Sammy Seung-min Lee

A Collaborator Connecting Two Worlds

Mar 22. 2025

*Translator & English Editor. Jiseon Park

It was a scorching day. I was working as an assistant in a STEAM education program. One afternoon, the head instructor suggested I meet an old friend. Following his recommendation, I made my way to an exhibition hall near Hapjeong Stationt. That was where I first encountered the artist Sammy Seung-min Lee, who was displaying a unique piece—the “Book.”

The “Book” were captivating in many aspects. Crafted from Korean paper by a Korean-American artist, they resembled small architectural models. Each book opened with an unconventional structure, revealing the personal narrative of the artist. They reflected Lee’s experiences as an immigrant and a mother. She graciously shared stories of her life in the United States, explaining how her journey had shaped her art.

Living in the U.S., Lee uses traditional Korean paper made by master craftsmen to transform her personal stories into a universal experience. Beyond her art, she also manages a residency, dedicated to introducing Asian art to American audiences. Though we shortly met, I discovered that we shared a common love for Euljiro as artists, and soon I became the Eulji-ro branch of her ‘Denver project’

Since then, Lee has frequently visited Euljiro with her colleagues from diverse cultural backgrounds. Her efforts to communicate with different worlds and harmonize different perspectives and virtues has been remarkable. She is capable of seeing the world with not just one, but with multiple sets of eyes. After a year living in Korea, Lee recently had her solo exhibition. Lets get into the story of Sammy Seung-min Lee, the artist that continues to define herself as a collaborator and bridges two worlds with respect and affection.

Table of Contents

Story of Sammy Seung-min Lee

Artwork

Artist’s Space

Looking at tomorrow

Sammy Seung-min Lee, 2024 © studio visit Chae-Ryeong Jeong

Sammy Seung-min Lee’s Story

Please introduce yourself to our readers.

My name is Sammy Seung-min Lee. I was born and raised in Korea as Lee Seung-min. Now I go by Sammy Seung-min Lee. I am an artist, educator, curator, and residency operator based in Denver, Colorado. I identify as an Asian minority, a woman, a mother, and an artist, and I engage in policy-making and various creative fields.

I moved to the U.S. to study when I was in high school - 32 years ago. In 2023, I was selected as a Fulbright U.S. Scholar and returned to Korea for one year. I stayed near my middle and high school and worked in Euljiro. My recent solo exhibition "Moonlight in Colorado" at The Store Namsan depicts my year in Euljiro.

Pictures of Moonlight in Colorado exhibition, The Store Namsan, 2024

Moving to the USA must have been a big turning point in your life. How did you come to this decision?

When I was a freshman in high school, I asked my mom if I could study abroad. I’m not sure where that came from, but it was likely a culmination of many thoughts.

One pivotal moment was during a middle school art class when I was drawing a plaster bust of Agrippa. My teacher remarked, “You’ve portrayed the form well, but do you know who Agrippa was?” I admitted I didn’t. She said that my lines were two soft and gentle for a Roman general and wrote the Chinese character “力” (meaning “force”) on my paper. I wondered why a hollow plaster statue under fluorescent light needed to embody such strength. This lesson made me go beyond reproducing images and reflect on what lays beneath the surface.

Immigrants and international students have different mindsets. Studying abroad means you have a home to return to, while immigrating means burning bridges. Initially, I was content living in America, knowing I had a home in Korea. But over time, I leaned towards staying permanently and my perspective shifted. I’m now grateful to understand and empathize with the immigrant experience.

Even those who have been born and raised in a country all their lives can feel like it's not really home. In large cities like Seoul, it is common for some residents to feel like strangers in their own country. In the United States, many people are descendants of immigrants, but their experiences, ways of adapting, and views of life are different.

In my case, I experienced the loss of a place to which I could return. This journey taught me the profound value of empathy - of people from different backgrounds understanding and supporting each other.

What was your experience returning to Korea after 32 years? Staying in a house near your old school must have been very stimulating—seeing the same familiar scenery after so many years.

I'm someone who finds meaning in small coincidences. Interestingly, I left Korea for the U.S. on August 1 and returned exactly 32 years later on the same date. It felt as though time had seamlessly connected across those three decades. On the way back, since Denver is about 15 hours behind, I imagined that when I left Korea and arrived in Denver, time would continue as if nothing had happened—as if my time in Seoul had been a vivid dream.

Leaving as a high school student and returning as a fully grown adult, I found myself revisiting the places I knew as a teenager. Walking past my old school, it felt as if time had frozen right before I left for America, waiting for me to return and continue where I had left off. The emotions I experienced as a student seemed to come back to life, blurring the line between past and present.

Living in Korea for a year was incredibly fulfilling. I happened to find a house near my old highschool, and I often see students who remind me of my younger self. I also see the parents of similar age with me.

Moving in with my mother again after such a long time was an interesting experience. She still saw me as the 16-year-old daughter who had left home, while she remained the 44-year-old adult in her mind. There was this strange dynamic—perhaps you could call it a bit of a clash? Something like that. It made me realize that we needed to address a relationship that had been left unresolved for 32 years. Together, we began untangling those decades of old feelings and gradually worked through them, finding a new understanding.

Seoul has changed dramatically, but Guui-dong, my old neighborhood, remains much the same. This sense of continuity, now lost in renovated areas, allowed me to reflect deeply. When I return to the U.S., I know these experiences will continue to influence my work.

The time and place make you feel as if you were destined to return to Korea. It's as if life itself invited you to come back.

I suppose that’s what life is like. If you keep looking into it, observing it, and assigning meaning, it all unfolds like a movie. Haha.

You seem to place great value on relationships. Given your extensive connections with people from diverse backgrounds, do you have any insights or key principles for building meaningful relationships?

I always strive to build meaningful connections. Even if someone has helped me so much that I cannot repay them, I try my best to give back in some way. You don’t fully realize the impact of helping others until you experience that genuine sense of fulfillment afterward. Time is precious, and dedicating it to others is never insignificant. I’m grateful to be surrounded by people with whom I genuinely want to share my time. I believe those relationships form the foundation for fulfilling and creative work.

I think relationships are the foundation of what we do as artists. Art tends to flourish when we get together with others and feel happy for them. And your artwork in Euljiro this year is on the same page, the life of sharing and growing.

My time at Euljiro has been the highlight of my life in Seoul. Everything I was able to accomplish there was possible because I was surrounded by people who truly understood the value of sharing what they had with others. If I had simply rented a room and an exhibition hall in Euljiro, I would have been a small fish in a small pond. Their kindness opened up countless possibilities.

I believe that the ability to maintain generous relationships with one another creates a environment that makes everything richer and more meaningful. For that, I am deeply grateful. When the time comes, I plan to give back and continue that cycle of generosity.

The Artist’s Work

Your work starts and ends with a personal story. How do you feel about sharing such narratives?

I have mixed feelings about it. On one hand, I feel vulnerable when sharing intimate stories. After all, it’s my private life, so I approach it carefully and sometimes with a sense of embarrassment. But because I depict these personal emotions, people can resonate with the work and connect it to their own experiences.

On the other hand, I feel the need to explore themes beyond just my own stories—something bigger and more abstract. My works often feel like essays, and maybe they need to become more poetic and expansive. Since I don’t yet know how I’ll grow in my journey, I plan to simply keep going. These two thoughts coexist within me.

I want to stay true to my life and work. That’s why I share stories I know well. Focusing on my personal narrative allows me to examine and present it from various angles. As I grow, I believe these stories will naturally expand.

I know that my personal story isn’t unique, which makes it universally acceptable. You see, I don’t share it because it’s extraordinary, but rather because it’s mine.

Your works, such as Mammorial (a book about breastfeeding) and Street Art Cart (a artpiece in form of a cart, created in Eulji-ro) seem to reflect your true self. They also provide comfort to others by sharing experiences in a language they can understand.

In the back of my mind, there’s always a desire to create something visually extraordinary—almost like a magic trick. Perhaps, as I refine my skills, I’ll be able to achieve that, but for now, my process is more hands-on and intimate. It’s about caressing and stroking the work. At this moment, I find joy in this approach, both in providing and receiving comfort.

Living as a minority in the U.S. naturally leads to looking out for other minorities. One of my past exhibitions, <Shelterated, Arrived>, explored the concept of human dignity within a confined 150-square-foot space. The theme of space continues throughout my work. In my longstanding practice of artist books, I strive to explore the meaning of space. <Street Art Cart> was an attempt to create the smallest possible space where an individual could sustain their livelihood. I even made it portable, fitting into a single bag. This is an ongoing project, expanding in the same context.

The way you describe your process—caressing and stroking your work—captures its essence well. I’ve watched you create your work before. Initially, I thought you were simply casting aluminum and rubbing it with graphite, but looking back, it was more about caressing, understanding, and polishing the burdens and stories that have accumulated within you. You seemed genuinely happy creating your work.

I am happy. I try to maintain a positive relationship with my work because the process itself is demanding. It’s physically exhausting, and the goals in my mind dont always come out beautifully. If I weren’t content with the process, I wouldn’t be able to sustain it. Establishing a relationship between myself, my work, and the audience is not entirely within my control, but I believe seeking happiness and joy allows my practice to keep going.

I see a respectful relationship between you, your work, and others, growing and thriving together, from your work.

Mammorial_view II, Edition of 15, 2017 © studiosmlk

Looking at your body of work, there’s a recurring theme, yet your pieces take on various forms. Was there a defining moment in your artistic journey—perhaps during your time at art school—that marked a turning point?

A pivotal moment occurred during my first year of college in the U.S. In a painting class, my professor took my brush and instructed me to use my left hand instead of my dominant right. I was shocked. Back in Korea, I had rigorously trained to get into artschool since the fifth grade. My approach had been deeply rooted in technical skill, and I lacked a conceptual foundation. That moment forced me to reassess everything. It ended my focus on representational art. Letting go of that familiar mode of expression was both liberating and challenging.

Including the two professors I mentioned above, I was fortunate to have exceptional mentors, whose guidance continues to influence me today.

The role of mentors seems to have been crucial in shaping your artistic evolution.

Your journey of establishing relationships, personal growth, and using those experiences as the foundation of your art feels like a process of creative maturity. Is there a particular project that best represents your artistic approach?

My work doesn’t exist in isolation—it evolves in series. Right now, I’m considering whether to finish <Very Proper Table Setting>. This project enables me to work from any corner of the world using a cart I built in Euljiro.

When I set up the cart, people naturally approach me, often assuming I’m a street vendor selling food. They take me as an immigrant women selling hot dogs or bungeoppang from a cart. As an introvert, I find this prejudice, drawing passer-bys very helpful. People come expecting food but end up engaging with the art. They make their own version of table setting, sharing their precious stories. I’m trying to weave these invaluable narratives into my work. It is incredibly rewarding to exchange stories and transform them into art, offering them back in a new and creative form.

At the table, there is Korean tableware. Participants share their experiences and cultural histories with it, while I listen and emphathize with them. One time, a Cuban immigrant shared her lunch she used to have with her grandmother. She blended her personal and cultural histories into the tableware. Each plate and cutlery have designated uses, but I encourage participants to reinterpret them—for instance, I tell them this plate is meant for salted fish but you can put anything you’d like. This small yet sincere exchange fosters genuine connection.

As an artist, my role is to present these stories through my work. I’m contemplating on how to display them meaningfully. Whenever I reach a creative block, I take a break, explore other projects, and continue researching. Those researches add up over time, creating new pieces, including artist books. I guess my work are all interconnected.

It’s fascinating how your projects associate with each other and evolve. I first encountered your《Very Proper Table Setting》when you were building the cart, and I look forward to see its completion.

Very Proper Table Setting - traveling pop-up art experiments, Summer 2022 © studiosmlk

During your recent time in Korea, was your work connected to this project?

My original proposal to Fulbright was to expand on the Table Setting project. But in the end, my exhibition‘Moonlight in Colorado’ deviated from Table Setting. I’ve concluded that I could stick on ‘Moonlight in Colorado’ for now and take Table Setting to the States. Fortunately, Fulbright allowed change in my proposal.

This exhibition focused on identity. When I mentioned moving to Colorado, my mother, who had never been there, recalled the song Moonlight in Colorado (1971) by Korean singer Eunhee. To her, Colorado represented a picturesque dreamscape. I later discovered that many Koreans who had never visited Colorado also had similar sentiments, which was very interesting. I had spent 16 years missing my hometown Seoul, while people back Korea romanticized my home in Colorado. I wanted to explore these unique cultural perceptions and cultural connections based on location

Naming also played a role in my identity journey. In the U.S., I got a new name ‘Sammy’ because ‘Seung-min’ was difficult for English speakers. Then when I returned to Korea I noticed that people here, especially government offices struggled with my name ‘Sammy Lee. They often called me ‘Lee Sammi.’ This made me think again about people existing in between two worlds and their identity.

Sometimes, when I read the works of Asian or immigrant American writers in the United States, It feels like I am reading my own. The concerns surrounding minority identity are often similar and it can be really exhausting. The United States is a country where people of color constantly feel themselves as minorities because whitepeople have designed a system to maintain their dominance. You can try to ignore this reality, but deep down remains an desire to break through these suppression and strive for freedom. I constantly feel a sense of frustration and anger. It is kind of sad, but inspires my work as well.

As a minority, stepping into an unwelcoming space forces me to confront my own limitations. However, it also presents an opportunity to recognize what I can still contribute to the community and how I can grow. In many ways, this challenge is inspiring and even enjoyable, despite the frustrations. The overlap between the difficulties and the efforts to resolve them creates a dynamic tension that drives my creativity.

Like you said, a work born from an individual's personal narrative does not remain solely personal; rather, it reveals a broader aspect of our collective experiences.

Pictures of Moonlight in Colorado exhibition, the ideal view of Colorado generated by AI, 2024

How did you come into contact with The Store Namsan, where the exhibition was held?

Connection with the exhibition space was an incredible experience. It all happened through a series of coincidences. I thank artist Kyung-geun Park for providing me with a space he manages together with artist Hyun-sun Kang.

I initially met Kyung-geun Park while visiting another artist’s exhibition. During our conversation, we discovered that we shared a mutual acquaintance—a professor who was staying in Seoul through a Fulbright program, just like me. To my surprise, I also learned that Kyung-geun Park, the professor, and I were alumni. While I was thinking about how wonderful the space was, he suggested an exhibition opportunity. Without hesitation, I accepted.

I used to enjoy making meticulous plans, but now I find even more joy in seeing how those plans get out of plan. It has never been about achieving a specific outcome. Whether things go well or poorly doesn’t really matter in the end—it’s the process that fascinates me.

Work as an director

In addition to your personal projects, you’re involved with the Denver Art Museum, run a residency space, and engage in numerous other fields. What drives you to take on so much?

I’m not in the best environment to create artwork. Denver isn’t traditionally seen as an art hub like New York or Santa Fe in New Mexico; it also lacks cultural diversity, which I took for granted in large cities like Boston or L.A. But that’s precisely why I work so hard. There’s no one but me to foster art scenes and diversity in Denver.

In Denver, only 5% of the population being Asian, it is hard to find Koreans. That’s why I could represent my people, joining the museum’s Asian art board. In the United States, the role of agencies are emphasized, and by being there, I was able to discuss with people and see the museum change as a result.

For the residency, I also wanted to create a stepping stone for international artists coming to Denver, connecting them with local networks and providing insight into contemporary American art. While it may not be a direct path to a solo exhibition in New York, it’s a meaningful step in navigating in the modern art scene of America.

CAARP residency © collectivesmlk

I believe there are people in Euljiro, Korea, who welcome you back because of your efforts to help others and foster meaningful relationships in Denver, United States.

This time, you worked at Yoho Seoul. It is said that In-hyuk Yeo, the space’s operator, has never before assigned Yoho Seoul to be used as another artist’s studio. I don’t think this would have happened without your coming to Seoul.

It is truly an honor to be the first artist to use the space. I believe In-hyuk Yeo also enjoys exploring different uses for the space. Both he and I have played the role of mediator, and we worked well together because we understood what to be careful about and how to manage the process.

While there are many artists, I believe it’s important to think beyond individual interests and expand the pie. Those who control access to opportunities often establish rigid structures, but I believe we can approach the problem differently. When there are alternatives it would open the door for greater diversity and even those in positions of power will take notice. I don’t believe artists should feel pressured to conform to existing frameworks. If you believe in your work, you should not force yourself into a mold that doesn’t fit. The artistic journey is not easy, so you should surround yourself with good people enjoy the way, to continue for the long run.

I agree with your thought. When artists focus too much on their own small pie, they turn mean in their relationships with others, leading to a lack of diversity. Like you said, artists are meant to bring diverse perspectives and embrace variety. I think a healthier approach is to cultivate an environment that fosters understanding, empathy, support, and encouragement.

It seems that you place great value on building connections and supporting others. Have there been any recent experiences as a connector/mediator?

One of the initiatives I worked on through Fulbright program in Korea was an exchange project. We held an exhibition with graduate students from Chung-Ang university and Metro State University in Denver, where I was teaching. I didn’t want the art exchange to swap some art pieces and exhibit them; rather, I wanted the artists to engage in exchange process, discovering connections and insights.

One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned from navigating life between two cultures is that, even in difficult situations, a single individual who understands your perspective can break down misunderstandings and build great relationships.

It’s natural for people to distrust or resent those who belong to different groups, particularly when their perspectives are limited to a singular environment. I often feel like a bat, moving between two worlds. Of course, this position can lead to misunderstandings from both sides, but I believe in the importance of making friends and creating opportunities to understand differences.

Through Zoom, I encouraged participants to present and discuss their work. I only touched the overall structure and left the details to the student curators. The students themselves determined the themes and direction of the exhibition through communication. It was a delight to witness friendships form between U.S. and Korean students.

I have been thinking about the effect of relationships and communication because of my time in Denver. Living there gave me the opportunity to reflect on various shortcomings, and I sought ways to address them. If I had stayed in the culturally abundant L.A., I likely wouldn’t have taken on this intermediary role. In some ways, I am grateful that my move to Denver pushed me to engage more deeply with these issues.

Balancing between directing exhibitions, creating art, raising children must be incredibly challenging. Beyond relationships, what drives you to continue all these work?

One of my key projects was counterART counter art. I wished I was present in Korea in certain historical moments. This project emerged from those moments.

After Trump was elected in 2016, I watched the candlelight protests in Korea from afar. It really inspired me. As an artist, I began to question my role. When my time comes, will I have left anything behind other than a pile of discarded works? What can art actually do? I wanted to explore these questions by bringing together artists whose work embodied the concept of resistance. Some engaged in direct activism through their art, while others absorbed and processed social issues over time, expressing their thoughts through long-term projects. My goal was to gather a diverse range of perspectives on resistance—whether as subtle as a worm wriggling or as intense as hurling a stone.

At the RedLine Contemporary Art Center, where the exhibition was held, there was this delivery man who often came to drop off packages; I did not know where he was from or what he did back home, but he was Asian. One day, after taking a closer look at Counter Art, he approached the front desk and said, "Thank you. I see myself in it."

The history of Asian immigrants in the U.S. is deeply tied to political and economic displacement, with many arriving under difficult circumstances. I don’t know his personal story, but I believe that moment allowed him to connect with something in the exhibition. Hearing such feedback fuels me. Organizing exhibitions can be exhausting, but moments like this restore my energy and remind me why I do this work.

The artist’s space

You’ve spent a year in Korea, living in your hometown and working in Euljiro. How has this experience impacted you? Are there any memorable moments?

First and foremost, I was grateful for the opportunity to step away from my routine life in the U.S. Leaving one’s daily environment is an invaluable experience—that’s why people travel. But unlike a short trip, spending a full year in Korea allowed me to establish a daily rhythm: shopping for groceries, paying bills, visiting the hospital, picking up my children from school, and working. I began to think, maybe life is similar around the world.

My year spent in Korea was very different from what I romanticized int the states; but experiencing all four seasons and building a life here was fulfilling. It would have been disappointing if I hadn’t created meaningful work from this experience.

Euljiro means special to artists. It’s an artist’s dream to work in a place where you can build a full-scale project with just a paintbrush. I was fortunate to live that dream and explore new possibilities. Everything I needed—studios, inns, bathhouses, cafés, and restaurants—was within a five-minute walk of Euljiro 4-ga Station. If I had been alone, I could have spent days there without even crossing the street.

Being in that environment 24/7 was an entirely different experience from simply visiting for work. Seeing Euljiro change is hard; thinking this might be my last opportunity to do so in Euljiro just breaks my heart.

Nevertheless, I take pride in being able to say, “Yes, I have worked in Euljiro.” That experience is now a part of my journey. I formed deep connections, met incredible people, and built lasting friendships. It feels like I’ve gone from admiring a celebrity from faraway to actually dating one. I am truely in love with Euljiro.

I hope I could visit Denver with the artists of Euljiro.

Anytime! You’re always welcome. Whenever I propose an exhibition in Denver or discuss funding with external partners, they often ask, “Why Denver?” It’s an important question. I have to keep ask myself and find meanings for this non-mainstream scene. It would be a great experience to try out projects together here.

Looking at Tomorrow

Finally, what are your upcoming plans?

I’ll be returning to Denver soon. Once I’m back, I’ll unpack all the experiences I’ve gathered in Korea, gradually integrating them into new works. Even as I return, I believe we will continue to stay connected, collaborating and growing together. Let’s meet again in Denver.

A Collaborator Connecting Two Worlds

Sammy Seung-min Lee seems to exist between both worlds without fully shifting weight to either side. That "world" could be a culture, a part of society, a person, or even a part of herself. Although she positions herself in the middle, she is not a passive observer but rather an active participant.

What stands out is that, unlike others who may reject or favor one side, Sammy seems to engage both worlds with genuine affection, opening up opportunities for mutual understanding and growth through solidarity. The way she paved would benefit others to play their part in the art world. I appreciate her for enduring the pressures from both sides and for maintaining that challenging position with all her heart.

I believe her perspective towards artwork as an artist, her ability to weave and connect people as a director, and herefforts to create positive social change are gradually making meaningful impacts in different aspects of the world. I look forward to seeing what emerges from these ongoing efforts. Thank you for sharing your story with me.