Greem was named by her Grandmother, an artist who was also her caretaker at times. While her parents were busy, and often, in conflict with one another (in much the same way the country was divided North and South), Greem’s Grandmother stepped in to help with child-rearing. “She said I looked like a monstrous child when I was born,” recalls Greem. For a while, Greem had no name at all until one day her Grandmother, who kept a daily practice of painting and drawing, named her “Greem,” which means “picture” or “painting” in Korean. “It’s really bizarre that I became an artist because my dad was an accountant and my mother was a librarian,” she explains. “I wasn’t too exposed to artistic life. None of my family members were creative or brave as an entrepreneur. They were working a lot for [big corporations] and the government, and they often fought. I didn’t want to listen to them yelling at each other. I often listened to music and read blogs about art, movies, and fashion. I wanted to escape from the house.” At a young age, Greem would take herself to see contemporary art exhibitions in Seoul. One day, there was an opportunity to see the photography and a large installation by Korean American artist Nikki S. Lee. Greem remembers feeling “safe, welcomed and included,” and found solace in Art amidst all the chaos at home, a divided country, and the fast pace of city life which was all about economic growth and technology. Today in her interdisciplinary practice involving performance, sound, multimedia visuals, interactive art, costume and installation, she aims to proves a “safe space for misfits and outsiders.” Deeply influenced by club dance culture, music, energy and social gatherings — punk philosophy, d-i-y ethics, and LGBTQ politics heavily factor into her work. The core of her work deals with issues related belonging, disorder, confusion, loneliness and frustration. Greem’s inclusive, colorful and interactive artwork blurs the boundary between art and life. “I thrive in the realm of experimental, socially engaging, and environmentally conscious acts of creation” explains the artist. Searching for the supernatural, and offering a cathartic experience for both herself and the audience, Greem is influenced by fellow artist Nick Cave. “Like Cave, I use costume and performance to question the nature of reality, chaos, utopia, dream space and existence itself. I feel this process is related to my Korean heritage, and forms of indigenous Korean shamanism which view anger as a type of fuel for spiritual and ritual experience as healing.” Most recently exhibiting in a show at KARST in Plymouth, UK, Greem made a large-scale fabric installation and played music for the opening. What began as a sketch she made while on a hike took full-form in the skylight at KARST, hanging majestically from floor to ceiling. Time is one of her consistent artistic challenges, reflects Greem. “New York is filled with beautiful people who create amazing works of art, which is extremely distracting.” Add to that juggling work to pay bills and rent. Currently, she’s working with a dance archive organization focused on POC and LGBTQ artists called Dae Dham, which is a non-binary (gender neutral) term that imparts the meanings wild, bold, confident and assuredness in Korean. As a politicized group, Dae Dham focuses on creating an alternative to the many festivals and organizations dominated by white male DJs. In addition to working on an interactive music video website for her song, “Juicy Tender” with label Globally LTD and a stylist Sam Kim, Greem’s included in an NYU alumni exhibition curated by Chrissie Iles, a curator at The Whitney Museum
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