TOKYO WITH JENN KANG



TOKYO WITH JenN KANG

 

In moments of transition, there is a quiet magic that lies between departure and arrival, where time softens and introspection takes root. In Jenn Kang’s recent series Interlude, this sense of in-betweenness is captured through her lens, weaving together a narrative of stillness and solitude. Her work, set against the backdrop of a layover in Japan, reflects her deep connection to the themes of transience and reflection—concepts that have shaped her artistic journey since the beginning. As Kang navigates her own liminal spaces—between cultures, cities, and creative projects — her photography reveals an intimacy that invites us to pause and contemplate the spaces we too often overlook.
 
In this interview, she shares insights into her creative process, her connection to Tokyo, and how simplicity and sentimentality shape both her art and personal style.

Jenn wears the Theo Vest


In your recent series 'Interlude,' you capture the stillness of a layover in Japan, where time seems to stretch and solitude takes on a quiet presence. How does this in-between state resonate with the themes of pause and reflection in your work?

I have been making work about the in-between ever since I can remember, even before photography became my primary medium. I look back at the work I made in high school from time to time, and it’s funny to see that the core themes have more or less remained the same. I guess I haven’t grown up that much after all. Having moved around a lot throughout my life while carrying two cultural identities, I have learned to find solace in transience, this middle ground that’s tricky to explain in words.

 

I have always been drawn to transitory spaces, both in a literal and conceptual sense, as I find a special sense of comfort and belonging there. The liminal represents the solitary utopia that I yearned and fantasized about ever since I was a child. My residency project from June, “My Terminal,” was a direct sequel to Interlude, in which I photographed a bus terminal that connects to the airport every day for two weeks. I was fascinated by the fact that it was a passage to another passageway, as airports are rarely the final destination for people.



Your work carries a quiet, contemplative energy, almost meditative in its intimacy. Do you have any rituals or practices that ground you in this creative process?

Thank you! But to be honest, it’s not at all intentional. My personal work is very autobiographical, so I guess my images really just reflect who I am as a person. I don’t photograph anything that I don’t feel an emotional pull towards. My process is heavily guided by instinct; whether it’s a long-term series that I’m developing or diary photos, it always starts with my gut. But I like to take my time and sit with my thoughts and feelings, let them marinate, before starting a project.



Share with us your connection to Tokyo. How has the rhythm and spirit of the city shaped and inspired your creative practice?

Tokyo holds such a special place in my heart. It is where I held my first solo exhibition, where I worked on my first zine, where I completed my first artist residency, and where I started developing the idea for my magazine that I am launching next year. All of them happened quite serendipitously. I’ve made so many special connections in the city. I fell in love with the stillness, the calm, the quiet that exists in such a metropolis. I find this juxtaposition very unique and intriguing. I feel like a ghost in the best way possible,
which is the perfect condition for me to think, observe, and create.

 

 

While in Tokyo this month, you're working on a solo photobook, a collaborative project, and a magazine where you’ve captured yourself in our AW24 and Workroom collections for our LM Journal. Could you share more about this photo essay and the inspiration behind its concept?

I took the images just a few days before my departure due to my schedule and the weather, and there was a typhoon approaching. Calm before the storm. You can kind of see it in the images as I shot most of them outdoors. My boyfriend, who lives in Tokyo, helped me with the shoot and it was quite sentimental. They were even playing “Sweet Memories,” an ultra-nostalgic song from the 80s by Japanese singer Matsuda Seiko through the neighborhood speakers in the Shōtengai (the main shopping street). Since this was a project for the LM Journal, I thought it would be appropriate to keep things simple and diaristic. I stayed away from making a moodboard and such. The images turned out quite solemn but again, it was unintentional.



How do you approach your personal style? Are there particular pieces you find yourself drawn to as part of your everyday uniform?

No matter how interesting the design is, I won’t wear anything that isn’t functional and comfortable. The nature of my job has to do with it as well. Sometimes I have to bend my body in the weirdest positions to get the shot that I want. I like classic, quality pieces that won’t be affected by trends and will last for a long time. Half of my closet are pieces from the 90s from my mother that she has kept so beautifully. As for staple pieces, I would say denim, white tees, cardigans, and button downs that I can also wear as a light jacket or coat. And quality cotton underwear.


Jenn wears the Theo Vest and Harriet Pant 




TOKYO WITH JenN KANG

 

In moments of transition, there is a quiet magic that lies between departure and arrival, where time softens and introspection takes root. In Jenn Kang’s recent series Interlude, this sense of in-betweenness is captured through her lens, weaving together a narrative of stillness and solitude. Her work, set against the backdrop of a layover in Japan, reflects her deep connection to the themes of transience and reflection—concepts that have shaped her artistic journey since the beginning. As Kann navigates her own liminal spaces—between cultures, cities, and creative projects — her photography reveals an intimacy that invites us to pause and contemplate the spaces we too often overlook.
 
In this interview, she shares insights into her creative process, her connection to Tokyo, and how simplicity and sentimentality shape both her art and personal style.

Jenn wears the Theo Vest


In your recent series 'Interlude,' you capture the stillness of a layover in Japan, where time seems to stretch and solitude takes on a quiet presence. How does this in-between state resonate with the themes of pause and reflection in your work?

I have been making work about the in-between ever since I can remember, even before photography became my primary medium. I look back at the work I made in high school from time to time, and it’s funny to see that the core themes have more or less remained the same. I guess I haven’t grown up that much after all. Having moved around a lot throughout my life while carrying two cultural identities, I have learned to find solace in transience, this middle ground that’s tricky to explain in words.

 

I have always been drawn to transitory spaces, both in a literal and conceptual sense, as I find a special sense of comfort and belonging there. The liminal represents the solitary utopia that I yearned and fantasized about ever since I was a child. My residency project from June, “My Terminal,” was a direct sequel to Interlude, in which I photographed a bus terminal that connects to the airport every day for two weeks. I was fascinated by the fact that it was a passage to another passageway, as airports are rarely the final destination for people.



Your work carries a quiet, contemplative energy, almost meditative in its intimacy. Do you have any rituals or practices that ground you in this creative process?

Thank you! But to be honest, it’s not at all intentional. My personal work is very autobiographical, so I guess my images really just reflect who I am as a person. I don’t photograph anything that I don’t feel an emotional pull towards. My process is heavily guided by instinct; whether it’s a long-term series that I’m developing or diary photos, it always starts with my gut. But I like to take my time and sit with my thoughts and feelings, let them marinate, before starting a project.



Share with us your connection to Tokyo. How has the rhythm and spirit of the city shaped and inspired your creative practice?

Tokyo holds such a special place in my heart. It is where I held my first solo exhibition, where I worked on my first zine, where I completed my first artist residency, and where I started developing the idea for my magazine that I am launching next year. All of them happened quite serendipitously. I’ve made so many special connections in the city. I fell in love with the stillness, the calm, the quiet that exists in such a metropolis. I find this juxtaposition very unique and intriguing. I feel like a ghost in the best way possible,
which is the perfect condition for me to think, observe, and create.

 

 

While in Tokyo this month, you're working on a solo photobook, a collaborative project, and a magazine where you’ve captured yourself in our AW24 and Workroom collections for our LM Journal. Could you share more about this photo essay and the inspiration behind its concept?

I took the images just a few days before my departure due to my schedule and the weather, and there was a typhoon approaching. Calm before the storm. You can kind of see it in the images as I shot most of them outdoors. My boyfriend, who lives in Tokyo, helped me with the shoot and it was quite sentimental. They were even playing “Sweet Memories,” an ultra-nostalgic song from the 80s by Japanese singer Matsuda Seiko through the neighborhood speakers in the Shōtengai (the main shopping street). Since this was a project for the LM Journal, I thought it would be appropriate to keep things simple and diaristic. I stayed away from making a moodboard and such. The images turned out quite solemn but again, it was unintentional.



How do you approach your personal style? Are there particular pieces you find yourself drawn to as part of your everyday uniform?

No matter how interesting the design is, I won’t wear anything that isn’t functional and comfortable. The nature of my job has to do with it as well. Sometimes I have to bend my body in the weirdest positions to get the shot that I want. I like classic, quality pieces that won’t be affected by trends and will last for a long time. Half of my closet are pieces from the 90s from my mother that she has kept so beautifully. As for staple pieces, I would say denim, white tees, cardigans, and button downs that I can also wear as a light jacket or coat. And quality cotton underwear.


Jenn wears the Theo Vest and Harriet Pant




TOKYO WITH JenN KANG

 

In moments of transition, there is a quiet magic that lies between departure and arrival, where time softens and introspection takes root. In Jenn Kang’s recent series Interlude, this sense of in-betweenness is captured through her lens, weaving together a narrative of stillness and solitude. Her work, set against the backdrop of a layover in Japan, reflects her deep connection to the themes of transience and reflection—concepts that have shaped her artistic journey since the beginning. As Kang navigates her own liminal spaces—between cultures, cities, and creative projects — her photography reveals an intimacy that invites us to pause and contemplate the spaces we too often overlook.
 
In this interview, she shares insights into her creative process, her connection to Tokyo, and how simplicity and sentimentality shape both her art and personal style.

Jenn wears the Theo Vest


In your recent series 'Interlude,' you capture the stillness of a layover in Japan, where time seems to stretch and solitude takes on a quiet presence. How does this in-between state resonate with the themes of pause and reflection in your work?

I have been making work about the in-between ever since I can remember, even before photography became my primary medium. I look back at the work I made in high school from time to time, and it’s funny to see that the core themes have more or less remained the same. I guess I haven’t grown up that much after all. Having moved around a lot throughout my life while carrying two cultural identities, I have learned to find solace in transience, this middle ground that’s tricky to explain in words.

 

I have always been drawn to transitory spaces, both in a literal and conceptual sense, as I find a special sense of comfort and belonging there. The liminal represents the solitary utopia that I yearned and fantasized about ever since I was a child. My residency project from June, “My Terminal,” was a direct sequel to Interlude, in which I photographed a bus terminal that connects to the airport every day for two weeks. I was fascinated by the fact that it was a passage to another passageway, as airports are rarely the final destination for people.



Your work carries a quiet, contemplative energy, almost meditative in its intimacy. Do you have any rituals or practices that ground you in this creative process?

Thank you! But to be honest, it’s not at all intentional. My personal work is very autobiographical, so I guess my images really just reflect who I am as a person. I don’t photograph anything that I don’t feel an emotional pull towards. My process is heavily guided by instinct; whether it’s a long-term series that I’m developing or diary photos, it always starts with my gut. But I like to take my time and sit with my thoughts and feelings, let them marinate, before starting a project.



Share with us your connection to Tokyo. How has the rhythm and spirit of the city shaped and inspired your creative practice?

Tokyo holds such a special place in my heart. It is where I held my first solo exhibition, where I worked on my first zine, where I completed my first artist residency, and where I started developing the idea for my magazine that I am launching next year. All of them happened quite serendipitously. I’ve made so many special connections in the city. I fell in love with the stillness, the calm, the quiet that exists in such a metropolis. I find this juxtaposition very unique and intriguing. I feel like a ghost in the best way possible,
which is the perfect condition for me to think, observe, and create.

 

 

While in Tokyo this month, you're working on a solo photobook, a collaborative project, and a magazine where you’ve captured yourself in our AW24 and Workroom collections for our LM Journal. Could you share more about this photo essay and the inspiration behind its concept?

I took the images just a few days before my departure due to my schedule and the weather, and there was a typhoon approaching. Calm before the storm. You can kind of see it in the images as I shot most of them outdoors. My boyfriend, who lives in Tokyo, helped me with the shoot and it was quite sentimental. They were even playing “Sweet Memories,” an ultra-nostalgic song from the 80s by Japanese singer Matsuda Seiko through the neighborhood speakers in the Shōtengai (the main shopping street). Since this was a project for the LM Journal, I thought it would be appropriate to keep things simple and diaristic. I stayed away from making a moodboard and such. The images turned out quite solemn but again, it was unintentional.



How do you approach your personal style? Are there particular pieces you find yourself drawn to as part of your everyday uniform?

No matter how interesting the design is, I won’t wear anything that isn’t functional and comfortable. The nature of my job has to do with it as well. Sometimes I have to bend my body in the weirdest positions to get the shot that I want. I like classic, quality pieces that won’t be affected by trends and will last for a long time. Half of my closet are pieces from the 90s from my mother that she has kept so beautifully. As for staple pieces, I would say denim, white tees, cardigans, and button downs that I can also wear as a light jacket or coat. And quality cotton underwear.


Jenn wears the Theo Vest and Harriet Pant