
Kun Kyung Sok’s latest performance, “My Right Hand and Your Left Hand,” held at Space 776, invites audiences into an intimate and aromatic exploration of collaboration, creativity, and trust. The performance centers on Kun and her co-performer (a rolling cast of artists and non-artists) working together to prepare kimbap, a traditional Korean dish, using only her right hand and the other participant’s left hand. On opening night, while the salted streets of the Lower East Side froze, Kun’s audience huddled in close to witness a warm scene of clumsy vulnerability and palpable humor. “Armed” with a single knife, the two performers navigated the challenges of mutual control, toppling salt shakers and spilling rice, all the while the hypnotic scent of freshly prepared food permeated the space.
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The project unfolding at Space 776 stems from Kun’s personal experience with an injury that limits the use of her left arm, resulting in chronic pain. Rather than allowing it to define her (she initially considered dropping out of graduate school altogether), Kun transformed what felt like a bodily betrayal into a catalyst for her exploration of performance. By focusing on the interdependence necessary to overcome our individual limitations, Kun’s work highlights humanity’s historical reliance on collaboration. When times are tough, it is in our nature to come together, not scatter and isolate as Hollywood apocalypses may have you believe. Through activities such as cooking, knitting, and painting, Kun creates works that celebrate the uniqueness of each partnership and emphasize the unexpected beauty of collective creation.

The act of making kimbap together is especially interesting to Kun as her work often reflects on the universality of food, noting how every culture has its own take on staple dishes. In this performance, the preparation of kimbap becomes a metaphor for shared labor and cultural exchange. Kun asks her co-performer “When I come to your house, what would you like us to cook together?” and “Do you ever use this type of oil when you cook at home?” Kun is decidedly unconcerned with perfection or taste and more invested in the process—embracing humor and imperfection as core elements. Participants often forget their assigned roles, occasionally instinctively relying on their second hand, yet these lapses serve to reinforce the importance of their shared alliance. Each time the performers forgot, they both tightened their fists and put them behind their backs as a display of their trust in one another.
The performance space itself is a reflection of Kun’s broader artistic philosophy. Collaborative wall pieces surround the audience, depicting the transcultural exchanges that define the food we love. These works, created with individuals from Kun’s life—many of whom are not professional artists—capture the essence of her approach: a celebration of differences that ultimately enrich the collective. The visual dialogue on the walls mirrors the dynamic interplay happening at the table, where the act of cooking expands into the larger role of both a performance and a communal ritual.
Kun’s emphasis on collaboration distinguishes her work from more traditional forms of performance. Rather than positioning the audience as passive observers who stand quietly by as art happens “up and over there,” Kun invites us into an equal partnership. We are encouraged to laugh and taunt and answer questions posed by Kun; several encourage the performers to cook faster as we are all very hungry. This approach introduces an inherent tension—a “power game over sovereignty,” as she describes it (When a male audience member shouted to Kun to “shut it and get cooking,” bile of anxiety hit the back of my throat). Where is the line delineating the edges of the performance space? Does it include the audience members who take a step outside for fresh air? Does it include the salted sidewalk that echoes the salt spilled on the floor of the gallery? Does it include Kun’s mother sitting silently watching her daughter perform? Does it include me watching Kun’s mother as she smiles?

Moments during the performance reveal the natural discomfort of humans relying on one another. In one instance, Kun and her collaborator, Lucy, reflected on the psychic unease of sharing control over a very sharp and very big knife. The act of relinquishing dominance, even in the face of potential harm, highlights the intricate balance of interdependence. Another collaborator, Yifan, who participated in the wall pieces, described her painting with Kun as less of an individual artistic expression and more of a dialogue. “It never felt like MY painting but more like a message–a letter sent to a friend, awaiting a reply.”
At the beginning of the performance, Kun teaches us a Korean expression, “yeojisaji,” (역지사지) which can be translated into the familiar and empathetic phrase “put yourself in my shoes.” By the end of the performance, we feel this sentiment. We put ourselves in Kun’s shoes as we watch her subtly wince in pain or in Lucy’s shoes as determination to do well spreads across their face.

Through My Right Hand and Your Left Hand, Kun Kyung Sok challenges both the traditional notions of the solitary artist and the clear divide between artist and viewer, celebrating instead the interdependence that defines both art and life. New Yorkers are especially attuned to this sense as we spend all day interlocked in one another’s spheres of influence. Kun reminds us that this is the natural way of things. It is as healthy and nourishing as Kimbap.
My Right Hand and Your Left Hand: Kun Kyung Sok at Space 776
About the writer: Terra Keck is an artist and performer based in Brooklyn, New York. Keck received her MFA from the University of Hawai’i at Mānoa and her BFA from Ball State University. Her work has been featured in Hyperallergic, The Art Newspaper and Artefuse. Notable Exhibitions include a solo booth with Field Projects at SPRING/BREAK, Subliminal projects, MAIA Contemporary in Mexico City, Sun Contemporary in Bali, and Purslane in the UK. Her work can be found in permanent collections in Japan, Australia, New Zealand, Fiji, Hawaii, California, and Italy.