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"Today, I am proud to see my Korean culture recognized and valued around the world." — Jean Lim, photographer
Born in Seoul in 1985, Jean Lim—whose real name is Lim Jeonghyun—grew up in a South Korea undergoing rapid economic transformation. Initially drawn to photography through football, he gradually discovered its artistic dimension, a facet of the medium he continues to develop today. After completing his military service, an initial trip to France proved to be a turning point: captivated by Paris, he decided to settle there in 2009, and has lived and worked in the city ever since.
Interview by Léa Baron, September 3, 2026
As a child, I wasn’t particularly drawn to art. I took piano and taekwondo lessons and did a bit of painting, like many others in Korea. But I didn’t have any specific dream. It wasn’t until middle school that I began to take an interest in sports photojournalism, because I loved soccer.
There was a private academy—or *hagwon*—near my home that offered photography classes, and I signed up with a rather technical view of the medium.
What are hagwons?
In Korea, the education system is highly competitive. *Hagwons* are private, fee-based academies that offer classes—such as languages, arts, and sports—outside of regular school hours to supplement public education. Attended by the majority of students, their primary goal is to improve academic performance and prepare students for university entrance exams.
But I soon realized that photography could be much more than that: a language, a way of looking at the world, an art form.
This discovery led me to enroll at the Seoul Institute of the Arts, where I explored various photographic approaches—documentary and photojournalism—before specializing in an artistic track.
However, after my first year, I had to complete my mandatory military service. I served in the Air Force for two years and three months.
Military service in South Korea
As no peace treaty has been signed since the 1953 armistice, South Korea remains officially at war with North Korea. Against this backdrop, military service is mandatory and has been enshrined in the Constitution since 1948.
Enlistment generally takes place between the ages of 18 and 28, with options to defer service until age 30 following the adoption of the "BTS Law"—named after the K-pop group.
Exemptions remain rare, applying primarily to Olympic medalists and certain classical musicians.
Women, meanwhile, may enlist on a voluntary basis.
The duration of service varies by military branch but averages between 18 and 21 months.
In retrospect, I find that duration excessive: six months of military service would have been enough to cover the essentials.
I had chosen this branch so I could get regular leave to visit my mother, with whom I had been living since my parents' divorce. That period was a forced interlude, but it also marked a transition in my life.
Before resuming my photography studies, I took my first trip to Europe in 2007.
I visited Paris and London—two cities that play a major role in the history of photography.
The experience was a revelation. Everything in Paris felt different to me: the architecture, the light, the pace of life. It seemed to me that people took more time to live—to pause at a café, to observe. Compared to Seoul, everything appeared slower, almost suspended in time. That initial impression made me want to come back.
I then prepared for my move to France. While still in Korea, I began learning French and saving money. I arrived in Vichy in late 2009 to take intensive language courses for eight months before enrolling at the University of Paris 8 in 2010 to study visual arts. I continued my studies there up to the master’s level, specializing in contemporary art and design, while simultaneously developing my own photography projects.
Initially, staying in France was challenging, particularly regarding administrative matters. As a freelance photographer, it is difficult to demonstrate the stable income required to renew a residence permit.
After several years, I applied for—and obtained—French citizenship. This simplified my situation and allowed me to work with greater freedom.
My professional career began gradually. I started by photographing events like festivals and concerts to build a network. I also worked as an assistant to a Korean photographer on projects in France and Italy, and contributed to a Korean book about French natural wine. These experiences enabled me to learn, discover the country, and gradually integrate into the industry.
Today, I collaborate with magazines and shoot portraits as well as architectural and location photography.
What interests me is revealing a person through their environment—creating a connection between a face and a space.
At the same time, I am pursuing a personal artistic project focused on construction sites.
This theme has been with me since my student days; I grew up in Korea, a country in constant flux where places would disappear only to be rebuilt.
As a teenager, I used to go eat at a McDonald’s with my classmates until it was demolished. We had lost a place that held memories for us.
For me, a construction site is a transitional space between past and future—a suspended moment where one does not necessarily know what has vanished, nor yet what is to come.
I often take photographs early in the morning in Paris, when there is no one around. I look for soft, often grey light with little contrast. I am interested in structures, scaffolding, and surfaces draped in white sheeting. These are temporary forms, yet they possess an aesthetic of their own.
For me, photography is above all a way of seeing things differently. A familiar place can become strange or new through an image. The camera is merely a tool; what matters is the way one looks at the world. There is something poetic—almost philosophical—about this practice: a way of paying fresh attention to details, to light, and to our surroundings.
Living in Paris has also changed my perspective. The city feels calmer to me than Seoul, even though it is evolving with globalization. Some neighborhoods are losing their identity, while others still hold onto it.
I have a fondness for simple places—old-school Parisian neighborhood bars with their betting counters—rather than modern, standardized cafés.
My relationship with Korea has changed, too. When I was younger, I thought Western culture was superior; anything international was highly valued.
I viewed Korean culture as outdated, old-fashioned, or even bizarre.
Today, it is the opposite. I am proud to see this culture—even its traditional aspects—recognized and appreciated around the world.
The image of the Asian man has also evolved thanks to the *Hallyu* wave. It used to be heavily stereotyped, often limited to hyper-masculine figures. Today, particularly with the spread of Korean TV series, that image has become more diverse. Perceptions are shifting, even if it hasn't radically transformed my own life.
I don’t yet know if I will move back to Korea. The country has changed a lot, and the possibility remains open—especially since my wife, who is Polish, could see herself living there.
For now, I live in France, hoping it continues to embody the values of liberty, equality, and fraternity that drew me here in the first place.
