Price
₩1,700,000
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
95 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.
Tiger Dance
O Yun
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
〈Tiger Dance〉 is a Posthumous Print work by O Yun. Created in 1985 on (사후판화)목판, measuring 35x25.6cm. Available as an original Korean contemporary artwork at SAF Online.
Related materials
Korean media · Original Korean article
This article text is currently available in Korean. Open the source to read the original version.
Korean media · Original Korean article
This article text is currently available in Korean. Open the source to read the original version.
Korean media · Original Korean article
This article text is currently available in Korean. Open the source to read the original version.
Korean media · Original Korean article
This article text is currently available in Korean. Open the source to read the original version.
Korean media · Original Korean article
This article text is currently available in Korean. Open the source to read the original version.
Korean media · Original Korean article
This article text is currently available in Korean. Open the source to read the original version.
Kyunghyang Shinmun · Original Korean article
This article text is currently available in Korean. Open the source to read the original version.
Korean media · Original Korean article
This article text is currently available in Korean. Open the source to read the original version.
Korean media · Original Korean article
This article text is currently available in Korean. Open the source to read the original version.
Magazine

After Forty — How Oh Yoon Arrives Again, From July 1986 to April 2026
He died at forty in 1986. Ten years later, seven people gathered to issue the first — and only — posthumous print edition of his work. The painter who never priced a single print in his lifetime had his prints marked, signed, and closed by his peers after his death. As 2026 marks the fortieth anniversary, Oh Yoon arrives again. Series 1 of a posthumous-print market analysis.
2026-04-29
Oh Yoon's Song of the Blade (1985) — A Single-Work Reading
32.2x25.5cm. A single woodblock cut one year before his death. What was Oh Yoon's *Song of the Blade* (1985) singing? A 30-minute deep read of a single work — from the Donghak sword dance to the posthumous print market.
2026-04-29
Korean Shamanism in Art — Oh Yoon's Goblins, Park Saeng-gwang's Rituals, An Eun-kyung's Recovery
At the deepest layer of Korean art lies shamanism. From Park Saeng-gwang's five-color rituals to Oh Yoon's daytime goblins and An Eun-kyung's contemporary acts of recovery on traditional janji paper — we read why shamanism still resonates in today's living rooms through SAF-owned works.
2026-04-29




