Mr & Mrs: Interview with Mónica Pupo in the Venezuelan Cultural Magazine Mirada Ecléctica

The original interview in Spanish was published on miradaeclectica.com on February 23, 2025

Lee la entrevista original en español aquí

By Mónica Pupo

In this conversation, visual artist Suwon Lee—born in Caracas in 1977 to Korean parents—discusses Mr & Mrs, a deeply personal photographic project in which she explores her family history through the photo albums of her paternal grandparents, Chung Hwan Park and Kyung Chun Lee. Published in 2024 and co-edited by RM and Goma Editora, the book brings together 183 images across 376 pages, weaving a visual narrative on migration, memory, and the cultural identity of the Korean diaspora in Venezuela.

Currently based in Madrid, Lee’s practice revolves around landscapes, natural phenomena, celestial bodies, and light. Photography serves as her primary medium, a way to connect with both her identity and spirituality. In this interview, she reflects on how the discovery of these albums reshaped her understanding of her family’s past and her relationship with Korea. She shares insights into the selection and documentation process, as well as the emotional weight of preserving memory through photography.

Lee’s work is part of prestigious collections such as the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York and the Patricia Phelps de Cisneros Collection, among others.

How did the idea for this photobook come about?

The project was born in 2018 when I moved to Korea and stumbled upon a pile of old photo albums that had belonged to my paternal grandparents. Though I had lived with them in the 1990s, many of these images were completely unfamiliar to me. It was an unexpected and moving discovery. My first instinct was to document them digitally, but rather than scanning them, I chose to photograph them. This method allowed me to preserve not just the images but also the textures, the wear, and the physical traces of time imprinted on the paper—an archive of more than 1,300 photographs.

At first, I wasn’t sure how to organize so much material. While in an artist residency in the U.S., I began structuring them, but it was in 2020—after moving to Madrid and enrolling in a master’s program in artistic production at La Fábrica—that the project truly took shape. One of our assignments, given by photography historian and photobook specialist Horacio Fernández, was to create a photobook mockup. I experimented with an accordion-style format, taping the photos together at the back. Horacio was immediately drawn to the result. Although the image selection was already clear, I proposed a collaboration—he would contribute a text to complement the photographs. The book originally had two separate volumes.

The final design, developed with Jaime Narváez—who had previously worked with Horacio—was refined over time. The original three-volume mockup within a slipcase was streamlined into a single reversible book. Later, for technical reasons, we reintroduced the slipcase, using it to print the barcode and ISBN without compromising the book’s aesthetics. Beyond its practical function, the slipcase became an integral part of the narrative, visually linking the cover images.

What was your experience like working with Horacio Fernández?

Working with Horacio was a true pleasure. From the outset, I shared my grandparents’ story in detail, and based on these accounts, he outlined the book’s texts. His ability to distill their journey into a poetic yet precise narrative allowed the reader to gradually uncover the depth of their relationship. What I value most is that he was able to articulate in words what I could not have expressed myself. His interpretation aligned seamlessly with my vision, enriching the project in ways I hadn’t imagined.

The book exists in two versions: an artist’s book and a photobook. How does the design of each format shape the narrative?

The artist’s book preserves the original accordion concept and keeps the two books separate. Printed on high-quality mulberry paper and housed in a clamshell box, each book is 16 meters long and is meant for exhibition, telling the story purely through images.

The photobook, in contrast, integrates text from the very first page. Horacio ensured that each phrase interacts with the images across the double-page spreads, creating a more layered, slow, and contemplative reading experience. This interplay of texts and images shifts the way the narrative unfolds, adding greater depth and resonance.

Do you believe vernacular photography can transform family memory into collective memory?

Absolutely. Printed photographs have always been fundamental to preserving life stories, but in the digital age, almost no one keeps physical albums. If I hadn’t discovered these albums, I would never have seen images of my great-great-grandmother. We are witnessing a shift in how we generate, remember, and safeguard memory.

This book is not just about my family; it speaks to a broader cultural phenomenon—the way memory is preserved through images. It serves as a testament to an era and a practice that, even as we speak, is becoming increasingly rare.

How did your Korean Venezuelan identity influence this project?

Discovering these albums felt like unearthing a hidden treasure. Having been born and raised in Venezuela, reconnecting with my ancestors’ lives gave me a tangible link to a history I had only known through fragmented stories. Thanks to my father’s extraordinary memory—he was able to reconstruct in detail who these people were—I could piece together a narrative that felt like completing a long-lost puzzle. This process became a way to add layers to my own identity, bridging what once seemed like an unreachable past.

After finding the family archive, did you take charge of it?

No, the original albums remain intact in my parents’ home. I only keep the digital files.

“Remembering, even when painful, is vital  to understanding who we are and ensuring that those memories do not fade with time.” — Suwon Lee

Why did you choose to focus on your grandparents’ story?

The albums feature many people—uncles, my father at different stages, and extended family—but my grandparents are undoubtedly the protagonists. My grandmother was obsessed with being photographed, while my grandfather took up photography as a hobby, often taking the family photos himself. Their presence, captured in countless images, naturally became the heart of the project.

What reactions from your family and the public have surprised you the most?

When I presented the artist’s book in Seoul in 2022, my uncles and parents were deeply moved. Seeing these images structured as a visual narrative was something they had never experienced before. The photobook, which I sent to some relatives, was met with pride and emotion.

Although deeply personal and rooted in a Korean context, the story has received an overwhelmingly positive response, affirming its universal themes of joy, tragedy, love, and resilience. I see the book as a telenovela in photobook form, capturing the highs and lows of life with all its hopes and heartbreaks.

How did you decide on the title Mr & Mrs?

I chose Mr & Mrs instead of Mr & Mrs Lee to make the story more universally relatable, not confined to a specific cultural or national identity. During the design phase, Jaime and I incorporated a subtle distinction in typography: a sans-serif typeface for “him” and a more ornate serif typeface for “her”—a delicate nod to their contrasting personalities. The copper-gold metallic stamping on the cover and case adds a final touch, emphasizing the book’s intimate and precious nature.

How does this book relate to your broader photographic work?

It aligns with my ongoing exploration of the passage of time, migration, and identity. Much like my photographic series that document celestial phenomena—the sun’s path in Iceland, the moonset in the Canary Islands—this book unfolds as a visual sequence, a cinematic narrative told through photos.

What is the role of the artist in reconstructing historical and family memory?

I consider my work an exercise that reassembles and preserves memory. This project is, in many ways, an autobiography—each element is deeply intertwined with my own history. It is a continuation of a personal inquiry that touches on universal themes such as time, space, identity, and migration. The rediscovery of these albums after my own migratory journey outside Venezuela made this exploration possible, allowing me to piece together a fragmented past and give it new meaning through art.

How do you hope this book resonates with audiences as different as the Korean and the Venezuelan?

I hope that, regardless of cultural background, each reader finds a sense of connection and is inspired to delve into their own personal and family history. If simply holding the book could spark reflection on the past and the significance of memory—not just as a personal archive, but as a cultural heritage that, if not preserved, risks being lost. At a time when analog photography is fading into digital impermanence, this book serves as a reminder of the importance of safeguarding our stories.

Will you explore similar projects in the future?

Yes. This book is just the beginning. I have a vast archive of materials, and when the time is right, I hope develop new projects from this rich source.

What message do you hope to convey about memory, history, and diaspora?

At a time when many Venezuelans are scattered across the world, this project speaks to the experience of displacement and the importance of preserving our stories. My hope is that it inspires others to rescue and honor their own family histories before they fade into oblivion. Remembering—even when painful—is vital to understanding who we are and ensuring that those memories do not fade with time.