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When she was a teenager, Juni Mun (1993) moved with her family from South Korea to New Zealand and Singapore, in search of a future with room to flourish. Her family history, however, is marked by other, less voluntary movements. In 1950, her grandmother was torn from her birthplace as a result of war and colonialism. These different forms of movement – across both time and place – form an important source of inspiration for Mun’s research. She traces the lives of the women in her family, focusing on how loss, mourning, mortality and identity resonate across generations.
In The Names We Left Behind (2025), Mun interlaces her own social migration with the forced displacements experienced by her grandmother. Inspired by Buddhist altars and Catholic symbolism – both part of her upbringing – she placed a series of glass houses on plinths. They ‘breathe’: taking in air and releasing it again, like a village in which each house vibrates in its own way. For these rhythms, Mun entwined her own breathing cycle with that of her grandmother, recorded during intimate moments spent together. In each house, vapour and condensation leave traces that are in constant flux. They are fragile, yet persistent. Through these continual shifts, the work remains in motion and holds the gaze. The rhythm of breathing invites a calm, almost bodily engagement. As a whole, the installation becomes a hushed site that creates space for reflection, remembrance, and a form of prayer unbound by words.
Written by Esther Darley