Interview with Paulina Kim Joo

MIGUEL GONZALEZ: It’s such a pleasure to discuss your work featured in the magazine. I should note that we’re having this conversation while the pandemic continues outside our walls. I’m in Miami, Copper is being edited in New York, you’re in Santiago de Chile, and we’re connecting over Zoom. By now—October 2020—this kind of interaction feels strangely normal, but it’s still a little surreal. Maybe none of this would’ve happened this way before. Who knows?

To start, could you introduce yourself to our readers and share a bit about your journey as an artist?

PAULINA KIM JOO: My name is Paulina Kim Joo, and I’m a visual artist and photographer. My work primarily revolves around using self-portraiture to create multimedia installations. These explore narratives about my family’s heritage—stories I grew up hearing but could never fully connect with due to immigration and time. For example, my father’s hometown in South Korea was completely erased by urban development. That overwritten history left me feeling unrooted, as though I belong nowhere. My art is a way of processing my cultural heritage and the environments I inhabit. It reflects my attempts to reconcile my experiences at home with life outside and navigate different cultural dimensions.

MG: Your work deals with such contemporary, rich, and complex themes. It makes me think about the different layers of memory—personal memories, cultural memories, and your family’s perspectives. Would you say memory is a key theme in your art?

PKJ: Definitely. Memory is central to my work, but other feelings resonate strongly too, like melancholia, longing, and homesickness. Some people grow up in the same place as their parents, sharing a collective history with their community. But for many, fractured identities emerge due to immigration or history. I speak three languages, and two of them are completely unrelated linguistically. For me, this has created a need to define myself. I was born in Chile to South Korean parents, but I don’t say, “I am Chilean” or “I am Korean” because it doesn’t feel true.

MG: How does this trilingual experience influence your work? Does language itself play a role in your art?

PKJ: Absolutely. I also write and create video pieces, incorporating language games that only make sense if you understand the languages involved. Growing up, my parents would play Korean dramas and documentaries, but I could only understand about 90%. Now, my Korean is much weaker than my English or Spanish. I’ve often had to rely on instinct to understand conversations and situations.

Many people won’t even engage with music unless it’s in their language, but I’ve made a point of embracing this dissonance in my work. I refuse to use subtitles in my videos because I want viewers to experience that same sense of partial understanding—of navigating without full context.

MG: That’s such a powerful way to create a shared experience. Would your video piece Kachi Maul, featured on your website, be a good example of how you explore language?

PKJ: Yes, definitely. You can watch an excerpt of it there, along with some installation photos.

MG: Shifting to your submission for Copper, how does self-portraiture factor into your practice?

PKJ: Honestly, I didn’t even realize I was using myself as a subject until recently. Initially, it was out of practicality. I didn’t want to use someone else’s image due to concerns about representation, copyright, and production costs. Plus, I couldn’t afford to hire models or schedule sessions.

But over time, self-portraiture became a genuine and empowering way to work. It allowed me to represent myself exactly how I wanted while continuing to explore Korean culture. For example, I became fascinated with Korean shamans—figures who are often feared or dismissed as scammers. I worked with this character because it felt like a vessel for forgotten history, even though its societal connotations are largely negative.

At the same time, I’m aware of my position as an outsider. I feel connected to Korean culture, but I also approach it with a sense of distance.

MG: Can you describe your studio process? How do research and making interact in your work?

PKJ: I’m more of a maker than an academic. Often, it starts with visual inspiration—like a book on Korean ceramics or a gallery of historical costumes. These references spark my process. I draw, craft objects, photograph them, and then draw again. It’s a cycle where one step feeds into the next.

MG: Can you tell us about IOYA, the self-portrait featured in Copper?

PKJ: IOYA means “woman” in Korean. It’s part of an older series where I imagined a fictional village through portraits of its women. This was one of the first pieces I created for it. I made ornaments and wore one of my mother’s traditional hanboks for the self-portrait.

At the time, I was inspired by anthropological images of so-called “newly discovered” human races. In hindsight, I recognize the harm and racism embedded in those references. Still, this piece reflects my exploration of gender and tradition. In Korean families, women are often expected to serve men unquestioningly—a concept I’ve always resisted. Through this series, I created female characters like a singer, a mourner, and the village’s matriarch. Now, I’m interested in challenging these roles by wearing historical costumes traditionally reserved for men.

MG: That sounds like a fascinating direction—challenging traditional gender roles through your art.

PKJ: Yes, I’m glad to be creating at a time when these changes are happening. While we’re far from perfect, we’re moving toward a world where identity isn’t entirely predetermined by birth.

MG: Looking ahead, what are you working on now?

PKJ: I’ve recently returned to Chile after studying in New York for three years. I’m resuming my work as a photographer but also thinking about how to push my practice further—like hosting an exhibition or exploring digital spaces for presenting my art.

I’m also experimenting with side projects. For instance, I’ve been exploring themes around underwear and public spaces, inspired by shifts in how sexual labor is perceived and monetized. It’s still in development, but I’d like to create a project that examines these ideas in a formal yet provocative way.

MG: That sounds exciting. I can’t wait to see where your ideas take you. Thank you so much for sharing your insights and your journey with us.

Paulina Kim Joo IOYA, 2013