Heritage Hands: The Quiet Poetry of Korean Metalwork

Deconstructing ancient Kkium-Ipsa techniques through deliberate lines, accumulated time, and contemplative form by Heritage Hands

In an era marked by rapid production and ephemeral designs, true craftsmanship offers a rare moment of stillness. Founded by artist Hayan Kim, Heritage Hands reinterprets centuries-old Korean metalcraft, bringing the intricate art of Kkium-Ipsa into dialogue with modern sensibilities. Through fine silver wire inlays hammered into dark patinated surfaces, Kim’s vessels capture a quiet rhythm of accumulated time, manual discipline, and human presence. Rather than merely preserving history as a fixed artifact, she acts as a cultural translator, shaping contemplative objects that invite a slower and more deliberate encounter with our surroundings.

Furthermore, Kim embraces subtle irregularities in her process, viewing the traces of the hand not as flaws, but as essential evidence of making. Her work balances strict geometry with organic nuance, transforming functional forms into quiet everyday rituals. Following her presence at Maison&Objet in Paris, IRK sits down with Hayan Kim to explore the poetry of imperfection, the tension of metalwork, and the meditative soul of slow Korean craft.

IRK: How did the European audience at Maison&Objet connect with the quiet poetry of your metalwork?

Hayan Kim: During Maison&Objet, one of the words I heard most often was “magnifique.” Many visitors responded to the calmness of the work and the sense of stillness created by the repeated lines. What surprised me was that some people were drawn to the small irregularities that I had once tried so hard to hide.

Because each line is made by hand, they are never perfectly mechanical. Up close, there are subtle differences and traces of the maker. Rather than seeing these as flaws, many visitors appreciated them as evidence of time, labor, and human presence. I think that response reflects something deeply connected to Korean craftsmanship: a pursuit of precision that never completely erases the hand.

IRK: What drew you to Kkium-Ipsa, and how do you deconstruct this ancient Korean technique into modern form?

Hayan Kim: I first encountered Ipsa techniques in the mid-2000s and had the opportunity to study them for a short period. Even then, I remember being captivated by the sound of the hammer striking metal.

My university education exposed me to a broad range of techniques rather than focusing deeply on one. Ironically, it was while living in Germany that I began thinking more seriously about Korean tradition and my own roots.

I believe preserving traditional techniques in their original form is important. At the same time, I believe they must continue to live and evolve through reinterpretation. I do not see myself simply as someone who reproduces tradition. If anything, I feel closer to a translator, someone who carries it into the present through a contemporary language. To me, that is also a form of preservation.

IRK: How do you orchestrate the visual tension between dark patinated surfaces and fine, luminous wire inlays?

Hayan Kim: I primarily use silver wire Ipsa, not to create specific images or decorative motifs, but to express emotion and accumulated time through repeated lines.

The contrast between the darkened metal surface and the bright silver Ipsa is not merely decorative. Traditionally, Korean Ipsa work often emphasized this contrast by darkening the base metal and allowing the silver to emerge more vividly. While the methods have changed over time, I continue to work with that visual relationship today.

For me, the repeated silver lines are a way of describing emotion and accumulated time rather than creating images or decorative motifs. The contrast between the darkened surface and bright silver wire allows those lines to become more visible and present.

IRK: Precision inlay requires obsessive manual discipline. What headspace do you inhabit while hammering and chiseling?

Hayan Kim : I actually try not to pursue any particular mental state while working. In my experience, trying to force a specific mindset can become a distraction in itself.

Instead, I focus simply on the task in front of me. Of course, there are days when concentration is difficult. When that happens, I step away from the bench, take a walk, make tea, or sometimes just have coffee and something sweet before returning.

Ipsa work demands constant attention. If my focus slips, a chisel can break or mistakes can occur. Rather than treating concentration as something extraordinary, I try to build it into my everyday life through routines. That allows the work to flow more naturally.

IRK: Your vessels carry an almost ceremonial weight. Do you envision a specific contemplative ritual when shaping them?

Hayan Kim: Although the forms I create are often simple, I try to communicate through subtle sensory experiences. I aim to create objects that encourage a more conscious encounter with time.

There are already more than enough objects in the world. The things that attract me are often those that seem to slow time down or give it weight. For me, ritual is not necessarily something separate from everyday life. Sometimes it appears the moment we step slightly outside our habitual routines.

My works are first encountered visually, but I hope that when someone lifts them, feels their weight, or experiences the movement of opening and closing them, the relationship becomes more deliberate and attentive. 

IRK: How much room do you leave for organic imperfection against the strict geometry of metal wire?

Hayan Kim: In the past, I wanted to eliminate every trace of error. I did not want imperfections to be visible at all.

Over time, however, I came to understand that these variations are also part of the process. What matters most is giving my fullest attention to what I can do in that particular moment. The small differences that remain are not failures of the work; they are evidence of its making.

In many ways, those traces make each piece more unique.

IRK: Echoing your film Words of the Translator, do you see yourself as a mediator between ancient craft and the contemporary viewer?

Hayan Kim: Thank you for looking so closely at both the film and the ideas behind my work.

There are certainly moments when I think of myself as a mediator or translator. Words of the Translator emerged from my own reflections on how I experience craft and what it means to work within a traditional practice today.

I have often wondered how one can respect tradition without becoming overwhelmed by its weight. For me, the role of the contemporary craftsperson is not simply to repeat what came before, but to find meaningful ways of bringing it into the present.

The film is not only about tradition. It is also connected to a question I often return to: when does craft truly happen? That question continues to guide my work.

IRK: In an era of hyper-speed production, how do you preserve the slow soul of Korean craftsmanship while pushing your own aesthetic?

Hayan Kim: I do not try to work slowly for the sake of being slow. Rather, I think some processes simply cannot be shortened.

Ipsa work contains many stages that cannot be rushed. Through repetition, the hand gradually learns from the material, and the material responds in return. That exchange is an essential part of the process.

At the same time, I do not see tradition as something fixed in the past. I continue to experiment with new forms, ideas, and mediums, but I want to preserve the sense of accumulated time that comes through making by hand. To me, that is where the enduring spirit of Korean craftsmanship resides.

IRK: Coming out of Paris, what textures or forms are currently dominating your studio?

Hayan Kim: After Maison&Objet, I decided to give myself some time for rest and research, so I am still spending time in Europe.

Recently, I have become interested in translating sound into visual form.In some ways, it feels connected to questions that have long existed in my work, how something moves from one language into another, and what we gain or lose in that process.

I also find connections between the rhythm of repeated Ipsa lines and the structures that exist within spoken language.

At the same time, I have been researching how traditional techniques are taught, preserved, and revitalized across Europe. I do not yet know exactly what form these ideas will take, but they are beginning to influence the direction of my work.

Right now, I find myself increasingly interested in connecting and visualizing patterns that emerge through sound, language, and repetition.

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