The domestic environment is not simply an area where scenes play out in Jeehye Song’s paintings, but an active element that determines the emotional rhythm of her works. Towels, sinks, bathtubs, mirrors, chairs and other common household objects reappear throughout her compositions. Yet they do not necessarily function as symbols; instead, they remain familiar things whose mere presence evokes everyday human experience. Their existence supports and enriches her intimate pictorial world while anchoring her distorted figures within recognisable living spaces.
Song’s characters communicate not only verbally but also non-verbally, through their proximity, body language and physical connections. Arms extend, bodies contract, fingers grow and forms twist into unusual shapes without losing their physical plausibility. The body becomes elastic: able to absorb tension, discomfort, tenderness and fatigue all at once. Rather than pursuing anatomical perfection, Song appears concerned with how the body can express what language often struggles to articulate. A knee flexing as an arm reaches awkwardly to embrace, or a head resting heavily against folded arms, can suggest states of feeling that facial expression alone might not convey.
words: yannis kostarias
Furthermore, colour plays a critical role in the creation of mood in Song’s paintings. The artist’s palette is dominated by subdued shades of greens, dusty pinks and creams, cold blues and browns, with only occasional touches of brighter yellow, red or blue. Although these brighter colours rarely dominate the compositions, they function as striking points of visual and emotional energy, attracting the viewer’s gaze. Rather than relying on strong contrasts, Song’s work often maintains a sense of tonal continuity, allowing the colours to coexist naturally within her paintings. The works appear almost to be lit from within, creating a particular glow that can soften even scenes that might otherwise appear unsettling.
The representation of figures within Song’s art is remarkable in terms of their scale and intensity, while remaining deliberately removed from naturalistic representation. Irregularities in the articulation of human anatomy and proportion result in elongated forms. Yet the viewer can still recognise the postures of the figures and understand the actions taking place. Song’s elongated bodies and the spaces they occupy introduce another dimension to the overall pictorial experience. In some works, the characters appear oversized in relation to their surroundings, dominating the image and creating the impression that the surrounding space is almost pressed against them. In others, the figure seems to merge with its environment, its body becoming closely connected to furniture, fabrics or other objects within the painting.
Song’s recent painting ‘ADHD’ (2026) offers a particularly compelling example of these qualities. The viewer encounters a figure bent over the edge of a bathtub, with the head concealed beneath a towel and therefore disappearing from view. The long, thin arms and legs create a sense of a moment that is awkward yet graceful at the same time. The pose might initially suggest tiredness, withdrawal or a temporary retreat from the surrounding world, although the painting leaves these possibilities deliberately open. The bright yellow towel interrupts the subdued colour scheme, introducing unexpected warmth and gently shifting the emotional register of the scene. Rather than defining the moment as one of sadness, the painting can be read as a brief pause: a quiet interval in which the body seems to withdraw from the demands of the outside world.
Ultimately, Jeehye Song has developed a way of painting that is deeply intimate while remaining open to different forms of recognition and interpretation. Her work demonstrates how emotional complexity can emerge within ordinary settings, as subtle distortions of the figure reveal states of mind and physical experience that conventional realism might struggle to articulate. Rather than imposing a fixed narrative, her paintings allow viewers to spend time contemplating the silent spaces between thought and action. Through a restrained colour palette, a highly controlled handling of paint and a sensitive understanding of bodily expression, Song transforms familiar domestic environments into distinct visual experiences in which simplicity, vulnerability and intimacy coexist in a delicate balance.
How would you define your work in a few words (ideally in 3 words)?
Melancholy, diary, survival.
Could you share with us some insights on your recent exhibition at Wentrup gallery, ‘Hey, I’m still here’ ? What sort of new artworks do you showcased at this exhibition?
“Hey, I’m still here” isn’t actually a new work.It was the title of my solo show at Wentrup in January 2026. I chose the title and selected the works around a feeling of not wanting to be exposed, but still wanting people to know I’m still here. Thinking about it more, it feels a bit like a cold, or depression, the way it never fully disappears. You know how a virus stays dormant in your body and only creeps back out when your immune system gets weak? It’s that kind of feeling. Anyway, most of the works in the show have figures covering their faces, or hiding somehow. But everyone can still tell they’re there.
Color has been important in your works but used very subtly. Your palette consists of grayish greens, pinks, blues, and beiges with an occasional touch of bright color. How do you think through the color palette for a particular work, and what role does color play in the emotional aspect of your decision-making?
I use color hoping it will neutralize what I’m actually talking about. I say “shit wrapped up nicely” a lot, hiding all kinds of worries behind soft, powdery colors. Most of the colors I use are mid-tones, colors that could slide into a gradient toward another color without feeling out of place. Lately I’ve been trying to build combinations beyond the ones I already gravitate toward, because sticking to the same tonal range gets boring. So I look for combinations that are similar but different. On top of these neutralized colors, I think of it as laying light (brighter tones) over them. Only where the light touches shows a slightly sharper, more vivid color. It’s like”oh, this was always here” kind of feeling.
Your characters often express themselves through body language instead of facial expressions. Can you tell us about the ideas underpinning the artwork and your understanding of the interplay between movement and emotional context?
I mostly paint poses that are lying down, leaning, or slumped. I mostly avoid showing faces, because it becomes too explanatory. Faces, especially eyes, can say so much, so I try to avoid drawing them whenever possible. And I find it more interesting to show things through gesture, light, and shadow rather than through the face directly, because it feels like putting together and solving a puzzle. So I use a lot of body gestures, hands, and feet, such small things that we tend to overlook, as substitutes for the face. I want the viewer to be able to project their own experiences or thoughts onto the work, and I want it to read differently each time someone looks at it. Focusing on gesture is probably one of my tactics for that.
The stories behind many of your paintings are hard to decipher; do you start off with some specific storyline or do you simply prefer making encounters open for interpretation after your painting is finished?
I think it’s similar to a dream. In a dream, everything feels logical, like it’s supposed to make sense, but when you wake up and think about it, a lot of it is like, “wait, what?” You’re at home, you open a door, and suddenly you’re somewhere completely different. Rather than starting from a specific narrative, I like gathering feelings or experiences from everyday life, twisting them, and putting them onto the canvas. For that, I’m drawing almost all the time. It’s a kind of collecting of the moments and motifs to mix. I like works that leave room for multiple interpretations, where small elements come together to form a different story. I also like that those small elements get interpreted differently by different viewers, so the whole thing becomes a different story for each person.
Your paintings beautifully combine immediacy with caution in terms of the technique. Visible brush strokes, contours and details are responsible for the uniqueness of your works. how has your approach to the technique changed and what aspects have stayed relevant for you?
I try not to touch the painting too much. I go for a painting that’s loosened up, rather than one that’s perfectly rendered and “well done.” I like the chance elements of painting, like a drip of color. Whether to cover that drip or leave it showing is a decision I can only make after the accident has already happened. Even when I do cover something, I usually don’t cover it completely. Because it’s more interesting to keep working with the mistake, whatever it is, rather than erasing it. If I leave one area loose and uncovered, I think of it as painting another area to balance it out.
Do you expect any specific emotions from your viewers’ experience as they explore your body of work?
Melancholy. Life is full of ups and downs (there’s a Korean saying, roughly “a blessing in disguise,” like the old Chinese proverb about the old man’s lost horse). I’d like people to be able to look at the work and laugh, even just a little, wryly.
Which are your plans for the near future?
I’m currently doing a residency in Baden-Baden until September. I’m also preparing to start working with ceramics, as a way to get a fresh perspective and new inspiration for my painting. Alongside that, I have a few projects coming up, including DC Open and Art Cologne.
all images courtesy of the artist