On Jinyeob Cha’s stages, we encounter mirrors, ice, sand, or rustling viny, materials that are far more than mere props. They become a language of their own, revealing how bodies, spaces, and matter relate to one another.

Since founding collective A in 2012, the choreographer and performance artist has been committed to making the cycles of existence and life visible through movement. And when inspiration doesn’t come immediately, she takes a walk around Namsan, clears her head, and returns to the neighborhood she has shaped artistically for many years.

In this interview, we speak with her about body, space, and materiality, her experiences in Europe, and her upcoming projects, with a special focus on her influential series “The Transforming Body (원형하는 몸)”.

Please introduce yourself briefly.
I’m Jinyeob Cha, Artistic Director of collective A. I work as a choreographer, stage artist, and performance artist, creating projects in various formats.

Many followers of the Goethe-Institut Korea may not yet be familiar with your work. Could you give us an insight into your current projects?
In December 2025, I presented my newest work Bing Bing Bing (빙빙빙) which is another installment of the series The Transforming Body (원형하는 몸), that began in 2020. With Round 1, Round 2, and Round 3, the series has grown into a cohesive body of work now spanning six years.

Throughout my artistic life, from my twenties and thirties into my early forties, my inquiries into the body and the nature of being have continued to deepen. I became increasingly interested in fundamental, ontological questions: what existed before humans? What are we as living bodies, and where does this body come from? The Transforming Body series emerged directly from these questions.
  When looking at your work, it’s immediately noticeable how strongly materials shape each performance. In your early pieces, you used mirrors; later, ice; and in recent works, sand—materials that transform the atmosphere on stage and expand space through experimental use. What led you to incorporate these materials, and what role do they play in your creative process?
When I founded collective A in 2012, my first work was Rotten Apple. Since then, I’ve consistently asked myself what is truly essential in my practice.

Over time, “space” became the central element for me. I see the body itself as a space—and at the same time, it moves through physical space, which influences it. The relationship between body and space eventually became the core of my artistic work.

Because of this, I thought a lot about the framework of performance. I didn’t want to be confined to the traditional proscenium stage. I wanted to create a space that could reveal the theme of the body more clearly. That desire led me to experiment with many different spatial forms.

In The Transforming Body, everything began with the origin of life: water. The more time I spent researching water, the more I became fascinated by the idea that the human body is also a mutable being, constantly shaped by its environment. Water freezes, melts, evaporates, condenses—a continuous cycle. This process of transformation became a central image for me.

So I began thinking about how this cycle, this flow between ice, liquid, and vapor, could be made visible in performance. My first step was to rethink space. I even considered building a circular stage. But the longer I explored the idea, the more compelling it became to create a space that feels circular without actually being one.

Through this exploration, the idea of a mirror structure made of triangular segments that almost resemble slices of pizza took shape after months of consideration. At the heart of this work is the interplay between body and space. The mirrors reflect the body in multiple directions, multiplying and extending it, creating a circular image. It becomes a scene where body and space interlock, expand, and form ever‑shifting relationships, almost like a fractal.
  In my recent works, I’ve primarily used vinyl. To me, it felt almost like skin. Though transparent or translucent and lacking a fixed form, it’s an incredibly sensitive material that responds delicately to wind and its surroundings.

One day, I happened to play with a sheet of vinyl at home and was immediately captivated by its transformability. When pulled taut, it seemed strong and structured. But with the slightest breeze, it fluttered, softened, became vulnerable—showing an entirely different side. What struck me most was how dramatically its character changed depending on what it touched.
I started connecting this material directly with my body. Scenes emerged using different types of vinyl and plastic, where the material sometimes became space, sometimes body, and sometimes felt like a third presence altogether.
  Ultimately, I don’t see these materials as simple props. They are the result of a process of observation—a way of thinking about bodies, about life cycles, and about the things that continuously shift between them.

You studied in the UK and later worked in Europe. How did these experiences influence your artistic language?
I worked in Europe fairly early in my career and encountered true professionalism there for the first time. Back then in Korea, there were few opportunities to learn systematically or to understand what mindset and work ethic dancers should have. 

During my studies, the German choreographer Misha Fruck was invited to my university. This led to a collaboration with his project in Munich, where I worked for two months in Germany. It was the first time I signed a contract, attended rehearsals at set times, and experienced structured work processes.

What impressed me most was the attitude of my fellow dancers. They prepared their bodies before rehearsals on their own, cared for their physical condition daily, and always came to work in the best possible shape. Seeing that taught me how important discipline and mindset are for a professional dancer. This experience became the foundation for my early international work and continues to influence me today.

After graduating, I spontaneously attended an open audition in Munich—with about 200 applicants. The final round involved an improvisation task. I barely understood English at the time, so I improvised based on what I thought the choreographer wanted. To my surprise, my interpretation was exactly what he had in mind, and I was selected. Looking back, it was almost comical but also proof that dance truly can be a universal language. Are there German artists who have particularly influenced you?
Though he was not born in Germany, one of the choreographers who influenced me the most is William Forsythe. He spent many years in Germany as Artistic Director of Ballet Frankfurt and is, to me, one of the most important figures in dance history.

I’ve admired his work since my student years. His influence is especially strong in his understanding of the relationship between body and space. For him, movement is not simply dance but a method of perceiving and shaping space. He views the body as architecture—an active structure within space.

His work Improvisation Technologies (1994–1996) visualizes movement as lines and spatial constructions, showing how bodies continually form relationships and expand space.

I believe that my own interest in the interconnections between body and space resonates with some of his ideas.

How do you find inspiration in everyday life? Do you have particular routines or rituals?
I like to describe myself as a kind of “comfortable perfectionist.” Before starting a new project, I mentally simulate endless scenarios. It takes time until I can say with certainty: Yes, this is truly my piece.

When my ideas aren’t fully formed, simple physical activities help—cleaning, walking, anything that doesn’t require much mental work. My body moves, but internally I’m choreographing.

Walks or drives around Hannam-dong and Namsan inspire me deeply—the topography, the mix of mountain and city—it grounds me and influences my work.

My home is also a workspace. When designing the interior, I wanted it to feel like a studio. The large sliding mirror in my living room came from that idea. When inspiration strikes, I move the furniture aside, turn on music, and experiment with movement right there.

For me, inspiration doesn’t come from extraordinary moments but grows through the body, the space, and daily life. What projects are you planning for this year?
Several works are scheduled this year, including my collaboration with the Korea National Dance Company on Dreamland Dance (몽유도원무) as well as the continued development of The Transforming Body (원형하는 몸). Dreamland Dance premiered a few years ago and has been brought back due to positive audience response. The way it combines traditional aesthetics with contemporary sensibilities—and its exploration of body, space, and community—makes it a particularly meaningful work for me.

As mentioned, The Transforming Body is a long-term project that I continue to develop. It explores cycles, transformations, and the relationships between body, space, and material. Each iteration forms something new by working with different spaces and materials.

Going forward, I will continue to explore movement not just as choreography but as an expanded dialogue between space, matter, and sensory perception.

Project Planning and Interview: Sohee Shin
Artist: Jinyeob Cha
Images: Leslie Klatte, Yoonjung Daw
SNS-Shorts: Yoonjung Daw
German & English translation: Leslie Klatte