Under the Persimmon Tree is a site-specific installation that originates from a personal inquiry into the fluidity of memory and perception. It takes the artist’s grandmother’s house in Gangneung, Korea, as both a conceptual and emotional departure point. Having lived apart from her parents since high school and moving between cities, the artist perceives “home” not as a fixed geographical location but as an emotional space, shaped by time and memory. Through the lens of her current life in Glasgow, she reconstructs this remembered place using fragments—faded reddish wallpaper, dust caught in light, and, most significantly, the persimmon tree in the yard.

The persimmon tree, a recurring presence in Korean domestic gardens, served as both a seasonal marker and a memory anchor. It bore fruit each autumn, symbolizing brief yet meaningful family reunions. However, this work is not about nostalgia. Instead, the tree becomes a metaphor for how memory is reshaped in the present—how once-familiar images evolve into unfamiliar interpretations through time and distance.

The installation features a partially wallpapered wall—torn, weathered, and layered—alongside a wooden grid structure and textured sculptural fragments that recall architectural remnants. These elements mimic domestic forms such as bookshelves, window frames, and furniture outlines. Through this spatial composition, the work evokes the erosion, resurfacing, and accumulation of memory.

Memory, in Kim’s work, is never presented as a fixed archive. Rather, it is understood as a dynamic and fragmented process—constantly rewritten by emotional states, temporal shifts, and sensory experience. Objects and environments gradually transform over time, and within these changes, we project our own subjectivities. Even the same object may carry vastly different meanings depending on one’s context of recall.

This conceptual framework is visualized through intentional layering of materials, surfaces, and textures. Traces are layered upon traces, expressing memory as something unstable and incomplete. By integrating sculptural forms with narrative-based video, Kim creates a non-linear and atmospheric landscape. The viewer is invited into a liminal space where personal memories may overlap, resonate, or quietly contradict what is shown.

Under the Persimmon Tree does not propose a singular truth or storyline. Instead, it offers an open-ended dialogue—prompting the audience to interpret and reconstruct meaning through their own emotional and temporal frameworks. In doing so, the work reflects on the ephemeral nature of remembering itself, where memory is not preserved, but continually reimagined.

do you have a key? is a sculptural installation that traces fragments of memory through a single, familiar object: the key. More than a tool, the key becomes an emotional conduit—opening and closing moments, spaces, and transitions in the artist’s life.

The work draws from the tactile memory of holding a key in Korea, unlocking a childhood home filled with specific textures, sounds, and light. Years later, that same gesture—now performed in Glasgow—evokes a very different emotional landscape. The key begins to lose its original function and gains new, layered meanings shaped by time, distance, and dislocation.

Through cracked surfaces, worn materials, and overlapping patterns, the piece expresses the erosion and resurfacing of memory. The key, as an object, resists fixed symbolism; instead, it drifts between practicality and sentiment, becoming a metaphor for the fluid, shifting nature of belonging.

do you have a key? does not tell a specific story. Rather, it invites the viewer to recall their own—keys they’ve carried, doors they’ve opened, and the emotional weight of spaces they’ve passed through. It quietly asks: what are the things we hold onto, forget, and try to find again?