Kior Ko’s works are at once diaristic and speculative. Shimmering with hyperreal detail, Ko’s work plays with perception — drawing on personal memories, bodily forms, and natural elements like flowers and water droplets to create visual metaphors for the ephemeral, the intimate, and the human.
Exhibiting at London’s Saatchi Gallery as part of a group show titled Flowers — Flora in Contemporary Art & Culture, bookending the iconic Chelsea Flower Show, Ko’s practice explores what she calls “the texture of experience”. With influences ranging from cinematic soundtracks to the natural world, her images feel alive: breathing, dreaming, glitching. In a world dominated by screens, Ko’s works remind us that digital images can indeed evoke the tactility of the natural world. All it takes is an observant eye.
Hi Kior, it’s nice to talk to you. What are you working on at the moment?
Hi, thanks for having me. Nowadays, I’m working on accumulating idea sketches, based on collecting images, thoughts, and passages from here and there for development.
Your artworks often feature elements like flowers, water, and human anatomy. What draws you to these motifs in particular?
Flower are beautiful at first glance, and such strange things in a fascinating way when observation starts. Their purpose is to be seen — there’s no camouflage, no blending in. They have to fully be themselves, as distinguishable as possible. It’s like every single blossom is a crystallised form of eagerness and desire to be noticed or wanted. At the same time, they are as vulnerable and delicate. That contrast, I think, is deeply relatable as an artist.
I love using the elements of water drops because of the refraction they create. On a more sentimental note, it feels like they have their own lenses through which they interpret the vast world, no matter how small they are. Water drops also don’t last long, but they represent the source of life. I see a similar contrast in water drops as I do in flowers.
The human body is always a powerful tool to express visceral feelings. It is what I have, my friends have, and every living human on Earth has. It’s like an anchoring element I naturally turn to when I want to tell stories through my work, hoping it stimulates emotions or thoughts in those who view it.
Many of your works delve into the complexities of human perception and emotion. How do you approach translating such intricate internal experiences into visual art? Have you always used visual art as a way of processing or understanding your emotions, or did that evolve as part of your creative journey?
Human stories have always been one of the most intriguing themes in art. For me, observing and understanding the subjects is a critical process. But the truth is, I can never fully know someone else’s story well enough to make it the subject of my work. So, I choose the closest person that I can look into and research most closely: myself.
I use notes and diaries I’ve written, photos I’ve taken, and similar personal materials as the sources of my work. Sometimes, I realise that I’ve become a slightly different person from the one who left those things, and interesting ideas and stories appear from that gap. Sometimes, I find I haven’t changed at all, even after a long time, and that, too, can be an interesting source for my work.
How did you begin working in NFTs?
I first heard of NFTs around 2021. I had no idea what blockchain technology was at that time. It took a while for me to understand what it could mean for me as an artist. Honestly, it is still difficult to fully keep up with it. But I thought it was cool that digital artworks could have provenance on the Internet through NFT technology. As someone who primarily makes artworks in digital form, that felt useful.
The discourse around NFTs and digital art is ever evolving. I wonder: is there an aspect its evolution that excites or frustrates you?
What excites me is that we have many options to appreciate digital art. On the other hand, what I find frustrating (or rather overwhelming) is that there are too many things to search and learn, since the technology and the space evolve and change quite rapidly.
These days, it’s not always necessary to step inside a physical gallery or viewing room to look at art — particularly when it comes to digital art. Do you think the experience of viewing digital art is different from traditional mediums? How do you think screen-based art changes the relationship between the artist, the work, and the viewer?
There is a difference between how we experience art in museums and through the screens of our daily devices, big billboards, and digital displays. The process and attitude of viewing would be different. For me, the difference is mainly about the texture of experience — the texture you feel when you lick and savour the artwork and the air around it with your eyes (and other senses).
The screen-based art lives in an environment that’s open to everyone and connected to everyone. This means there could be many more shapes and forms of dynamics in the relationship between the artist, the work, and the viewer. On the positive side, the Internet is every artist’s own gallery. You have limitless chances to put out your work and freedom to shape how it’s shown and interacted with. On the other hand, it can be confusing and feel like drowning. Art on screens can be briefly, tastelessly consumed and forgotten. As an artist, it feels like putting out artworks in the digital environment is like being in a dreamlike, yet toxic, relationship.
There is a beautiful sense of rhythm in your works. It feels like the figures in your works are alive and breathing. I’m curious: do you listen to music while working? If so, how does it influence your creative decisions and direction?
A good balance of rhythm and contrast is a key ingredient I always try to include when making artwork, both for visual and storytelling purposes. Music keeps reminding me of that. I try to listen to as many genres and artists as possible, but soundtracks from movies and shows are the ones I gravitate toward naturally, and I tend to listen to the same ones on my playlist over and over. I think they help me picture the atmosphere of the scene I want to paint. Soundtracks often have a built-in sense of drama, characters, and flow of stories across multiple tracks, which I enjoy following.
You mentioned previously that it takes about three weeks to finish a work. How do you know when a work is finished?
I decide a work is done when I start thinking, or shouting to myself, that if I take it any further, I’ll just make it feel too stuffed or constipated, visually. But even then, I take some time to make the final decision that the work is done, staring at it over and over, and trying to gain some distance from it.
Looking back on your career so far, what would you say has been your most rewarding moment or achievement, and how did it shape your perspective on your work as an artist?
I’ve been lucky to have opportunities to show my work in amazing galleries and collaborate with cool people who like my work. Every one of those moments and achievements has felt rewarding. Just the fact that things keep happening and moving forward while I’m doing what I love is meaningful. But recently, I’ve found that the feedback, like when somebody says they came across my artwork and it made their day better, is extremely rewarding.
Please share with us your relationship with fashion. Your work is part of a show that has a room dedicated to it.
Fashion is a message, and I admire those who keep refining it with care and creativity. For me, I have rather a practical relationship with fashion — it’s like we’ve agreed on a rule: respect my boundaries of comfort and simplicity.
What’s on the horizon for the rest of 2025?
To keep creating artworks while establishing my visual language more clearly and to explore a little deeper into creating animated pieces is what I’m planning for the rest of this year.
