As I delve into the enigmatic world of Dabin Ahn, a profound sense of resonance echoes through my being. Ahn’s artistic journey mirrors my own in many ways; a quest for self-discovery, an exploration of emotions through various forms, and a relentless pursuit of the intangible.
Dabin Ahn frequently ponders how different his career might be if his academic path hadn’t been interrupted by his enlistment in the Korean Air Force. Before this duty, the artist from Seoul primarily concentrated on portraiture, an artistic leaning that he believes was unconsciously fueled by his excessive self-image, as he reflects. As the son of Ahn-Sung Ki, a highly successful Korean actor, and also a deejay, young Dabin led a lavish life and graced the pages of several prestigious magazines as a model.
For Ahn, a two-year stint at bootcamp significantly altered his identity. He explained this to Hypeart, who found himself unable to recognize himself post-military service. “Prior to that,” he said, “I would apply makeup, style my hair, and spend two hours preparing before leaving the house. Now, I’ve lost interest in even facing myself in the mirror.”
After a brief sojourn, Ahn came back to the United States and earned his BFA at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, a place he has called home ever since. He derives a deep sense of satisfaction and peace laboring in his studio, which he shares equally between sculpture and painting. His unique craft focuses on resin figures that resemble delicate porcelain ceremonial miniatures, as well as misty still life paintings that appear photograph-like from afar but reveal soft textures and contours when closely examined – images of swirling cranes and wildlife reminiscent of fading memories with increasing vagueness over time.
Ahn’s artwork hovers between real-world vases and their two-dimensional representations on canvas, exploring the transient nature of life. In our recent Hypeart Visits interview, we delved into the thoughts of this up-and-coming Korean artist, who shares how his military service unexpectedly impacted his artistic journey and how he crafts vivid compositions despite having partial color blindness.
Can you describe your transition from South Korea to the United States?
From birth, I resided in Seoul, yet at the age of 12, I began attending middle school in Boston. Later, I moved on to high school in New Jersey and eventually attended Pratt Institute in Brooklyn. Initially, I majored in painting during my college years, but as a Korean man, I was required to serve in the military. Consequently, I spent approximately two and a half years serving in the Korean Air Force. This interruption significantly altered my creative trajectory, resulting in an entirely different collection of artwork compared to what I produce currently.
I’m pondering about how different my career path might have been without the military shaping a part of it. I left the military in 2011, intending to go back to Pratt Institute to complete my degree. However, an unexpected turn led me to Chicago, thinking I would only earn my BFA here before moving to either Chicago, Los Angeles, or New York. But life took its course. Now, it’s been a decade since I’ve been in Chicago, and the main reasons I stay are that I secured my studio shortly after graduating from grad school.
“I’ve developed the habit of leaning into my strengths, rather than being afraid of my flaws.”
Today’s world is incredibly globalized, with pockets of cities like London, New York, Los Angeles, or Chicago having striking similarities in terms of their inhabitants, atmosphere, and even architectural styles. Moving on to your question: Could there be aspects from your military service that find expression in your art today?
At boot camp, you are issued identical clothing and required to shave your head as part of an effort to make everyone appear uniform. This erases any prior identities or social status, including the fact that I was the son of a famous Korean actor. In the military, they aimed to humble me, lowering my perceived status so that I would not feel superior to those who might have had less privilege in society compared to me.
During my self-portrait sessions, I found myself quite self-absorbed, appreciating not just my physical appearance, but also my skills and all aspects of myself. In essence, I adored myself. However, while serving in the military, I was often reprimanded and disciplined for failing to meet expectations. This treatment was new to me. After enduring this for two years, the experience had a profound impact on me, shaping me into someone different. That much information and influence can transform anyone significantly.
After leaving the military, I no longer recognized myself as I once did. Previously, I would spend hours each day applying makeup and styling my hair before going out. However, my interest in gazing at my reflection in the mirror waned significantly. Consequently, in my artistic pursuits, I opted to replace the traditional subject – myself – with still life compositions instead.
Over time, I developed a fondness for creating intricate paintings on bowls and porcelain figurines. However, my work has evolved to include pieces that are cracked or flawed, mirroring aspects of myself symbolically. The last ten years have been challenging, with my parents facing health issues, among other trials. I can’t help but feel the passage of time; things aren’t as polished and perfect as they once were.
Could you elaborate more about your strong appreciation for such “ideal” items, such as a delicate porcelain vase – which possesses a certain delicacy and vulnerability.
I have color blindness in certain hues.
From a psychological perspective, it seemed like a significant shortcoming for a painter to have color vision difficulties. It’s quite ironic that someone whose job is to perceive and manipulate colors might struggle with this very aspect. When I discovered my color deficiency during high school, I was initially apprehensive about selecting the wrong colors, fearing ridicule. To avoid such situations, I began creating only black-and-white artwork, specializing in highly realistic drawings of shattered glass. This marked the beginning of a journey that eventually led me to focus on water droplets on glass surfaces. Over time, color gradually reappeared in my paintings.
To this day, my color range is quite muted, as you won’t find bold yellows, oranges, or highly saturated hues in what I see. This is due to my color vision impairment, but instead of letting it intimidate me, I’ve learned to embrace my strengths and focus less on my shortcomings.
Which colors do you have a deficiency in?
Primarily reds and greens make up my natural environment, which often makes it challenging to distinguish colors. I find myself drawn to art – be it paintings or photographs – that emphasize nature less because of this. It’s interesting to note that Daniel Arsham, like several friends I know, is also colorblind. We seem to share a common interest in creating or appreciating works that lean more towards fabrication or colorless renditions.
People who are blind often excel in areas involving sound and music, which serves as an illustration that individuals can develop unique talents when faced with certain limitations. This is a principle that can be applied to numerous aspects of life. For me, this realization came about when I completed my first painting that was so lifelike it resembled photographs. At 19 years old, such praise was music to my ears. However, now, I don’t desire such compliments because if it’s the sole feedback I receive, then I might feel like a failure. Instead, the emotions I am expressing through my latest series of paintings convey a different narrative: they explore themes related to aging and the longing for things that are increasingly distant as I move further away from my cherished memories.
“I still can’t verbally express what my practice is about and my life goal is to find that.”
Could you elaborate on the symbolic imagery you employ, for instance, cranes or close-ups of a woman’s neck or feet tapping dance? I’m interested in understanding the thought process behind your use of such metaphorical elements.
Two years back, I was uncertain about the topic I wanted to discuss. As a result, I found myself reminiscing about my past, sharing tales of my mother’s modest dinnerware collection, which included porcelain plates, cups, bowls, and other items from Western countries, as seen through Korean eyes.
Through encountering those dazzling, flawless items, I found myself delving into the world of porcelain quite early. Upon completing my MFA program, I felt unready to explore another topic right away. Instead, I returned to painting vessels and broadened the scope of my subjects from simple containers like cups and vases to figurines with distinct facial expressions. This new direction offered me an additional outlet for expressing my feelings. The specific brand or year these figurines were produced didn’t matter much. However, what I needed was a vessel—something anonymous yet open-ended, much like a blank canvas—to channel my thoughts into.
It felt like I could put any meaning into these figurines if I cropped it in a certain way, or if I turned it around and painted the backside with like an added crack on the neck, resulting in a new narrative. I did that for about a year until having another breakthrough in summer of 2023, when I made my first candle painting.
It felt like I could put any meaning into these figurines if I cropped it in a certain way, or if I turned it around and painted the backside with like an added crack on the neck, resulting in a new narrative. I did that for about a year until having another breakthrough in summer of 2023, when I made my first candle painting. My college professor used to say: “Dabin I think you’re trying so hard to make a masterpiece. You don’t have to. Just start with a small painting and see where it takes you.” It’s been four years now that I’ve been making small-sized paintings — and it’s not like I don’t have the ability to scale up — but there is something I’m learning through this current approach. I see it as a long process of being invested in these vessels. I still can’t verbally express what my practice is about and my life goal is to find that.
Art, unlike problem-solving design, encompasses a broader spectrum and frequently serves as a personal inquiry or question posed to the world. While defining one’s artistic practice may be part of your life’s work, it is not strictly necessary for creativity and productivity to flourish.
Should anyone ask for my artist statement, I’d be more than happy to share it with them. However, unlike traditional statements, mine won’t include a conclusion. Instead, it will delve into the emotions I experienced at that specific point in time, offering a glimpse into my creative process and thoughtscape.
Can you describe your process, from first thought to final execution?
I’m cautious when estimating the time to complete a specific painting as I don’t want to give the impression that it’s an effortless task. With this new candle series, however, I’ve grown more accustomed to the painting process because they aren’t overly large. Consequently, the creation time might be relatively short, approximately a week. However, regular studio visitors are aware that I’m usually the first one in and the last one out, regardless of the deadline – I always manage to meet it.
I find it intriguing that you expand the main theme of your paintings not just in the center but also towards the edges, like with the candles, where even small areas seem to engage in a nearly equal conversation with the central image. What was the process behind this evolution?
Beyond the canvas and paints, all other aspects of the work are handled within my personal workspace. It’s a solo endeavor—from venturing to Home Depot for raw materials, power tools, and stretchers, to crafting the canvas with external supplies.
If you’ve never created or experienced the process of crafting a stretcher, attaching canvas to it, and then painting it – let me tell you, it offers a unique sensation. It’s similar to assembling a car from scratch and taking that initial drive, rather than simply purchasing one from a dealership. There’s a sense of personal involvement in the creation process that sets it apart. To me, the canvas functions as a sculptural artifact, already resonating with emotions and energy, prior to any image being added onto it.
Apart from being a photographer, I also capture images of my own work and forward them to galleries that require such submissions. This creative process brings me immense joy.
All artwork courtesy of Dabin Ahn and 1969 Gallery for Hypeart.
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2024-08-28 19:57