Work in Progress: Choi Haneyl
In new work for Frieze, the Korean sculptor reflects on queer lives in South Korea, family and his relationship to his body
In new work for Frieze, the Korean sculptor reflects on queer lives in South Korea, family and his relationship to his body
Choi Haneyl’s studio is located in Seoul’s Yongsan district, home to both the executive office of the President and the queer-friendly Itaewon-dong. It is here that Choi makes sculptures that explore the transgression and surrender of queer bodies under societal conventions. Blending steel and silicone, figuration and abstraction, Choi’s sculptures dismantle and reassemble the body. Human-scaled, the sculptures often startle their maker: ‘They feel so human-like,’ he says, ‘that when I turn around in the studio, they scare me.’
As Choi prepares to show new works with P21 at Frieze Seoul 2025, he reflects on his obsession with imagining the inside of his body, his unusual material choices and alternative family structures.
Monica Jae Yeon Moon Tell me about your studio. What kind of space is it?
Choi Haneyl My studio is in Yongsan-gu, near the Leeum Museum of Art. I’ve been working here for about three years. The whole three-storey building used to be a restaurant, but the owner is getting older and so they only use the first floor and rent out the second and third. That’s how I moved in.
MM Black ink drawings fill one wall of your studio. Is drawing important to your practice?
CH These days, I mostly draw with ink. I draw quickly and try to capture momentum and sensations. I think it’s easier to draw things like that with ink and brush. I used to do a lot of precise drawings, but now my drawings are just expressions of what I’m feeling.
They function more like a dashboard. Not every drawing leads directly to a single piece. I just do them whenever I think of it or whenever I have a free moment. They’re piling up and up and up. The pieces will reveal themselves later. It’s like reading; you just keep building it up.
MM What significant objects do you keep in your studio?
CH An acquaintance of mine made a set of talismans for me, which I have on my studio wall. They’re supposed to be kept in an envelope. Apparently, the moment you open the envelope, they lose their power. But something happened and I opened it, so I got to see inside.
I’m not a big believer in this kind of stuff. I’m more interested in them as pictures and symbols. There’s a book called The Encyclopaedia of Talismans, which I look at it to try to find out what they mean. They’re like hieroglyphics.
MM Tell us about the work you are making for Frieze Seoul.
CH The title of this work is Nephew. It’s a new title for the ‘Uncle’ series that I’ve been working on since 2023. Some people call me ‘Uncle’ or ‘ajeossi(아저씨)’. ‘Uncle’ usually refers to a man whose identity is not clear, but who looks a little older. I thought that the term was appropriate for queer people.
In Korean society, I’m not married and I don’t have a job, so ‘Uncle’ was about making myself using different materials, shapes and forms. From 2025, I’m dropping ‘Uncle’ and changing the title to include different members of family.
MM What drew you to the theme of family?
CH I think queer people are basically interested in the family system. If you look at Korean society, queer people can’t get married. And I’ve observed from a young age that there are a lot of people who are not properly bound to the family system because of their queer identity. So, I’ve always asked myself: What is the family system? What is the new alternative family system in this community that I’m a part of?
I began this work to think about family a little more. Before I started making this piece, I only had a vague image of it. When I finished making it, I realised that I was making a boy who was peeing. I titled it Nephew.
MM What materials do you use in your work?
CH A common material in my work is Plexiglas. I like that it’s transparent and it compartmentalizes. I thought it was interesting to wrap a hexahedron in Plexiglas – you can see it, but you can’t touch it. It gives you a sense of being trapped.
The work that I’m showing at Frieze is a minimal sculpture made of cement and stainless steel. In other pieces, I use silicone to coat the materials because it feels very much like human skin, while the metals I use are harder and colder. I’m looking forward to seeing what happens as I continue to change my materials.
MM Can you talk about the cross-sections coated in silicone?
CH In my early twenties, I cut off my finger while working. That was the first time I ever saw a cross-section of my own body, and I was really fascinated by it. You know the inside of your body exists, but you can never see it. If you get tonsillitis, the most you see is the inside of your mouth in the mirror; if you have a cut, you can only open it up slightly and see a little bit of it. Seeing a perfect cross-section of my finger was a big shock. From that point on, I’ve been imagining the inside of my body, and creating a kind of imaginary sculpture.
MM Your work centres on deconstruction, represented by the cross-sections of body parts, and reconstruction, represented by the assembly of hexahedrons. What do these two actions mean to you?
CH I’ve had a number of experiences where I’ve realized that my body doesn’t belong to me anymore. For example, when I got a tattoo, I had to get my parents’ permission. There are a lot of social conventions that prevent me from owning my body. The replaceability of the human body is a reaction against or surrender to these conventions. In my work, the human body – whether figurative or abstract in form – is never usually represented as a complete body, but as parts that are cut up and put together.
MM Tell me more about your reaction and surrender to social regulations of the body.
CH In 2023, I was put on trial for smoking cannabis because it’s banned by Korean law. I was arrested and held in custody at the time. That’s when I really started to think about the ownership of my body.
This loss of ownership is inevitably something that you surrender to, or you revolt against. As a queer person, I question my body constantly, and that particular incident cemented the idea that I wasn’t really the owner of my body. I think the idea of a whole, entire body is a fantasy; it’s just a collection of parts.
MM Do you see your work as part of wider social change?
CH When I was younger, I used to think that there would be some sort of tipping point where the world would turn upside down in one moment. But the older I get, the more I realize that’s a fantasy. All changes are built slowly. I don’t think any single work of art is going to change the world.
I think that if you keep putting your voice out there from where you are, there will be people who will be moved. Ultimately, people are moved when you move them emotionally, and I think that’s the role of art. I don’t think that belief has changed.
Further Information
Frieze Seoul, COEX, 3 – 6 September 2025.
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Frieze Seoul is supported by Headline Partner LG OLED, in a collaboration that merges the worlds of art and technology, and Global Lead Partner Deutsche Bank, continuing over two decades of shared commitment to artistic excellence.
Main Image: Choi Haneyl’s studio. Courtesy: the artist
