Sunny Lumen
2025. 04. 13 - 2025. 05. 04.
IMF Seoul (Seoul, KR)
Double Exhibition
2025. 04. 13 - 2025. 05. 04.
IMF Seoul (Seoul, KR)
Double Exhibition


















《 Sunny Lumen 》
I'd like to begin with a personal memory. One day, I was put under general anesthesia for a ten-hour surgery. Lying on a cold surgical bed, I shifted unnaturally to get into position. Needles and rubber tubing were stuck in my arms, and a large, round surgical light was glaring above me. The light was both cold and warm in that blinding moment. Another memory surfaces—coming home early from school as a child, finding the house empty, and watching the sunlight pour in through the living room window. The golden, warmth light hit the floor and filled the empty space. I remember lying on the living room floor and basking in the sun.
Sunny Lumen, a two-person exhibition by Kim Hanwool and Jiiho, invites viewers into unfamiliar sensations of the body’s internal landscape. Can we truly say that we can see our bodies? The surface—skin, face, body—is what we encounter in the mirror, yet it remains only the shell. The inside of the body, on the other hand, cannot be seen without technical devices(mediation), such as endoscopes, CT scans, and ultrasounds. These convert the body’s interior into high-resolution images and data, which are then displayed in front of our eyes. However, the images are never familiar, appearing as unfamiliar schematics and extracted data. The body, once understood as a site of internality, becomes estranged.
The exhibition begins with this very dissonance—distance between familiarity and unfamiliar. In different ways, Kim and Jiiho evoke this sense of tension between interiority and observation, and extend it to different layers of time, data, memory, and other boundaries. Through the technological visualization of both the body and the exhibition space’s interior, the show invites reflection on how we position and perceive ourselves within unseen worlds. The notion of “interiority” emerges through the act of viewing.
IMF Seoul, the exhibition's venue, is a converted building apartment located in Dobong-gu, Seoul. Rather than a mere physical space, it functions as the centerpiece of the exhibition. Originally Built in 1988, the space, which bears the marks of 1997 and beyond, hides 26 years of time in its worn wallpaper and flooring, old furniture, and the dust-laden old phones and switches. Visitors can only enter the space by appointment, passing through a communal entrance hall where real residents come and go, and punching in a numbered code. From that moment of entry—stepping into someone else's home—the exhibition situates the viewer in a private, intimate space.
This entry process recalls the structure of a medical checkup: a passage inward rather than an external scan, always mediated by appointments, fasting, and cold instruments entering the body. Here too, invites the viewer to enter a sealed interior of the space itself, just as they enter the interior of their own body, as a condition of observation and a structure of the gaze. In other words, the sensation felt in this space is different from entering to 'see' something, but more of a 'sensory experience of breaking through the boundaries and penetrating the interior'.
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Jiiho, on the other hand, confronts unfamiliar and sensitive sensations through techniques and gazes that sensually reconstruct the interior of the body. Rooted in her childhood experience of researching a family illness online, her early exposure to digital images of diseased and injured organs—bodies she had never seen in person—provoked a series of acute, hypersensitive sensations that led to a strange and unsettling awareness of her own body. In Babies (2024), Jiiho senses her own body in a fictionalized state of pregnancy, imagining the bones and organs she encounters after giving birth. The collection of organs and bones, reminiscent of the objects in Vanitas's still life paintings, becomes a landscape that confronts and otherizes the internal beings of the body.
Jiiho also imagines and draws front, back, side, top, and bottom views on the surface of a hexahedron like a production drawing based solely on image information collected from a medical device shopping mall. Just as attempts to mechanically visualize disease and aging are accompanied by errors, the artist's mechanical computations of medical devices are accompanied by errors of awkward reproduction. Just as the artist imagines the invisible interior of the body by weaving together data from various medical imaging devices, this process becomes a metaphorical practice of reconstructing any body through fragments of image data. Furthermore, the artist's drawings and object works in mobile filing cabinets demonstrate more explicit sensory heterogeneity. Ji envisions replacing the human body with a doughnut-shaped planet, in reference to topological geometry. Here, Pelvis fragments form Jupiter(2022) is summoned to the exhibition as an unfamiliar clue that fragments of this planet have been flung before our eyes. This paradoxical act of perceiving the inside of one's own body as pixels of data and polygonal information, like a distant planet in space, connects to the artist's approach to disease, slow aging, and the invisibility of the body's interior.
We see through light. The exhibition’s title Sunny Lumen is derived from the medical term “lumen”. A lumen is a hollow passage through the body, the interior where light enters, but also the space where the technological gaze enters. “Sunny” evokes warmth, direction, and atmosphere—the microclimates of observation. The exhibition explores how sensation—temperature, distance, timing—is co-produced by acts of seeing and being seen.
The harsh lights of an operating room, the afternoon sun streaming across an empty living room. These lights differ, yet both frame a body within structures of external gaze. Wary of reading this exhibition as a work that only shows images of the body's interior, consciously resists being reduced to a mere display of anatomical images.* To “see the inside” is not a neutral or passive gesture, but a highly conditioned, sensory act—one that reveals the limits of perception itself. And just beyond this structured gaze lies the viewer, groping through their own private memory, tracing sensations that cannot be fully visualized.
* Jonathan Crary, Techniques of the Observer: On Vision and Modernity in the Nineteenth Century, MIT Press, 1990, pp.1-163.
Text by | Jihee Yun (Independent Curator)