Today we’d like to introduce you to Chongha Peter Lee.
Hi Chongha Peter, so excited to have you with us today. What can you tell us about your story?
I’m a transmedia polymath (read: professional weirdo).
I’ve collaborated on works that have been exhibited in the Venice Biennale and Documenta—aka the Olympics of Art—with collabs including LA artist and activist Nelly Achken. I’ve co-written AI ethics papers NASA actually read (??), and helped build major U.S. carbon and soil health initiatives. I also make surreal, meme-fueled science-art videos—think Bill Nye with more glitchcore and fewer bowties.
Until recently, one of my creative partner was my mom. We’d film kitchen debates about ethics, art, and existence… usually over kimchi.
I began my work in 2010 at George Mason University, where I was involved in socially engaged and activist public art before it became widely institutionalized or visible in biennales, municipal programming, or arts journalism. At the time, I was also immersed in street culture and Thai boxing, exploring physical discipline alongside early app development and training for potential military service, which I ultimately did not enter.
Thanks to the support of mentors, the goodwill of peers, and a great deal of luck, I was awarded a full fellowship to pursue an MFA in Transmedia at Syracuse University. There, I concentrated on video and computer art while engaging deeply with the foundations of conceptual art, post-1960s radical theory, and the cultural implications of emerging digital platforms. I became especially interested in the interplay between critical art and the nascent architecture of Web 2.0—creating work directly on social media platforms in 2015, well ahead of the current wave of social media-integrated art practices.
This led to participation in a dispersed, transnational network of artists and cultural thinkers. Our community—though loosely organized—was engaged in both artistic experimentation and mutual care. We developed socio-technical skills in response to our environments and supported each other through a range of crises, often improvising tools for collaboration, expression, and survival.
The art, credibility, and technical fluency I developed during this period began to generate steady work and invitations across various geographies. I focused for several years on honing my skills and contributing to high-impact art and research initiatives, particularly those concerned with climate, technology, and public health. Simultaneously, I remained committed to applying these capacities to urgent, human-scale challenges—whether in the service of institutional critique or life-saving mutual aid.
During the pandemic, I returned to live with my mother and began a series of collaborative dialogues with her—producing videos that explored science, ethics, aesthetics, and metaphysics, often from the intimate setting of her kitchen. Around this time, I also completed a rural residency in Virginia, working with high school students and early-career educators. This was a formative experience, offering insights into how cultural literacy and imagination can be foundational for community resilience and collective organization.
Over the past 18 months, as my mother navigated terminal cancer, I spent approximately 30 hours a week in dialogue with individuals facing complex medical systems—patients, caregivers, and clinicians. I supported both my mother and my partner’s father (who was also undergoing treatment) by advising, researching, and facilitating decision-making across emotional and epistemic divides. We extended my mother’s life by roughly 1.5 years beyond her initial prognosis. In her final three months, I became a full-time caregiver, working 12 to 16 hours a day in her rehabilitation center.
Throughout this process, I was struck by how directly applicable my background in conceptual art and transmedia practice was. The ability to translate across disciplines—philosophy, medicine, technology—and to build rapport through storytelling, media, and image-making, enabled deep collaboration with medical staff. Many assumed I was a medical professional. Visual literacy and narrative skills became tools for navigating high-stakes systems, organizing care networks, and sustaining attention on often-overlooked human dimensions.
I’m now entering a period of reevaluation and reorientation. The socio-political conditions have dramatically shifted, and I believe the role of art must also evolve in response. Much of contemporary art infrastructure—especially in the nonprofit sector—is oriented around representation and therapeutic repair. These are essential, but they are not sufficient to address the structural, epistemic, and ecological crises we face.
My current work seeks to expand the scope of art’s public function. I am exploring new models for reframing death, grief, and memory through the language of quantum mechanics and relational physics. I’m developing performative games and narrative systems to teach emotional literacy and conflict navigation. I’m also prototyping culturally adaptive tools that use humor, play, and media interventions—especially for younger publics—to de-escalate trauma and model alternative social structures, particularly in the face of government failures, regional conflict, and climate instability.
Despite the gravity of these concerns, I remain hopeful. My experience across disparate domains—activist art, mutual aid, academic research, caregiving, and socio-technical development—has convinced me that transformative change is still possible. We may need new forms, new questions, and new publics—but the capacity for meaningful redesign remains within reach.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
It hasn’t been a smooth road—and I don’t think it could have been, given the path I chose. Much of my work has involved moving across disciplines, cultures, and institutional boundaries—art, activism, research, caregiving, and systems thinking—and these spaces often don’t recognize each other’s legitimacy, let alone provide coherent support structures. That friction has been both productive and exhausting.
Early on, I often had to justify why socially engaged art mattered before it had institutional backing. I existed between formal art education and street culture, between experimental technology and community work—always straddling multiple contexts, which meant I was often under-resourced or misunderstood by any one of them.
There were also personal and ethical struggles. I’ve supported people through medical crises without being a doctor, helped teams navigate life-or-death decisions without the authority of an institution, and carried the emotional weight of work that didn’t fit cleanly into funding categories or academic recognition. The work was urgent—but often invisible, or difficult to explain.
Caring for my mother through her illness was the most intense period of my life. It required 12–16 hour days of physical, emotional, logistical, and spiritual labor. What made it even harder was that, even with all my skills in communication and advocacy, it was difficult. And yet, we managed to extend her life and deepen our bond through collaboration and creativity.
Financial instability, institutional precarity, and the constant need to re-explain or defend one’s work—these have all been part of the terrain. But they’ve also shaped how I think, create, and relate to others. I’ve come to believe that struggle is not just a barrier to the work—it is the work. It’s in those unstable, in-between places that new forms, new solidarities, and new futures begin to emerge.
Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
I’m primarily known for my (sometimes annoyingly) persistent tendency to question, unpack, and negotiate complex issues—whether ethical, technical, emotional, or philosophical. I’m also recognized for my ability to bridge across disciplines: blending technical, intellectual, and communication skills. That’s why I often use the term transmedia polymath artist—because those dimensions are inseparable in my work.
At heart, I’m always trying to make complexity more bearable—especially in conversation. I make a conscious effort to lower the emotional and cognitive load for others, without flattening nuance. My go-to strategy? Offer snacks before we talk, and recommend a nap after. Less Larry David, more Bill Nye!
In terms of what I’m most proud of, it comes down to this hierarchy of impact:
Lives I’ve helped save—from death, from spiraling poverty, from suicide.
Conflicts I’ve de-escalated—preventing retribution or criminal outcomes.
Organizations and communities I’ve supported—by reintroducing imagination, risk-taking, and reflection.
Minds I’ve nurtured—where there was once only inadequate education, isolation, or lack of critical dialogue.
Moments I’ve reclaimed—from despair, from drudgery, from resignation.
I don’t necessarily see this as setting me apart—it’s more of a practice I believe many people already engage in, consciously or unconsciously. Also – it’s a 2-way street! There have been numerous people who have saved me from death and various serious catastrophes. And I know others have done far more, and with far fewer complications. But I’m proud of what I’ve been able to do, especially given how little I’ve often had to work with.
Is there a quality that you most attribute to your success?
I’d say the most important qualities are:
The persistence to stay engaged in difficult, complex situations—even when I know I’m not the best person for the job.
The ability to quickly assess where I fall short, communicate that clearly, ask for help, and commit to learning over time.
A sense of humor, a spirit of play, and a willingness to take responsibility, apologize, and repair when I make mistakes or cause harm.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.chonghapeterlee.com
- Instagram: postworktv.art
Image Credits
Chongha Peter Lee
ChatGPT, found images collage.
