We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Angie Kim a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.

Angie, thanks for taking the time to share your stories with us today Do you feel you or your work has ever been misunderstood or mischaracterized? If so, tell us the story and how/why it happened and if there are any interesting learnings or insights you took from the experience?

I can’t recall the exact timing, but it was around 2021, when we were still in the midst of COVID—or perhaps slowly coming out of it. I was preparing my undergraduate thesis project, and I wanted to create something that resonated with what we were all going through. I became interested in portraying the collective image of contemporary people—specifically, our masked faces.

I sculpted about 20 life-sized faces, but only from the bridge of the nose upward. With masks covering the lower half, all facial features except the eyes were hidden, reflecting the strange reality of how we were seeing one another at the time. Each face was carefully crafted to show diversity and detail. The title of the artwork is “Clamor”.

The graduation show went well, and afterward, I was selected by my school to exhibit the work at a hospital affiliated with the university. I installed the sculptures in the hospital lobby, went home, and slept soundly. But the next morning, I received a call from my professor. The hospital had requested that the work be removed immediately, saying it could evoke fear or discomfort in patients.

I was shocked and frustrated. But I also came to realize that site-specificity really matters—especially in public spaces. It was a moment where I learned, firsthand, a bit of the bittersweet reality that public artists often face: the work might succeed in one context but fail in another. It also reminded me that art, once released into the world, is no longer only mine—it’s shaped by how others receive it.

As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?

Hi, I’m Angie Kim, a visual artist based in New York. My practice centers around sculpture and painting, and much of my work begins with the human body—not as a literal figure, but as a site where emotion, memory, and physical tension intersect. I’m interested in the space between inside and outside, between what we show and what we suppress, and how those boundaries shift over time. Rather than aiming for perfect form, I try to capture what feels unstable, soft, or in the process of becoming. My recent works often involve abstracted bodily fragments, layered surfaces, and sculptural forms that evoke skin, muscle, or internal structures—without directly representing them.

I received my MFA in Sculpture from Pratt Institute in 2024, which was a formative period in my development as an artist. It was there that I began to deeply explore the relationship between material and meaning—working with paper pulp, wax, textiles, and casting as ways to express things that are difficult to articulate in words. I became interested in layering as both a visual and emotional strategy—adding, removing, covering, exposing—to mirror the ways we process experiences, protect ourselves, or allow vulnerability. At Pratt, I also learned to see my work as part of a larger dialogue: not just with viewers, but with space, material, and time. Those years pushed me to take risks and be more honest with what I was trying to say, even when I didn’t fully understand it yet.

What matters most to me is staying truthful to the feeling that led me to make something in the first place. I’m not trying to deliver a message or prove a point—I’m trying to stay with a question long enough to let it shift and take shape through the work. I often hear that my pieces feel familiar yet hard to define, and I think that’s what I hope for: to make something that allows for a pause, a breath, or a quiet recognition. I want people to stand in front of my work and feel something they weren’t expecting—something that maybe doesn’t need a name. That moment of connection, however small, is what keeps me working.

Is there mission driving your creative journey?

One of the artists I admire most is Do Ho Suh. I think I’ve loved his work since before I even knew what art really was. My mother once told me that when I was a child—still in elementary school—I spent over two hours in a gallery that was showing just three of his pieces. I don’t remember everything from that day, but I do remember how deeply I felt drawn in.

That’s the kind of artist I want to become. Someone whose work invites people—regardless of age or background—into a space of stillness, curiosity, or wonder. Someone who can quietly pull others into the world of art, the way I was pulled in as a kid without even realizing it. That’s the mission that continues to drive me.

We’d love to hear a story of resilience from your journey.

After graduating from my MFA program in New York, I went through a long stretch where I kept getting rejected—from residencies, jobs, and open calls. It was discouraging, especially after pouring so much time and energy into my thesis work and hoping it would open more doors. I started questioning whether I could continue as an artist, especially in a place as competitive and expensive as New York.

But even when I wasn’t getting opportunities, I kept making work. I used found materials, worked in a small corner of my apartment, and gave myself new challenges. I started experimenting more, letting go of expectations. Some of my most honest work came out of that period. Looking back, I’m proud that I didn’t give up—not because I had a clear plan, but because I still had the need to make.

Resilience, for me, hasn’t always looked like confidence. It’s looked like staying curious, even when things felt uncertain.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.angiekimart.com/
• Instagram: meduduk_

Image Credits

first featured image – Fedrico Savini