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Dylan Hyun

KEY WORDS

photography, art, people, artist, book, feel, honestly, photographs, photo, thinking, practicing, fun, person, Korean, creative outlet, workshop, dad, friends, world, love

Dylan Hyun is a New York based Korean-Greek American photographer. He spends his weekdays as a user interface developer / designer, sitting at the intersection of creativity and technology. Through his work, he captures his friends, family, culture, and environment, searching for his place in each of them.

I'd love to start our conversation from where we met, Miwa Susuda's workshop at Penumbra Foundation in New York. What brought you to that workshop?

Yeah, I decided to take this class called, what was it, Seven Secrets to Photobook Success, and it was by Miwa Susuda. I decided to take it because I knew Miwa beforehand. I met Miwa a few times at Dashwood Books. We were becoming friends or acquaintances; we knew each other. I mean, honestly, I hadn't taken a class in so long because I'd been out of college for, like, three years at that point. I wanted to do something, to learn a bit more. It also seemed like the right opportunity to take a class by someone who I knew about something that I wanted to know more about. I felt nervous about it a lot. I was worried, you know, I was like, oh, I'd never taken an art class before at a legit foundation by someone so respected in the photography community. Here I am just this, you know, software developer dude, who doesn't, you know, know anything about photography, really. But I was like, alright, I'm never probably gonna get an opportunity like this again, to take this class and learn these things. You know, it might be something that I learn about, and I shelve for the rest of my life or for years and then don't come back to, but at least it'll be something I'll know. This distant part of my brain was like, if I ever decided I wanted to make a photo book or pursue something like that, at least I would have the tools at my disposal to do something like that and learn that way. That's why I decided to ultimately take the class, and that's where I happened to be lucky enough to pick the seat next to where you were sitting, and lucky enough that we struck up a conversation, and even more grateful and lucky that we've stayed in touch this entire time, which is amazing. Yeah, I kind of rambled there.

No, no, that was perfect. And obviously, the gratitude is so shared. The description of the workshop at the end, where it said that we would all be presenting work, was enough to make me not sign up.

I didn't know that! I didn't know that when I signed up. And then I saw that, and I was like, oh, man. Honestly, that was the most stressful part. That's why, as you know, I didn't do it. I didn't want to get up there and present. Also, I didn't have a project going into it; I didn't have a project I was taking the class for so I didn't really have anything to present. I wanted to avoid getting up in front of all these artist people and then present, you know, this the one idea I'd come up with, like the week before. Yeah, that was a fun time. Then I saw you go do it, and I was like, wow, yeah. It made me want to do it even less, like, shit, I can't compare to that.

Oh, my gosh, I was shaking. Literally shaking, but -

I saw not one shake. I want that noted.

I think I was like, I can't come all the way to New York for this one workshop and not dive in. So, nerve-wracking but worth it. What I loved about Miwa and the way she ran that workshop too, and her story is that she was a paralegal and then used all her savings to start her publishing company, which, like, I don't know, I think people have this idea of what a person in the arts is and Dashwood Books and where she's situated in this art world. Then meeting her in person, you're like, oh my gosh, you just worked so hard to get where you are. And she also is led by such genuine interest in people and the meaning behind work. That is the biggest invitation to everyday people like you and me to share our work.

I can easily say that if I hadn't met Miwa, I wouldn't be doing anything in this space that I'm doing right now. Obviously, I wouldn't be here talking to you or even considering trying to do a project or something more formally like that. When I first met Miwa, I heard about Dashwood Books in a YouTube video or, I don't know, somewhere. I was like, oh, it's the premiere photo bookstore in all of New York. It almost seemed like one of those kind of cult-like, you know. Being someone who's not from New York, when I moved here, I was like, wow, this is such an incredible space and seemed like one of those places that didn't seem real. So when I went there, I was just like, okay, I'll go in and browse through the books and enjoy myself, live it up with the, you know, the art world elites, and then leave. And one of the first times I went there, Miwa just struck up a conversation with me. I don't even think we discussed art; we discussed, you know, what I did and why I was there. I remember she told me I would have a great voice for a podcast. So, living that dream. But then I kept going back because it was a fun thing to do on the weekends to engage in that space. Yeah, like you said, you can sometimes have an image of what you feel the art world is like, and I definitely think I had that image as something I didn't belong in. Miwa would treat the best photographers in New York coming in there the same way she would treat me, or if I brought in my family, my parents or whatever, she'd treat anyone the same way. She's so open to letting anyone find what they want to do and what they want to be in. I think the workshop emulated that too. She was there to support anyone, regardless of where they were at in their projects, what they'd accomplished, and why they were taking the class. You know, that's why she was one of those great connections that I think I had. I'm sorry, that just turned into a Miwa love story.

This episode is dedicated to Miwa. Yeah, I think that also says something about a sentiment close to my heart. I see this in Miwa and how she treats everybody, how, I don't know, I'm sure she could find a book for anybody in Dashwood, and photo books or art books are not just for one type of person. I love finding other people who see creativity in everybody and don't think it's something above anybody, you know? It's like trying to get people to practice that creativity and feel welcomed to practice that and that their opinion or tastes matter; whatever it is, it's true to you. I'm curious about where photography started to come into your life. It is so interesting that you signed up for this workshop not considering yourself a practicing artist or that you couldn't imagine making a book.

I mean, even hearing the phrase, practicing artist sounds really weird, connected to me. I think you used a great phrase in terms of creative outlets; I think any person can be creative. For a long time, that's what photography has been to me; it's been a creative outlet that I can use. I've been photographing since I was in middle school, and like, doing it with a stupid little Nikon Coolpix or my iPhone for all of college and high school. It was not something I considered, like "making art" or something. It was just like, oh yeah, I'm gonna go for a walk, or I'm gonna go on a family trip, and I'm gonna take photos the entire time, you know? It was a way to get out that creative bug; it felt like I was making something. I did that for a long time. As I've gotten older, I've put more, I don't want to say effort, but I've thought about it more thoroughly and it's something I've always continued to do, because it's always given me that way to express the feeling of making something out of nothing that you don't really get when you're just working in a job all day. It gives you a way to express something. When I don't know what I'm trying to express or I don't know what I want to say, I'm probably, you know, a lot of times I feel like I'm just doing it for my own sanity. I think that's why I fell in love with photography, too; it's so accessible in the sense that anyone can do it. Anyone can pull up their iPhone and take a picture. Obviously, there's more to it than that, but it was something I could grow into. I don't know; I guess it's like an old friend at this point.

I love so many things that you just said. I love the term 'making photographs.' Even that term is very niche to people who practice it as an art. The way you speak about taking photographs and how it is exploratory, I think that is at the heart and soul of an artist. It's like, you don't know what you're searching for, but you're using whatever mediums you can find to get closer to some truth, in whatever that means at that moment for you. That's why it'll be a part of you forever. It's like, breathing.

And then, on the flip side of it, the difference between making photographs and taking pictures. Sometimes what I'll do is I'll downplay what I do in a lot of ways. When I was doing my notes for this, what I thought about is that a lot of times, I feel like I'm the dad making the scrapbook. I'm taking the family photos for the album in the sense of, like, it's not anything showstopper worthy. It's just what I do; it's just something fun. I think in the same sense, I downplay my skills, if you want to call it that, or what I'm making, that it almost feels, you know, unimportant.

Do you think you do that because it's really vulnerable? Or is it a combination of things? I know this has come up for me too, comparing yourself with other people doing the same thing, or when you're doing something that's just so close to you and then exposing it.

I think it's a couple things. Yeah, it's always hard to be vulnerable, no matter if it's an art or anything else. So, definitely. Even going back to the workshop, it was very hard to be vulnerable with getting in front of the class and presenting. I know I shared my idea with you, but you were the only person I shared it with. I didn't tell anyone else about it. Just because, if it came up in our conversation, you made me feel confident to share it. But it's really hard to be vulnerable and put yourself out there, especially when it's things are so personal. Any art you make is going to be personal in some way. This was something that Miwa and I were talking about a while ago. The best work you do is always a reflection of yourself; that's what makes it so hard to put it out there. I think what compounds it for me is that on top of that initial vulnerability, it's feeling like you're in a space where you don't quite feel comfortable, or, you know, an art world space or something like that, where you're not used to being. That makes it equally difficult to try and feel confident enough to trust yourself. I don't think that's just the problem with art. That's probably a problem I have with a lot of things going on, feeling enough to trust yourself, to put yourself out there for things, but you know, it's something you can work on.

Yeah. Yeah, that piece on art, being a reflection of yourself, is so true. It's come up in other interviews, and I brought this quote up. But it was, “you don't develop a sense of style; you develop a sense of self.” And as you develop and work on yourself, your art will ultimately reflect that instead of trying to curate some specific style. And that separates a lot of artists as we evolve. Doing the work on yourself is the work, you know, and-

That's gonna be something I think about for next week.

It's a good one.

“I love finding other people who see creativity in everybody and don't think it's something above anybody, you know? It's like trying to get people to practice that creativity and feel welcomed to practice that and that their opinion or tastes matter; whatever it is, it's true to you.”

– KT

Well, I'm just thinking, right? One of the things with photography you always hear about is you need to develop your style, or you need to have a style, or what's your style, and I look at my stuff, and I don't know,

It's so interesting, though, because I see your work, and think, that's so Dylan.

Really?

I think it's there. I find this so interesting about people in general, how it's so hard for us to see ourselves, and your close relationships and friendships around you sometimes see you clearer in ways. So seeing your work, I see you in it, and of course, it will evolve; we are always evolving, but it's like, your friends love you, and I guess in our own practice, that's what we're trying to learn ourselves. *laughs* This is becoming so deep. But truly, once we start loving ourselves more, I think we start seeing ourselves in our work more.

Alright, this isn't even about art anymore because now I'm just thinking, I've always been better at seeing the value in other people than in myself. I remember when I started my job. You know, it was my first time in an environment with real adults. I was like, damn, I admire so many things about all these people. And I remember I wrote it down in a list, like, do this like this person or do this like, I didn't you know, obviously I didn't trust myself to follow any of it but,

“Here I am just this, you know, software developer dude, who doesn't, you know, know anything about photography, really.”

– Dylan Hyun

That's so interesting you had a list.

Yeah, but a list that I have since not followed, but…

I think it speaks to your observation and what you notice. I think that's like a very specific photographer-

Do you think that's photography-?

Well, you're a noticer; you're an observer. It could be an artist thing.

You might be on to something there. If I'm thinking about what photography pieces I enjoy the most, it's almost like discovering that hidden thing. Like when you get a glimpse into someone else's world, or you can portray a scene in a way that adds meaning. That's always been what I've enjoyed the most, discovering those little things or showing how I see something. Observing. So yeah, maybe that's what photography's helped me with. It gives you a direct way to practice that. You can observe things about your friends and appreciate and love things about the people around you, but there's no, you're not writing letters to them that often.

And this is, I think, a really hard restriction we put on ourselves. Words can only say so much, and I remember there's one haunting quote from this piece of writing by Annie Dillard. It was, “All those things for which we have no words are lost.” And that's heartbreaking in a way; but they also don’t have to be lost. When we explore other mediums like photos, song, dance, and movement, there might be things that can't be captured in words, and that's okay. I think that's why creativity in everyone is so important. There are things that we won't have words for sometimes. And if you don't have any mode of expression, it's not even if they're lost; it's like they're trapped, you know, inside of you somewhere. And then, where did those thoughts go? And where did they settle?

Yeah, I mean, I was about to say creativity is a muscle, and you have to keep training it. Creativity is such a universal idea. It's not like you have to be an artist to be creative, or you have to be photographing to be creative. I think this is how photography has helped me even in my job, and this doesn't just have to do with photography, but being creative in some way, some way to flex that muscle, to express those words that you have trapped inside you can't say. You can bring it into other aspects of your life too, and it helps you to think through things, to be more open in the relationships you have with people, to be more open to solving problems at your job in different ways, to try things out, to understand how things work. I mean, I think it's an important skill to use or a way to express yourself.

Yeah, yeah. It's like, again, those things that we're told over and over in jobs, relationships, personal relationships and family relationships. It feels counterproductive to focus on yourself, but that's the key to things working out better in all those situations. When you said you're more open with others when you practice being creative- when you practice creativity, it kind of seeps through to every other aspect of your life. This is cool, and I think those other benefits sometimes lose their credit.

Yeah, yeah. Well, now I'm thinking about it, too; when I say being more open, it's a way to better understand other people. Then at the same time, it loops back; you have to try and focus on yourself at some point. You can do that, too. You know, because, like you were saying, it helps you better understand who you are.

Totally. And to loop everything you just said together, when we better understand ourselves, we understand how complex and contradictory we are sometimes. And like, if we love ourselves enough to accept those complexities in ourselves, then we all of a sudden are like, oh, it's okay that a person changed their mind, or it's okay that a person is different than me because I understand that I can be different some days or whatever it is, like your tolerance, kind of, I think builds, obviously, within reason.

Yeah. Being creative almost shatters whatever walls have been built up through life. You know, I think if you work a job, like I do 9 to 5, or you go through all the things you have to deal with during the day, you'll end up at a point where it's easy to fall into patterns, it's easy to fall into loops, it's easy to fall into not being as open-minded, or thinking as open about things. You sometimes need something to break the ice, to crack you open, to change what's happening. Whatever creative outlet you choose, that's a good way to escape, to not fall into the patterns of how things happen.

“It doesn't matter what parts of your life you have going on; you don't have to fit into a mould. You can be a developer who photographs or a poet who works on designing parks like it doesn't, you know, there's no difference.”

– Dylan Hyun

I forgot I was going to say this to your previous point, but I think it's so beautiful when that's enough. It's not making art so that you can show it in a gallery, that's awesome to strive towards as well, but I think that just doing it for yourself and giving it to yourself to be more open and explore parts of yourself that you otherwise maybe wouldn't, that's just a strong enough reason to explore art. It doesn't have to be to become some big artist.

Yeah, yeah. When I did the notes for this, I was like, alright, why? It honestly took me a second. I was like, why? Why have you done photography? Like, I don't know. I don't know why I've done it. It just kind of happened. Looking back, you know, I never did it to achieve anything out of it in terms of getting somewhere with it, doing something, having my work shown in a gallery or anything like that. It was always, I don't want to say, a habit, but like a habit, it's just something to do. If it hadn't been for, now I've been pushed on this path that you want me to go on and other people too, you know, to do more and explore this deeper and try new things, and I'm finding a lot of love in that process as well, but there's definitely a timeline out there where this is just something I did, and no one ever knew about. I would have been okay with that. But now I'm at the point where it's this interesting transition where I'm like, okay, it may be time to try something. Maybe I need that motivation to go further, but if you're looking at why I've done photography, it was never to achieve anything. It was a way to make sense of the world.

This is a good place to jump into one of the questions. Who do you bring forward with you in your life and work? Who lives on through your work?

This is an interesting one. So, as I've said, I don't really know why I started doing photography. I don't know why I've kept it up for this long. I do know why, but when I was trying to think about this, it was an interesting question that I hadn't considered that much. Like, who lives on through your work? One part of this is that my family has a history of artists on either side. My mom and dad are graphic designers; they went to art school and did all that. My dad's father, my grandpa, was also an artist who did sculpture; he had some shows at the Whitney or the Guggenheim, supporting work there. That history brought a culture in my family of being open to creativity or art. My parents had me painting styrofoam balls and stuff as a kid. I had like a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, just like styrofoam, fancy scissors and construction paper and things like that. So that history of my dad's dad, and my dad's mom was also an artist as well, I don't want to leave that out, they supported him doing his art, and then he and my mom supported me. It's almost a generational thing, that level of support for doing art. There are definitely artists out there where their parents may not have been the most supportive or other things like that. But I've always felt that mine gave me a desire to express my creativity and explore those things. And my parents themselves were doing those sorts of things. So, in terms of what comes through my work, I would hope that you know, in some way, the way I was brought up comes out through it.

“As I've gotten older, I've put more, I don't want to say effort, but I've thought about it more thoroughly and it's something I've always continued to do, because it's always given me that way to express the feeling of making something out of nothing that you don't really get when you're just working in a job all day.” 

– Dylan Hyun

That's so special, that lineage of artists. I feel like it's rare.

Yeah, it's really weird, too. Growing up, I was like, I don't want to do it. I have friends whose dads are a lawyer or something, and then they're like, oh, I want to be a lawyer. And I'm like, ah, that's so boring, but here I am. I guess it's kind of the same, you know. It's definitely interesting in the way that it's happened. I felt like I was the one breaking the cycle. My mom and dad are artists, and then I am going to school for computer science and business and making websites because that's what I've been good at in school. I've always been good at those sorts of things, so it felt like what I should do. At the same time, I felt like I was breaking the cycle a little bit. Photography has always been a nice way to feel connected to it. And then, even in my job, when I was in school, I also studied user experience design, and in my career, I strive to not just have the technical side of things but bring creativity into it. I love that combination of knowing how to make websites, but also, the part of it I enjoy is the UX side where it's like, oh, well, how do you create a good experience? How do you think through this in a way that will help people? I like seeing the ways in which that manifests itself.

Yeah, you describing that reminded me of the way you were describing making a photo or finding meaning in things. How you just described the UX component makes a lot of meaning, interaction, and humaneness.

Yeah, I think that's why I felt pressured; I didn't feel pressured; I put the pressure on myself. I was like, oh, I need to choose one side. I need to either be a UX designer or a software developer. I kind of loved the idea of ignoring that and just being something, a mess in the middle. And what I do in photography has been the same. I don't mind the idea of being a photographer who also has to make stupid buttons all day. I love the vagueness of it or the blurred lines. And that can apply to anything else. Right? It doesn't matter what parts of your life you have going on; you don't have to fit into a mould. You can be a developer who photographs or a poet who works on designing parks like it doesn't, you know, there's no difference.

Yeah, I love that. We're all messes in the middle.

Absolutely.

Okay, then, on the flip side of that, what do you think you're leaving behind for the archaeologists of the future?

I think this goes back to what I was saying earlier. I didn't need anyone to see what I did, so leaving something behind is an interesting idea. Maybe if I could leave behind not anything physical, but if something I make has some impact on someone else. Like, that's just an amazing thought in itself, that something I did could make someone think about something. Because then, you know, it ultimately compounds. In that small way, you've had an impact. You've had an impact on someone's life, in the most minor of details, but in some way nonetheless. If 100 years from now, you're looking back, you're digging up the dirt, and no one has anything I've made, at the very least, you know, maybe something I made impacted how someone else went about their day, that impacted how someone else did something, that impacted….. kind of a chain effect, where if I can have some small domino that kicks off something, I'll be content with that. Yeah.

Do you want to add anything?

I was just trying to see.

I love that you took notes, also.

I have very bad handwriting too. Like, what did I write? Side story though, you know, what is funny is that in Korean tradition, on your first birthday, they put out all these items in front of you where you choose your future. You have to pick, they have like a football or a pencil, like a painter's brush or a stack of cash. For mine, I forget what I ultimately picked, but for the first two minutes, I was just pointing at the camera, saying, I want to see.

Oh, that's such a cool story.

Ah, anyway.

Well, it's funny that what you picked didn't matter because you pointed at the thing you wanted.

I don't remember what I picked. I just remember my parents would always be like yeah, you pointed at the camera, and my dad's always been a fan of me getting into more artsy stuff. So yeah, you picked the camera.

That story is so beautiful and connected to culture and ritual. Growing up in the US, where there are so many different ways of finding meaning and practicing ritual, I'm curious if the way you have learned rituals or storytelling has influenced your work in any way, how you look at things, or how you think of your ancestry in your work?

Yeah, in terms of how it relates to culture. I mean, as you know, I'm half Korean and half Greek. But both my parents were also born in the US. So I'm the third generation on both sides. They're both very Americanized. I'm always like, my dad's like a California hippie. Because of that, it's something that I definitely didn't feel as close a connection to growing up on either side. Especially when you're half and half, it's easy to almost feel neither. I brought up the Korean tradition that we have on my first birthday, but besides that, it's not like there were many major ways in which I was exposed to Korean culture. My dad would cook Korean food, like once a month or something. Besides that, it's not like I went to a Korean church or had Korean friends. I lived in the Chicago or Virginia suburbs, pretty much. It was easy to feel that lack of identity. I didn't feel very Korean. I felt a little Greek because I'm closer to my Greek side of the family than the Korean side. I almost didn't know what it meant. I felt fake. I felt fake because, like, you're Korean, but then at the same time, you don't know what it's like to be Korean. If that makes any sense. Or you don't know the Korean-American experience even because you're one generation away from that. So that's been something I've been trying to discover as I grow older. It was almost like a pandemic project; I started learning how to cook all this Korean food. I always love to tell the story that the only reason I got so into Korean culture is because my best friend in high school, who was white, was really into K-dramas and K-pop. So that's how I learned all about everything. You know, that's when I went to H-Mart for the first time (laughs). I went before that, but it's one of those things where it's been really hard to connect a lot to that. I'm trying to be more deliberate about it and those sorts of things. Yeah.

“[I]f you're looking at why I've done photography, it was never to achieve anything. It was a way to make sense of the world.”

– Dylan Hyun

Yeah, that makes so much sense. It speaks a lot too to, again, these sort of unspoken pieces of ourselves that you don't have direct contact with, or answers to, or certain parts of what makes us who we are. That's where art is really interesting. It cannot provide the answer, but it feeds that space in us.

It does something. I was just curious before this call, and I went through the photos on my Instagram from, like, I've had my Instagram since 2015, you know? So I went through all the photos I have up there, and even looking at the ones two, three, four years ago, it almost feels like they were made by a different person at this point. I think I remember, you know. Oh, when I put that on Instagram, I was like, I felt really good about that one; I felt some connection to that one. But looking back, I'm like, wow, I've changed a lot. Even something as simple as taking photographs for that long. You can see how you change. And that goes back to, like, I don't think I could write down what I've seen change. I just know it feels different. I know if I take a photo today, it's gonna be different than if I had taken the same photo six years ago. I think art is a great way to express those things that can't be said necessarily about yourself, or if it can be said, help you discover how to say it.

Yeah. Any area you're dying to work in or collaborate in new methods?

I think something with prompts could be cool. A lot of how I photograph is I go out and take photos of stuff, and I don't really think about it, which is also why making a project has been difficult for me. So having some prompt or, I don't know, maybe for a piece of text or something, some, you know, project to use to influence what photos I'm taking might be kind of fun. Besides that, there's this one idea that's been this very abstract thing that I've never put any thought into. I've always thought, you know what, it would be cool if you could make a website that's an art piece. Why are there no websites that anyone could just go to to experience your art? That might be fun to explore, creating a more abstract kind of website art. What else? I was doing a bit of crafting for a little bit. I was trying to make wire wrap necklaces that have stones and stuff. A lot of what I did as a kid was crafting-related. It was making paper mâché or doing things like that. So doing some crafting again was really fun.

I always wished I was more of a crafty person.

Yeah, I remember I went to this exhibit; it was at the MoMA a few years ago, and it was all about crafting as an art form. Over the years, you know, it hasn't always been seen as the highest form of art. I just went to the Folk Art Museum, another great example that, like anything, can be art. Even photography, for a while, wasn't considered the highest form of art, either. It was just like, you know, painting but easier.

“I think that just doing it for yourself and giving it to yourself to be more open and explore parts of yourself that you otherwise maybe wouldn't, that's just a strong enough reason to explore art. It doesn't have to be to become some big artist.”

– KT

Okay, song, movie, phrase, that's on repeat?

Okay, so I will say I'm terrible at memorizing song lyrics. Absolutely atrocious. Can I do a book?

Yes. Of course!

I don't have any phrases from the book, but I'm trying to be better about reading right now. I read about three books a year. It takes me like eight months to read one book, but that's fine. I just finished one recently because I had to return it to the person I borrowed it from. It was 100 Years Of Solitude. Basically, the story is of this one fictional family over 100 years living in this town and the stories that each of these different people goes through over the 100-year span, how they all fall into the same fates of solitude or feeling alone in the world in different ways. You know, one may have all the riches and everything else, but then they don't have true love or something like that. One may be almost invisible to everyone else. They all fall into the same patterns of experiences, even though the first person and the last have no direct connection to each other. What made me think about is the generational things that can affect you or things you don't even know about. There could be a cycle going on generation after generation in your family that gets passed down to you. Whether it's good or bad, you need to choose. That made me want to be deliberate in what I choose to go after. I'm very prone to inaction, very prone to being afraid to do something. In the book, basically, no one breaks the cycle. No one goes against their instincts, so they just end up in the same loop. That made me want to be more actionable and do things.

Damn. Damn. That sounds like, yeah, a big lesson. That's years of therapy in a book. Three books a year, if that's your getting from it? That's a beautiful, a beautiful takeaway. Also, because this happened before we were recording, Dylan has seen Everything, Everywhere, All At Once five times.

Five times in the theatre. Yeah.

Yeah, yeah. I think that's worth putting here.

Always on my mind; yeah. Same idea, generational trauma.

We're seeing a theme.

My past doesn't haunt me…. (laughs)

Is there anything you want to add or anything you didn't cover in your notes?

Oh, is there anything I didn't cover in my notes. I think you know, I think I got it all. I think I got it all.

“But it's really hard to be vulnerable and put yourself out there, especially when it's things are so personal. Any art you make is going to be personal in some way. This was something that Miwa and I were talking about a while ago. The best work you do is always a reflection of yourself; that's what makes it so hard to put it out there. I think what compounds it for me is that on top of that initial vulnerability, it's feeling like you're in a space where you don't quite feel comfortable, or, you know, an art world space or something like that, where you're not used to being.” 

– Dylan Hyun

DYLAN HYUN

Dylan Hyun is a New York based Korean-Greek American photographer. He spends his weekdays as a user interface developer / designer, sitting at the intersection of creativity and technology. Through his work, he captures his friends, family, culture, and environment, searching for his place in each of them.