Artist Spotlight: Song Kim, Voice For The Voiceless

I haven’t seen Song Kim since the day the world paused. 

We all remember that day—Friday, mid-March, normal in every sense except that it was the last normal day. We didn’t know that, though. We didn’t know we were going home to a weeks-long lockdown. We didn’t know the indefinite nature of what we thought were temporary goodbyes. We didn’t know that the next time we saw each other, we’d be smiling with our eyes.

These thoughts tangle in my mind as I make my way towards Modero, where I have plans to meet up with Song. It’s a peaceful evening, chilly but not cold. The campus is quiet except for distant laughter from a play on the Great Lawn. Parking lot lights bleach the night sky, but I can still see a smattering of dim stars through the haze. I shift my gaze upward as I near the library, grateful for a moment of peace amid a busy week.

As I open the library doors, I look through a window into Modero, where Song is waiting at one of those painfully hipster distressed-wood tables. We lock eyes through the glass, and a smile spreads across her face. I round the corner, and as we embrace, I can’t help but think of how much our lives have changed since we last saw each other. 

I first met Song a year ago when I committed to travel to Southeast Asia on a GO Trip. She was the leader of our team—six women, all from different walks of life, coming together to serve the Lord overseas. Unsurprisingly, the pandemic forced us to cancel the trip, but our time preparing for it and growing as a team was invaluable. Song was a huge part of that.

“Song is a very humble leader, but I think that’s what makes her a good one,” said Callie Wright, senior social work major and Southeast Asia team member. “She was always open and honest about the pressure she was feeling, but she helped us remember why we were doing it and what a blessing it all was.”

Song isn’t only a leader to me but a friend. We sit across from each other in the empty coffee shop, filling in the gaps from the last few months. We talk about how everything is different and somehow still the same, how much we’ve learned and how much we still don’t know. Then, Song launches into her own story, which is why I’m here—she has a story that needs telling.

Growing up, Song lived in a countryside town in South Korea. Surrounded by mountains, hills and creeks, she developed an appreciation for nature and an eye for detail at a young age.

“My childhood was really fun with my mom and dad. We’d go to the mountains and hike at 9 p.m.,” Song says with a chuckle. “It’s a wild memory, but I’m very thankful that they loved spontaneous things like that, you know? I even remember my mom walking in the rain barefoot.”

Song’s father became a pastor when she was 10 years old, and one of her earliest memories is riding to the market on his motorcycle, six family members squeezed on one seat. Hers was a vibrant childhood, full of color and surprise, a vibrancy that only intensified when she moved to America at age 16. In a blur of various host families and states (Texas, Ky. and Tenn.), Song graduated high school and completed two years at a community college before transferring to Union her junior year. She graduated with a graphic design degree and now works as Union’s graphic design specialist.

“What was it like?” I ask, head spinning with the complexity of Song’s last few years. “You moved here so young. Did you have any trouble adjusting?”

“Yes, in some ways,” Song says. “We’re all human, so it wasn’t different in that way. But there were definitely some culture shocks. For example, I did not like taco soup. I was like, ‘Why are they putting all these things in soup? Sour cream, cheese, Fritos … what’s going on?’”

“That’s the brilliance of it,” I say, and we laugh.

Song’s face softens as she continues. “Some of it was difficult, though. I didn’t know English that well, so having normal daily conversations was hard. Many times in classes, I was the only minority student, and sometimes people were pretty awkward with me.” She pauses. “That disconnection was hard at times. For the first three years, I was kind of muted.”

In those times, Song’s art became her voice. It was a way to express what she couldn’t say with words and to connect with God, her one constant in a sea of uncertainty.

“Man, art is so big,” Song says, her eyes brightening. “And it’s spiritual for me. Studying art really challenged me to see God in a more beautiful way. Just seeing His beauty in nature or in His creation is wonderful, and I see that beauty in other people too.”

Song goes on to tell me of her passion for creating art, her face lighting up with excitement as she speaks. Though she works with a range of media, her favorite is sculpture, and she hopes to pursue higher education in that area. I can’t help but smile as I listen—it’s a beautiful thing to watch someone talk about what they love.

“Now, with a full-time job, it’s been challenging to make things in my spare time,” says Song. “This has been a time of figuring out what it means to be an artist. When I come home from all my creative jobs at work, I feel like my energy is drained. I’m asking God what it means to create for His glory and what it really means to be an artist right now.”

So, what does it mean to be an artist right now? For Song, it’s an important role. With unrest and uncertainty running rampant across our country, she recognizes the value of art and beauty. It’s life-giving.

“My hope is to make art for people who don’t have a voice,” Song adds. “I still don’t know what that looks like, but that is my hope. I just constantly remind myself to fix my eyes on Jesus because He’s the voice that really matters.”

Speaking with intent, Song tells me what God has been teaching her—to love others as He does, to see others through His eyes and to advocate for those who are struggling. She tells me how she strives to love others better and to use her talent for God’s glory. It’s easy to see Jesus in her.

“Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about racial reconciliation and what it means to be Asian in a time like this,” Song says. “Not white or black, but the bridge between them. I’ve been picturing myself as a small match—it might just burn for a second and then go out, but it still provides light. I hope I can be that light.”

Photo by Maddie Steele