001

Subscribe via Apple, Spotify, or your preferred podcast service.

001
Transcript

CS — Christopher Schreck
MK — Minjae Kim

CS
How did the idea for the Fold Sconce first come about?

MK
It was really an attempt to diversify my market audience by creating a work that was simple enough that I could bring down the price at the end. Through working with the gallery and growing my practice the past few years, the pricing for my pieces was going up—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 people who would potentially buy my work. So, when I started working on the Fold Sconce, the idea was to make a really simple design that could be reproduced relatively quickly without losing the touch that I usually find important in my pieces. I wanted to try to make a piece that could hit a specific price point by getting closer to a production mode, rather than the one-off approach that I'd been taking.

CS
So, how did the piece develop? Were you sketching things out, or was it more a matter of experimenting with the quilted fiberglass and arriving at your form?

MK
Yes, there were some initial sketches. There was a wall sconce piece that I made for my first show at Marta—a torso-shaped plaster piece with two brass legs and little bent-edge feet—that I thought could be a departure point. Then I was thinking, “How can I use fiberglass in the simplest way without losing the characteristics of my quilted fiberglass pieces?” The solution was just to build 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
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
My production now is more diverse, so it really depends, 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’ll 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 times that I don't even do a sketch, because the parameters are so straightforward that I can just 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’ll 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?

MK
Yes, sometimes. What I realized as the practice kept going was that I myself became the ultimate bottleneck. Communicating is sometimes hard when I’m making new 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. So that was something I realized I had to work on, and eventually it got to a point where I specifically tried to make a piece where the intention is more explicit.

There were economic reasons, too. For instance, 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. 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. Then, in order to afford it, I felt like I had to be able to come up with baseline tasks or projects where I could just ‘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 Sconce, I could ask my assistants to work on that, and it was a huge benefit on my end.

CS
So, 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 were you in the idea of subverting convention, in terms of form and material? Was that part of the appeal, being able to approach a familiar item 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, because with quilted fiberglass, there's so much variation that happens in the process. In a way, I hadn’t really done that before: I was always using the material to create a specific form or silhouette or effect, but I never really let it be on its own. When I first started doing quilted fiberglass, the goal was just to achieve volume by creating some sort of rigidity in the loose fiberglass sheet, because it comes in a thin weaving and really doesn't hold its own form. I started laminating it to create a quilt, just so it could have a base structure, and then all of the other aspects—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 a secondary discovery, in a way. When you're working on something on your own, you find quirky little 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 those other things. 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 make to give it volume and a little bit of structure. Architecturally, I think it works quite well, too, but none of these ideas were driving the design at all. They came secondary.

CS
One of the Fold Sconces was recently included in Marta’s Rites of Spring exhibition, and it made me wonder about your thoughts on installation. 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 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 people were more drawn to that 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. I’ve started playing with the contrast of having this organic line juxtaposed with the more industrial straight lines from different processes 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. It’s not even translating with my ideas or my hands—just the process alone can translate a form or idea into something that’s more familiar to myself, and that’s something 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 imagine it being anywhere. Some of my work takes on characteristics and becomes like a character or a creature, and I like that, because it gives me the impression that the piece is self-sufficient. It’s complete on its own, it doesn't require an environment to complete it, and when you’re thinking of interiors or architecture, that’s not always the case. Sconces especially can sometimes need 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—especially if the work is created for a gallery environment, because then it exists very specifically in my head, and I’ll have a hard time imagining it in someone's domestic space, or any other space. I just kind of have to trust that journey, because it’s not always clear to me, but 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 outsourcing the more precise elements of design or assembly and 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 it part of the plan from the beginning?

MK
It was always 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, so when I realized I could work with other craftsmen, who are far better qualified than I am and have much better facilities, it was a huge discovery. I first started working with other professional builders while I was working with Giancarlo [Valle] 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 told myself: “Oh my God, I can actually work with other people and compensate for the things that I don’t have.”

With the methods 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 woodshops, there would always be somebody looking over my shoulder, and that always made me uncomfortable, because 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 wrestling with a piece, I would do in my own environment. When I set up my studio the first time, it was tiny; I knew that I couldn’t even have a proper table saw in there, so I immediately started sending out drawings so other woodworkers could do the assembly and deliver the pieces to me. It became this thing where I’d 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 a location. Fiberglass work is a bit more site-specific, but for woodworking, 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. So, I’m building relationships with these carpenters, continually revisiting their studios over the years, and that’s been super nice. It’s also been nice to see that they understand my process, because once the woodworkers understand the process, there’s this kind of trust, as opposed to when I just show someone a drawing of a project. That’s a much more difficult conversation, where they have to bring it to 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 from the get-go, but it also comes with being flexible. I’ve learned that 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 this work for quite a bit now, 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. There are always accidents and surprises and quirks that happen in any production, and once you let go, you realize that you’re okay, and even though things didn’t go the way you had initially wanted, you come up with much better results.

CS
Yes. 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 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 very rarely start over. It gives me a tremendous comfort to know that I can go into a situation and come out relatively satisfied, but I also hope it 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
It seems like no matter what kind of unexpected turns the work might take during production, the resulting items always retain some degree of functionality, or at least an implied functionality. 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
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, 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. 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 and presented.

CS
Materials can play a part in that as well. Especially with fiberglass, I feel like people who aren’t familiar with it might assume it’s too fragile to physically engage with.

MK
Yes. 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 satisfying when you convince them otherwise.

CS
Prior to this conversation, you mentioned to me that 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 felt kind of necessary to try that technique, and for me, the consistency was very, very satisfying, so we’ve started exploring more ways to use molds in the studio. Recently, we’ve been making silicone molds for resin casts, because I’m making these corkscrew bottle openers for a friend of mine. At first, I was carving them out of wood; it’s a relatively simple form, and small enough to fit in your hand, but this idea of a more approachable production method has been on my mind for a while, so I decided to lean in. I bought some plasticine clay, started sculpting some forms, and 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 it: we were able to plug it into a production line and experiment in other ways. That was very satisfying, because I was never able to reproduce a form I’d created in a truly repeatable way before, and it made me realize, “Oh, wow, I can really take this far.”

CS
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
It just came with an economy of time and effort. I love to carve wood, but sometimes the idea of carving fifteen pieces can be intimidating. The idea of replicating a piece was always so daunting to me, so I just had to find a way of working around it.

CS
You’ve spoken elsewhere about how your current practice arose from side projects you’d developed during your time at Giancarlo’s studio—but even your path to Giancarlo’s studio was driven, at least in part, by the extracurricular work that you were doing during your architectural studies, when 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. My practice has really taken over my life (in the best way possible), so the big challenge has been how to blend those two things. Most of the projects that I work on, the ones that I’m really excited about, are experimental in their own right, but the idea now is to allow that experiment to have more longevity. Before, when I was working on 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 with 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 first physical piece that I make. Usually, when I do an experiment, it kind of dies when the piece is made, because I don’t really have a 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.

To me, it’s closer to the holistic idea of a design object. We always say we’re working at the intersection of art and design, and all philosophy aside, for me, on a day-to-day basis, it comes down to how the production works and how it’s communicated and consumed. My earlier production methods really didn’t have the longevity, and I realized I would exhaust myself if I kept working that way, trying to keep up with that type of demand, so this allows me to separate things. I like the idea of the work continuing in the studio, but also being able to separate my role within that production scale. It’s a comforting thing.

—

Minjae Kim’s Fold Sconce was recently included in Rites of Spring.

Christopher Schreck
is a Chicago-based writer and editor whose work has explored subjects ranging from art and design to wig-making and digital conservation. A former editor at KALEIDOSCOPE, his writing has been featured in publications like Mousse, office, CURA., and Aperture, among others. Christopher also runs the popular blog and Instagram account Art Damaged and serves as co-host of the Abundance Zine podcast.

Minjae Kim
lives and works in Ridgewood, Queens. An alumnus of the Architecture program at Columbia University’s GSAPP, in 2018 Kim began complementing his interest in the built environment with works built from hand, often rendered in a reductive craft language. Kim’s dovetailing sculpture and furniture practices persuade through functionality both suggested and actual. The artist’s inaugural solo exhibition, I Was Evening All Afternoon, was held at Marta in 2021, and Kim has since gone on to present work with and for Etage Projects (Copenhagen), Nina Johnson (Miami), Blunk Space (Point Reyes), and Salon 94 (New York) among others. He has been recognized in a cadre of international publications, including Apartamento, Architectural Digest, Cultured, Financial Times, MilK, The New York Times, Office, Pin-Up, Surface, and Wallpaper.

Motion in Field
is hosted and produced by Christopher Schreck in tandem with and on behalf of Marta Los Angeles. Motion in Field’s theme music comprises portions of Leaving Grass Mountain, composed and performed by Jeremiah Chiu and Marta Sofia Honer.