Yoon Soyeon
My spring is coming, 2024
Oil on canvas
60.6 x 45.5 cm
Unique work
Certificate of authenticity included
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About the work
- Materials
- Oil on canvas
- Dimensions
- 60.6 x 45.5 cm
- Frame
- Frame not included
- Signature
- No signature
- Certificate Of Authenticity
- Certificate included
Time often passes unnoticed—arriving quietly, leaving suddenly. For Yoon Soyeon, spring this year felt especially fleeting. Having spent many seasons painting the rhythms of nature, she has become acutely aware of how brief each one truly is. Spring, once slow and full, now seems to slip through her hands before she can fully hold it. That sense of gentle loss is where this painting begins. My Spring Is Coming is not about the first bloom or the arrival of light. It is about that delicate moment when you realize that spring is already leaving - even as it unfolds before your eyes. The title reads like an affirmation, but beneath it lies a subtle ache: a desire to hold on, to linger just a little longer in the season she loves most. Among the four seasons, spring is the one Yoon finds most beautiful. Not because it is the most dramatic, but because it carries a quiet clarity. In this work, spring is rendered with restraint. A clear sky free of yellow dust, soft transitions of color, and brushwork that feels more like breath than gesture. The palette is tender rather than vibrant, the surface layered with care rather than speed. What emerges is not just a landscape, but a feeling - a record of how a season can pass through the body before it passes through the world. The painting holds a tension between appreciation and farewell, between noticing and already missing. As with many of Yoon’s works, the strength of My Spring Is Coming lies in its subtlety. It does not shout to be understood. Instead, it invites you to slow down, to recall your own fleeting springs, and to notice how emotion gathers in the quietest places. This is not a painting of spring’s beginning. It is a portrait of awareness - of the beauty that arises when we finally see something just as it begins to disappear. And in that realization, the artist finds her own rhythm of remembering.
About the artist
Yoon Soyeon’s paintings draw our attention to what we so often overlook: the quiet companions of daily life - delivery boxes, paper shopping bags, hand-folded paper planes. These modest objects, familiar to the point of invisibility, become transformed in her hands into something tender and strangely expansive. Her work does not seek drama or spectacle. Instead, it offers a delicate choreography of space and emotion - composed, restrained, but emotionally resonant. The spaces she constructs on canvas are not fixed interiors or defined exteriors. Rather, they are elastic rooms of feeling: containers of memory, stillness, and private reverie. A paper box in her work may be a room, a window, or a sea; it may hold the weight of routine or the lift of a fleeting dream. Using oil paint - a medium that rewards patience - Yoon builds her images slowly, allowing thought and feeling to collect between layers. Her preference for this slow-drying medium mirrors the pace of her inner rhythm. Painting becomes a space not of performance but of listening; not of resolution but of ongoing attention. There is an understated symbolism at play. The recurring presence of boxes and bags - fragile, temporary, and portable - becomes a metaphor for emotional containment and spatial possibility. They are at once grounded and nomadic, soft structures through which the artist navigates both the self and the outside world. Central to Yoon’s artistic philosophy is a quiet inquiry, often unspoken but persistent: Am I content? Am I still in love with this work? How long can I go on painting? These questions are not declarations of doubt but rituals of reflection - moments of pause that have accompanied her for more than two decades as a working artist. Her recent projects show an expanding horizon. The introduction of nature—sky, forest, sea - and elements like paper boats and airplanes suggest a desire not to escape, but to breathe. Her world remains rooted in the everyday, but her gaze reaches outward, gently. The box is still here, but now it contains wind. For Yoon, painting is not a means of escape from anxiety - it is a way of holding it, tending to it, allowing it to soften over time. Her work does not shout, but it stays. And in that staying, there is warmth, generosity, and a quiet resilience. If, in front of one of her paintings, a viewer finds themself smiling - softly, for no reason at all - then perhaps the painting has already done its work.