Hayan Kim

Inlaying the "in-between"

A journey from the neighborhood art studio to the rigid discipline of traditional Korean metalwork

The work of Hayan Kim reveals itself first in a feeling - an ambience of warmth, polish, and a quiet, uncompromising clarity. Beyond the cool touch of metal lies an impression born from the steady rhythm of a singular focus: the act of carving metal with a constant speed and breath. Her work is not merely about the final form, but about the "Art of Time", the endurance of looking long and striking deep. It is an accumulation of invisible layers of time, where every precise stroke of the hammer translates into a silent, visual dialogue to us.

The Breaking of the Mold 

For Hayan Kim, becoming an artist was never about following the “right” path. While many of her peers in Korea were immersed in the hyper-competitive world of private entrance-exam academies, she was, by her own description, a “weird case,” treating art as a hobby at a small neighborhood studio. This unconventional route did not reflect a lack of ambition. On the contrary, she was driven by an uncompromising desire to excel. Reflecting on her student years, she recalls, “I need a lot of sleep in the morning, so I often slept at my desk - just to make sure I didn’t miss a morning lecture.” 

After the study, Kim made a pivotal decision to leave. Germany became her home for over seven and a half years. It was a change. It offered her something else: different culture, different way of learning, time and cross functional work. Time to work across ceramics, glass, and metal; time for collaboration; time to think. It was also here that she developed a distinct intellectual ritual - one that still shapes her practice today.

"I organise my thoughts in German first because the language feels more 'defined' and 'logical'. Korean, while beautiful, feels more 'ambiguous' to me in a creative context."

Tradition as the passage of time 

When Hayan Kim returned to Korea after seven and a half years immersed in the “free” essence of Germany’s art scene, she made another deliberate turn- choosing what she calls the “stiffness” of traditional Korean metal inlay. During the isolation of the pandemic, she trained in 끼움 입사 (Kkium Ipsa) through the 'Center for National Intangible Cultural Heritage' in Korea, a painstaking technique of hammering gold and silver into engraved grooves. During an evaluation after the course, when asked why she chose to pursue traditional craft, Kim answered simply: “Because it gives me psychological stability. Because it’s enjoyable.” The response unsettled the examiner. “A person who carries responsibility cannot work only from enjoyment,” he replied. Afterward, Kim was left quietly unsettled. She wondered if she hadn’t taken “tradition” seriously enough. After a while, she realised, above all, she was an artist living in the present. The issue wasn’t how strictly to preserve tradition, nor how to modernise it, but how to let it remain alive. Breathing within contemporary time. 

“It’s difficult to draw a clear line,” Kim reflects. “Up to what point do you protect and follow ‘tradition,’ and from where does something your own begin?” 

Rather than forcing a division, she chooses to work in between - connecting tradition to the present. Whether that position is right or wrong, she leaves to time. “Time will be the one to decide.” In her work, I sensed that what once seemed restrictive gradually revealed itself as balance - where traditional rigor could coexist with the realities of contemporary life.

“Tradition is simply the past moving forward. It’s just the passage of time. It has to breathe and live with us, here, now.”

The Rhythm of work

Today, Hayan Kim’s studio life follows a carefully protected rhythm. She tries to keep her routine - mornings are intentionally slow, shaped by the breakfast culture she absorbed in Germany. She loves listening to radio, especially ‘Bae Cheol-soo’s Music Camp’. When asked what she would say to her younger self, Kim answers with characteristic honesty: even if she had been asked back then, she probably wouldn’t have listened. Looking back, she credits her growth to stubbornness. Probably that is the same resistance that allowed her to find her own way, to distrust formulas, and to build a language that feels unmistakably her own. I left the interview deeply inspired by a way of working that honors time, material, and responsibility, while still preserving a quiet, enduring sense of joy.