Myeongjin Park

The Translucent Soul of Korean Thread

REVEALING THE INNER MIND THROUGH THE ARCHITECTURE OF THE STITCH: FROM TRADITIONAL EMBROIDERY TO MODERN EVERY DAY

Arriving at a massive coffee shop in Ganghwa-do—an island historically used as a site of exile during the Chosun era that has since transformed into a scenic holiday destination—I did not expect to find such a surprising gallery space on the second floor. Here, fiber artist Park Myung-jin maintains a gallery and a quiet space for the shop's customers. Sipping an iced Americano she prepared for me in a room filled with Mosi (Ramie) fabric and Bojagi (traditional wrapping cloths), our conversation began.

A Decade of Quietude: The Journey Back

For Myung-jin, the path to the gallery was anything but a straight line. After studying Craft Design, she stepped away from working for a decade to raise her family—a period of silence for her art, but a necessary gathering of strength for her spirit.

You mentioned a significant "gap decade" before returning to your craft. How did that time as a full-time mother shape the artist you are now?

"After my marriage, I didn't even have the mindset of 'being an artist'. I focused on the household and raising kids. But as the kids grew up, I started looking back at myself. I always liked making things so I began with small things—quilting and sewing as a hobby. When I looked for books to learn more, I noticed most were Japanese, which made me think, 'I want to learn this properly and publish my own book'.”

This passion led her to study under Kim Hyeon-hee, a designated Seoul Intangible Cultural Property in embroidery. Under her mentorship, Myung-jin spent seven to eight years mastering the intricate skills and historical relics associated with traditional Korean Court Embroidery. She mentioned that she found profound inspiration in the geometric beauty of Jogakbo (traditional Korean patchwork), even jokingly wondering if Mondrian might have drawn inspiration from its ancient patterns.

What led you to pivot from that traditional path to your current work?

"While working on reproducing relics, I came to deeply admire the wisdom and artistry of our ancestors. At the same time, I felt a great sense of regret seeing traditional crafts becoming increasingly marginalized. This led me to want to create works that could communicate with the public, and I began creating pieces that reinterpreted the beauty of traditional embroidered Bojagi with a modern sensibility while adding practicality. Although the process of changing direction was not easy, the work of continuing new attempts always excites me."

Nature Inhabiting the Work

Living in Ganghwa-do, Myung-jin is surrounded by the natural elements that define her aesthetic. "I see the red sun in the morning, hear the birds, and listen to the wind - I feel everything through my skin," she explains. She draws deep inspiration from the shifting colors of the four seasons; even the simplest greenery, such as foxtails, strikes her as beautiful enough to incorporate into her work.

This connection to the environment extends to her choice of materials. Her primary textile is Mosi (ramie), a fabric so coarse and unique that it still cannot be woven by machine; it must pass entirely through human hands. "It is the material closest to nature," Myung-jin says. She explains that her textiles are born from the earth - cotton from plants and Oksa thread from silkworms. To capture an organic palette, she dyes her fabrics using natural sources like grapes, chestnuts, and the indigo plant to reflect the surroundings of her home.

The Philosophy of the Inner Self

Myeongjin believes art must be beautiful and practical. Her shift toward contemporary objects was driven by a desire to bring Bojagi out of the "enthusiast" niche and into the hands of the general public as everyday objects.

What is Park Myeongjin's aesthetic?

"I have a deep fascination with transparency because I want people to look 'inside'. I was inspired by Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, where the taste of a madeleine brings back a rush of past memories—love, pain, and the world of art. When a work is transparent, people stop and look again; they don't just pass by because they want to see the 'inner mind'. I think humans have a psychological desire to peek into the hearts of others. Through this transparency, I want viewers to see their own inner world—their own loves, pains, and artistic sensibilities. It is an opportunity to look into both the artist’s mind and your own"

When asked what is next for her - she mentioned that she is moving towards furniture and lighting with her textile. Her journey from full-time mother to committed artist is deeply inspiring, marked by a devotion to her craft. It serves as a vivid reminder that Korean tradition does not have to be a static museum piece; it can be a living, breathing, and functional beauty that anyone can use.