With a style that is both ethereal and intense, Norwegian–Korean painter Henrik Uldalen has earned international acclaim for his dreamlike figuration, imbued with brooding emotional weight. Dividing his time between Scandinavia and London, Uldalen creates deeply personal work that resonates on a universal level, inviting both inward reflection and shared human connection. While his art attracts collectors and enthusiasts worldwide, he remains committed to authenticity over conventional market expectations—a stance that sets him apart in today’s art landscape.
His exhibition LOST/FOUND at Whitestone Gallery in Seoul marks the first time Uldalen fully explores his adoption story, representing his most personal artistic journey to date. In his responses to The Exclusivist, Uldalen’s integrity and authenticity shine through as he offers clear-eyed insight on blue-chip gallery dynamics, the impact of AI on creativity, and the deeper currents driving his practice.
Q&A conducted by THE EXCLUSIVIST | Images courtesy of Henrik Uldalen
Q&A With Henrik Uldalen
On Audience Engagement and Institutional Significance
From your perspective, is there a disconnect between the types of artwork that truly engage wider audiences — whether through emotional resonance, technical mastery, or visual appeal — and those that major galleries and institutions tend to elevate as “significant”? How does this dynamic affect artists you know or observe on social media?
I do believe there’s a certain disconnect between institutional blue‑chip galleries and wider public engagement. This may sound a little cynical, but please bear with me.
An unbelievable amount of money flows through blue‑chip galleries, and their main job is to ensure that any painting they sell will hold as a solid investment. They are the “tastemakers.”
You’ll never see Banksy in a blue‑chip gallery — he’s too well‑known, too universally understood. These galleries need to be the ones who “discover” what’s good, positioning themselves as the arbiters of taste while the rest of us supposedly know nothing. The moment they bring in someone already loved by the public, they stop being tastemakers.
You’ll never see Banksy in a blue‑chip gallery — he’s too well‑known, too universally understood. These galleries need to be the ones who “discover” what’s good.
Instead, they often feature young, relatively unknown artists — people they can champion early and whose markets they can control. If you’ve been selling paintings independently for years, there’s a risk that older works might re‑enter the market and affect prices without their control.
I’ve seen incredible artists picked up by great galleries, but my point isn’t about the quality of the art — it’s about the systems that galleries rely on to maintain their influence. Personally, I don’t have any aspirations to show there. My focus is on making heartfelt, authentic art. If I earn from it, that’s great, but it’s not my priority or necessary. One of the things I really cherish about social media is that it offers many other ways to sustain a career — not solely through galleries.
On Current Themes
Are there particular subjects, concepts, or emotions that have been especially present in your recent work?
Yes. My recent exhibition, LOST/FOUND, at Whitestone Gallery in Seoul was the first time I fully explored my adoption in my work. I was adopted from Seoul as a baby and grew up in Norway in a sheltered, safe, and loving home. Perhaps because of that, I never felt ready to talk about this part of my life. I have always identified as Norwegian, and like most children, my wish was simply to blend in. So whenever my parents attempted to broach the subjects of adoption, foster care, biological parents, or to facilitate connections with other adopted children, I was quick to decline.
Later, I left Norway searching for something — community, a richer emotional life, a sense of belonging. Now, having returned to Norway part‑time, I’ve come to realise that I’m not fully Norwegian. I’m not fully anything. That forced me to ask: why have I avoided this conversation for most of my life? I’ve come to believe that the most tightly locked doors within us are often the ones we most need to open.
I’ve come to believe that the most tightly locked doors within us are often the ones we most need to open.
I don’t know what will come of this show and exploration. I’m not even sure if there’s anything there. But I think it’s important for me to look inside to fully know myself.
The works are also partly coloured by recent reports on South Korea’s adoption history — including stories of kidnappings, child selling, and forged birth certificates from among the more than 200,000 children sent overseas over the last fifty years.
On AI and Artistic Authenticity
Some artists embrace AI as a creative tool, while others fear it undermines authenticity. Where do you stand, and have you experimented with it in your own work?
I explored AI briefly at the very beginning, curious about whether it could reflect the human experience. I quickly found it wasn’t interesting enough for me personally.
In fact, I think AI could end up being a gift for artists. It’s inevitable that it will embed itself into every corner of society. But even before AI’s rise, I was already thinking about how disconnected people have become — working from home, ordering everything to the door, communicating entirely through screens. Now, with AI handling even more tasks — booking travel, offering therapy — I believe we will hit a breaking point.
I doesn’t know what it’s like to cry in the shower for a month, or to have your heart broken to the extent where you’re physically ill.
Eventually, people will crave human contact, human emotion, and real‑world experiences: seeing a live band with friends, standing before a hand‑made work of art and feeling the lived experiences behind it, sharing a meal around a table.
I fear for some professions, but I’m not overly worried for artists. AI doesn’t know what it’s like to cry in the shower for a month, or to have your heart broken to the extent where you’re physically ill. It doesn’t know the relief of finding out your sister will not die of cancer. It can only simulate a generalised, averaged‑out idea — not a singular, personal truth.
On the Self‑Taught Artistic Journey
As a self‑taught artist, how has your independent path shaped your approach to learning and experimentation? Were there ‘rules’ you consciously broke while developing your style?
I applied to art schools and academies in my younger years. In retrospect, I’m glad I didn’t get a place—though I do see the value in an art education, particularly for the access it offers to diverse ideas, tools, and other passionate artists.
In general, I remain sceptical of most educational institutions for various reasons. Learning and journeying through life is an essential part of my creative process. Going out into the world, making mistakes, trying new things, drawing your own conclusions, and growing—that’s what makes life worth living. Having someone simply hand you all the “right” answers is, to me, the death of creativity. In this profession, it makes very little sense.
Today, I run workshops of my own, but my teaching is about exploring new ideas, breaking the mould, rethinking everything you think you know about art, and finding your true voice. Above all, it’s about acknowledging that I don’t have all your answers—only you can know what your art should be.
On Cross‑Cultural Influence
Given your multicultural background and time spent in various countries — including your current stay in the UK — has London shaped your perspective or work in a distinctive way?
I don’t think any of the countries I’ve lived in have directly shaped my work. My practice has always been an inward journey, and my core ideas have remained consistent. Of course, living in different places has shaped me personally — affecting how I see life and how I want to live — but my art could follow the same trajectory anywhere.
On Misconceptions About Artists
What’s the biggest misconception about being a full‑time artist?
I think the biggest misconception I hear everywhere is that artists are lazy. I don’t know anyone in any profession that could rival my working hours over the last 20 years. On top of painting, we stretch canvases, prepare surfaces, photograph work, build crates, promote, advertise, edit photos and videos, build websites, haggle with buyers, curate shows, and run workshops. The only reason this is sustainable is because we’re deeply passionate about it, which makes every hour spent worth it.
On Foundational Influences
What has been the biggest influence — in life or in art — on your creative direction?
The death of my grandparents. It propelled me from just having fun with art to need to be an artist able to express myself properly.
I had no healthy way to process that grief, and art became my only outlet — though it took nearly a decade to understand how to channel it.
In terms of outside influences, it’s usually music, books, and films — anything outside my own disciplines. If I’m experiencing art inside my field, I can’t help but focus on the technique, and that’s not how I want to experience art. I want to feel something, not necessarily understand it.
On Collecting and Cherished Objects
Do you own any object — art, design, books, timepieces — that holds particular importance to you?
I don’t have many collectibles and tokens, though I understand it well. I used to be an avid collector of everything, but I would end up throwing everything away. It’s the Norwegian in me, in desperate need of order and simplicity at home.
Final Thoughts
Henrik Uldalen’s practice unfolds inward, rooted in authenticity. In it, he may have discovered the rarest prize in the art world: the ability to connect and resonate with people through the enduring beauty and poignancy of his work. His paintings are represented in galleries internationally, with his most recent exhibition, LOST/FOUND, having been held at Whitestone Gallery in Seoul.
Henrik Uldalen Official Website | Instagram
This Q&A has been lightly edited for length and readability.
Henrik Uldalen: On Art, Identity, and Emotional Truth (Q&A)
With a style that is both ethereal and intense, Norwegian–Korean painter Henrik Uldalen has earned international acclaim for his dreamlike figuration, imbued with brooding emotional weight. Dividing his time between Scandinavia and London, Uldalen creates deeply personal work that resonates on a universal level, inviting both inward reflection and shared human connection. While his art attracts collectors and enthusiasts worldwide, he remains committed to authenticity over conventional market expectations—a stance that sets him apart in today’s art landscape.
His exhibition LOST/FOUND at Whitestone Gallery in Seoul marks the first time Uldalen fully explores his adoption story, representing his most personal artistic journey to date. In his responses to The Exclusivist, Uldalen’s integrity and authenticity shine through as he offers clear-eyed insight on blue-chip gallery dynamics, the impact of AI on creativity, and the deeper currents driving his practice.
Q&A conducted by THE EXCLUSIVIST | Images courtesy of Henrik Uldalen
Q&A With Henrik Uldalen
On Audience Engagement and Institutional Significance
From your perspective, is there a disconnect between the types of artwork that truly engage wider audiences — whether through emotional resonance, technical mastery, or visual appeal — and those that major galleries and institutions tend to elevate as “significant”? How does this dynamic affect artists you know or observe on social media?
I do believe there’s a certain disconnect between institutional blue‑chip galleries and wider public engagement. This may sound a little cynical, but please bear with me.
An unbelievable amount of money flows through blue‑chip galleries, and their main job is to ensure that any painting they sell will hold as a solid investment. They are the “tastemakers.”
You’ll never see Banksy in a blue‑chip gallery — he’s too well‑known, too universally understood. These galleries need to be the ones who “discover” what’s good, positioning themselves as the arbiters of taste while the rest of us supposedly know nothing. The moment they bring in someone already loved by the public, they stop being tastemakers.
Instead, they often feature young, relatively unknown artists — people they can champion early and whose markets they can control. If you’ve been selling paintings independently for years, there’s a risk that older works might re‑enter the market and affect prices without their control.
I’ve seen incredible artists picked up by great galleries, but my point isn’t about the quality of the art — it’s about the systems that galleries rely on to maintain their influence. Personally, I don’t have any aspirations to show there. My focus is on making heartfelt, authentic art. If I earn from it, that’s great, but it’s not my priority or necessary. One of the things I really cherish about social media is that it offers many other ways to sustain a career — not solely through galleries.
On Current Themes
Are there particular subjects, concepts, or emotions that have been especially present in your recent work?
Yes. My recent exhibition, LOST/FOUND, at Whitestone Gallery in Seoul was the first time I fully explored my adoption in my work. I was adopted from Seoul as a baby and grew up in Norway in a sheltered, safe, and loving home. Perhaps because of that, I never felt ready to talk about this part of my life. I have always identified as Norwegian, and like most children, my wish was simply to blend in. So whenever my parents attempted to broach the subjects of adoption, foster care, biological parents, or to facilitate connections with other adopted children, I was quick to decline.
Later, I left Norway searching for something — community, a richer emotional life, a sense of belonging. Now, having returned to Norway part‑time, I’ve come to realise that I’m not fully Norwegian. I’m not fully anything. That forced me to ask: why have I avoided this conversation for most of my life? I’ve come to believe that the most tightly locked doors within us are often the ones we most need to open.
I don’t know what will come of this show and exploration. I’m not even sure if there’s anything there. But I think it’s important for me to look inside to fully know myself.
The works are also partly coloured by recent reports on South Korea’s adoption history — including stories of kidnappings, child selling, and forged birth certificates from among the more than 200,000 children sent overseas over the last fifty years.
On AI and Artistic Authenticity
Some artists embrace AI as a creative tool, while others fear it undermines authenticity. Where do you stand, and have you experimented with it in your own work?
I explored AI briefly at the very beginning, curious about whether it could reflect the human experience. I quickly found it wasn’t interesting enough for me personally.
In fact, I think AI could end up being a gift for artists. It’s inevitable that it will embed itself into every corner of society. But even before AI’s rise, I was already thinking about how disconnected people have become — working from home, ordering everything to the door, communicating entirely through screens. Now, with AI handling even more tasks — booking travel, offering therapy — I believe we will hit a breaking point.
Eventually, people will crave human contact, human emotion, and real‑world experiences: seeing a live band with friends, standing before a hand‑made work of art and feeling the lived experiences behind it, sharing a meal around a table.
I fear for some professions, but I’m not overly worried for artists. AI doesn’t know what it’s like to cry in the shower for a month, or to have your heart broken to the extent where you’re physically ill. It doesn’t know the relief of finding out your sister will not die of cancer. It can only simulate a generalised, averaged‑out idea — not a singular, personal truth.
On the Self‑Taught Artistic Journey
As a self‑taught artist, how has your independent path shaped your approach to learning and experimentation? Were there ‘rules’ you consciously broke while developing your style?
I applied to art schools and academies in my younger years. In retrospect, I’m glad I didn’t get a place—though I do see the value in an art education, particularly for the access it offers to diverse ideas, tools, and other passionate artists.
In general, I remain sceptical of most educational institutions for various reasons. Learning and journeying through life is an essential part of my creative process. Going out into the world, making mistakes, trying new things, drawing your own conclusions, and growing—that’s what makes life worth living. Having someone simply hand you all the “right” answers is, to me, the death of creativity. In this profession, it makes very little sense.
Today, I run workshops of my own, but my teaching is about exploring new ideas, breaking the mould, rethinking everything you think you know about art, and finding your true voice. Above all, it’s about acknowledging that I don’t have all your answers—only you can know what your art should be.
On Cross‑Cultural Influence
Given your multicultural background and time spent in various countries — including your current stay in the UK — has London shaped your perspective or work in a distinctive way?
I don’t think any of the countries I’ve lived in have directly shaped my work. My practice has always been an inward journey, and my core ideas have remained consistent. Of course, living in different places has shaped me personally — affecting how I see life and how I want to live — but my art could follow the same trajectory anywhere.
On Misconceptions About Artists
What’s the biggest misconception about being a full‑time artist?
I think the biggest misconception I hear everywhere is that artists are lazy. I don’t know anyone in any profession that could rival my working hours over the last 20 years. On top of painting, we stretch canvases, prepare surfaces, photograph work, build crates, promote, advertise, edit photos and videos, build websites, haggle with buyers, curate shows, and run workshops. The only reason this is sustainable is because we’re deeply passionate about it, which makes every hour spent worth it.
On Foundational Influences
What has been the biggest influence — in life or in art — on your creative direction?
The death of my grandparents. It propelled me from just having fun with art to need to be an artist able to express myself properly.
I had no healthy way to process that grief, and art became my only outlet — though it took nearly a decade to understand how to channel it.
In terms of outside influences, it’s usually music, books, and films — anything outside my own disciplines. If I’m experiencing art inside my field, I can’t help but focus on the technique, and that’s not how I want to experience art. I want to feel something, not necessarily understand it.
On Collecting and Cherished Objects
Do you own any object — art, design, books, timepieces — that holds particular importance to you?
I don’t have many collectibles and tokens, though I understand it well. I used to be an avid collector of everything, but I would end up throwing everything away. It’s the Norwegian in me, in desperate need of order and simplicity at home.
Final Thoughts
Henrik Uldalen’s practice unfolds inward, rooted in authenticity. In it, he may have discovered the rarest prize in the art world: the ability to connect and resonate with people through the enduring beauty and poignancy of his work. His paintings are represented in galleries internationally, with his most recent exhibition, LOST/FOUND, having been held at Whitestone Gallery in Seoul.
Henrik Uldalen Official Website | Instagram
This Q&A has been lightly edited for length and readability.