The 97^th ARTCaffè hosted Keunmin Lee.

Diagnosed with borderline personality disorder two decades ago, Lee transformed his personal experiences with hallucinations into profound artistic expressions. His paintings, characterized by deep red hues and visceral imagery, serve as metaphors for social systems, exploring the interplay between individual identity and societal structures. During the talk, Lee discussed how his art challenges the conventional pathologization of hallucinations, instead presenting them as sources of creative and subversive potential. He also shared insights into his process of reappropriating his illness through art, resisting social categorization, and fostering a deeper understanding of the human psyche.

Keunmin Lee: I’ve been working with the concept of the realm of energy/spirit since the early 2000s. Over time, I developed a critical awareness toward how this realm might be structured or organized, and that questioning became the starting point for my artistic practice. I came to recognize that what we commonly refer to as “civilization” tends to construct systems of control and data that revolve around normative frameworks. This led me to question how such systems impact human beings—how the meta-data of data, and rules imposed for the sake of centralization, shape our experience of existence and visibility. I began from the understanding that these processes are not neutral; they can act in subtle or overtly violent ways.

At the end of 2001, I had just entered university, and around that time, I experienced severe psychological challenges and was hospitalized. I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. It was during this period that I began to experience hallucinations. These hallucinations marked the true beginning of my artistic world—they became a central motif, and they remain at the core of my work to this day.

When the doctor diagnosed me, the language and codes used in the process felt like a force that reduced my existence to a symptom, a patient ID, or a clinical term. That act of naming—of defining me through diagnosis—felt like a stripping away of complexity, reducing me to data. I realized then that personal traits, like my quiet nature or a deep, inner melancholy, were being reframed as pathological.

The act of psychiatric diagnosis came to symbolize, for me, the broader mechanisms through which society defines and constructs identity. It mirrored the way society imposes fixed definitions onto individuals—categorizing and confining them within rigid systems. It felt profoundly violent.

That’s why I began to paint. Through my work, I repeatedly return to those pathological experiences and hallucinations—not to be consumed by them, but as a way to resist the reductive force of diagnosis. Painting became a method of reclaiming my subjectivity, of pushing back against the systems that seek to define who or what we are.

If I were to draw a distinction between what society does when it defines something and what an artist does when creating, I’d say that society is driven by efficiency, regulation, and control. In contrast, artists—myself included—are often guided by dreams, by the energy of expansion, and by a desire to explore what lies beyond the visible or the explainable.

In that light, hallucination is no longer simply a clinical symptom—it becomes a space where subjective meaning can emerge. It opens a door into the realm of the personal, the emotional, and even the spiritual. I believe that the messages artists convey through their work can serve as both resistance and communication within the structures of society. In that sense, perhaps my work can be read as part of that broader dialogue.

My paintings could be described as a kind of pathological diary—obsessively repeated records of inner states. Visually, they resist easy categorization. They challenge the frameworks of data and systematization, instead dwelling in the friction between societal norms and personal experience. Through this work, I try to show that art—and artists—still hold the potential to speak meaningfully within today's regulated, hyper-structured world.

Like many artists, my practice is driven by a consistent underlying theme. While individual works may not follow a specific narrative, they all emerge from and orbit around this central core. Today, I want to highlight some of the smaller, often-overlooked elements within my paintings while also offering a broaderview of the themes that run through my work.

The "Matter Cloud" series started around 2015 and represents my brain—both emotionally and visually. The word “matter” carries a dual meaning: it refers to both physical substance and a sense of direction or importance, while “cloud” evokes the idea of a data cloud or a collective consciousness. Together, they form a metaphor for how I conceptualize my mental landscape. The series expresses my brain’s architecture as a dynamic vessel for thought, memory, and perception.

Scattered across the canvas are creature-like forms that symbolize parasitic entities—metaphors for intrusive thoughts or memories that drain and erode my consciousness. Occasionally, I include small, gimmick-like details in large works such as this. However, I don’t typically explain these elements unless someone specifically asks, preferring to leave room for individual interpretation.

“TangledMemories” is a diptych that visualizes malfunctioning neurons or neural systems. The word “tangled” refers to raw, unresolved states of memory—complex and intertwined. The work employs medical and digital imagery, evoking a sense of misfiring or glitching within these systems.

In this and many other works, I often incorporate bowl-like shapes. These vessels symbolize containers of memory or medicine bowls, suggesting an image of holding, containment, and seeking stability amid chaos. These forms act as subtle, almost hidden visual metaphors within the compositions.

“Paranoia Sequence” continues my tendency to use clinical terms—disease names or symptoms—as titles. I don’t always prefer giving my paintings specific titles because I feel that viewers sometimes impose overly literal narratives onto them. However, for the 2022 Space K exhibition, I was encouraged to adopt more narrative or accessible titles to engage a wider audience.

Titles, for me, are not essential to understanding the work. They serve as helpful clues but are not definitive. In fact, I sometimes forget which title corresponds to which painting myself.

In “Peek”, small child-like figures appear in the foreground, while shadowy forms lurk behind a stage curtain—visually expressing the psychological tension between what’s visible on society’s stage and what remains hidden behind it.

Both “Scar Abstraction” and “Connected Skin” draw heavily on anatomical imagery, featuring elements like blood vessels, torn flesh, and stretched skin. In “Connected Skin”, I began incorporating materials such as plastic wrap to emphasize texture and create flesh-like surfaces, adding a tactile dimension to the visual experience.

Another piece, titled “Psychiatrist’s Head”, contrasts with the Matter Cloud series that represents my own brain. This series imagines the psychiatrist’s brain—not as a demonization, but as a reflection of my experience of judgment and evaluation within psychiatric care.

“CrimsonHead” is based on a hallucination I once experienced of a giant, skinned head—a powerful and haunting image. The title combines the vivid crimson red that I frequently use with the word “head,” capturing both the visual impact and the thematic weight of the piece.

Another work, “Connected Body,” depicts a decomposing organism—flattened and disassembled. If you look closely, you might notice flies hovering around it. These subtle yet eerie motifs recur throughout many of my pieces, adding layers of unsettling detail.

“Random Intercourse” explores the idea of meaningless contact—not only sexual but also biological, emotional, and cellular. I chose this deliberately clinical and detached phrase to evoke a sense of mechanized necessity and emotional disconnection.

In many of these paintings, you may spot vague impressions of genitals, pubic hair, or other human forms. However, these elements are always fragmented or abstracted, creating a tension between the recognizable and the obscure—a kind of visual irony that invites viewers to question perception and meaning.

Blood appears frequently in my work—not for shock value, but as a deeply personal symbol. During my periods of hallucination and mental struggle, the boundary between reality and illusion often blurred. There were times when I would inflict pain on myself just to confirm that I was still grounded in reality. In this way, blood became a crucial marker—a line separating what is real from what is unreal. This is why I integrate it into my paintings as a powerful visual metaphor.

In conclusion, my work aims to visualize and document my lived, often pathological experiences. Through my paintings, I seek to challenge the cold efficiency and regulation-driven systems of modern society with expressions that are messy, deeply human, and often painful. These expressions, though raw and vulnerable, are equally valid and deserving of recognition and voice.