When asked about the most significant influence behind his work, NOSIK LIM points to his geographical history. He emphasizes the profound importance of one's birthplace, as well as the places they have lived and currently reside,when it comes to self-expression. In Lim’s body of works, the spatial coordinates of his geographical history, which include his hometown of Yeoju, serve as a nexus where the past and future converge, imbuing his canvas with new layers of meaning and metaphor.
Primarily based in Seoul, he has showcased his works in various institutions, including the Kumho Museum of Art, Seoul (2023); PS Sarubia, Seoul (2023); Museumhead, Seoul (2023); Art Space Boan 01, Seoul (2022); d/p, Seoul (2021); and Incheon Art Platform, Incheon (2020). His works are in public collections at the MMCA Art Bank, the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea; the Gyeonggi Museum of Modern Art, Gyeonggi; the OCI Museum of Art, Seoul; and the Ilmin Museum of Art, Seoul.
![Nosik Lim, Workroom 04, 2019. Oil on canvas. 72 x 90.5 cm (28.3 x 35.6 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
You’ve recently held two solo exhibitions, Unfolded at PS Sarubia in March and Deep Line at Kumho Museum of Art in May. It seems like you had a busy start to the year. Have you been able to get some rest?
Not quiet. I’ve been working on a new series of works for my upcoming exhibitions in December and January. I’m trying to revisit oil paintings as a medium.
![Installation view of Unfolded at PS Sarubia, Seoul, 2023. Courtesy of PS Sarubia and the artist]()
![Installation view of Unfolded at PS Sarubia, Seoul, 2023. Courtesy of PS Sarubia and the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, Unfolded (7/25), 2023. Acrylic and oil on canvas, 153 x 90 cm (60.2 x 35.4 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
![Installation view of Deep Line at Kumho Museum of Art, Seoul, 2023. Courtesy of Kumho Museum of Art and the artist]()
![Installation view of Deep Line at Kumho Museum of Art, Seoul, 2023. Courtesy of Kumho Museum of Art and the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, GL_01, 2023. Acrylic on wood. 29.6 x 21 cm (11.7 x 8.3 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, GL_14, 2023. Acrylic on wood. 29.6 x 21 cm (11.7 x 8.3 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, GL_19, 2023. Acrylic on wood. 29.6 x 21 cm (11.7 x 8.3 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, GL_23, 2022. Acrylic on canvas. 80 x 80 cm (31.5x 31.5 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
Have you used any new approaches or methods with the subjects in comparison to your earlier works?
I have been thinking a lot lately about drawing air as a subject, especially the air in my studio. I’ve long wanted to express things that are invisible yet clearly exist around us. People often associate abstract paintings with drawing the invisible, but I wanted to depict it through figurative paintings.
I first tried gathering the paint on the surface, creating matière, similar to physically collecting air. But it didn’t really give me the outcome I wanted, so I’ve been attempting to express this by drawing the interior of my studio, which has been a big part of my previous practice. In order to capture air, it is important to establish coherent circulation and communication between myself and the object, the object and the canvas, and the canvas and myself. This circulation will then necessitate the use of multiple methodologies at the same time. For example, I could gradually blur the figure of the object in order to retain even a hazy awareness of its existence, allowing me to capture that subtle air between myself and the object.
Your recent works at Emptied Landscape (art space 0, 2022) and Sand from Somewhere Else (Incheon Art Platform, 2022), as well as the works in your two recent solo exhibitions, well show your distinctive use of the light pastel tone. Is there a specific reason for the preference for these colors and tones?
I believe my undergraduate major, Eastern Painting, certainly influenced my preference for colors. I frequently use white to mix paint. In Eastern paintings, there is a traditional material called hoboon (oyster shell white), created from grinding and weathering oyster shells. I think I’ve become accustomed to the tone of the material. I also felt that the overall way of approaching the work in Eastern paintings had impacted my way of using color. For example, it is not common in Western paintings to mix black color in paint, whereas in Eastern paintings, I feel like there is less hesitation to use black ink to control the depth of color. Even when applying varnish to the canvas, I normally mix white and add three to four layers, which results in a bit of a toned-down surface.
![Nosik Lim, recipe 03, 2021. Oil and woodcut on canvas. 337 x 190 cm (132. 7 x 74.8 in). Courtesy of d/p and the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, recipe 02, 2021. Oil on canvas. 277 x 445 cm (109.1 x 175. 2 in). Courtesy of d/p and the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, recipe 05, 2021. Woodcut print. 20 x 30 cm (7.8 x 11.8 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
That’s interesting. Do you think your selection of subject matter and methods are also influenced by your roots in Eastern paintings?
Certainly. The delicate lines that appear in my recent body of work trace their origins back to my exploration of drawing techniques commonly employed in Eastern painting. From the concepts of Giunsaengdong (氣韻生動)* and Ilpilhwigi*, I've come to appreciate the central role that lines play in Eastern paintings. Even in depictions like Maerangugjug*, one must master the art of wielding lines with impeccable speed, precision, and the right balance of brush and ink. Essentially, this involves aligning all the elements to craft a rhythmically vital stroke. My curiosity led me to ponder whether this sense of vitality could be achieved through the use of thin, elegant lines. What if, instead of focusing solely on the line itself, I emphasized the background?
*Giunsaengdong is based on a theory that Southern Qi(南齊)`s Xie He(謝 赫) suggested in Guhuapinlu(古畵品錄). Meaning the spirit of an artist should be expressed through artistic practice in a broader sense, it is considered an important attitude in creations and appreciations of eastern paintings and caligraphies.
*Ilpilhwigi refers to the act of stroking a line in a bold, courageous manner.
*Maerangugjug refers to Japanese apricot flowers, orchids, chrysanthemums, and bamboo.
![Installation view of Non-self standings at Amado Art Space/Lab, Seoul, 2020. Courtesy of Amado Art Space/Lab and the artist]()
![Installation view of Non-self standings at Amado Art Space/Lab, Seoul, 2020. Courtesy of Amado Art Space/Lab and the artist]()
![Installation view of Manifest foreground at Danwon Art Museum, Ansan, 2021. Courtesy of Danwon Art Museum and the artist]()
I can see those delicate lines prominent in your recent works at Sarubia and the Kumho Museum of Art. Did you have any particular concerns about the connection between these two exhibitions, considering their closely timed openings?
One day, over the phone, he mentioned that he had gone for a walk on the sand hill that I often used to draw. This sandhill had been created as part of a government-led project a decade ago and has since evolved into a natural landscape. Throughout those years, the hill bore witness to various events, such as the short-lived introduction of a sand sled, followed by its closure within a week, and the resurgence of previously extinct flowers. I experienced these events and the changing scenery vicariously through my father's phone call, conveyed through indirect expressions and descriptions. Those stories eventually became one image, which I have repeatedly reconstructed at unspecified intervals of time. I tried to gather images, the wellspring of my works, from such mundane moments in everyday life.
Because these two exhibitions opened so closely in time, I wanted to present works that didn't duplicate each other. The Sarubia exhibition centered on the concept of an uncertain 'place’ where something is yet to transpire or where something has just occurred and lingers, surrounded by a subtle nuance or atmosphere. Unlike my previous exhibitions, which typically began with a well-defined space and subject in my mind, this one started from a place of ambiguity, gradually leading back to a tangible subject.
On the other hand, for the Kumho Museum of Art exhibition, I concentrated on my approach to the work itself. All the subjects within the canvas were depicted using delicate lines and drew inspiration from printmaking. I employed etching as a method to achieve lines that were both fine and clearly defined.
The sand sled that briefly opened and closed, the resurgence of once-extinct flowers. They are all stories of recurring disappearances and reappearances.
That is correct. Documenting and archiving these cycles of disappearance and reappearance also closely relate to my artistic tendency to observe ephemeral phenomena. I like to explore natural coincidences by cyclically engaging in the processes of distancing, removing, analyzing, perceiving, and emptying.
![Nosik Lim, Boots 02, 2016. Oil on canvas. 65 x 90 cm (25.6 x 35.4 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, Milking Parlor_1, 2016. Acrylic on canvas. 193 x 264 cm (76 x 104 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, untitled_1, 2014. Color on paper. 95 x 130 cm (37.4 x 51.2 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, View from Inside 01 (detail), 2016. Acrylic on canvas. 250 x 890 cm (98.4 x 350.4 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
I was intrigued by the way you displayed your work at Re search (SAM Museum, 2020), Pebble Skipping (Boan 1942, 2020) and R.I.P. (THISWEEKENDROOM, 2018). They evoke the sense of a tangible memory archive, similar to a photo album. Do the images in the exhibits mainly stem from your personal memories?
For my first solo exhibition, View from Inside (OCI Museum of Art, 2016), I exclusively used photographs that I had taken myself. Then, when I began the Sand from Somewhere Else series, I went to the location myself, sketching directly on-site instead of relying on photographs. In hindsight, I realize that I didn't give too much serious consideration to the act of painting in my formative years. In a positive, innocent way.
Given the strong narrative in the works showcased in View from Inside, I wanted to diminish the narrative element for my subsequent exhibition, Folded Time (Hapjeong District, 2017). To achieve this, I intentionally constrained my workspace and controlled the working hours during the preparation phase to create a sense of detachment from time and space. Subsequently, I selected images I had gathered throughout the process and transferred them onto the canvas.
![Nosik Lim, Branch 630, 2020. Oil on fabric. 270 x 510 cm (106.3 x 200.8 in). Courtesy of BOAN1942 and the artist]()
![Installation view of Pebble Skipping at BOAN1942, Seoul, 2020. Courtesy of BOAN1942 and the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, Workroom 01, 2019. Oil on canvas. 245 x 184.5 cm (96.5 x 72.6 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, Canvas 03, 2019. Oil on canvas. 245 x 94 cm (96.5 x 37 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, Mirror 05, 2019. Oil on canvas. 117 x 91 cm (46 x 36 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, Mirror 04, 2019. Oil on canvas. 117 x 91 cm (46 x 36 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
Another thing I notice in common among those exhibitions is your interest in space. For Pebble Skipping, for instance, you utilized every available corner and wall of the space. This left me with the impression of a site-specific exhibition, which is quite unique for a show primarily consisting of paintings.
Yes, I have always been fascinated by space. With Pebble Skipping, I wanted to create an exhibition that revolved around and interacted with the spatial environment. While the audience responded positively, I found myself somewhat unsatisfied with the show in retrospect. Looking back, I believe the physical layout of the space may have diverted the audience's attention from fully engaging with and appreciating the paintings. That’s why I tried to concentrate solely on the paintings for my subsequent exhibitions. As part of this effort, during the show Non-self standings at Amado Art Space in 2020, I deliberately hung a piece on a window that faced the outside.
![Nosik Lim, View from the inside_2, 2016. Oil on canvas. 162 x 100 cm (63.8 x 39.4 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, Namhan river_6, 2017. Oil on canvas. 38 x 45.5 cm (15 x 18 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
![Nosik Lim, Hanuel Park 02, 2020. Oil on canvas. 116 x 91 cm (45.7 x 36 in). Courtesy of the artist]()
I was impressed by the way your exhibition defied the conventions of painting exhibitions, but it's interesting to hear that you had a different perspective as an artist. I've noticed that when you talk about your past exhibitions, you often express your dissatisfaction. Was there ever one that genuinely left you satisfied?
My debut show, View from Inside. It was when I could approach my work with a sense of composed innocence. It was one of the rare periods in my life when I had no fear of the medium of painting. I was in awe of the natural surroundings, the weather, and the scenery, and I always approached my work with that emotional connection in mind. Lately, I frequently find myself reminiscing about the past—those moments when I naively believed that I had complete control over my work.
Primarily based in Seoul, he has showcased his works in various institutions, including the Kumho Museum of Art, Seoul (2023); PS Sarubia, Seoul (2023); Museumhead, Seoul (2023); Art Space Boan 01, Seoul (2022); d/p, Seoul (2021); and Incheon Art Platform, Incheon (2020). His works are in public collections at the MMCA Art Bank, the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea; the Gyeonggi Museum of Modern Art, Gyeonggi; the OCI Museum of Art, Seoul; and the Ilmin Museum of Art, Seoul.
You’ve recently held two solo exhibitions, Unfolded at PS Sarubia in March and Deep Line at Kumho Museum of Art in May. It seems like you had a busy start to the year. Have you been able to get some rest?
Not quiet. I’ve been working on a new series of works for my upcoming exhibitions in December and January. I’m trying to revisit oil paintings as a medium.
Swipe to see more images
Have you used any new approaches or methods with the subjects in comparison to your earlier works?
I have been thinking a lot lately about drawing air as a subject, especially the air in my studio. I’ve long wanted to express things that are invisible yet clearly exist around us. People often associate abstract paintings with drawing the invisible, but I wanted to depict it through figurative paintings.
I first tried gathering the paint on the surface, creating matière, similar to physically collecting air. But it didn’t really give me the outcome I wanted, so I’ve been attempting to express this by drawing the interior of my studio, which has been a big part of my previous practice. In order to capture air, it is important to establish coherent circulation and communication between myself and the object, the object and the canvas, and the canvas and myself. This circulation will then necessitate the use of multiple methodologies at the same time. For example, I could gradually blur the figure of the object in order to retain even a hazy awareness of its existence, allowing me to capture that subtle air between myself and the object.
Your recent works at Emptied Landscape (art space 0, 2022) and Sand from Somewhere Else (Incheon Art Platform, 2022), as well as the works in your two recent solo exhibitions, well show your distinctive use of the light pastel tone. Is there a specific reason for the preference for these colors and tones?
I believe my undergraduate major, Eastern Painting, certainly influenced my preference for colors. I frequently use white to mix paint. In Eastern paintings, there is a traditional material called hoboon (oyster shell white), created from grinding and weathering oyster shells. I think I’ve become accustomed to the tone of the material. I also felt that the overall way of approaching the work in Eastern paintings had impacted my way of using color. For example, it is not common in Western paintings to mix black color in paint, whereas in Eastern paintings, I feel like there is less hesitation to use black ink to control the depth of color. Even when applying varnish to the canvas, I normally mix white and add three to four layers, which results in a bit of a toned-down surface.
Swipe to see more images
That’s interesting. Do you think your selection of subject matter and methods are also influenced by your roots in Eastern paintings?
Certainly. The delicate lines that appear in my recent body of work trace their origins back to my exploration of drawing techniques commonly employed in Eastern painting. From the concepts of Giunsaengdong (氣韻生動)* and Ilpilhwigi*, I've come to appreciate the central role that lines play in Eastern paintings. Even in depictions like Maerangugjug*, one must master the art of wielding lines with impeccable speed, precision, and the right balance of brush and ink. Essentially, this involves aligning all the elements to craft a rhythmically vital stroke. My curiosity led me to ponder whether this sense of vitality could be achieved through the use of thin, elegant lines. What if, instead of focusing solely on the line itself, I emphasized the background?
*Giunsaengdong is based on a theory that Southern Qi(南齊)`s Xie He(謝 赫) suggested in Guhuapinlu(古畵品錄). Meaning the spirit of an artist should be expressed through artistic practice in a broader sense, it is considered an important attitude in creations and appreciations of eastern paintings and caligraphies.
*Ilpilhwigi refers to the act of stroking a line in a bold, courageous manner.
*Maerangugjug refers to Japanese apricot flowers, orchids, chrysanthemums, and bamboo.
Swipe to see more images
I can see those delicate lines prominent in your recent works at Sarubia and the Kumho Museum of Art. Did you have any particular concerns about the connection between these two exhibitions, considering their closely timed openings?
One day, over the phone, he mentioned that he had gone for a walk on the sand hill that I often used to draw. This sandhill had been created as part of a government-led project a decade ago and has since evolved into a natural landscape. Throughout those years, the hill bore witness to various events, such as the short-lived introduction of a sand sled, followed by its closure within a week, and the resurgence of previously extinct flowers. I experienced these events and the changing scenery vicariously through my father's phone call, conveyed through indirect expressions and descriptions. Those stories eventually became one image, which I have repeatedly reconstructed at unspecified intervals of time. I tried to gather images, the wellspring of my works, from such mundane moments in everyday life.
Because these two exhibitions opened so closely in time, I wanted to present works that didn't duplicate each other. The Sarubia exhibition centered on the concept of an uncertain 'place’ where something is yet to transpire or where something has just occurred and lingers, surrounded by a subtle nuance or atmosphere. Unlike my previous exhibitions, which typically began with a well-defined space and subject in my mind, this one started from a place of ambiguity, gradually leading back to a tangible subject.
On the other hand, for the Kumho Museum of Art exhibition, I concentrated on my approach to the work itself. All the subjects within the canvas were depicted using delicate lines and drew inspiration from printmaking. I employed etching as a method to achieve lines that were both fine and clearly defined.
The sand sled that briefly opened and closed, the resurgence of once-extinct flowers. They are all stories of recurring disappearances and reappearances.
That is correct. Documenting and archiving these cycles of disappearance and reappearance also closely relate to my artistic tendency to observe ephemeral phenomena. I like to explore natural coincidences by cyclically engaging in the processes of distancing, removing, analyzing, perceiving, and emptying.
Swipe to see more images
I was intrigued by the way you displayed your work at Re search (SAM Museum, 2020), Pebble Skipping (Boan 1942, 2020) and R.I.P. (THISWEEKENDROOM, 2018). They evoke the sense of a tangible memory archive, similar to a photo album. Do the images in the exhibits mainly stem from your personal memories?
For my first solo exhibition, View from Inside (OCI Museum of Art, 2016), I exclusively used photographs that I had taken myself. Then, when I began the Sand from Somewhere Else series, I went to the location myself, sketching directly on-site instead of relying on photographs. In hindsight, I realize that I didn't give too much serious consideration to the act of painting in my formative years. In a positive, innocent way.
Given the strong narrative in the works showcased in View from Inside, I wanted to diminish the narrative element for my subsequent exhibition, Folded Time (Hapjeong District, 2017). To achieve this, I intentionally constrained my workspace and controlled the working hours during the preparation phase to create a sense of detachment from time and space. Subsequently, I selected images I had gathered throughout the process and transferred them onto the canvas.
Swipe to see more images
Another thing I notice in common among those exhibitions is your interest in space. For Pebble Skipping, for instance, you utilized every available corner and wall of the space. This left me with the impression of a site-specific exhibition, which is quite unique for a show primarily consisting of paintings.
Yes, I have always been fascinated by space. With Pebble Skipping, I wanted to create an exhibition that revolved around and interacted with the spatial environment. While the audience responded positively, I found myself somewhat unsatisfied with the show in retrospect. Looking back, I believe the physical layout of the space may have diverted the audience's attention from fully engaging with and appreciating the paintings. That’s why I tried to concentrate solely on the paintings for my subsequent exhibitions. As part of this effort, during the show Non-self standings at Amado Art Space in 2020, I deliberately hung a piece on a window that faced the outside.
Swipe to see more images
I was impressed by the way your exhibition defied the conventions of painting exhibitions, but it's interesting to hear that you had a different perspective as an artist. I've noticed that when you talk about your past exhibitions, you often express your dissatisfaction. Was there ever one that genuinely left you satisfied?
My debut show, View from Inside. It was when I could approach my work with a sense of composed innocence. It was one of the rare periods in my life when I had no fear of the medium of painting. I was in awe of the natural surroundings, the weather, and the scenery, and I always approached my work with that emotional connection in mind. Lately, I frequently find myself reminiscing about the past—those moments when I naively believed that I had complete control over my work.
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