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Art protects art

8 out of 10

artists are shut out by banks

354

loans extended to fellow artists

95%

repayment rate — trust comes full circle

~KRW 140M

interest saved vs. predatory rates

Until the next exhibition, the next performance. For artists, income gaps are an unavoidable reality. For fellow artists forced into predatory loans just to afford paint, canvas, and studio rent, proceeds from this artwork become the Seed Fund — extending a fair hand at fair rates.

Voices of fellow artists

The memory of going hungry for three days, alone, so my children wouldn't know.

50s, theater artist

I've been putting off urgent dental treatment because I can't afford it. I should be seeing a doctor regularly, but enduring instead of going has become a habit.

50s, actor

I kept delaying ear treatment because I had no money, and the symptoms in both ears worsened.

30s, musician

I couldn't pay my hospitalized mother's bills, so we had to delay her discharge, and she had to give up tests and treatment she needed.

50s, actor/broadcaster

Because of money troubles I had nowhere to go — drifting between gosiwon rooms and rehearsal studios, and for a while sleeping rough.

30s, musician

Because of unpaid rent, my collective was forced to vacate our shared workspace and home. Neither bank loans nor artist loans could help.

50s, actor

Without money, life collapses — and creating art? Out of the question.

50s, artist

It's painful that solving this month's money problems has to come before the work itself. As an artist, I can only earn well when the work succeeds — yet I have to chase odd jobs every month instead. It feels like being trapped in a vicious cycle.

40s, musician

Debt collection calls disrupted my rehearsals and performances, and the psychological burden made every day painful and the next day frightening.

40s, theater artist

Many times the loan payments looming each month forced me to step away from performing and focus on part-time work.

50s, actor

Sleeping less than four hours a night, juggling part-time jobs and theater — but the more I performed, the more debt piled up. Eventually I decided to quit performing.

30s, actor

When things were hardest, I couldn't even attend close friends' weddings or funerals — and as a result, relationships were severed.

50s, actor/broadcaster

When I said I was a stage actor, the loan officer called me "unemployed."

50s, actor

The shame and severed friendships that came with borrowing from people I knew, the pressure of failing to pay it back, the helplessness.

50s, cartoonist/visual artist

Even with programs meant for low-income citizens, I feel shame when I can't produce enough documentation simply because I'm an artist.

30s, film/broadcasting professional

98 artworks sold, each becoming a seed of solidarity

One artwork becomes the oxygen that keeps a fellow artist creating.

Sales proceeds go to the artist mutual-aid fund.

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Mask Dance

O Yun

Authenticity

Posthumous limited edition

What "edition" means →

Posthumous Edition

Artist
오윤 (1946–1986)
Issuing authority
Estate & foundation authorized
Certificate
Foundation certificate included
Original source
Issued from original 1980s woodblock prints

Posthumous editions are official limited prints authorized by the artist's estate and foundation — bringing a master's works within reach at an accessible price.

CategoryPosthumous PrintMaterialWoodcut on mulberry-bark hanji What's a print? →Size27×36.8cm · Size 5 · Small How big is this? →Year1973Price₩2,000,000

About the Artist

Oh Yun was a towering figure in Korean contemporary art, the most passionate and honest artist of the tumultuous 1980s, who elevated the lives of ordinary people into art. Born to Oh Youngsu, the author well known for the novel Seaside Village, he grew up in a fertile artistic environment, yet his gaze was always directed toward the lives of common people standing on barren ground rather than the glamorous art world. Despite receiving a Western aesthetic education studying sculpture at Seoul National University, he yearned not for a preserved aesthetics confined to museums but for living art that breathed in the streets and on the ground. After much deliberation, the medium he chose was woodblock printing. The woodblock, which leaves an irreversible mark with each cut of the knife, was the most fitting tool to express his robust and powerful artistic spirit. The most essential sentiment running through Oh Yun's works is the harmony between han (a deep-seated Korean emotion of sorrow and resentment) and sinmyeong (the ecstatic vitality that breaks through it at once). The figures in his prints are never frail or weak. Their gestures, depicted with bold, rough lines—especially their dynamic shoulder movements in dance—symbolize a powerful life force that rises above the pain of oppressed reality. He reinterpreted folk subjects such as mask dance, shamanism, and dokkaebi (Korean goblins) with a modern sensibility, powerfully imprinting upon an art world accustomed to Western aesthetics the question of what constitutes a Korean archetype. For him, printmaking was not merely a technique for reproducing images but a ritual of communication—etching the pain of the times with his blade and sharing it with the public. He was wary of art becoming the exclusive property of a privileged few. Under his conviction that 'art should be shared by many,' his generous practice of lending his prints for poetry book covers and labor movement leaflets exemplifies his commitment to the public nature of art. From grand works satirizing the grotesque desires of capitalism to warm drawings comforting hard lives, his work was always rooted in a deep trust and love for humanity. Although he died of liver cirrhosis at the tragically young age of 41 in 1986, the marks he carved remain an unfading, deeply resonant legacy more than 40 years later. In 2026, we live in an era more technologically dazzling than ever, yet Oh Yun's rough woodblock prints continue to move us deeply—perhaps because of the authenticity they contain. He demonstrated through his own life and work how an artist should confront the times, and how the most Korean qualities can reach universal human values. Oh Yun is gone, but the people's dance he carved into wood never stops, and his art endures as the most humane and luminous record in Korean art history.

About this work

〈Mask Dance〉 is a Posthumous Print work by O Yun. Created in 1973 on Woodcut on mulberry-bark hanji, measuring 27.0x36.8cm. Available as an original Korean contemporary artwork at SAF Online.

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Recently Sold

98 artworks sold recently

Two beginnings made by one piece

For you
A foundation-certified limited edition
For the artist
the next month of their practice
For a fellow artist
a new ₩3,000,000 path of low-interest support

354 artists have walked this path of recovery; 95% returned to open it for the next.