MIF 001: Minjae Kim

Christopher Schreck speaks with New York-based artist Minjae Kim about "Fold Sconce" (2024), an exciting new work that confirms the experimental tendencies that have long shaped Minjae's output, while also marking a new direction in his practice.

Transcript

Christopher Schreck: From Marta Los Angeles, this is Motion in Field, a series of conversations with contemporary artists about their most experimental, unconventional, and boundary-pushing works. I'm Christopher Schreck. 

Today, we're joined by Minjae Kim, a New York-based designer working at the intersections of interiors, furniture, sculpture, and fine art. Born and raised in Seoul, Minjae earned a Master's in Architecture from Columbia University and spent several years as a lead designer at Studio Giancarlo Valle before launching his own practice in 2020. In the ensuing years, Minjae's work has been internationally recognized for its inventive, often playful approach to both material and form, with each piece hand-rendered and replete with warmth and personality while always retaining a core function. 

To date, Minjae's perhaps best known for his takes on domestic staples like floor lamps, tables, and most notably, chairs, but in 2023, he entered new territory with the unveiling of “Fold Sconce,” an artful update on the traditional wall-mounted light fixture, which he reimagined in quilted fiberglass and brass.

In this episode, Minjae speaks to the circumstances that led to this exciting new work and how it confirms the experimental tendencies that have long shaped his output while also marking a new direction in his practice. Thanks for listening.

So, how did the idea for the “Fold Sconce” first come about? 

Minjae Kim: For the “Fold Sconce,” it was more specific to the idea of diversifying my market audience, in a way. It was an attempt to create a work that was simple enough so that I could bring down the price of the piece at the end for whoever's going to buy it. Through working with the gallery and growing my practice the past few years, the pricing was going up for my pieces - which is necessary for my practice, and for Marta as well - but at the same time, I felt like I was isolating a lot of potential people who would buy my work. So the main assignment for myself when I started working on the “Fold Sconce” was to get closer to a production mode, rather than the one-off approach that I'd been doing before. I was always creating work without insight into what would happen after the initial piece is created: I was always chasing the idea of making a piece that's interesting for myself and whoever - that was the priority – and then we would discuss pricing or how it's shown afterwards. But I wanted to try to make a piece that could hit a specific price point and be produced within my studio with my assistants without me necessarily taking in the making, so the big priority was to make a really simple design that could be produced relatively quickly without losing the touch that I usually find important in my pieces.

CS: Then how did the piece develop? You knew you wanted a simple design; were you sketching things out? Or was it more a matter of experimenting with the quilted fiberglass and arriving at your form? 

MK: Yeah, there were some initial sketches and some details. There was a wall sconce piece that I made for my first show at Marta, which was now like three years ago – it was like a plaster figure, kind of a torso-shaped plaster piece with two brass legs that had a little bent-edge feet detail. I was thinking that could be kind of a departure point, and then I was thinking, “How can I use fiberglass in the most simple way without losing the characteristics of quilted fiberglass pieces?” So the solution was just to create a sheet of fiberglass quilt and fold it to create volume. Then, in terms of hardware, I was able to use a conventional light bulb clip, so that you can just clip the two loops onto any existing light fixture, or you could simply buy a wall-hanging sconce piece and just clip it on top.

CS: And it uses a conventional A19 light bulb? 

MK: Yeah, exactly. 

CS: As far as sketching or modeling, would you say that's typical of your practice? Does the process vary from piece to piece, or have you arrived at a consistent approach to developing new works? 

MK: I mean, now my production is more diverse, the projects I'm working on are kind of all over the place, so it really depends on the project. But fundamentally, I always try to start with a sketch, because for me, it's the most economical way to work with an idea. So I always start with a sketch, and then sometimes I go straight into material production, prototypes, or mockups, or I might develop something in 3D modeling, just so that I can work with the real dimensions. But there are also some times that I don't even get to do a sketch, because sometimes the parameters are so straightforward that I can just kind of get into production. For example, if I'm making a chair, a lot of times I don't have to sketch anything because I know that the chair blocks - or chair blanks, as I call them - that I order from my carpenter friends will always come in the same dimensions, so I can basically just start cutting, or I sketch on the chair itself and then remove the material. 

CS: You mentioned a moment ago that “Fold Sconce” was designed to free things up for you by allowing your assistants to handle production. Has that been true in the past? Have you presented works that you had no direct hand in sculpting? 

MJ: Yeah, sometimes. What I realized as the practice kept going was that I myself became the ultimate bottleneck. Maybe it's also that communicating is sometimes hard when I'm making pieces. Sometimes I do a terrible job of explaining things to people that I'm working with, and then everything gets kind of clogged until I'm able to clarify that. So that was something I realized I had to work on with my collaborators and the people I work with in my studio in all aspects, and eventually it got to a point where I had to specifically try to make a piece where that is more explicit.

There were economic reasons, too. I expanded my studio last summer with the specific idea of separating the production side. I was in a 400-square-foot studio where we did everything: there was a table in the workspace, and I would work on my laptop in there while somebody else was sanding or pouring resin, and all of us would be wearing respirators, and it just became way too stressful to be in that environment. So I kind of split that through the expansion, where I doubled my studio size, and then I felt like, in order to afford that, I had to be able to come up with baseline tasks or projects where I could just quote-unquote “push a button” and not question what the outcome would be, which would buy me time to develop new projects, work on emails, talk to clients, and do more of these software projects as opposed to putting my hand on everything, because there was a lot of inefficiency in that process. So, with the “Fold Sconces,” a lot of times I would ask my assistants to work on that, and it was a huge benefit on my end, in terms of day-to-day in the studio. 

CS: So in developing the “Fold Sconce,” it sounds like there were economic considerations, as well as labor-related considerations, but what about your interest in the form itself? Obviously, there are many different types of wall sconces, but I would imagine that most people think of stylized furnishings with ornate designs, maybe mounted onto plates. Here, the form, as you said, is deliberately simple, and the nuance really seems to lie in the surface texture and the way the fiberglass thins under direct light. So in building the “Fold Sconce” – or, for that matter, in creating your chairs, your lamps, and so on - how interested are you in the idea of subverting convention, in terms of form and appearance? Was that part of the appeal, being able to approach a familiar form in a new and unexpected way? 

 MK: Not necessarily. There wasn't a huge aesthetic or philosophical drive in making the piece - it was mainly driven by finding a solution, and then I figured I could just let the material speak for itself. Especially with the quilted fiberglass, there's so much variation that happens in the process, and in a way, I hadn't really let the material speak for itself. I was always using the material to create a form or a specific silhouette or effect, but I never really let the material be on its own, in a way, because when I first started doing quilted fiberglass, the goal was just to create volume, and to create some sort of rigidity in the loose fiberglass sheet, because it comes in a thin weaving and it really doesn't hold its own form. So I started kind of laminating it to create a quilt, so it could have a base structure, and then all of the other aspects about it – like its texture, or how the thread works with the fiberglass weaving, or how the fiberglass weaving becomes transparent when it's embedded in resin – all of that was kind of secondary, almost a discovery, in a way. When you're working on something on your own, you find little quirky methods to resolve an issue, and sometimes you get kind of stuck to it, and you don't really have a chance to look back and appreciate it. I think it was a little bit like that. So I was sitting there, trying to come up with a really simple lighting solution, and the fold was the smallest gesture I could do to give it volume, a little bit of structure. Architecturally, I think it works quite well, too, to turn the corner a little bit. But none of these ideas were driving the design at all – it kind of came secondary. 

CS: One of the “Fold Sconces” was recently included in the "Rites of Spring" group exhibition at the gallery, and it made me wonder about your thoughts on installation. Just judging from the documentation photos for the piece, it seems like it continues a theme that's been true of a lot of your work, where the handmade qualities of the objects become even more apparent - and wind up creating this really interesting tension - when they're set in contrast to the architectures of more formal or pristine environments, whether that be a gallery space or a domestic setting. I wonder if you would agree with that - and if so, how conscious you are of embracing or inviting that tension.

MK: Yeah, absolutely. It's probably one of my favorite ways to work, actually. I was always trying to get rid of the straight line; a couple years ago, I would always work really hard and put a lot of labor into making everything kind of squiggly, because a person can't draw a straight line, so it would almost feel like a sketch or a drawing, and it always felt like you're more drawn to it in the end. But the contrast is something that I find more and more interesting, and I think that comes from seeing my projects in more diverse environments. So from that realization, I started also playing with the contrast of having this more organic line juxtaposed with the more industrial straight lines from a different process of building volume. But with fiberglass, especially the way I've been working with it, it always lends itself to imperfections, and in a way, that could be considered a shortcoming in my own process that I really lean into. I can imagine making any form that I'm drawn to and translating it through this process - and you know, it's not even translating with my ideas or my hands. Just the process alone can translate a form or an idea into something that's more familiar to myself, and that’s a big thing that I'm always drawn to with this material. 

CS: Would you say the “Fold Sconce” was created with a particular environment in mind? 

MK: No, not really. If anything, the idea was to make it as approachable as possible. If I'm making something too specific, I think it becomes a deterrent for people to picture it at their home or whatever, so the idea [with the “Fold Sconce”] was that you could kind of imagine it being anywhere. Some of my work takes on characteristics and becomes like a character or a creature, and I kind of like that, because it gives me the impression that [the work] is self-sufficient. It’s complete on its own; it doesn't require an environment to complete it, and especially when you're thinking of interiors or architecture, that’s not always the case. Sconces especially can be something that needs to respond to a specific architecture or vice versa, but this wasn't the case here. 

CS: How do you think readings of your work change when viewed in a gallery as opposed to being integrated into a domestic environment? Does it read differently to you? 

MK: Yeah, I think so. Sometimes it's really hard for me to imagine, especially if the work is created for a gallery environment, because then it exists very specifically in my head and sometimes I do have a hard time imagining it in someone's domestic space, or any other space. So I kind of have to trust that journey, because it's not always clear to me, but I think it usually works out and it does make me very happy. It’s always a nice surprise. 

CS: You were speaking earlier about how you've incorporated outside fabricators into your process for certain pieces like the wooden chairs, where you're essentially outsourcing the more precise elements of design or assembly, and you're focusing instead on the more open-ended or artistic decisions. There's an element of collaboration in that arrangement that I find really interesting, and I'd be curious to hear how you arrived at that approach. Was that a lesson learned through trial and error, or was that part of the plan from the beginning?

MK: Yeah, it was always kind of a twofold thing. I knew from the get-go, when I started learning woodwork in my early twenties, that I never really had the patience to do precision woodwork. It would kind of drive me crazy. So once I realized that I could work with other craftsmen who are far better qualified than I am and have much better facilities, it was kind of a huge discovery. I first started working with other professional builders while I was working with Giancarlo at the interior design studio, and I realized how fluid and collaborative that process could actually be, so when I started doing my own projects, that was something that I kind of told myself: “Oh my God, I can actually work with other people and kind of compensate for the things that I don't have.” 

With the methods or approach I use – and just the way I am, I guess, my personality – I do really enjoy working on my own, especially when I'm building. When I was at school, in the wood shops, there would always be somebody looking over my shoulder, and that always made me uncomfortable. So I really couldn't imagine myself in a professional shared woodshop, you know? I knew I had to try something wrong to get it right, and I felt like there was no opportunity for that. So the process I set up was just to outsource that more precise aspect, and then the part of messing up, getting rid of all the clean edges and kind of wrestling with a piece, I wanted to do in my own environment. When I set up my studio the first time, it was tiny. It was a 400-square-foot space, and I knew that I couldn't even have a proper table saw in there, you know? So I immediately started sending out drawings so that other woodworkers could do the assembly and deliver the piece to me. So it kind of became this thing where I’d just set up the parameters, and then I’d give myself room to mess it up, and it kind of stuck, so now that's just how I work. 

Another big thing it allowed me to do was to not be tied down to the location. I mean, fiberglass work is a bit more specific, but for woodwork, now I can sort of finish my work anywhere I want. I have a lot of woodworkers that I've done projects with in L. A., just to avoid expensive shipping. Same in Europe – I would go to a shop and find it really satisfying. That’s the other aspect that I didn't expect, where I'm building relationships with carpenters, continually revisiting their studios over the years, and that's been super nice. It’s also been nice to see that they're understanding my process. Once the woodworkers understand the process, there's this kind of trust, as opposed to when I initially just show someone a drawing of a project. That's a much more difficult conversation, where they have to bring it to a completion without being given the context of how I usually work.

CS: When you talk about making space in your practice to work at a different pace, to allow room for messing up and trying new things, it makes me wonder to what extent you're interested in being surprised by your work. Where in your process do you tend to find those moments? 

MK: The element of surprise is something I’ve embraced quite a lot from the get-go, but it also comes with being flexible. If I get rid of my rigidity, then it becomes a much easier work process. That’s my personal philosophy, too – not only in work, but just in day-to-day things. I've been doing design work – or artistic work, whichever you want to call it – for quite a bit now, maybe ten years, and I've learned to let go of a lot of that over the years, because I realized that it was not the best way to approach work or life. So I’ve found it really important to develop this kind of flexibility and to not be shaken when it doesn't go the way I had initially thought. There are always accidents and surprises and quirks that happen in any production, I think, and once you let go, you realize that you're okay, even though things don't go the way you had initially wanted. You come up with much better results. 

CS: Yeah, it seems like having a tolerance for imperfection is part of how an artist makes room for spontaneity and variation in their work – but it also just seems like the less precious you're able to be in your process, the more fun you're probably having, and I tend to believe that that translates to how the resulting pieces feel to others as well. 

MK: Right. Quite often, in my pieces, you can see attempts to recover from a mess-up, because I rarely start over – like, really, really rarely start over. It gives me a tremendous comfort to know that I can go into a situation and come out relatively satisfied, at least by my own standard, but I also hope that that gives comfort to the people I work with as well. Even if something unexpected happens, collectively, all of us together will come out of it fine. 

CS: Right, and yet it seems like no matter what kind of unexpected turns the work might take during production, the resulting pieces always retain some degree of functionality, or at least an implied functionality. So I wonder, are you generally hoping that your pieces will be used? Or are you comfortable with the idea of them being treated more as art objects, to be viewed rather than utilized? 

MK: At the end of the day for me, I'm comfortable with both, but I go back and forth with the functionality. I don't know if I always felt that way, but sometimes it does seem frivolous to need function. At the end of the day, I'm what I'm creating is a form – it's a form-building exercise, like making a drawing. So sometimes I do question myself, like, “Why am I putting a light bulb in here?” It’s an interesting back and forth, but if I'm going to give it a function, or if I'm going to allude to a function in the piece, in my mind, it absolutely has to work. So I may have a piece that looks uncomfortable, and people might question if they can use it at all, but my intention is always that you have to be able to use it. Otherwise, there's no point in using functionality as a driver for a piece. If that's not the case, that should be explicit on my end, in how the piece is designed or presented. 

CS: Right. Especially with fiberglass, I feel like people who aren't familiar with that material might assume that it's too fragile to physically engage with. 

MK: Yeah. In my first show at Marta, I had a lounge chair that looked very, very thin, and a lot of people didn't think that it was a functional piece, but it's very, very satisfying when you convince them otherwise.

CS: Something I wanted to circle back, in terms of production modes: The “Fold Sconce” is an open edition, so there's no set limit on the number of iterations that can be produced, but each work is inherently unique, just by the nature of how it was initially formed. 

MK: Right.

CS: That's been true of some of your previous pieces as well, but as you and I were talking about before we started recording, it sounds like you're increasingly interested in exploring molds and casting as means of faithful reproduction. That strikes me as a pretty significant development in your practice; it'd be great to hear a bit more about that. 

MK: The idea of being able to reproduce, or to give some consistency to the production, came when I did the studio expansion last year. The “Fold Sconce” actually does have a mold – it's basically two pieces of plywood put together at 90 degrees, so the quilted fiberglass can rest on it – but before that, I hadn't made any fiberglass pieces with a mold. Usually, fiberglass is always made with a mold, so it kind of felt necessary to try that technique, and for me, the consistency was very, very satisfying, so we started exploring more ways to use molds in the studio. Recently, we've been making silicone molds for resin casts, because I was making these corkscrew bottle openers for a friend of mine. I was carving it out of wood, and it's a relatively very simple form; it’s also a small-scale item that fits in your hand. But this general idea of a more approachable piece was something that was in my mind for a while, so I decided to lean in and thought, “Okay, at this scale, where something fits in your hand, is it possible to come up with a production method?” I realized it's actually a very common thing that a lot of people do. So I bought some plasticine clay, started sculpting some forms, and then made molds out of them, and it was amazing. I made three designs for the initial piece, which took me a couple of hours, and that was really it for me. We were then able to plug it into a production and experiment in other ways. That was very satisfying, because I could never repeat a form I’d created in a truly repeatable way before, and it was like, “Oh, wow, I can really take this far.”

CS: Yeah. It’s the best of both worlds, in a way: On one hand, you're using the same manual techniques to arrive at the source form, so that sense of character is retained in the editioned pieces – but at the same time, on a practical level, one can see how exploring these new modes of production might become a necessary part of scaling your practice.

MK: Right. It just came with an economy of time and effort. I mean, I love to carve wood, but sometimes the idea of carving 15 pieces can be intimidating. Like I said earlier about learning “proper” woodworking, I always knew that I didn't have the patience or the correct mindset for it. The idea of replicating a piece was always so daunting to me, so I realized that had to find a way of working around it. 

CS: To wrap things up, I wanted to ask you about the role that experimentation plays in your process more generally. You've spoken elsewhere about how your current practice arose from side projects you had developed during your time at Giancarlo's studio – but even before that, it seems like your path to Giancarlo's studio was driven, at least in part, by the extracurricular work that you were doing during your architectural studies, where you were making one-off pieces in the furniture studio. Now that you've established your own practice, do you still have side projects? Are you creating separate space for exploring new territory, or do you feel like you're finding ways to incorporate that experimentation into your everyday process? 

MK: I had to incorporate it into my day-to-day work. I wish I had a side project, but I really don't. It's funny, because everything's taken over my life (in the best way possible), so the big challenge has been how to blend those two things: I have a day-to-day studio practice, but I also am a person that constantly needs to experiment and take a light approach to projects. Most of the projects that I work on now, the ones that I'm really excited about, are experimental projects in their own rights. But more than anything, it was about accepting that and then allowing that experiment to have more longevity. When I was working on other projects, I wasn't really looking at the full picture of what would happen once the piece was made, how it would be consumed or distributed. Now, being able to create molds, or making the “Fold Sconces” in this production-specific method, it’s still an experiment, but there is a longevity to the piece after the experimentation, and it's not specific to the physical first piece that I make. Usually, when I do an experiment, it's kind of dies when the piece is made, because I don't have a really way to replicate that – but relying on the mold, and being more conscious of the production method, allows it to go on even after my portion of the work is done. It’s interesting, because it really draws a line on where my work stops, but for the studio, the work can keep living on, and even with my relationship with collectors, clients, or the gallery, the work can exist. To me, it’s closer to the holistic idea of a design object. Of course, the next thing would be if I were to work with some brand that has this production method, and I'm just plugging in my design. That’s the more conventional approach, but I've never really done that right; I’m always just making one-off pieces and then sending that off. We always say we're working at the intersection of art and design, and all the philosophy aside, for me, on a day-to-day basis, it comes down to how the production works and how it is communicated or consumed. With my earlier production method, it really didn't have the longevity, and I realized I would exhaust myself if I kept working this way, trying to keep up with that type of demand, so this allows me to separate things. I like this idea of the work continuing within the studio, but also being able to separate my role within that production scale. It’s a little bit of a comforting thing, too.

CS: Motion In Field is presented by Marta Los Angeles and produced by Christopher Schreck. Our theme music is by Jeremiah Chiu and Marta Sofia Honer. You can read and listen to all of our conversations by subscribing to Marta’s email newsletter via their website, www.marta.la. Follow us on Instagram at @cdschreck and @marta.losangeles, and be sure to like and subscribe wherever you get your podcasts. Thanks for listening.