been living for the past three years. I often return to Seoul for projects. Since my background isn’t originally in art, my approach and the nature of my final work differ somewhat from traditional artists. And this residency has provided me with a lot of ideas for the future and also allowed me to reflect on my past work.

TM: And before you came to Berlin, you were studying in the Netherlands. Is that where you moved from Seoul?

NK: I studied industrial and graphic design in Korea before moving to the Netherlands, where I spent six years. After finishing my master’s in Arnhem, I worked in Amsterdam for a while before returning to Korea for another six years. Eventually, I returned to Europe. Just before moving to Berlin, I was in Stuttgart because my partner was there. Stuttgart felt quite dark during the pandemic, but in a way, it was a good place to start my German life, I guess.

TM: You told us that you work using souvenirs from various experiences, transcending traditional trinkets to include objects with personal significance. Now, we are in your studio and I can sort of see three bodies of work. And if I may describe them just visually, very superficially, one wall features black and white photographs of things, architectures you saw or monuments during your time here in Italy. [Correct.] Then one other group on the floor features the sort of plants and seeds that you perhaps picked up during some of your walks around the countryside here. And then on the opposing wall, we have yet another group with prints, stickers, newspaper or magazine cutouts or advertising or packaging. [Right.] These groups do not only reference your previous work in design, but also relate to works from your recent exhibition at Kukje Gallery.

NK: Visually, this sort of semi-installation in the studio is already divided into three parts. After being here over a month, my main objective has been to look more closely at myself. I mean, this might apply to almost everyone who works as an artist in daily studio practice. But this isolation and unique setting here provide a rare opportunity for self-reflection, surrounded by nature, and an investigation of my routines. When I arrived, the first thing that I did was to make my schedule, almost like a school day reminder, somehow. And then, obviously, this structure made me observe nature more closely. During the day, with intense sunlight, you cannot do anything outside. But I want to make the most of this opportunity to enjoy the natural surroundings here. So, I’ve had to focus on specific times that I can be outdoors, like early morning or just before sunset. This has naturally, and somewhat inevitably, shaped my daily routine.

Thus, these flowers and weeds lying on this side of the floor are the traces from my morning walk. They are like a botanical archive of flowers and similar specimens, yet they follow the path of the daily walks. For example, towards the Abbey, I encounter more yellowish flowers and dry plants; towards Siena, there are more purple flowers. In another area, like where we crossed paths yesterday, the plant is even drier. These changes are also influenced by the weeks. Everything is a little bit connected with the past and daily life for me. Honestly, I’m not sure what to do with these unfamiliar materials, as this is the first time that I’ve tried collecting from nature. I’m aware it can evoke notions of a cliché, making it a bit challenging to use them, but I’m still eager to take on this challenge. The arrangement isn’t based on shapes or other formal qualities, but rather on the order in which I collected them over time.

On the opposite side, you can find all kinds of graphics and mass-produced materials that I’ve found. This is not a scientific collection; rather, it’s a compilation of arbitrary souvenirs—napkins, sugar packets, and similar items that I’ve randomly picked up from cafes and shops. The Italian language on these items matters, often communicating through its visual aspects. These familiar materials, like stickers and papers, resonate with me because for about twenty years, I’ve been collecting printed materials from stationery shops wherever I go. Through these, I’ve noticed slight differences in the use of basic colours, shapes and how different cultures approach the economic efficiency of mass production. With these collections, I’ve created visual collages, called Found Composition [1], which became a foundational practice in developing my visual language.

Additionally, I’ve developed an interest in fake drawings, particularly inspired by the old architecture here. The way decorative marble has been painted throughout these historic buildings has especially caught my attention.

TM: Such as Trompé-l'œil …

NK: Exactly. Look at these marble stickers [2]. This kind of marbling seems to share in that tradition. It tells a lot about the pursuit of perfection during the Renaissance period, I believe. Due to economic reasons or production constraints, perhaps they had to paint marble instead of using the real. I’m fascinated by the tension between something that strives to be perfect yet isn’t—reflecting a pure human desire for flawlessness. It all feels like a myth, a search for a utopia that’s ultimately impossible.

Many of the prints on this wall [point to the opposite wall] also explore that idea. This image, for example, is not from Italy but was taken at the Sir John Soane’s Museum2 in London. The architect designed his own house as a kind of autobiographical space filled with his collections. I really appreciate this personal yet ambitious concept. And this shop in Florence [3] [points to a picture on the wall], where the owner was selling household items, also caught my attention—he transformed the exterior into a very sculptural space. I’m particularly drawn to these human-made architectural elements rather than iconic structures created for authority, like those for God or the emperor.

In this sense, Siena is an exceptionally interesting city because it’s not centered around a singular authority. The autonomous idea can be found in the independence of Contrade3 and their tradition of self-governing. I found the mottos of the seventeen Contrade especially intriguing. For instance, “Come rivoluzione suona il mio nome(The name sounds like revolution)” is from the Contrada of the Caterpillar [4].

All these materials I’ve discovered by chance, though they may not be directly connected, but they serve as an honest documentation of my time here, reflecting my experiences and observations.

TM: This practice of collecting signifiers is reminiscent to the methodologies employed in the works you produced for your last exhibition in Seoul

NK: Yes, I had a solo exhibition called Easy Heavy [5] at Kukje Gallery just before joining this residency. As you may notice, my work often begins with the act of collecting. When viewed as individual objects, the items I collect may seem insignificant or light. However, as memories accumulate over time, I witness these once-light objects transforming into something much heavier. In this process, I imagine how a ‘souvenir’ collected to remember a specific moment can eventually become a ‘monument.’ Reflecting on these paradoxical situations—where lightness meets heaviness and simplicity intersects with complexity—I came across the term ‘Easy Heavy’ by chance.

However, I started to feel an unease that these objects might, at some point, become meaningless collections. Perhaps this feeling arose from the way time seemed to slip away, like sand through fingers, especially after experiencing the pandemic. I then began to question the significance of accumulating and collecting things. If these activities lack meaning, how should we view archives, memories, and the weight they carry?

The exhibition explored things that are light yet heavy, and simple yet difficult.

TM: I see you also have the word LOOM5 written in the daily schedule. Now, we don’t see the LOOM inside here, neither on one of the pictures nor on one of the newspaper cutouts. What is that about?

NK: LOOM is an ongoing project I’ve been working on for the past two years. In essence, this project is inviting a visitor to spend an hour alone in my studio every Friday by reservation. It was designed to explore how one might “experience” the space in this specific context—a single artwork or curated exhibition is presented along with a one-hour playlist and some recommended books. This project has provided valuable insights, as I’ve had personal conversations with visitors in this unfamiliar situation for both of us. I believe this structure has the potential to generate many intriguing projects as an empty container. Over 150 visitors have participated so far, and I’ve got lots of fascinating feedback.

Anyway, LOOM can only be possible as long as I’m in my studio in Berlin. During my stay here, I’ve opened my Chiusure studio to an online community. While I can’t invite people in person, I’ve been offering remote visits via Zoom for an hour, allowing me to show the surroundings as long as the Wi-Fi is connected. This remote format creates different conversational dynamics with visitors.

TM: You have research projects going on different levels. Could you talk a little bit about what is a research project for you? How do you do your research? And maybe then we could also talk about how our trips to Venice and Florence have influenced these research projects of yours.

NK: I think many people have a similar experience before coming to a residency program. We’re often busy with everyday life and projects, rarely pausing. Perhaps it’s the same for you? Chiusure is an exceptionally small town with only about a hundred residents. It’s an unusual place to stay long-term. If you want to go grocery shopping, you need to travel to nearby towns. In terms of mobility and the physical extension of your body, it’s a completely different experience. Maybe it makes someone feel frustrated, but at the same time, this limitation makes us mentally feel free because of more space in the brain. So, I’m trying to use this kind of opportunity to listen to my body attentively and let my brain just wander around freely. It would be the foundational attitude of my research here.

Yesterday I talked with Nick Pilato [Amant’s Executive Director] briefly, showing my recent book, Portrait [6]. This book has multiple layers of behind-the-scenes stories, making it highly significant for me. It serves as a sort of semi-conclusion to my ten-year representative project and publication, SET [7]. Last year, I made an intensive installation in my solo exhibition, displaying the archive of original materials from the SET project [8]. After that, I compiled all these materials into printed pages, which concluded this book. There wasn’t a clear purpose beyond documentation, but somehow, all this material came together to form a narrative that captures the entire project.

The text in the book was written by Emily King who has been familiar with my work for a long time, and is titled Gardening, Not Architecture [9]. Generally, an archive is meant to be an accumulation with a clear function, much like architecture. However, throughout the process of creating this book, I realized that I couldn’t really plan everything in advance. This unpredictability sometimes brings more freedom to the work. This symbolic idea of “gardening” as an approach to the archive resonates deeply with me. As Emily mentioned in her text, the role of the gardener seems to suit my approach here perfectly—being in nature, observing daily findings, carefully assorting and gathering the collections in my studio. The gardening process is like that.

TM: This book, SET is very architectural indeed, because you use these terms of gardening I also think of the playground, right? There are also versions of the playground and versions of the garden. And that brings me to something that I’ve been thinking right at the beginning when I saw your work: this notion of the version and the process. I also like this sort of malleability of things, there is not one fixed image. I must think of Wlademir Dias-Pino and his process poetry in Brazil, where you also have like perforations in the book he made. And depending on how you situate one page over another, the image can be a different one. Thus, for example, when I move the cover of your book or fold it, a green square disappears and now we actually have a white square here.

NK: Exactly. Right.

TM: And I find that fascinating in your practice that that is something that carries over. And I wonder, where did you get these language or design etymologies? Were they something that you brought from Korea? Or was that something that you acquired in the Netherlands? How do you distinguish these different influences, especially now that you are here in Italy, as well?

NK: It’s a very interesting question. I remember a moment during my master’s in the Netherlands when all the students gathered to present their works. I showed some projects I had done in Korea, and one of my friends asked if I had studied in Germany or somewhere else in Europe before because, to her, my work looked as Western style. That question intrigued me and I asked back—how do you say something has an Asian or Korean look in design? Back then, I noticed that some Asian designers intentionally highlighted their identities with specific styles, like brush script typography, origami, or certain textiles and papers. But I never trusted that style could represent an individual, since identity can’t be easily defined by nationality or ethnicity. Nowadays, with all connected online, styles have become more flattened, and aesthetics overlap; only the unique experiences of each individual truly matter, I believe. That’s why I focus on my surroundings in this small town and try to listen to my inner voice here.

TM: Thank you. Thank you for your time and for being so generous with your work.

NK: Thank you, Tobi. It was a great talk with you.