공감 — “자신의 신발을 벗고, 타인의 신발을 신는다.”
EMPATHY " Take off your own SHOES and step into the SHOES of another "
Empathy
접촉과 연대
Contact and Solidarity
A turning point in my artistic journey came in 2014, when I met a mother who had lost her son in a tragic disaster. When I held her hand, I felt a surge of empathy that left a deep and lasting impression. From that encounter onward, I began to use the human body as my medium: a vessel of vulnerability, memory, and relational presence.
It begins with a liturgical gesture of humility and reverence: I wash the feet of those who have endured deep suffering—grieving mothers, displaced persons, survivors of violence. The act of foot washing necessitates the removal of their shoes, a natural yet intimate unveiling. These shoes—once worn through pain, migration, and memory—are not discarded, but consecrated. They are transformed into electrically conductive objects: material fragments that carry more than function—they carry presence, witness, and the trace of the body that once inhabited them.
Each participant’s voice is pre-recorded: sometimes whispered, sometimes breaking. These voices speak not to explain but to witness—to resist erasure.
Audiences are invited to remove their own shoes and step into a donated pair. Unless they take off their own shoes, the circuit cannot be completed. Then they reach for my hand. A soft light glows as the circuit completes. A voice speaks. Previously silenced voices emerge with the light. These sounds and sights reveal a hidden truth: the shoes were once worn by other people whose suffering had been ignored. One particular pair had belonged to the mother who had lost her son.
In 2025, I encountered Rowan Williams' work on empathy, which profoundly reshaped my understanding of the concept. He challenges the common idea that empathy is simply “feeling what someone else feels.” Instead, he suggests that true empathy begins with the recognition that we cannot fully feel or know what another is going through — and that this very limit is what makes the ethical encounter with the other necessary and transformative. In particular, his interpretation of Edith Stein’s The Problem of Empathy offered deep insight. I was deeply inspired by it, and I am now actively studying her book and engaging with her thought in both my research and artistic practice.
This insight changed the way I approached relational art. Empathy, for Williams, is not a psychological technique or an emotional mirror — it is a moral and bodily posture: the willingness to stand before another without illusion, without full access to their pain, and yet to remain present, open, and responsible. He draws from philosophy, theology, and developmental psychology to show that we come to know ourselves through others — through our bodies being in relation, through the fragile yet necessary risk of acknowledging that the other is not just “like me,” but irreducibly other. Informed by this vision, Empathy is no longer about identification, but about presence across difference. It invites participants to recognize that the true depth of human connection lies not in fusion, but in the respectful tension between nearness and mystery. I am now developing a new approach, which will soon be shared on the new site.
"How can the simple act of removing one’s shoes become a way of freeing oneself from the constraints of the ego?"
It begins with a liturgical gesture of humility and reverence: I wash the feet of those who have endured deep suffering—grieving mothers, displaced persons, survivors of violence. The act of foot washing necessitates the removal of their shoes, a natural yet intimate unveiling. These shoes—once worn through pain, migration, and memory—are not discarded, but consecrated. They are transformed into electrically conductive objects: material fragments that carry more than function—they carry presence, witness, and the trace of the body that once inhabited them.
Each participant’s voice is pre-recorded: sometimes whispered, sometimes breaking. These voices speak not to explain but to witness—to resist erasure.
Audiences are invited to remove their own shoes and step into a donated pair. Unless they take off their own shoes, the circuit cannot be completed. Then they reach for my hand. A soft light glows as the circuit completes. A voice speaks. Previously silenced voices emerge with the light. These sounds and sights reveal a hidden truth: the shoes were once worn by other people whose suffering had been ignored. One particular pair had belonged to the mother who had lost her son.
In 2025, I encountered Rowan Williams' work on empathy, which profoundly reshaped my understanding of the concept. He challenges the common idea that empathy is simply “feeling what someone else feels.” Instead, he suggests that true empathy begins with the recognition that we cannot fully feel or know what another is going through — and that this very limit is what makes the ethical encounter with the other necessary and transformative. In particular, his interpretation of Edith Stein’s The Problem of Empathy offered deep insight. I was deeply inspired by it, and I am now actively studying her book and engaging with her thought in both my research and artistic practice.
This insight changed the way I approached relational art. Empathy, for Williams, is not a psychological technique or an emotional mirror — it is a moral and bodily posture: the willingness to stand before another without illusion, without full access to their pain, and yet to remain present, open, and responsible. He draws from philosophy, theology, and developmental psychology to show that we come to know ourselves through others — through our bodies being in relation, through the fragile yet necessary risk of acknowledging that the other is not just “like me,” but irreducibly other. Informed by this vision, Empathy is no longer about identification, but about presence across difference. It invites participants to recognize that the true depth of human connection lies not in fusion, but in the respectful tension between nearness and mystery. I am now developing a new approach, which will soon be shared on the new site.
"How can the simple act of removing one’s shoes become a way of freeing oneself from the constraints of the ego?"
2014년, 아들을 잃은 한 어머니를 만나 손을 잡았다. 그 만남 이후 몸과 몸이 직접 닿는 일이 작업의 중심이 되었다. 〈Empathy〉는 이 경험에서 출발했다.
작업은 타인의 발을 씻기는 세족의 몸짓에서 시작한다. 나는 상실과 이주, 폭력을 겪은 이들의 발을 씻기고, 그들이 신었던 신발을 건네받는다. 신발은 전기가 흐르도록 바꾸고, 그 사람의 이야기는 목소리로 녹음해 둔다. 신발과 목소리에는 한 사람이 살아온 시간이 남아 있다.
관객은 자신의 신발을 벗고 그 신발을 신은 뒤 내 손을 잡는다. 자신의 신발을 벗지 않고서는 회로는 결코 완성되지 않는다. 손과 손이 닿으면 회로가 연결되고, 빛이 켜지며 목소리가 들린다. 관객은 지금 자신이 신고 있는 신발의 주인에게 귀를 기울이게 된다. ‘타인의 신발을 신는다’는 비유가 실제 몸의 행위가 되는 순간이다.
그러나 손을 잡고 목소리를 들었다고 해서 그 사람의 고통을 알게 되었다고 말할 수 있을까. 2025년 로완 윌리엄스의 공감론을 접하고 에디트 슈타인의 『공감의 문제』를 읽으며, 나는 이 작업을 다시 돌아보게 되었다. 가까이 다가가려는 마음만큼이나, 내가 끝내 알 수 없는 타인의 경험을 인정하는 일도 필요했다.
두 몸은 하나의 회로를 이루지만, 각자가 살아온 시간은 여전히 다르다. 나는 그 차이를 남겨 둔 채 타인과 관계 맺는 방식을 찾고 있다. 손을 잡으면서도 그 사람의 삶과 고통을 내 것으로 붙잡지 않는 것. 내게 〈놀리 메 탄제레〉라는 이름은 이 태도를 묻는다.
“나를 붙들지 마라.” — 요한 20,17
I call this work Noli Me Tangere (Do not touch me) — John 20:17
Empathy · 베를린
Empathy · Berlin
2017년 베를린 Z/KU에서 한 달간 레지던시에 참여하며 시리아 난민 에야스 아디를 만났다. 그의 이야기를 듣고, 난민들의 고통스러운 경험을 전하는 인터랙티브 설치를 함께 만들었다.
‘타인의 신발을 신어 본다’는 공감의 관용적 표현에서 출발해, 아디의 신발을 작품의 중심에 놓았다. 신발은 우리가 걸어온 모든 길을 함께한 물건이다. 그에게서 이토록 중요한 물건을 받아 변형하기에 앞서, 먼저 그의 발을 씻겨 주겠다고 제안했다.
그 과정을 담은 영상은 공감에 깃든 돌봄과 겸손을 관객에게 보여준다. 영상에 등장한 신발은 관객 앞에 놓이고, 관객은 그 신발을 신도록 초대된다. 아디의 신발을 신은 관객이 내 손을 잡으면 전기 회로가 연결되어 아디의 목소리와 난민들의 이미지가 재생된다.
처음에는 작게 묻혀 들리지 않던 아디의 이야기가 침묵을 깨고 흘러나온다. 손을 잡는 따뜻한 몸짓이 그 목소리를 불러낸다. 나는 접촉이 ‘공감의 연결’을 만들고, 침묵 속에 갇힌 이야기를 풀어낼 수 있다는 생각에 몰두했다.
In 2017, I met Eyas Adi, a Syrian refugee, and heard his story. This was during a month-long residency at ZK/U in Berlin, where I worked with Adi to produce an interactive installation aiming to tell the heartbreaking tales of refugees.
Drawing on the expression “to put yourself in someone else’s shoes,” I decided to use Adi's shoes as the central object of this artwork. Shoes are an important part of what we wear: they have accompanied us on every step of our journey. So, to justify taking such vital items from my collaborator and modifying them, I first offered to wash Adi's feet.
A film of this process was shown to audiences and directed their attention to the care and humility involved in empathy. The same shoes that were seen in the video were then presented to the audience, who were invited to step into them. When an audience member wore Adi's shoes and held my hand, an electrical circuit would trigger certain sounds and images: Adi's voice and images of refugees.
Although hushed and unnoticed at first, Adi’s story now broke the silence. It had been cued by a universally warm gesture – holding hands. I was absorbed by the abstract idea that an act of touch can create an “empathy tie” and, in turn, release stories that have been silenced.
Drawing on the expression “to put yourself in someone else’s shoes,” I decided to use Adi's shoes as the central object of this artwork. Shoes are an important part of what we wear: they have accompanied us on every step of our journey. So, to justify taking such vital items from my collaborator and modifying them, I first offered to wash Adi's feet.
A film of this process was shown to audiences and directed their attention to the care and humility involved in empathy. The same shoes that were seen in the video were then presented to the audience, who were invited to step into them. When an audience member wore Adi's shoes and held my hand, an electrical circuit would trigger certain sounds and images: Adi's voice and images of refugees.
Although hushed and unnoticed at first, Adi’s story now broke the silence. It had been cued by a universally warm gesture – holding hands. I was absorbed by the abstract idea that an act of touch can create an “empathy tie” and, in turn, release stories that have been silenced.
Empathy · 오마하
Empathy · Omaha
마르틴 부버는 『나와 너』에서 “모든 참된 삶은 만남이다”라고 쓴다(Buber, 1923: 11). 살아가고 삶을 경험하며 자기 자신이 되기 위해 우리는 타인과 만나야 한다.
나는 자신의 말과 신발을 내어준 남수단 난민 캄 찰스와의 만남을 통해 내가 되었다. 자신의 신발을 벗고 캄의 신발을 신는 관객 역시 ‘자기 자신이 되는’ 만남으로 초대된다.
공연 중에는 캄의 목소리로 다음과 같은 말이 흘러나왔다.
- 나는 전쟁 속에서 잉태되고, 태어나고, 자랐다.
- 나는 꿈을 좇거나 내 삶을 계획할 수 없었다. 전쟁이 그 권리를 빼앗고 나의 내일을 결정하기 때문이다.
- 나는 다른 아이들처럼 놀고 웃을 수 없었다. 전쟁이 나를 침묵시켰기 때문이다.
- 내 고향은 전쟁으로 폐허가 되어 살 수 없는 곳이 되었다.
- 전쟁 속에 있는 고향과 어머니, 자매와 형제, 삼촌들을 생각하면 늘 눈물이 난다.
- 사람들을 그 환경에서 데리고 나올 수 있다면 밤낮없이 일하겠다. 그들과, 혹은 필요한 누구와든 이 삶을 나누고 싶다.
- 당신에게 평화가 있다면, 나 같은 사람에게 조금 나누어 주겠는가.
- 나는 남수단에 평화가 오기를 바란다. 당신의 평화를 우리와 나눌 수 있는가.
- 친구들이 평화로운 내 고향을 찾아와, 그곳에서 나와 함께 평화롭게 행복하기를 바란다.
In I and Thou, Martin Buber writes: “All real living is meeting” (Buber, 1923: 11).
To live and experience life, and to become ourselves, we must meet others.
I became myself through my meeting with Kam Charles, a refugee from South Sudan, who gave me his words and his shoes. If you take off your shoes and put on Kam’s, you too will ‘become yourself.’
During this performance, Kam's voice was heard saying:
1. I was conceived, born, and raised in war.
2. I could not pursue my dreams or make a plan for my life because war took that privilege away from me and it dictates my tomorrows.
3. I could not play and laugh like a normal child because war silenced me.
4. My own home is war-torn and therefore uninhabitable.
5. I cry all the time when I think about home, my mother, sisters, brothers, and uncles in war.
6. If people could be brought out of that environment, I would work for it 24/7 to share this life with them or whoever needs it.
7. If you have peace, would you please share a portion with someone like me?
8. I want peace in South Sudan. Can you share your peace with us?
9. I want my friends to visit me at home in peace and be happy with me there.
To live and experience life, and to become ourselves, we must meet others.
I became myself through my meeting with Kam Charles, a refugee from South Sudan, who gave me his words and his shoes. If you take off your shoes and put on Kam’s, you too will ‘become yourself.’
During this performance, Kam's voice was heard saying:
1. I was conceived, born, and raised in war.
2. I could not pursue my dreams or make a plan for my life because war took that privilege away from me and it dictates my tomorrows.
3. I could not play and laugh like a normal child because war silenced me.
4. My own home is war-torn and therefore uninhabitable.
5. I cry all the time when I think about home, my mother, sisters, brothers, and uncles in war.
6. If people could be brought out of that environment, I would work for it 24/7 to share this life with them or whoever needs it.
7. If you have peace, would you please share a portion with someone like me?
8. I want peace in South Sudan. Can you share your peace with us?
9. I want my friends to visit me at home in peace and be happy with me there.
Empathy · 서울
Empathy · Seoul
한종선은 폭력과 강제노동이 자행된 강제수용시설 형제복지원의 피해자다. 피해자들은 서울 국회의사당 앞에서 자신들이 겪은 고통의 진실을 밝히기 위해 싸워 왔다.
Jongsun is a victim of Brother’s Home, a concentration camp where homeless men were exploited through violence and forced labor.
Victims had been fighting in front of the National Assembly building in Seoul, Korea, to uncover the truth about their suffering.
Victims had been fighting in front of the National Assembly building in Seoul, Korea, to uncover the truth about their suffering.
Empathy · 광주
Empathy · Gwangju
