K-Interview: Ji Oh Choi (Artist)

Interviewer: Aanchal Tekriwal (Godda, Jharkhand, India)

Editor: Prachi Vaid (Delhi, India)

Meet Ji Oh Choi, a South Korean contemporary artist, whose work invites us to see the world with fresh eyes. Based in Seoul and a graduate of the prestigious Hongik University, she spent a decade teaching animation before devoting herself fully to her art. Choi is known for blending hanji paper with deeply personal symbols such as eggs tied with ribbons, clusters of grapes, and landscapes that feel more like dreams than places.

In 2012, a year of travel changed everything, pulling her from the kitchen table out into the wider world. Today her paintings live in Korea’s National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art and have travelled to Hong Kong, Los Angeles, and beyond.

We sat down with Ji Oh Choi to talk about where it all began, what keeps her going, and what it really means to turn your most personal memories into art that travels the world.

Could you please introduce yourself to our readers and to anyone discovering your work for the first time?

Hello. I am Ji Oh Choi, an artist who loves art and feels the greatest happiness when painting. I was born in Seoul, South Korea, in 1966. Since childhood, my dream has been to become a painter. However, it took quite a long time before I could fully embark on the path of an artist. I went through many stages of life, including an early marriage, a long-awaited pregnancy and childbirth, and the experience of raising a child. Along the way, I also worked in the fields of game and animation, and later taught students at a university.

The emotions and perspectives accumulated through these diverse roles and experiences have become an important foundation for the life I now lead as an artist and for the work I continue to create. My artistic practice can be described as a process of expressing the experiences, emotions, and stories that I have accumulated in my life over time through a visual language. Centered on painting, I explore human emotions and the narratives of life through a variety of visual expressions.

You spent ten years teaching animation before committing fully to painting. What finally made you take that leap?

For me, that work was primarily centered on two-dimensional painting; animation was a completely new challenge. Through a fortunate opportunity, I became involved in art directing the animations “Oseaman” and “White Heart Baekgu” for a Korean animation company. Both works received positive recognition, winning awards at the Annecy International Animation Film Festival in France and in the animation section at Cannes. Following these achievements, I was invited to join a university as a professor, where I taught students enrolled in the field of animation and game design. Working with students—researching animation and games together and guiding their creative projects— was an extremely enjoyable and energetic experience.

My roughly ten years in academia were also a period of significant personal growth. During that time, I was able to present media-based works more actively through solo exhibitions and various group exhibitions. Through my work in animation, my artistic practice expanded in many ways. However, as time passed, I increasingly felt the need to devote more time and deeper focus to my own work as an artist. In 2011, I eventually concluded my ten-year academic career and chose to dedicate myself more fully to painting and my personal artistic practice. That decision became an important turning point in my life, allowing me to explore my artistic world with greater freedom.

You studied oriental painting at Hongik, made pottery, built furniture, and spray-painted walls before finding your signature voice. How did all of that shape the artist you are today?

While studying traditional Korean painting at university, I developed a deep interest in Korea’s unique aesthetic sensibilities. In particular, I was strongly drawn to the free expression and the simple, yet lively beauty found in traditional Korean Minhwa Folk Paintings and Buncheong Ceramics. This traditional aesthetics remains an important root of my work even today. After graduating from graduate school, I explored a wide range of artistic fields, including ceramics, furniture design, graffiti, and animation.

Experiencing different media and working methods broadened my perspective on art, and it also enriched both the content and the forms of expression in my work. These diverse experiences have provided a foundation that allows me to express myself more freely and to continue experimenting. They have become essential elements in shaping the artistic world I inhabit today. Ultimately, I believe that curiosity and joy lie at the starting point of all these attempts. I also believe that these two qualities are the most important driving forces that enable an artist to continue creating.

The egg tied with a ribbon is one of your most recognised symbols, born from 6 years of waiting to become a mother. How did something so personal become the centre of your visual language?

I believe that everyone has something in life that they cherish most. For me, that was life itself. I had long wished to have a child, but it was not easy for me to conceive, and I experienced about six years of infertility. That period was a profoundly meaningful experience, as it made me deeply reflect on the significance of life. When I finally became a parent after such a long wait, I felt even more deeply how precious and grateful a gift life truly is. From that experience, the image of the ribbon-tied egg was born.

The egg symbolises the birth of life, and the ribbon tied around it signifies the precious gift given to us. At first, this image arose from a deeply personal experience, but as my work continued, its meaning gradually expanded. Through this image, I wanted to express that not only human life, but all life on this Earth is precious, and that every living being is born with profound love and protection from its parents and surroundings. Thus, the eggs in my work are not merely forms; they have become symbols of the dignity and love inherent in all life on this planet.

In 2012, you travelled the world and came back painting landscapes instead of dining tables. What changed in your vision as an artist?

After marrying my husband, whom I met in the same department at university, we travelled together to many different regions of Korea and often sketched the landscapes we encountered along the way. Then in 2012, my husband, my son, and I set out on a world journey that lasted for about a year. This experience became a very important turning point in my work. The journey did more than simply expand the subjects of my paintings; it also brought about a profound change in the way I see the world on a spiritual level. Encountering the landscapes and nature of many different countries led me to think more deeply about life and death, and about the profound beauty inherent in nature.

Although I am not exclusively a landscape painter, landscapes have become a way for me to contemplate the passage of time and the stories of existence that flow within them. In nature, human beings are very small, and perhaps we are only passing presences in this vast world. Yet through painting, I hope to record and preserve as honestly as possible the thoughts and emotions I experience in the present moment.

For this reason, my landscape paintings are not simply representations of nature; they are a process of reflecting on life and existence as I experience them within the natural world. The world journey expanded my work from a personal narrative toward a broader reflection on the world and on existence itself. 

Your work has been collected by Korea’s National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art through the Art Bank programme. What does that kind of institutional recognition mean to you personally?

Three of my works, each measuring 132 × 165 cm—the largest size eligible for submission, were acquired by the Art Bank program of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art over a period of about three years. However, the process was not smooth from the beginning. In the early stages, my applications were not selected several times. I believe this may have been because the materials and methods I use differ somewhat from the traditional materials and formats associated with Korean ink painting. Nevertheless, I continued working with the belief that my practice might eventually represent one possible direction for contemporary interpretations of Korean painting.

For this reason, having my works collected by the Art Bank of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art is personally very meaningful. While institutional recognition is certainly important, this experience has also encouraged me to further expand and develop the contemporary direction of Korean painting that I have been pursuing. It has given me a quiet confidence that the path I have taken in my work has not been mistaken, and it has become a great source of strength as I continue my artistic journey with a more progressive and committed approach.

Samsung put your work on the Family Hub, a product sitting in kitchens everywhere. For an artist whose whole story started at the dining table, how did that feel?

Food ingredients such as fruits, vegetables, and eggs began to appear frequently in my work from memories of my childhood. I grew up accompanying my mother to the market and spending time with her preparing meals at home, naturally experiencing the warm atmosphere that surrounds food and the dining table. After getting married, cooking became another new experience in my daily life. During that time, I began to paint images that reflected my emotions and personal stories through the various ingredients I encountered while cooking. These works resonated with many people, and I believe that connection eventually led to my collaboration with Samsung Electronics.

In fact, one of my dreams was for my paintings to hang in kitchens: the place where people share some of the happiest moments of their lives. For that reason, it was a very special and joyful experience for me to see my work displayed in kitchens around the world through Samsung’s Family Hub. I hope that my paintings can bring a small sense of joy and warmth to the people who use those spaces. I believe the kitchen is where family and the stories of everyday life are most often shared, which makes it even more meaningful for me that my work can exist alongside people’s daily lives in such a space.

You once painted the same Berlin house more than ten times in a single month. What was it about that place that just would not let you go?

My year-long world journey was a continuous movement from one place to another. In the midst of that journey, the month I spent staying at a house on the outskirts of Germany offered me a special sense of stability and peace. What made that house meaningful to me was not simply the beauty of the place itself. During my stay there, I formed a warm relationship with the elderly couple who lived in the house, and the time I spent with them left a deep impression on me. The quiet and peaceful daily life I experienced there, along with the warm memories I shared with them, remain very precious moments in my mind.

Perhaps that is why I ended up painting the house more than ten times. Each time I paint it, I feel as though the peaceful atmosphere and the warm memories I experienced there gently return to embrace me again. Whenever I feel tired or overwhelmed, I sometimes revisit that place through painting. There is a term called topophilia, which refers to a deep affection for a particular place. I believe there are several such places in my heart, and the memories and emotions connected to them continue to unfold as new stories within my work. 

Your ribbon-tied eggs and grape paintings have become instantly recognisable. When you sit down to start a new piece, what is your starting point? Is it an image, a memory, a colour, or something else?

For me, images such as ribbons, fried eggs, grapes, and flowers are not simply visual motifs. They are elements that symbolize memories and thoughts deeply embedded in my mind. These images become a visual language through which I express the emotions and stories I have experienced in my life. For example, the small quail angel that can be found in several of my paintings symbolizes a tiny life dreaming of birth. The salamander, on the other hand, represents resilience and vitality—the ability of a living being to protect itself by sacrificing its own tail in moments of danger. In addition, various elements such as red-roofed houses, snakes, birds, and clouds all function as symbolic images that reveal the memories, emotions, and stories that exist within me.

For this reason, the starting point of a new work is not a single specific element, but rather symbolic images that naturally emerge from the memories and emotions accumulated within me. Through these images, I continue to tell the stories of my experiences and thoughts within my paintings. Ultimately, I do not see my work as simply painting an image; rather, it is a process in which the memories and emotions of my life appear on the canvas in the form of symbolic imagery.

Your first solo show was in 2008, and here you are in 2026 still finding new things to say with a brush. What would you tell the Ji Oh who hung that very first painting on the wall at Gallery Dam?

First of all, I would sincerely congratulate Ji Oh Choi on her very first solo exhibition, just as she was beginning her journey as a painter. I would tell her to always remember those earnest and precious days—teaching students all day, taking care of household responsibilities, putting her child to bed, and then staying up late into the night painting while sacrificing sleep. Although she was not able to begin exhibiting as early as some others, I hope she becomes a painter who loves painting more deeply than anyone else and continues to create for a long time.

Even as time passes, even if she becomes more widely known and grows older, I hope she never forgets the purity and sincerity she felt when she first began drawing as a child. Even when things are difficult, I hope she cherishes that very first moment when she tried so earnestly to express herself through art, and takes pride in every step of the journey she has walked so far. You have worked very hard. I hope you will continue to grow as an artist representing Korea and keep telling your own unique stories through art. 

You kept every single toy your son played with as a child in your studio. What do those small objects mean to you now when you look at them?

I naturally project fragments of memories shared with loved ones into objects. For me, my son has been a special presence, the reason I exist in this world, and the strength that allows me to overcome all difficulties. The toys he played with are not only his, but also precious objects that carry memories of our time together.

About ten years ago, I began to give these small toys new meaning. By placing each toy on a wooden horse, I brought memories of childhood and moments with my family into my artwork. Just as traces of my son’s early years rest upon my “Year of the Horse” figures, these small toys now carry new stories and will continue to live on in my work. My practice, in this way, becomes a process in which love and memory seep into physical objects and are reborn as new forms of art. Interpreting the memories and emotions embedded in these objects is central to my work and serves as a bridge connecting life and art. 

Oriental painting has its own way of seeing the world, very different from the Western perspective. How much of that philosophy still lives in your work today?

The most important principle in traditional Korean painting is not to replicate the outward appearance of a subject, but to capture the living energy that resides within it. A painter does not simply reproduce the external form; rather, they convey its essential vitality on the canvas, which is intimately connected to the painter’s own spiritual cultivation. Eastern painters did not see nature merely as something to observe or conquer. Instead, nature was regarded as the source to which humans must return, a presence intimately identified with the self. When I paint a flower, I am not merely depicting the flower itself; I am expressing the feelings and life force I experience by becoming one with the flower. This reflects the core worldview of Eastern art.

Whereas Western aesthetics often focuses on what is depicted, emphasizing analytical thought, Eastern aesthetics values how to exist, a philosophical and ontological perspective. My work seeks to reinterpret these Eastern aesthetic principles and worldviews in a contemporary context, expressing them through modern visual language. My practice is therefore not just a form of visual representation, but also an attempt to reinterpret the ontological worldview of Eastern art in a modern framework. Moving forward, I aim to allow this deeper philosophical reflection to continue naturally permeating my work. 

When you are not painting, not sketching, not thinking about the next show, who is Ji Oh Choi, and what does she love most?

This question felt surprisingly refreshing to me. It made me realize once again that even in moments when I am not painting, I have always been living with painting in my mind. Just as people cannot completely separate themselves from what they are passionate about and love, I have come to understand that I have rarely been truly apart from my art. Yet I am grateful for this. Because my life and painting are naturally intertwined, I can catch fleeting inspirations and moments without letting them slip away.

At the same time, your question prompted me to imagine my true self, separate from painting, in a state of detachment from everything. Ultimately, I think what I love most is myself as someone who loves painting and observes and feels life through it. In that process, I discover the joy of connecting myself with the world. Even the moments apart from painting become opportunities for inspiration and self-reflection, and they too are part of the life I cherish and love. 

India has a rich tradition of folk painting rooted in everyday life and nature, like  Madhubani, Warli, and Pattachitra, all carrying the same belief that the ordinary is worth painting. Do you feel a connection there, and what would you say to your growing Indian audience?

I hold the value of folk painting in very high regard. During my travels in India, I was deeply captivated by the unique and beautiful expressions of Indian folk painting traditions such as Madhubani, Warli, and Pattachitra. In their style and spirit, I could sense similarities to the emotions I have experienced in Korean Minhwa. In particular, the innocent expressions, imaginative storytelling, and vibrant colors were a great source of inspiration for me. Through my work, I aim to find special moments and meanings even in ordinary daily life through the eyes of an artist, and to freely project myself into those moments.

During my two-month stay in India, I experienced a country rich in history, art, and philosophy, and it gifted me a sense of extraordinary energy and focus. I hope that many visitors from India who come to Korea will also take an interest in and appreciate the beauty of Korea’s nature, history, culture, and art. I wish that my work could convey to Indian audiences the joy of everyday moments, life, and imagination.

Have you created any works inspired by your travels in India?

India was the final destination of my year-long world journey. I spent about two months there, sketching, reading, and writing. One day, I was completely captivated by a vibrant, beautiful orange flower blooming in the courtyard of a house I happened to pass by, and I began to sketch it. I did not even know the flower’s name, but its noble and extraordinary beauty left a deep impression on my memory. Over the past ten years, since that journey, I have repeatedly painted this flower and expressed it in my work.

A few years ago, through studying Buddhism, I learned that this flower is the Ashoka flower, named after King Ashoka, and that it is considered sacred because it is said to have bloomed when Buddha’s mother experienced labor pains. Even before knowing its historical and religious significance, I had already felt a special strength and comfort from this flower, and I titled my work “The Tree That Brings Happiness.” In fact, the tree is also called Muusu, meaning “the tree without worries.”

Through my travels in India, I discovered a flower of great personal significance, and ever since, I have continued to depict the Ashoka flower, offering comfort and joy to both myself and my audience. That is why receiving this interview request from India felt especially surprising and delightful, as the country holds a very special place in my heart. I hope that the inspiration I received from India continues to live in my work and brings small moments of comfort and happiness to those who view it.

Once again, we would like to express our heartfelt gratitude for your precious time and for sharing insights about your journey. Thank you so much. On behalf of the entire team at Hallyuism, we wish you all the best for your future projects and lots of love from India!

We hope you all loved reading this interview as much as we loved conducting it. Let us know your thoughts in the comments!