Recalling my childhood memory, a highlight of each month at my English learning institution was not the new vocabulary, but the excitement of choosing my next English name. Every month, I discarded the old name and stepped into a new name, like wearing a fresh costume that I could slip into and out of. On July, I became shy Emily from rustic Susan. The next month, I became Christine with elegant behaviors.

 

At the time, I didn’t think much about why this act of being called as different names so intoxicating. There was engrossing power in experimenting with different versions of myself by choosing my own names, as if I could momentarily become a new persona

each month. But later, I began to wonder: does a name shape the person?

 

In Korea, names carry immense significance; they are not just labels but powerful symbols that are tied to one's destiny. When I was born, my grandfather consulted an expert to ensure my name would align harmoniously with my birthdate and my future

path. Kyuin is not just a name. It is an inheritance and a reflection of my family’s dreams for me, and a force meant to guide my life. In my culture, names carry the weight of myth and destiny which are rooted in beliefs that a name can steer one's life.

 

Can a name steer one’s life? Does a name change who we are? As a child, I believed that a name could bestow new traits upon me. But now I wonder if I was the one giving meaning to those names. Perhaps, much like Cindy Sherman’s portraits, it is not the

name or the mask that defines us, but rather the way we inhabit it. The mask may change, but the person beneath remains, shaping and reshaping the identity they choose to wear.

 

Drawing from my childhood memories of adopting various American names, I created this series of self-portraits to explore the relationship between recognition, identification, and identity. Each portrait in the series is labeled with a different name, encouraging

viewers to connect their own memories and associations with each name. When encountering a portrait titled “Amy,” for example, viewers may unconsciously overlay characteristics from an Amy they know. This process allows each viewer to engage

uniquely with the portraits, transforming the series into a reflection of individual perception. Or no matter how I adjust my identity to be recognized smoothly for inclusion, but I will be always identified as “Asian,” holding names that are not mine, without finally reaching the recognition.