NEW YORK — Four bright paintings of ghost-like creatures hang in Christine Kim’s studio on the ninth floor of the School of Visual Arts (SVA). The small, rectangular room comes equipped with a shelf and a table, where Christine keeps a stack of colored paper and a basket of yarn. She works with wood, vivid colors and textured materials. But tonight she has put away her supplies and is having a party.

Her guests are in their early 20s; they bring bags of chips and bottles of red wine. She introduces those who don’t know each other by signing names, forming letters with one hand. Like Christine, most of them are deaf.

The room fills with the quiet swooshing sound of hands brushing together, at times punctuated by bursts of laughter. If it were possible to map the sound in studio 916, it would look like an electrocardiogram — a straight, flat line spiking suddenly when something funny is said.

A group of SVA students gathers in the corridor next to the studio. These are Christine’s classmates, and they can hear. “Your paintings are rad!” a student writes in turquoise ink on a white notebook page. Christine giggles in response.

Christine chats it up in her studio at the School of Visual Arts with a friend using sign language.

Christine, 25, moves confidently between the two groups, pen in hand, notebook ready. She wears a black mini-skirt and silver shoes; her straight black hair is tucked behind her ears. Long, glittery earrings make her look like a movie star. She grabs one of her classmates, a guy with a nose ring, and pulls him by the wrist into the center of the room, which, for tonight, is a gallery where she can share her recent work with her friends.

The back wall of the studio is painted black and decorated with letters cut out of black Velcro. It reads: “Garden Eels live in colonies. 1 colony can hold up to 1000 eels. They live in the sand and burrow down when spooked. They are as long as pencils with big eyes. They rely on sight for food and signs of danger.”

Beneath the lettering are two paintings of garden eels. Christine created the worm-like creatures from cardboard and painted them blue. There is also black yarn stitched onto pieces of wood, through holes that took two days to drill. The yarn is silky smooth.

Christine says that she wants to make her art as interactive as possible. “So that the audience can be more involved with my art by touching it, rather than just looking at it.”

Christine chats it up in her studio at the School of Visual Arts with a friend using sign language

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I met Christine through my brother, who is also deaf, and even though I grew up signing, it’s difficult to interview her. She doesn’t sign in linear English order that I can put in my notebook. She speaks in American Sign Language, a system of words, facial expressions and body language. One sign can express an entire phrase.

I ask Christine about growing up deaf, and she begins by signing “mom.” Her five fingers spread apart and her thumb taps her chin. As she does this, the expression on her face changes to mimic the face of her mother — a wrinkled forehead and concerned eyes. And then Christine switches roles, becoming the pastor at her church, who looms above a young Christine and covers her ears with his hands.