Thanks for doing this Jin, can you share a little on your background and what inspired you to create in this space?

I’m a media artist based in Berlin. My work explores the unpredictability and complex patterns found in natural systems. I’m particularly interested in transforming chaos into perceptible phenomena through technology. My projects often operate at the boundary between control and randomness, revealing new behaviors and unexpected interactions.

Even since jumping on our call a few months back, Liminal Ring has evolved significantly.

Props to you! How has your relationship to the work changed as it continues to tour and adapt to new spaces? Can you describe some top-level info on the project and what you’ve been up to over the past year?

My recent artwork Liminal Ring is a kinetic installation that explores humanity’s desire to control nature—and the limitations of that ambition. Using 384 laminar flow fans to intervene in turbulent air currents, the work symbolizes the boundary between order and chaos. It reflects on how technology imposes structure onto natural systems, yet never fully conquers their complexity. By confronting turbulence—both as a physical phenomenon and a metaphor—the piece invites viewers to reconsider our post-industrial relationship with nature and the illusion of total control.

Since its debut in Seoul last December, Liminal Ring has continued to evolve as it travels. We successfully completed an exhibition in Berlin this April, and are currently preparing for upcoming shows in Linz (Austria), Bucharest (Romania), and Gwangyang (South Korea), among others.

Because the work relies on generating artificial, highly controlled airflows—visualized through fog—its performance is deeply affected by the spatial conditions of each venue, such as size, ventilation, and ambient airflow. As a result, I adapt the sequencing of the piece for each site, fine-tuning its behavior to fit new environments.

Through these iterations, Liminal Ring continues to grow. Each presentation becomes an opportunity to refine and deepen its expression. It’s been a joy to witness the work mature over time, shaped by both its context and the challenges of touring.

That's so interesting to see how fast it's grown. I’d love to delve in a little.

Can you share some of the technical stack/setup involved in the project? I suspect many see your works and can appreciate conceptually, though I can imagine there’s a ton of context placed within all the building in general. How are you currently sourcing tools/materials amidst it all?

The technical foundation of Liminal Ring is deeply integrated with its conceptual framework. At its core, the installation consists of 384 custom-built fans that generate laminar flows—highly controlled air streams intended to intervene in the natural turbulence of the exhibition space. These flows are visualized using fog, creating a visible interplay between artificial order and environmental chaos.

I personally designed and built nearly every aspect of the system, including the hardware setup, electronics, and CFD (Computational Fluid Dynamics) simulations used to shape the behavior of the airflow. The work demands a high level of precision and responsiveness, especially because the performance is heavily affected by factors like space size, ventilation systems, and even audience movement.

It's nice to see so few visual elements creating a sense of depth from side-on. How has the feedback/reception for Liminal Ring been so far? Have you noticed anything in exhibiting this in all the various venues? What’s stood out for you?

The reception of Liminal Ring has been diverse and, at times, unexpectedly moving. Audiences have often focused on its visual and atmospheric qualities, which I anticipated—but what surprised me was how many people resonated with the poetic irony at the heart of the piece: the beauty found in an artificially engineered, imperfect circulation system. Even without reading the accompanying text, many sensed and interpreted that tension in their own ways.

I generally don’t prioritize over-explaining my work through text. While it’s always nice when the artist’s intent comes through, I don’t believe it’s necessary for the audience to fully grasp it. I value the moments when individuals form their own interpretations and emotional connections with the piece. That process of meaning-making enriches the work beyond my original intention—and it, in turn, influences me as well.

Exhibiting the work in different venues has revealed new layers each time. The variability of the spatial conditions and audience interactions adds a level of unpredictability that keeps the piece alive and evolving. Those shifts are not just logistical but experiential, and they’ve made each iteration of Liminal Ring feel distinct.

This seems quite common, that th venue itself contributes to the shape of a piece; I'm glad you've found that for this also. With all the other pieces currently happening. Can you share some words on how you’re currently juggling it all?

This year, Liminal Ring received far more exhibition invitations than I initially anticipated. As a result, I’ve had to temporarily scale back some of my ongoing research for new works, as well as reduce my involvement in commercial collaborations.

Because I tend to favor works with a certain physical and spatial presence, developing a new piece often involves long cycles of research, experimentation, prototyping, design, and production. It’s never a short process. So rather than focusing on a single idea at a time, I keep multiple concepts in motion—progressing them slowly, in parallel, as circumstances allow.

The pace may be slower this year due to the touring commitments, but I’m doing my best not to lose momentum on new creation. I’m trying to maintain a balance—allowing the existing work to continue its life, while still holding space for the emergence of new ones.

How has living in Berlin contributed to your developments?

It’s hard to believe, but it’s been over 12 years since I first moved to Berlin in 2013. Both the city and my relationship with it have changed significantly over that time. When I first arrived—as a former engineer and designer—it was Berlin’s unique combination of low cost of living, diverse cultural infrastructure, openness to alternative artistic practices, and a strong creative network that helped guide me toward fully embracing life as an artist. I was immediately drawn to the city’s chaotic, free, and fertile energy—it felt like anything was possible here.

But over the years, I’ve witnessed a gradual shift. Unfortunately, Berlin is slowly losing some of the qualities that once made it so magnetic. Funding for culture and the arts continues to be cut, and the cost of living has risen dramatically. While Berlin still offers many benefits for artists, the conversation among local creatives is increasingly about a “post-Berlin” reality. I share in that concern—it’s something I’m reflecting on more and more these days.

That said, this city has been instrumental in shaping my practice and expanding my perspective. It offered the space and openness I needed at a pivotal time in my journey, and for that, I remain grateful.

What's one thing you’ve learned on the journey so far, that most people wouldn't realise on the surface?

I’m not sure I have some grand revelation that others wouldn’t realize—but there is something I often remind myself of during the creative process, and it’s something I’d like to share.

I always try to remember that the first audience of my work is myself. As both the artist and the very first human to encounter the realized version of an idea, I place great value on that moment of meeting. When a fragmented idea in my head finally takes shape in the real world—through many iterations of trial, error, and refinement—it almost always appears different from what I originally imagined. And I find that moment incredibly valuable. It feels less like I’m making something and more like I’m meeting something.

That’s why, in my practice, I try to prioritize two things: first, trusting my rough intuition in the early stages, and second, remembering to fully enjoy the process itself. I think those internal moments—quiet, uncertain, and often surprising—are what sustain me the most.

Exactly, enjoying it is super important; since it's so easy to forget why you are doing a thing in the first place.

What’s next on your radar?

Lately, I’ve been drawn to a question that feels increasingly urgent: What is real—especially when the digital becomes indistinguishable from the physical?

With the rapid development of AI and immersive virtual environments, we’re stepping into an era where simulations not only mirror reality, but in some cases, seem to surpass it. As someone who’s deeply interested in those technologies, I find myself paradoxically pulled in the opposite direction—toward the rawness of physical presence.

Rather than escaping into limitless digital possibilities, I’m becoming more curious about the boundaries and textures of the material world. If virtuality becomes perfect, what weight does the imperfect, aging, gravity-bound world still hold? I’m exploring new ideas that live at this intersection—where physical limitations are not just constraints, but carriers of meaning.

So, what’s next on my radar is a kind of return—not backwards, but inward. I’m interested in creating systems that highlight the tension between simulation and material, permanence and flux. It’s early, but I’m in conversation with a few emerging concepts that might unfold into new works over time.

Lastly; any artists in this space you’re pulling inspiration from?

There are honestly too many to name—but a few do stand out as foundational to my journey.

I still vividly remember encountering Kinetic Rain by Joachim Sauter; it was one of the first works that truly drew me into the world of kinetic art. His approach to motion as both form and narrative deeply resonated with me.
Olafur Eliasson has also been a long-time source of inspiration. The way he works with light—not just as illumination, but as a sculptural and perceptual material—is something I find endlessly beautiful and moving.

And I greatly admire the duo Kimchi and Chips, whose works poetically engage with physical phenomena. They manage to reveal the invisible and ephemeral in ways that feel both technical and tender—something I continually aspire to in my own practice.

Thanks for being here Jin, it's a pleasure to catch up.