It is with a heavy heart that I share this: Woori Woori Studio, as we imagined it, will not be happening… at least not right now.

Just a week before we were set to fully move in, life shifted. Suddenly and completely.

Out of respect for our family’s privacy, I won’t go into detail. But what I can say is that something deeply personal occurred, something that required our full attention, care, and presence. In that moment, it became clear that we could not commit to the space in the way it deserved. And so, just like that, we made the difficult decision to step away before even stepping foot inside.

It was not easy.

There is a particular kind of grief that comes with letting go of something you were just beginning to build. We had already started imagining the space, how it would feel, what we would create there, the quiet pride of opening the doors. That vision was real to us. Real to me.

And then, it was gone.

But if there is anything life has taught me, it’s this: when things fall apart, it doesn’t always mean they are broken. Sometimes, it means they are being redirected.

This decision created a ripple effect, of course. Plans changed. Timelines dissolved. Emotions ran high, not just for us, but for the people involved who were caught off guard by our sudden shift. And while I understand that, I also know we made the right choice.

Because at the end of the day, our priority is clear.

Family comes first.

And when something calls you to show up for the people you love, you answer. Even if it costs you something you were excited about. Even if it means starting over. Again.

So no Woori Woori Studio did not happen.

But the dream did.

And that matters.

I am holding onto that feeling, the excitement, the clarity, the sense of possibility. I do not see this as the end of something, but as a pause. A recalibration. A quiet gathering of energy before the next chapter reveals itself.

I still believe, deeply, that things happen for a reason… even when that reason isn’t immediately visible. Maybe the timing wasn’t right. Maybe something better is waiting. Maybe this version of the studio needed to dissolve so a more aligned one could take its place.

Whatever the case, I trust the path.

And if there is anything I can leave you with, it’s this:

I am not giving up.

Not on this dream.
Not on creating.
Not on building something meaningful.

And I hope you don’t give up either.

Sometimes the door doesn’t open because you are meant to walk a little further down the path.

We’ll get there.

—Jeffrey

We are ten days away from receiving the keys to our first physical shop and studio space.

Ten days.

Since signing the lease, we haven’t been able to do much. The previous owners still have belongings stored inside, so we’ve intentionally kept our distance. We’ve even resisted walking by too often—wanting to give it space before we become intimately involved.

There are still many steps before it will be fully open and operational.

We have concepts. Rough sketches. Ideas about zones and lighting and layout. But we can’t do much until we are physically inside it—until we can sit in its bare bones and listen to what it wants to become.

The good thing is this: all of it fills us with excitement.

Admittedly, when we first discussed getting a retail and studio space, I was hesitant. I still don’t speak the language fluently. I don’t know many people here outside of family. Daunting is an understatement.

And yet—

Somehow, I’m able to look beyond those limiting thoughts and hold onto something simpler.

The vision.

The Vision

I picture drywall.

Funny enough, drywall is not common here—most walls are wallpapered concrete. But drywall allows for nails to be hammered in, removed, and rehung. It allows for rearrangement. Evolution.

I see sectioned exhibition zones.
Large murals on one side.
Punch needle installations on the other.

I see plywood shelves.
Peg boards.
A tufting frame with spools of yarn.

I see skeins organized by color.
Movable tables on casters so we can transform the layout on a whim.
Track lighting that shifts to spotlight different sections.

Paper lanterns.
Plants scattered throughout—bringing life to quiet corners.

The Sound

I brought a wireless speaker from the States that I haven’t been able to use yet in our apartment. (Who needs two speakers in such close quarters?)

That speaker used to live in our mini garage studio back in Portland.

I imagine music filling the space.

I love walking into small boutique shops and hearing a carefully curated playlist—not something corporate or co-sponsored or algorithmically approved.

My playlists give me energy. They make me want to build, to experiment, to move things around. When I feel the urge to dance while I’m working, I know I’ve hit the right frequency.

The Smell

We space clear more often than we physically clean.

For us, that means incense, sage, or palo santo. You will likely smell those in the studio often.

SooJ will have her own fragrance rituals, I’m sure. For me: vetiver, sandalwood, cedarwood.

I think often of Bali—how each morning, shopkeepers would light incense and offer flowers at small altars, blessing the day ahead.

Not appropriation—ritual.

I want to greet the space each morning. To awaken it.

Right now, Woori Woori Studio exists mostly in my imagination. Soon, it will ask something of us in return.

But with each passing day, that ethereal realm moves closer to something tangible.

We will take our time bringing it into the light.

We look forward to sharing it with you.

— Jeffrey

Hi!

Welcome—this is Woori Woori Studio.

Creating a studio and gallery space has always been a dream of ours. For years, Soo Jae and I—like so many other artists—created work from our home. In our case, that meant very small apartments.

We began in a 420-square-foot Upper West Side studio apartment, then moved through many other small spaces along the way. The absolute tiniest was our Tiny House on Wheels: just 200 square feet. And yet, we had the audacity to take up punch needle and tufting—at one point building a seven-foot by five-foot tufting frame right in the middle of the space.

How did we ever get this far, I wonder.

That brings us to today, where we are finally able to open our very own studio space.

A studio space.
Space. What a word.

The privilege of having room—room to separate tools from living and lounging items. For far too long, all of our things were intertwined, creating unnecessary stress and making it difficult to separate one part of life from another.

And then there is the idea of a gallery.

—

A gallery is inseparable from the idea of community. It is a place where others can appreciate art—where people can participate, observe, and engage. A gallery creates a symbiotic relationship, one that nourishes and feeds both the artist and the community around them.

If you are reading this, I hope it inspires you to believe that what you desire can become manifest.

For me, this moment has been a very long time in the making. For years, I distracted myself from this dream by chasing a career—one I pursued because it paid well. The artist’s dream simply wasn’t providing the income needed to sustain itself, and that felt, at times, like a quiet tragedy.

And yet, while I chased money, I continued to nurture those shelved dreams in small ways. I took after-hours classes, earned certifications, and accepted the occasional freelance opportunity. Little by little, I kept the dream alive—too stubborn to let it leave me entirely.

I encourage you to do the same.

Keep your dreams alive in whatever small ways you can. Those dreams took seed in you for a reason. You may not understand that reason fully until much later—perhaps not even in this lifetime.

You gave that dream shelter for a reason.
Allow it to grow.

And if one day you are able to truly let it thrive, we will celebrate that victory with you—all of us who are still waiting for our own time to shine.

— Jeffrey

Woori (우리) means “us” in Korean. We’ve written it twice to reflect the two of us who founded this space — and also to leave room for others. Artists, collaborators, and friends whose work and presence will shape the studio over time.

Woori Woori Studio is a creative art studio and gallery in South Korea, and this publication is where we share notes from that space.

We are Soo Jae Lee and Jeffrey Castro, a husband-and-wife duo working collaboratively as multidisciplinary artists. Our shared practice moves between drawing, painting, found objects, and textiles, often blending playful visual language with themes of self-help spirituality, reflection, and simple joy. At its core, our work is about creating moments — small smiles that we hope can resonate far and wide.

Alongside our collaborative work, we each maintain individual practices. Soo Jae is a practicing Feng Shui Master consultant, and Jeffrey is an illustrator. These perspectives naturally inform how we think about space, energy, imagery, and storytelling — both within the studio and beyond it.

Before arriving here, we lived and worked in New York City and Portland. We currently reside in Cheongna, where Woori Woori Studio is taking shape as a physical place for making, gathering, and sharing creative work.

Notes here may include:

• Reflections on creative process

• Works in progress

• Studio life and quiet observations

• Exhibitions, workshops, and collaborations

• Ideas we’re exploring before they become something else

Some entries will be brief. Others may unfold slowly. Not everything here needs to arrive fully formed (life is a work-in-progress).

This publication exists as a place to document, reflect, and invite — a bridge between the physical studio and a wider community. If you are reading this, you are already part of that conversation.

Thank you for being here.
We’re glad to share the process with you.

우리우리 스튜디오의 기록과 과정 노트입니다.
함께해 주셔서 감사합니다.

—
Soo Jae & Jeffrey
Woori Woori Studio

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