Dakyo Oh is an artist based in Seoul and Edinburgh who explores the relationship between nature and human existence through the primordial medium of soil. Her practice began with an interest in the cosmic depth and energy she perceived in the soil of a small flowerpot while tending to plants.

For Oh, soil is more than just a material; it is the foundation of a cycle where all life originates and returns, as well as a condensation of accumulated time. By layering and scraping materials such as soil, sand, and mineral pigments onto the canvas, she captures the rhythm of nature as it forms and dissolves shapes over time. Vivid scenes sensed in daily life, such as the traces of waves or the reflection of a forest on damp ground, are translated into a visual language that is both tactile and serene through the texture of earth. Recently, she has been observing the shifts in nature amidst climate change, delicately recording the finite beauty of life as it transforms and fades through the temporality and locality of soil. Through this process, Oh invites us to recover the natural senses we have lost and opens a window through which we can breathe with the world.

Oh received her BA in Plastic Arts from Université Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne and her MFA in Oriental Painting from Seoul National University. Her major exhibitions include the solo shows Earthlike (Carin Gallery, 2024), Undine (Seojung Art, 2023), and am is are (Pipe Gallery, 2022). She has also participated in numerous group exhibitions, including Even on the Day the Waiting Ends (Gyeonggi Museum of Modern Art, 2025), and A Sonnet for the Earth (Seongnam Cube Art Museum, 2024).

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

Looking back at my childhood, I remember myself spending hours alone in a quiet room with a view of the mountains. Whether I was playing the piano or painting, immersing myself in those emotions felt less like loneliness and more like an exciting journey. A particularly special encounter with art happened during elementary school, when my homeroom teacher, a master of intangible cultural heritage, taught us the Four Gracious Plants (Sagunja) every morning.

Around that time, I began to feel a deep sense of wonder at the fact that while I could see everyone else’s face, I could never directly see my own. This visual limitation of not being able to essentially face myself led to an exploration of the roots of existence. It brought me face-to-face with fundamental questions about memories before birth and the boundary between life and death. I have lived with a constant inquiry into where I came from, where I am going, and the very nature of being.

While studying art history and philosophy in college, I realized that these ontological explorations from my childhood, once dismissed as mere eccentricities, were actually the source of inspiration in the world of art. I became convinced that the act of questioning and this inherent disposition would serve as the foundation to sustain and expand my path as an artist, which has allowed me to continue my work to this day.

What inspired you to use earth as a material for thinking about life, time, and return?

Gardening is one of my hobbies, so I’ve always had many pots on my desk. One day, while repotting, I looked down into a pot filled only with soil, without a plant. The color and texture of the earth, which I had usually regarded as mere dust, felt exceptionally deep. I was struck by a sense of wonder at the invisible power of the earth that nurtures countless forms of life.

This thought connected with the biblical passage that humans were made of dust, leading me to see earth in a new light as the material of the Creator. I was more interested in the earth that contains a living spirit rather than the earth itself. Just as plants and animals return to the ground when life fades, I believe earth is a material with deep layers that embrace the beginning and end of all existence. Seeing how the earth silently accepts even the ugliness of the world, I felt a sense of anticipation for what unexpected things this material would produce. To me, earth is like a vessel for life. I began my work because I wanted to capture the invisible traces of the soul through this medium.

You often work with sand, mineral pigments, charcoal, and other natural substances—how does your process unfold from beginning to end?

The work begins with sourcing soil from a specific region. I sift coarse soil by hand to prepare it evenly. Then I secure hemp cloth or linen onto a sturdy canvas or wooden panel as a support. For mixing materials, I use agyo, which is a traditional medium in East Asian painting. This natural adhesive extracted from animal bones firmly bonds the earth or pigments to the surface. I melt the glue on the prepared support and apply a thin mixture of soil, sand, charcoal, and pigments. Sometimes I scratch the surface with nails or spatulas, building up layers through this repeated process of painting and scratching.

In your recent works, you respond to changes in nature shaped by climate conditions. How have these transformations influenced your perspective as an artist?

Actually, I did not start working on themes related to the climate crisis from the beginning. I simply loved nature and expressed the meaning and naturalness of natural materials, but receiving an exhibition proposal from a museum became a turning point. My work on nature naturally aligned with the discourse on the climate crisis, and this prompted me to contemplate the topic more deeply.

However, as an artist standing before this huge theme, I honestly felt a great sense of helplessness. I wondered what impact my work could have when everyone already knows about the crisis, and I worried about creating more waste. During that time, I happened to reread the poems of Yun Dong-ju, whom I have always admired. His heart, feeling ashamed of poems written easily during the tragic colonial era and vowing to embrace all dying things, resonated deeply with the small light within my helplessness. I felt that his sincere sensitivity reaching us today provides as much resonance as a struggle, even if it was not a direct visible action. Based on the inspiration from the poet’s attitude, I started the work titled Love All Dying Things, which became my own perspective on the climate crisis.

I consider recording the unique appearance of this era amidst a rapidly changing nature as a small mission, much like the poet writing his verses with a humble heart. With the thought that the nature we face now might be the last, I am archiving with a heart that treasures every moment in the face of an uncertain future.

What do you hope people take away from your art when they experience it?

Since the experiences of viewers are infinite, I do not want to set a fixed answer. However, speaking from my experience, I learned a perspective to look at humans and nature more beautifully through the works of artists like Claude Monet, Agnes Martin, Rinko Kawauchi, and Rei Naito. Just as they opened a new window to the world for me, I hope my work serves as an opportunity for viewers to awaken a deep sensitivity in their lives. It would be my greatest fulfillment as an artist if I could open a perspective to face nature not just as a matter but as an intimacy with vitality beyond it.

What projects are you currently working on, and what can we expect from you in the future?

Moving my base to the UK recently has had a great impact on my work. The nature I encounter here has a very different palette from Korea. Compared to Korea’s nature with distinct seasons and high saturation, this place has frequent rain and gradual weather changes, so plants have low saturation and deep earthy tones. That is why I am focusing on the original color of the soil rather than adding pigments these days. I am capturing the seasons of this place by borrowing the diverse raw colors of the soil itself.

At the same time, I am deeply considering ways to minimize carbon emissions in my creative process. While my work does not place a heavy burden on the environment, I still felt a lingering discomfort even when crafting wooden canvases. Based on these reflections, I am researching production methods that are carbon-neutral, such as recycling waste paper. I am striving to ensure that the act of documenting nature does not end up harming it.

Text and photo courtesy of Dakyo Oh

Website: https://www.dakyooh.com/
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