Meet Cheyoon Lee

We recently connected with Cheyoon Lee and have shared our conversation below.

Cheyoon, so excited to have you with us today. So much we can chat about, but one of the questions we are most interested in is how you have managed to keep your creativity alive.

Though I grew up in Seoul, a densely populated and noisy city of South Korea, my heart has always belonged to the serenity of the countryside. Thus, although I grew up a city girl, I often cherished a short getaway to the quiet countryside because I could often lie in the cabin and feel the breeze surrounded by tall trees and listen to music, and these enriching sensations kept my creativity alive. Indeed, these moments helped me a lot when I played music and encouraged me to develop my imagination and creativity as I naturally had the urge to express those emotions into sound. I don’t know how it started or why – this unique habit of mine became the foundation of how I interpret music today — not just the notes, but the stories and feelings that I once experienced in the silence of nature.

Since I was a kid, I believed that each moment has its own unique sensation like a color or scent, and I loved naming those moments. For example, one of my most favorite times of the day is 4pm, which I call the “Sugar Sunset.” In fact, what makes 4pm so special is that at 4pm, the sunlight is particularly tender, sweet, and golden, and the world seems to slow down. As I enjoy that special moment, I sit down in the quiet place, trying to feel the atmosphere using all my senses, and that is how I feel the interconnectedness of music, emotion, and my inner world. Indeed, these small yet meaningful rituals of noticing — of turning sound into emotion and emotion into image — have always kept my creativity alive. Whether I’m alone imagining music in nature or working with myself to unlock my own creative voices, I return to this childlike curiosity and sensitivity, because that is where my creativity lives — not in perfection, but in presence.

Thanks for sharing that. So, before we get any further into our conversation, can you tell our readers a bit about yourself and what you’re working on?

I’m a cellist, performer, and a huge chamber music lover. I did my bachelor’s degree at the New England Conservatory, master’s degree at the Juilliard School, and I will be pursuing my doctoral degree in USC Thornton School of Music, looking forward to studying under the legendary cellist Ralph Kirshbaum.

The most exciting and special part of my musical journey is that I embrace both the Korean and American culture and education, as I grew up in these two completely different nations. For instance, Korea values collectivism, and thus, most people conform to the majority and avoid being conspicuous. As a result, Korean culture naturally embraces humility, and this value has deeply influenced my musical attitude, shaping me into a musician who prioritizes respect, collaboration, and self-reflection over individual display. On the other hand, living in the US taught me the value of self-expression, individuality, and honesty, and by reflecting on the stark differences between the Korean and American educational systems I experienced, I was able to offer meaningful feedback on my classmates’ performances—emphasizing the value of a more artistically inclined, technically sound approach.

Furthermore, while Korea’s education focuses on repetitive training and foundational technical training, the US’s education highlights building one’s own musical voices to foster the freedom of interpretation and emotional expression. In fact, the US teaches approaching music not just as a performance but as a form of storytelling. As a result, I learned the importance of the basic and detail-oriented approach of using the expression of emotion, and I aspire to become an instructor who not only values phrasing, dynamics, and emotional expression, but also building a solid technical foundation through scales and etudes and practicing slowly.

Lastly, about my music –I ground myself in the Korean values of preparation and deep respect for the ensemble, while also embracing the openness, spontaneity, and emotional courage I learned in the U.S. I strive for balance and overall cohesion, but at the same time, I encourage each member to express their own musical character and raw emotions. As a result, rehearsals become a space where focus and flexibility coexist—an ideal collaborative environment where each musician is free to explore while remaining accountable to one another.

My experience of integrating Eastern and Western musical values into both teaching and performance naturally extends to the repertoire I choose. I am especially drawn to works that reflect cultural identity, emotional depth, and artistic individuality — values that resonate deeply with who I am. My aspiration to form a chamber group that specializes in works by underrepresented composers is directly inspired by working on pieces by musicians with whom I felt a strong connection. As a female and Korean performing artist, witnessing the positive shift towards gender and racial equality in the musical field has been refreshing. When I delved into Isang Yun’s Nore, the study of his life and oeuvre provided a wealth of inspiration. I immediately recognized the implemented Korean traditional musical style, kugak, and was able to call on my cultural immersion to present this piece in a more personal way. Creating the tension and release of sound that is characteristic of kugak but using a culturally Western instrument, the cello, I was able to connect the two different influences of my musical training, Eastern and Western. Another experience that has shaped me as a musician is my encounter with Lament by Ellen Taaffe Zwilich. The familiar challenge of newer pieces—the dearth of information and recordings—required me to take the bit of information that the piece was written in memory of her friend and use my creativity and imagination to fill in the rest. I had to reach deep empathically to connect with the emotions Zwilich might have felt. After a performance of the piece, a few colleagues started to learn the same piece, and I felt pride bringing this piece to light for others. Looking ahead, I aspire to become a professor in the U.S., where I can help musicians discover perspectives and experiences they may not have had access to. I hope to create opportunities for them to explore and perform works by underrepresented composers, broadening both their repertoire and worldview. As an artist, I want to be someone who introduces new ideas, challenges norms, and leads with curiosity — always creating space for others to do the same.

Looking back, what do you think were the three qualities, skills, or areas of knowledge that were most impactful in your journey? What advice do you have for folks who are early in their journey in terms of how they can best develop or improve on these?

Discernment
From a young age, I disliked anything that lacked uniqueness. I believed that without distinctiveness, it would be difficult to be noticed, and I didn’t like the idea of being invisible. This mindset played a big role in how I ended up choosing the cello.
I attended a private elementary school where playing in the orchestra was mandatory. When it came time to choose an instrument, my parents suggested the violin because it was light and easy to carry. Also, at the time, violin and flute were very popular choices among girls.
However, I didn’t want to follow the crowd. As more and more students gravitated toward the violin, I found myself increasingly drawn to the cello — particularly its human-like voice and calm, resonant sound, which touched me deeply. If I hadn’t had that sense of discernment at a young age, I might never have encountered the cello the way I did.

Responsibility
As a performer, I always feel a deep responsibility to convey genuine music to the audience — not merely by playing the notes, but by uncovering and communicating the composer’s hidden message and emotional intent behind the score. Thus, I believe that when I understand the emotion or the circumstances that the composer is situated in, the genuine music comes out more easily and could be smoothly delivered to the audience. For example, I once had the honor to play Shostakovich’s music, and it was impossible not to remember how severely he was oppressed and monitored under the Soviet regime, especially during Stalin’s rule. Indeed, Shostakovich lived with the constant fear that he could be arrested at any moment. Officially, he appeared to comply with the demands of the regime, but in reality, he embedded hidden messages of resistance within his music. In many of his works — particularly Symphonies No. 5, 8, and 10 — the surface may seem to project a triumphant, nationalistic image, but beneath it lies a profound expression of sorrow, anger, cynicism, and despair.

By deeply studying and understanding the historical and emotional contexts behind the music, I feel a profound responsibility to convey the true essence of the works to the audience. It is not just about playing the notes, but about honoring the stories, struggles, and humanity embedded within them. I felt a huge responsibility to people who feel happy and get interested in cello through listening to my music.

Through this understanding, I realize that my role as a performer extends far beyond technical mastery; it is about building a bridge between the composer’s inner world and the hearts of the audience. I aspire to create performances that not only honor the hidden stories within the music but also inspire, comfort, and connect people on a deeply human level.

Sympathy and Patience
Sympathy and patience were not values I used to prioritize. But that changed through an experience I had while teaching children in Korea, which helped me realize just how vital they are in education. Music is not a simple technical skill – it is an art that expresses emotions and shares identity through culture, personal experience, and the unique way each artist breathes life into a piece. Therefore, since every person has a different pace, experience, and personality, I needed sympathy and patience by my side because music as an art doesn’t have an answer, and thus, I had to naturally embrace differences.
Some students may learn quickly, while others need more time to absorb and internalize. Some connect to music through joy, others through sorrow. Some express themselves loudly and vividly; others find strength in quiet nuance. As a teacher, my role was to recognize these differences, respect them, and help each student discover their own path and voice in music. Learning music took me years, and there were many struggles and challenges and doubts about myself. Because I know how long and emotionally challenging this journey can be, I hope to become a teacher who not only instructs but truly understands and supports students through their ups and downs. True teaching is not just about passing down knowledge; it is about walking alongside someone with patience, understanding, and unwavering belief in their potential.

Okay, so before we go, is there anyone you’d like to shoutout for the role they’ve played in helping you develop the essential skills or overcome challenges along the way?

While studying at the Juilliard School, I had the privilege to learn from Dr. Clara Kim, who has been one of the most influential figures in my musical journey. I first met her in 2015, during my audition for Juilliard Pre-College Division. I had already heard about her extraordinary reputation, so I felt incredibly nervous meeting her. Now, having learned so much from her, I completely understand why she is so beloved by students and respected among musicians. Dr. Kim is not only an exceptional artist but also an extraordinary human being with profound insight and deep understanding of people. She knows how to nurture each student’s individuality while maintaining the highest musical standards, and her mentorship has been a guiding light throughout my development. In her lesson, students are learning to be mature musicians, not only good cellists. She always emphasizes how to communicate better with others, and how to be prepared — not just for performances, but for every opportunity and challenge that may come my way.

Before studying with Dr. Kim, I thought success was measured by how well I played, but after her lessons, I learned that true success is measured by how deeply I can connect — with the music, with myself, and with the people around me. I am profoundly grateful for her mentorship, and I carry her lessons with me — not only in music, but in how I hope to live, teach, and inspire others in the future.

Contact Info:

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