Time, Body, and Silence
Sangghil Oh
Time-based artist | Body | Resistance | Trace | Silence
“What cannot be said—must be drawn, screamed, or scattered.”
Erased Lines, Remaining Sensation
Art and philosophy share one thing—
they both attempt to approach the essence of being.
And like philosophy,
art grows deeper the further it moves from rhetoric and technique.
Those who understand “practice” only as a concept
fail to see that every fleeting moment
is utterly singular—never to be repeated—
and thus, cannot be linear.
Lines come alive
only within that irregularity of the moment.
Untitled, 2025
gesso & charcoal on paper, 42.9 x 30.8 inches
I draw soft or forceful strokes with different charcoals,
cover them with gesso, then draw again over that.
The unconscious lines pile up in thin layers.
Untitled, 2025
charcoal & gesso, oriental ink with water, 42.9 x 30.8 inches
Ink, like mist, settles over dark gessoed surfaces.
When it swallows the previous lines,
a new stroke begins.
Untitled, 2025
gesso & charcoal on paper, 42.9 x 30.8 inches
Not so much erasing,
but layering over.
Untitled, 2024
gesso & oriental ink with water on traditional paper, 56.4 x 30 inches
Not hiding,
but absorbing.
Other sensations are gently pushed aside.
Untitled, 2024
gesso & charcoal on paper, 42.9 x 30.8 inches
When a stroke is drawn and then covered in gesso,
some things disappear—
while others become more pronounced.
In the balance between erased marks and lingering lines,
I realize:
drawing is not so different from erasing.
untitled, 2023
gesso & charcoal & graphite on paper, 30.8 x 42.9 inches
Various charcoals, diluted gesso, ink, and water
push and pull—
negotiating the surface.
This drawing is not about “form,”
but about the conversation
between reactive sensation and the material’s nature.
Erasing and drawing happen from the same depth.
Only the result—its trace—remains.
untitled, 2023
gesso & charcoal, on canvas, 30 x 56.4 inches
I scoop a handful of powdered charcoal
and scatter it across the canvas.
Before the gesso dries, I pour water,
then scrape the surface in swift gestures.
What matters to me
is that something—something alive—
remains from that moment of motion.
Nothing else.
For the artist,
this drawing is not a finished image,
but a fragment of a stilled moment.
Not a matter of “what to draw,”
but “what remains.”
These lines are less the language of emotion
than layers of sensation.
At first, a shape may seem clear—
then blurs—
only to form a deeper silhouette.
In the end,
it refuses all representation,
and remains as a “residual surface.”