Vagyoomoo focuses on beings in motion—those who share the fundamental drive for survival. She observes these beings within their environments, drawn to the mechanisms each employs to survive and the intersections where diverse lives converge. Vagyoomoo is particularly interested in these points of intersection and perceives their lives as closely intertwined with her own. She sees all life forms as influencing one another’s survival, understanding this interconnectedness as a kind of “chimera.”

She finds the origin of art in a state of yearning. Regardless of how much time passes, human nature does not evolve at the same pace as technology. People still seek religion in times of crisis and look for phenomena, beings, or logic to rely on. Amid rapidly advancing technology, Vagyoomoo works with instinct as her compass, summoning entities that might serve as companions in survival or intimate deities. Trees, lions, and other entities that exist outside the realms of capital and technology—surviving in their primal state—offer the most fundamental kind of faith in the possibility of survival amid uncertainty, thanks to their ecological properties.

Can you tell us about your background and how you started your artistic journey?

Since I was very young, drawing came naturally—it was simply something I did. Around 2008, while I was in middle school, a Damien Hirst exhibition was held at a gallery in Daegu, the city where I lived. A friend who knew how much I loved drawing gave me an invitation, and we went to the exhibition together. That’s where I first saw a skull densely covered in flies. I don’t clearly remember what kind of emotional impression it left on me, but I do know that it shattered my previous understanding of what fine art was.

Until I saw that exhibition, fine art to me was like old paintings viewed on the flat surface of a textbook. (Though ironically, the more I create, the more I find myself captivated by those old paintings.) Behind the skull, I saw the pill series and remember reading the pamphlet detailing its implied meaning several times. The experience became a defining moment in my life—a kind of rupture that doesn’t come easily again. From that moment, I began to dream of becoming someone who could create a similar rupture in another person’s life, making their world feel more dimensional.

How do you stay inspired and motivated to create new work?

I draw inspiration from the energy and mechanisms that all living beings—humans included—exert to sustain life. One key idea that often appears in how I experience life is the mitochondrion. Mitochondria carry their own DNA within our cells. I see them as something like another entity living inside me, a remnant that made the birth of multicellular organisms—and thus, me as a human—possible.

This awareness that I contain something other than myself leads to thoughts of the microbiome or Demodex folliculorum. My existence wouldn’t be possible without these beings, and that realization makes me see myself as a kind of chimeric being. As I expand this awareness, I sometimes feel as though I dissolve and become part of a larger resonance that belongs to the Earth itself.

On top of that, I observe the diverse survival strategies of different life forms and try to embody their will to live—like a totemic force—within my work. My hope is that these efforts can give viewers a bit of energy to get through their day. That hope, I think, is what drives me.

How has your artistic style evolved over time?

My work has followed two major threads: a focus on desire, and a focus on how we experience life. In the beginning, I was drawn to the theme of desire. Later, I became more interested in lived experience. Now, I’m trying to find a way to integrate the two.

When I was in college, appetite and sexuality felt strangely foreign to me—along with the desire to live well. I wouldn’t say I studied these things analytically; rather, I became immersed in their impressions. Thoughts like: Flowers are clearly reproductive organs, yet because of their beauty, they’re constantly displayed and consumed as gifts. A bouquet essentially strips a plant of its sexual function. Or: Ham, which is the remnant of a pig reduced to a single ingredient, with the entire process erased. Or: Ritualistic acts stemming from the human desire to live well, alongside ongoing wars and conflicts somewhere in the world. These fragmented thoughts formed the basis of my early work.

Based on them, I created pieces such as a guillotine-shaped vase using ceramic clay, plates adorned with hybrid images of humans and animals along with food placed on top, and sculptures representing cyclical violence—bodies on top and heads beneath, echoing serial executions.

During graduate school, I was diagnosed with a pinched nerve in my neck and was physically limited for some time. During that period, I noticed trees on the street with large burls—those lumps reminded me of my herniated disc. I projected my experience of slowly regaining physical stability through gradual overload onto those trees that continued to grow despite their scars. This became the Hernia Ttaekkal Tree series. That was when I began working in both painting and sculpture.

Now, I’m exploring comprehensive ways of expression—through sculpture, painting, and installation—that examine survival mechanisms across species, survival instincts, entanglements and clashes born from survival, and the superstitious or ritualistic behaviors humans engage in as one form of desire.

Many pieces feature vibrant colors against dark backgrounds. Is this visual contrast symbolic of particular themes?

Yes, it reflects the entanglement and clashes of survival energy. Just as individual struggles interlock to create the world, the colors collide to form waves across the surface.

The material contrast also plays a role—oil pastels layered on felt add a certain tactile resistance that mirrors that tension. The intensity between colors is crucial in my work, though the reason for this might be quite simple: it’s how I feel the forces of life.

What challenges have you faced as an artist, and how have you overcome them?

The greatest challenge has been financial instability and the resulting lack of time. It’s hard to keep creating under such conditions, but I try not to expect too much too quickly. I focus on making the most of what’s possible within my environment, and sometimes those constraints lead to unique and interesting results. Hardships don’t really end—they just shift form. So I try to be aware of that and build a kind of mental resilience or belief system to keep going. I also practice Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Like any sport, it teaches you how to face uncertainty and personal limits—much like art does. It helps me endure and move forward.

What advice would you give to emerging artists trying to establish themselves?

I’m still early in my career myself, so I don’t have definitive advice. But one thing that helps me is to accept critique carefully, trust myself, and consciously recognize the effort I put in. Acknowledging your own progress, even in small ways, can help sustain a life of making art

Text & photo courtesy of  Vagyoomoo

Website: https://vagyoomoo.wixsite.com/vagyoomoo
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