′living_R O O M‘ is the second part of the Global Art Project Trilogy ′world_S E Q U E N C E S.‘ What comes to mind when you think of a living room?
Perhaps a place that is deeply private, a space filled with personal memories, hidden stories, secrets, and meanings. It may not necessarily be a literal living room, but rather a place that feels like one: a space that reflects who you are, shapes your identity.
′living_R O O M’_ explores these intimate spaces and the personal worlds they contain.
The project has a unique feature: each participating artist is invited to bring along an artist with whom they have always wanted to collaborate. The resulting exhibitions bring the two artists together, creating a shared ′living R O O M‘ in which their artistic practices, perspectives, and personal worlds can meet, overlap, and enter into dialogue.
Participants:
These are the current participants. Simply click on the links to read about their projects and statements.
Jincheol Lee, South Korea
Jincheol Lee is a Korean photographer working with both conventional photography and alternative photographic processes, including gum printing and cyanotype. His practice explores personal experience, memory, and the traces of time, with particular attention to the physical and material qualities of the photographic image. He held his first solo exhibition, INITIO, in 2025 and has participated in a number of group exhibitions, including Unscanned (2025) and Homo Memoricus (2026). He also participated in the Cheongju International Art Fair in 2025 and the Imago Blueprinting group exhibition in 2026.
My father has a bedroom, but he lives in the living room. He spends most of his day there. He sleeps, eats, rests, and passes his time in this space. What was once a shared room for the whole family has gradually become his most private living space. Even within a single home, a space can take on different meanings depending on the person who inhabits it. A room is not defined only by walls and doors. The places where we repeatedly stay, the objects within our reach, the paths our bodies become accustomed to, and the habits accumulated over time create invisible territories of our own.
Three generations of my family live together under one roof: my father and mother, myself, and my third son. Each of us has our own routines and our own space. My father’s territory, however, is no longer contained within a single room. As his daily life has moved into the living room, the boundary between a shared family space and one person’s private space has gradually blurred. For me, the living room is no longer simply a place shared by the family. The more time my father spends there, the more it has slowly become his room. We still share the same living room, but it now holds a time and a life that belong uniquely to him.
Solji Jeon, South Korea
Working primarily with photography, Solji Jeon explores transformations that emerge through time, materiality, and perception. Through subtle elements such as airborne particles, dust accumulating on surfaces, and traces formed by the passage of time, her work investigates invisible movements and processes of change.
Education
Kaywon University
Group Exhibitions
Between Space, Space Aesthetics, Pyeongtaek, Korea, 2026
Echoes and Heat Haze, Gyeonggi Creation Center, Ansan, Korea, 2026
Layer > New > Layer, YArt Gallery, Seoul, Korea, 2026
Collection
Gyeonggi Cultural Foundation, 2025
Award& Selection
Portfolio Selected, Busan International Photo Festival, 2026
Gyeonggi Young Artist <New Blood>, Gyeonggi Cultural Foundation, 2025
At 7 in the morning, light comes through the curtains and forms a triangle in the room. It’s a perfect triangle, visible only for a moment. I look at the same scene every day. The room seems to move on its own. Even when I do nothing, light comes in, shadows shift, and the scene changes little by little over time.
A room can hold a sense of stability—with time settling into it day after day. To have my own space means having a place where my existence can remain. We give names to spaces, assign them purposes, and leave traces in them.
The moment a person leaves, those names and purposes return to something without a name. But even in places that seem empty, many things continue to move slowly. The room no longer remains fixed to a single purpose, but becomes a place where other beings stay and pass through.
Can a room with no one in it still be a „living room“? A living room is a space where rooms meet, where different forms of life briefly overlap.
Perhaps a room isn’t fixed to one name and use, but is always becoming a different kind of space, even as the movements of other beings overlap within it. For me, a living room isn’t a fixed place, but a space that keeps changing and is only briefly complete—like the triangle that appears and disappears in the room each morning.