BAFA Graduate Exhibition 2025 – Artist Interview: Jayoung Choo

Published: 16/06/2025

“Where do I belong?” –Artist Jayoung Choo (@jayoungchoo.art) turns identity into art.

Packed suitcases, childhood trinkets, mirrors that reflect fractured selves…….

For BAFA Graduate Jayoung Choo – who grew up between Seoul, Beijing and Hong Kong – cultural identity isn’t a fixed address but a suitcase forever half-unpacked. Through hauntingly personal installations and paintings, she transforms everyday objects into quiet meditations on belonging in our globalised world.

Your work examines cultural identity through personal objects and mirrored surfaces. How does your multicultural background shape your artistic perspective?

Growing up across Seoul, Beijing and Hong Kong, I was constantly moving between cultures and languages. This multicultural environment shaped how I perceive the world – but it also came with its own set of challenges. As a child, I often felt the need to adapt quickly to different cultural norms just to belong. That shifting sense of identity left me questioning where I truly fit in, and whether I belonged anywhere at all.

Over time, I came to understand that identity doesn’t need to be rooted in a single culture. For me, it lives in the in-between spaces – where borders blur, cultures overlap, and meanings shift. What once felt confusing has become a foundation for reflection and empathy, shaping how I understand both myself and others.

This perspective is at the heart of my artistic practice. Through personal objects and mirrored surfaces, I explore the fluidity of cultural identity and the layered nature of belonging. I’m particularly interested in how individuals navigate multiple cultural influences, and how those experiences affect both self-perception and how they’re perceived by others.

Ultimately, I hope my work invites viewers to consider identity as something flexible and evolving – something that doesn’t require fixed definitions, but instead welcomes complexity and difference.

2. Many of your works incorporate found materials. How do you choose these objects, and what significance do they hold in your exploration of identity?

Ironically, I used to struggle with choosing objects that felt culturally meaningful – just as I’ve often found it difficult to define my own cultural identity. Instead of searching for traditional or overtly symbolic items, I began paying attention to the everyday things I kept close: the objects I packed and unpacked with every move. They were ordinary, familiar, and often quite universal.

People sometimes expect my work to feature distinctly Korean elements or clear references to heritage. But more often, I’m drawn to objects that could belong anywhere. At first, this made me question whether I was disconnected from my roots or overlooking something essential. In time, though, I realised these choices reflect the reality of my lived experience –one shaped more by transition than tradition.

Growing up between cultures, I didn’t form strong emotional ties to a single set of cultural symbols. Instead, I connected with items that are globally recognisable – objects that reflect a more fluid, hybrid sense of identity. In that way, they mirror the globalised world we live in and the in-between spaces I often inhabit.

These found materials act as open vessels: simple forms that take on meaning through context, placement and personal interpretation. For me, they represent an identity in motion – one shaped by transition, interaction and time rather than fixed definitions.

3. Your installations create contemplative spaces. What kind of reflections or emotions do you hope to evoke in viewers?

My installations are often minimal, even when they incorporate a range of materials and objects. That simplicity is intentional – it creates space for viewers to slow down, step back, and tune into their own thoughts. Rather than guiding them towards a fixed interpretation, I want to offer an open environment where personal reflection can unfold. I hope it encourages people to consider their own sense of identity: how they see themselves, how they relate to others, and how they engage with the spaces around them.

I’m especially interested in transitional states – those in-between moments when people are shifting between places or phases. These are periods of movement and change, where things are still taking shape. I hope viewers can recognise those experiences in my work and feel a sense of reassurance – that living in flux is not only natural but often where the most growth happens.

4. How does painting, as a medium, help you express ideas about memory and hybridity compared to installation?

I’ve been thinking more about what painting means to me – not just as a medium but as a language. I remember my lecturers encouraging me to ask why I paint at all, and how I understand paint as a material. That question has stuck with me, and I’m still exploring it. At this point in my practice, though, I find myself more naturally drawn to three-dimensional work, especially installation.

There’s something instinctive about working with space, layering, and material presence when dealing with complex ideas like memory and hybridity. Painting can certainly gesture towards these themes on a surface, but installation allows me to create immersive environments that people can physically enter and experience. It makes the intangible – like shifting identities or layered histories – feel more embodied, more immediate. For me, that spatial engagement offers a powerful way to explore the fluid and often fragmented nature of cultural memory.

5. You’ve exhibited in both Hong Kong and Melbourne. Did different audiences respond to your work in distinct ways?

I didn’t get the chance to visit the Melbourne show in person while it was on, so I can’t fully compare the audience responses firsthand. But from what I’ve gathered, reactions in Hong Kong were interesting – some viewers intuitively picked up on the fact that I came from a different cultural background – even before reading any accompanying text. While there wasn’t a single comment that stood out, it made me reflect on how personal context shapes interpretation. People bring their own cultural lenses and lived experiences into the viewing process, which naturally influences how meaning is constructed.

That realisation is something I find both humbling and fascinating: meaning in art isn’t fixed –it shifts depending on who’s looking. And for a practice rooted in identity and hybridity, that fluidity feels not only appropriate but essential.

6. You studied psychology and worked in marketing before art. What made you take the leap into fine art, and how did HKAS support that transition?

Art was something I always enjoyed as a child – it felt natural to me, and for a long time, becoming an artist was a personal ambition that stayed in the background. But as I got older, I became just as interested in understanding people as I was in expressing myself. That curiosity led me to study psychology for my first degree. I thought I might go into counselling, but I also felt the need to experience the world beyond academia.

That’s what drew me to the corporate world – specifically marketing and public relations, which at the time aligned with my interests. Working in that industry gave me the chance to collaborate with people from all kinds of industries and backgrounds and learn how communication works across different contexts. It was fast-paced, challenging, and full of valuable experiences, but I knew it wasn’t something I wanted to do long-term. During the pandemic, I started thinking more about what I really wanted to invest my time in – and that brought me back to art.

That’s when I came across the joint BAFA programme between HKAS and RMIT. What stood out to me was how accessible it was for working professionals – it felt like a practical and flexible way to reconnect with art in a deeper way. The mix of students from different backgrounds made the learning environment dynamic and open, which really supported my transition into creative practice.

Looking back, my path hasn’t been linear, but each stage has contributed something valuable. Psychology taught me how to observe and listen. Public Relations sharpened my communication. And now, those skills feed into my approach as an artist. It’s taken time to get here, but I think that’s also what has made the process feel more grounded and real.

7. Before joining HKAS, did you have any formal art training? How did the programme help you develop your skills?

I didn’t have any formal art training before joining the programme. While my primary objective in enrolling was to explore and shape the core concept behind my artistic practice, the workshop courses provided an opportunity to develop the skills necessary to translate my ideas into tangible work.

One of the things I appreciated most was the flexibility to take classes outside my speciali sation. I explored painting, sculpture and photography, which not only broadened my skill set but also deepened my understanding of how different mediums can intersect. This interdisciplinary approach allowed me to pursue a hybrid artistic language, blending elements from various disciplines into a cohesive and personal form of creative expression.

8. Studying art can be intense. How did you balance personal life, work (if applicable), and your degree?

Balancing full-time work and study was definitely a challenge – I often felt like a professional juggler. I wouldn’t say I ever found a perfect ’balance’, but I learned to constantly reassess my priorities and manage my time around what mattered most. Sacrifices were inevitable, but they felt worthwhile because I was investing in something meaningful.

There were tough moments – especially during semesters when I had to travel frequently for work. But those experiences taught me to be more flexible and creative. I used to rely heavily on detailed plans and checklists, which worked well in my corporate life, but I reali sed art often requires a different rhythm. Limited time actually encouraged spontaneity and helped me break out of rigid thinking. In a way, the pressure opened up space for unexpected ideas and creative growth.

9. What was the most valuable lesson you learned at HKAS—whether from a teacher, a project, or a mistake?

One of the most valuable lessons I learned at HKAS was the importance of staying open –especially when it comes to experimentation. Throughout different classes and projects, I was often encouraged to try out methods and approaches that felt unfamiliar or even uncomfortable at first. As artists, we tend to hold tightly to our creative preferences and instincts, but stepping outside that comfort zone taught me a lot about myself.

Sometimes I discovered techniques or ideas I unexpectedly connected with. Other times, I confirmed what didn’t work for me – and even that was incredibly useful. Understanding why something doesn’t resonate helps refine your voice just as much as discovering what does.

That experience reminded me that growth often comes from trying things you initially want to resist. Being open doesn’t mean losing your vision – it means sharpening it. So now, whether in school or beyond, I try to carry that mindset with me: don’t say no too quickly –you might be surprised by what you learn.

10. Looking back, is there anything you’d do differently in your artistic journey so far?

If I could do one thing differently, I would share my work more often – whether it was finished or still in progress – and actively seek feedback. There’s something powerful about hearing how others interpret your work. Some people connect with it deeply, others may not understand it at all – and that range of responses is incredibly valuable.

In the beginning, it can feel vulnerable to share something so personal, especially when you’re still finding your voice. But opening up to different perspectives really helps shape your artistic language. I’ve come to see art as a form of communication – like any language, it needs to be practised and shared to grow. The more you engage with others through your work, the clearer and more expressive your voice becomes.

So if I were to start over, I’d make a point to share more – with classmates, mentors, industry friends, even people outside the art world. Every conversation offers a new lens, and those insights can help you see your own work in ways you might not have expected.

You don’t have to choose just one version of yourself. Identity is a living, evolving story – one that thrives in complexity.