Ahn Sanghoon’s work exists in the delicate space between presence and absence, creation and erasure. Through his layered approach to painting – where images from the recently deleted folder on his phone serve as starting points – he explores the fleeting nature of memory and perception. His latest exhibition, Hands and Stains, on view at Seoul’s Gallery Chosun thorugh April 27th, deepens this dialogue, embracing ambiguity and transformation as central themes. In this conversation, Ahn reflects on his evolving artistic process, the physicality of painting, and the ways in which his work resists fixed interpretations.
Hello Ahn, it’s a pleasure to speak with you. To understand better your interest in art, could you please share an early memory related to a certain artwork?
I would choose When you go out in your mom's arm (2024-2025, oil on linen, 91x72.7cm). There is no artwork directly related to my childhood memories, but I believe my recent experiences with my daughter contributed to naming this piece. This is because I was able to associate the physical and emotional elements – the excitement of going outside and the sensation of touch – with my finished painting. (Once I finish a painting, I decide on its title through some research.)
The path of each artist is unique; some were influenced by their creative parents, while others were the ‘black sheep’ of the family. What is your case?
I was an ordinary child of an ordinary family, but I think my inner passion was manifested when I encountered painting.
Hands and Stains explores the tension between disappearance and persistence. What first drew you to this concept, and how has your perspective on it evolved over time?
A long time ago, I believed that we lived each day by looking at something and then parting from it. And that separation allows new encounters to happen. Now, think of parting and meeting as images of a painting.
Your process involves both revealing and erasing, with discarded photographs serving as a starting point. Can you describe how a single piece transforms from its initial image to its final form?
The first layer created through spraying (using spray paint) or flowing (using watercolour and acrylic) originates from the images of my everyday pictures of people, objects and scenes captured on my iPhone, specifically from the recently deleted folder, which contains ‘images that are about to be permanently erased.’
The exhibition suggests that stains, often dismissed as imperfections, can hold hidden truths. How do you decide what remains and what gets erased in your paintings?
The smooth and moist painting is painted and coloured by using finger, hand, and gestural brushes, gradually attempting to break free from its original forms and textures. Throughout the process of painting, after numerous moments of choices and abandonment, the painting transforms into something vague and abstract, or ‘like some form.’
“I intend to reproduce images that are neither entirely familiar nor completely unfamiliar, moving back and forth between coincidence and what’s meant to be, stimulus and acceptance.”
Your use of layering and destruction challenges traditional ideas of representation in painting. Do you see this approach as a form of resistance to artistic conventions, or is it more of a personal necessity?
The process of working through an unclear and uncertain painting is still difficult, yet I find it captivating. These attempts carry a desire to express scenes I have not experienced before, which sometimes leads me to erase the most satisfying parts of the process. I intend to reproduce images that are neither entirely familiar nor completely unfamiliar, moving back and forth between coincidence and what’s meant to be, stimulus and acceptance.
Hands and Stains arrives at a pivotal moment in your life, reflecting on middle age and its uncertainties. How has reaching this stage influenced your creative process?
As I reach middle age, the physical demands of my work have noticeably increased, yet the images of my works of painting remain ambiguous. If I had an assistant to prepare the canvases and clean the brushes for me beforehand, the creative process would be much more convenient. Since I don’t have one, I must do the work myself.
Titles like The Plant That Couldn’t Survive Winter and A Family Gathering feel evocative yet detached from literal representation. How do you approach titling your works?
I still seek the misdirection between form and meaning in painting.
Your work seems to resist the contemporary urge to assign fixed meaning to paintings. Do you think ambiguity is essential to the experience of art?
There may be genres that favour clarity, but I believe that when ambiguity works in art, it enables painters to broaden the scope for their thinking accordingly.
The physicality of painting – spraying, covering, dripping – plays a significant role in your work. How do you view the relationship between the body and the act of creation?
I consider the relationship as the law of conservation of energy.
Your paintings capture a sense of instability, an ongoing process rather than a finished product. Do you see your art as an ongoing dialogue rather than a definitive statement?
That’s why I work on my paintings on the premise that they are subject to change. That is, there is no fixed image.
You reference the philosophical question, ‘What can I hope for now, and what more can I know?’ How do you personally answer this question through your art?
I need more time to answer this question. Because I will find myself still questioning more, desiring more, and wanting to know more about my paintings. However, it is also a time to acknowledge the state of my body, which feels different from yesterday.
