Elephant’s resident tarot card reader, Vittoria Benzine, meets with Julia Jo for a reading ahead of Jo’s third solo exhibition at Charles Moffett Gallery in Tribeca, New York.
Seoul-born and Brooklyn-based painter Julia Jo masterfully crafts images that are simultaneously abstract and figurative. Miraculously so, in fact. At first, these square canvases of varying scales mostly look like luscious fantasias of hue, teeming with emotive gestures. But if you really, truly unfocus your eyes, an undeniable scene will finally emerge. The shocking sensation of this grand reveal elucidates deep lessons regarding communication — especially in these trying times, where people seem to be speaking past each other.
Once you learn Jo’s visual language, decoding her work becomes easier. Its beauty, however, prevails. That’s why, at just thirty-four, she has such serious critical and commercial buzz, with works in the ICA Miami and Atlanta’s High Museum of Art, as well as a top lot that sold for over four times its high estimate at Christie’s this past November.
For Beckon, Jo’s third solo show with Charles Moffett gallery in Tribeca, New York, the artist is getting intimate — shifting her focus from full figures to expressive closeups. Her forms feel softer, her simplified palettes more introspective. Jo and I convened ahead of the opening this Friday, February 6th, to pull tarot cards, checking in on her heart chakra — in her life as well as her work.
Vittoria Benzine: Have you ever had a tarot reading before?
Julia Jo: No, not a proper one. Readings are so big in South Korea. People take it seriously.
VB: You know, I don’t read for others very often. It’s challenging to subdue myself, channel for someone else. So, could you shuffle the cards to steep them in your energy? While you do that, let’s talk. I noticed the questions you sent last week revolved around connection—in your own life, and your work. What’s new about these paintings for you?
JJ: I definitely went more inward in terms of literally zooming into the figures. It’s a much more intimate portrait. My former works had more actual scenery, full figuration. All the limbs were there, and then it turned into this space composed of several figures. But with these, especially the 60-by-60 inch works, I zoomed right up close to the face. It becomes more of a psychological portrait. It’s really the emotion becoming space, the only space where these figures exist.
VB: What led you to this more intimate, contemplative approach?
JJ: I want the paint, the actual gesture and the application and the material — the gooeyness — to really be in the forefront. I want that to be the main character, if you will, of the story that this painting is telling. Of course, color comes into play, and then it’s immediately an emotional connection with the viewer. I wondered which ingredients to layer so that it became uber-personal for me. I could leave behind the narrative these figures start from, and then perhaps be left with this symphony of clues. It becomes a snapshot of an unknown but very intense emotional moment.
VB: Juicy. Okay, here’s what I think for the personal side of your spread: first, a card asking if your heart’s closed, because sometimes it’s just helpful to know the state of your heart. Second, should your heart be open? Because that’s not always guaranteed. Third, how should you open (or close!) your heart? And then, fourth, what will happen? But first I have to ask — what’s got you thinking about connection lately?
JJ: It’s always been a running theme through all the shows I’ve done, especially at Charles Moffett. I’m really torn when it comes to interpersonal communication, because I know how often it has failed me in relationships. I want to express certain things, but it turns into something completely different. I know that miscommunication is much more certain than actually communicating efficiently.
I find that really exciting to see side by side with a visual representation — how the whole picture can come across to someone, because it so completely depends on how the person has lived their life, what they’re drawn to. Something that is semi-abstract is going to look completely different to one person as opposed to the other. I’m fascinated in this successful way of leaning into the futility of communication.
VB: I definitely see how communication is central to your practice. So, let’s work out the professional half of your spread. Our fifth card could ask how your work is connecting with you. And then your sixth, how your work is connecting with others. Then, we could ask how to conclude this body of work? And, finally, what to do when you return to the studio. Then we’ll flip over the deck for some final pointers. Does that sound like it hits everything?
JJ: Yeah.
VB: Amazing. For my last question, and do not overthink this — do you want to cut the deck?
JJ: I’ll cut the deck.
VB: Boom. Easy. What’s your favorite number?
JJ: Seven.
VB: Perfect. I’ll shuffle seven times now. I very specifically don’t look at the cards when I’m pulling them, because I am so superstitious — as if my mindset will affect what comes out.
Now, let’s look. There’s a lot of Swords. That’s interesting because it’s a heart chakra spread, but the Swords are the suit of the intellect. So, just at first glance, your brain is really involved in your heart.
JJ: So true.
VB: The cups are the suit of emotion. We have two cup cards here, of the nine we pulled. One is especially powerful. Your first card, the King of Cups, tells me your heart’s not closed, actually. At all. You’re in a grounded, practical relationship with your emotions.
Should you open your heart? We have the Knight of Pentacles — infamously tarot’s slowest knight. That seems to indicate that perhaps you should not open your heart.
Now, what’s your heart’s advice? Upright, the Five of Swords signifies defeat. Here, it’s reversed. Some practitioners don’t read reversals, because they introduce ambiguity. I can’t live like that. My gut’s telling me this reversal means moving on from a defeat.
What will happen if you do that? The Four of Cups reversed. Upright, that’s boredom. This is another time where reversals are good — in this position, the Four of Cups says you’ll receive more exciting times.
Now, on the professional half of the spread — how’s your work connecting with you? We have The Sun in reverse. Do you feel good about your practice lately?
JJ: Yeah, I’m excited.
VB: The Sun is a great card. I do feel that Major Arcana reversals tend to signify internal manifestations of energy, rather than opposites. Are you keeping your excitement inside?
JJ: Yes — it’s always such a private thing.
VB: I see. Next we have the Nine of Swords reversed, signifying how people connect with your work. This card represents paranoia, insomnia. Reversed, it means relief. So this tells me your work comforts viewers.
Now, how to conclude this series? The Two of Swords reversed. A stalemate.
JJ: I definitely want to take it up a notch, push the energy.
VB: That makes sense, especially considering your advice upon returning to the studio — The World reversed, which basically says ‘don’t stop, keep going.’
Now, let’s flip the deck over for some final advice. The Eight of Pentacles reversed. Upright, mastery. I think the reversal advises to focus on ease.
JJ: It’s very helpful, because my gut instinct is to override my emotions, and it’s so difficult to unlearn it. It could be a defense mechanism, or just a habit. But the gut instinct is there for a reason, and there’s so many different clues. Like looking at a painting, it hits you all at once.
VB: How do you feel when you’re painting?
JJ: My brain is very engaged. I put my heart second without realizing, and I don’t want to do that. Even if I love a work from the heart, I still wonder if it’s good enough. I’ve lost a lot of paintings that way. There’s definitely fear of my heart taking over, like I don’t want to be too swept away.
VB: I don’t think people would guess that looking at your work.
JJ: Whenever my heart takes greater charge in my process, I find that something truly wild emerges in the composition, a whole new force for me to reckon with on the canvas. I try to pour my heart into each one of my works, painting until each one feels almost like a person unto itself, possessing a visceral presence equal in weight to a person standing before you. My painting process has always been a perpetual push and pull between the urge to be seen and the impulse to hide. Perhaps if I give over more power to my heart in that push-pull, it will be the frenzied accumulation of forms that take over, tilting the painting into pure atmosphere, or perhaps it will drive me to reveal more, to lower the smokescreen. I never step up to a blank canvas knowing where it will end though, so I’ll have to wait and see.
