At Dugo Gallery’s new building in Jongno (196-10) — rooms 112–113 on the first floor — artist Kim Eun-ju opened her solo exhibition on the 28th, continuing through next month’s 3rd. Twelve solo shows behind her, yet she still smiles and calls herself “a painter who never studied art.” 

No teachers, no formal academy — only years of wandering, watching light settle on unfamiliar streets, and listening to quiet memories rise to the surface as her brush moved. 

And those who stand before her canvases often say the same things: “Your paintings feel warm.” “It makes my heart rest.” “It reminds me of a trip I once took.”

 For her, such words are the greatest gift. “If someone finds a memory inside my work, then the painting has done its job. It’s not about skill — it’s about leaving a gentle trace in someone’s heart,”

 she says. “People told me to follow trends — I just couldn’t” Kim trusts emotion more than technique — a decision that wasn’t always easy.

“I heard it so many times: simplify, go trendy, be more conceptual. But those things don’t come from my hands. I draw my own pace, my own feelings.” 

Beginning her artistic path later in life, she never saw age as a barrier — rather, as proof. 

“To be here at 68, without art school, exhibiting and meeting people who look at my work… It still feels miraculous. And I’m just grateful.” 

“Painting is the moment I breathe” She calls herself a slow walker — in life and in art. She rarely visits other shows, for a simple reason: 

“When you watch others, you start to sway — ‘Should I paint like that?’ So I just go my own rhythm. That’s my breathing.” 

To her, painting isn’t a race toward completion — it is sustenance, rest, and devotion to the moment itself. 

Landscapes that wake memory:

 “Travel begins when you step outside” Her scenes come from places she has truly walked — a hushed Balkan lake, aged window frames in a European alley, a sun-washed hill path. 

“Travel isn’t only about flights. The moment you open your door, you’re already traveling. If your heart is open, a walk or a café seat can be a journey.”

 Perhaps that is why so many rediscover their own journeys in her works. 

One viewer cried in front of her painting of Lake Bled, recalling hardship and hope from three decades prior. 

Another bought a piece during lunch break, suddenly transported to Prague. 

Moments like these, she says, are why she paints. 

A quiet message to visitors 

“Young people come often these days. They ask about travel, about life. Those small exchanges — I cherish them.” 

For Kim, painting is not a technical display but a gentle sharing of memory. “I don’t need to be remembered forever. If someone feels at ease for even a moment — that’s enough.”

 In a fast-shifting art world, she chooses warmth over spectacle, pacing over pressure, sincerity over speed. Her landscapes will continue to linger — small journeys waiting quietly in someone’s heart.