Hyungi Park, Incense Maker

May 7, 2026
Los Angeles, CA


Hyungi Park moves through the world with deep attention. Based in Los Angeles, her practice spans incense, sculpture, bookbinding, design, and ritual—each connected through material, memory, and care. Working primarily by hand, she creates natural incense from woods, herbs, flowers, and resins, blending traditional techniques with a slower, more personal approach.

I visited Hyungi in her studio to spend time around the everyday rhythm of her process—the grinding of raw materials, scent hanging in the air, shelves filled with objects made thoughtfully and without excess. There was something calming about the way she worked. Nothing rushed, nothing forced.

What stayed with me most wasn’t just the incense itself, but the feeling around it. A reminder to slow down a little, pay attention, and be more present with the things around us. More from the studio visit below:

How did incense first enter your life?

My first introduction to incense was through jesa, the Korean tradition of honoring ancestors through ritual offerings and burning incense. It existed in my life initially within that ceremonial context, though outside of that, fragrance was actually quite absent from our household. My mother was very sensitive to scent, and perfumes or heavily fragranced products would often give her headaches, so fragrance was almost forbidden at home. I returned to incense much later through my background in fine arts, particularly while studying performance and ritual-based practices. At the time, I was researching objects, gestures, and materials historically used within rituals across different cultures, and incense became fascinating to me not simply as fragrance, but as a tool for atmosphere, attention, and transformation. My relationship to it began more through research and material curiosity than through scent itself.

When did it become something you knew you couldn’t step away from?

The deeper I researched incense, the more expansive it became. I had initially approached it through ritual and conceptual art, but I became increasingly obsessed with its historical functions beyond fragrance or religious use. Incense has been used to measure time, preserve medicine, repel insects, scent clothing and hair, and even functioned as a precursor to modern perfume. I became fascinated by incense clocks and the various ceremonial devices built around smoke and temporality. The more I discovered, the more I realized incense existed somewhere between craft, atmosphere, sculpture, ritual, chemistry, and timekeeping.

What does a day in the studio usually feel like?

Every day feels very different depending on the projects I’m working on and where I am physically located. I split my time between Los Angeles and New York, and each space functions very differently within my practice. My Los Angeles studio, Goyo, is where all of our production happens and where I develop objects, recipes, and experiments, while New York tends to be more public-facing through workshops, retail, or collaborative projects. Because I work independently, my routine constantly shifts between making, researching, sourcing materials, prototyping, and installation work. The rhythm of each day changes completely depending on the pace of the city, the environment, and the type of project I’m immersed in.

Are there moments in the process where time disappears for you?

Absolutely. Over time I’ve realized that incense itself is deeply meditative, not only to burn but also to make. Many parts of the process are repetitive and tactile in a way that allows your mind to quiet while your body continues working. There’s something very grounding about physically handling aromatic plant materials, grinding powders, mixing doughs, and shaping incense by hand. In many ways it feels similar to working with clay—there’s a softness and rhythm to it that becomes immersive.

What part of the work asks the most patience from you?

The process itself requires an enormous amount of patience because incense is slow at every stage. Whether I’m foraging aromatic plant materials, drying them, powdering them, testing recipes, or adjusting how something burns, every step takes time. Once a blend is finalized, it still needs to be mixed into the correct dough consistency, shaped into sticks or cones, and then dried properly over several days.

What part still surprises you?

What continues to surprise me is how much possibility still exists within incense as a medium. I like to think of my practice as honoring traditional methods and histories while simultaneously pushing them into more contemporary forms. I’m interested in experimenting with unusual incense papers, printed forms, sculptural shapes, and unconventional scent combinations that people may not immediately associate with incense. There’s still so much room for innovation within the medium, and I’m constantly surprised by how flexible and expansive it can become while still remaining connected to its historical roots.

Do you think of scent as something connected more to memory, or discovery?

For me, scent is more connected to discovery. Of course scent is deeply tied to memory, nostalgia, and emotion, but I’m less interested in recreating exact memories than in creating new emotional environments or atmospheres. I want a scent to evoke a feeling, a mood, or a space someone can inhabit in the present moment. Some of my collections, like my Cityscape Collection, are inspired by places that shaped my life and the scents I associate with them, but even then I’m thinking less about literal memory and more about emotional translation. Because everyone experiences scent differently, I’m interested in building fragrances that feel open enough for people to form their own personal associations.

Are there certain smells you’re still trying to understand?

Definitely. I’m especially interested in understanding more environmentally specific plants and materials that are difficult to encounter outside of their native regions. For example, I work with mugwort frequently, and in New York I’ve collaborated with organizations growing invasive mugwort species locally. In California, I’m interested in plants like creosote, particularly because its scent is so tied to desert environments like Joshua Tree. I think there’s something very meaningful about working directly with plants that are geographically specific and less commercially standardized. Those materials carry an atmosphere that feels alive and place-based in a way I’m still trying to fully understand.

How does this space shape the work you make?

My Los Angeles studio has shaped my work immensely because it has evolved alongside my practice over the past seven years. It’s where all of our incense is produced, where I experiment with recipes, and where I develop objects and installations. I designed the space to be highly functional and materially accessible, with tools and aromatic plant materials always visible and within reach. Having my library of raw materials displayed allows me to move fluidly between smelling, blending, prototyping, and testing. The studio itself has become part laboratory, part workshop, and part archive.

Do you think your work would feel different if you were making it somewhere else?

Absolutely. Los Angeles and New York affect my work very differently because their rhythms are so opposite. Los Angeles gives me the space to slow down, breathe, forage, and spend time with materials more intuitively. My studio is located in the mountains, so I’m constantly surrounded by native flora and landscapes that influence the scents I create. In contrast, New York has a much faster and more compressed energy. The environments shape not only my pace of working, but also the emotional atmosphere surrounding the work itself.

Incense feels so connected to time—burning, fading, disappearing. How do you think about that?

I think a great deal about incense historically being used to measure time, but I also think about it in terms of cycles and transformation. Most incense is wood-based, so there’s already a kind of life cycle embedded within the material itself—the tree becomes powder, the powder becomes incense, the incense becomes smoke and ash, and even the ashes can be reused as part of future burnings. There’s something very poetic to me about that continuous transformation. Incense only fully exists while it’s disappearing, and I think that impermanence is part of what makes it emotionally powerful.

Do you have your own ritual when you light incense?

I burn incense every day, both functionally and emotionally. Sometimes it’s simply to create a calmer environment while I work or drink tea, and other times it’s more intentional depending on my mood or mental state. Different scents create very different atmospheres for me. I also enjoy performing small incense ceremonies privately for myself. Even outside of formal ritual, I think the act of lighting incense naturally shifts the pace and energy of a space.

What does a good day in the studio look like for you?

A good day in the studio is usually one filled with experimentation, movement, and discovery. I enjoy moving fluidly between projects, testing new ideas, trying unfamiliar materials, and allowing room for failure. I think failure is actually one of the most important parts of building a practice because every unsuccessful experiment still teaches you something about the material. Over time, incense-making has taught me that skill comes through repetition, curiosity, and consistency rather than immediate mastery. The most fulfilling studio days are the ones where everything feels active, exploratory, and in motion.

What do you hope stays with someone after the incense is gone?

I’ve realized over time that what I’m really making is a tool for people. One of the most meaningful compliments I’ve received was from a friend who walked into a room while my incense was burning and told me it smelled like home to her. At the same time, my family in Korea has used my incense during my grandfather’s death anniversary rituals. I think those two extremes—comfort and memorialization—show how deeply adaptable incense can be within people’s lives. Whether it’s used casually in someone’s daily routine or within an important ceremonial moment, I feel honored to create something that can accompany people through different emotional states and experiences. ●