A trio of small pottery shards, two painted on linen and one terracotta, nest inside a walnut frame for Dabin Ahn’s “Circle of Life.” Displayed on brass dowels, these fragments depict various stages of vitality, whether a faintly speckled butterfly or a candle snuffed out, leaving a thin wisp of smoke trailing onto the canvas.

Blurring the boundary between two and three dimensions, Ahn frequently strives for balance. When rendering deep shadows and melancholic moods, he intersperses soft lighting through candles and fireflies. These ephemeral, dynamic forms also counter the static motifs decorating his vessels.

“Everything I do is scripted,” the artist adds, noting that the actual pottery shards are not found objects but meticulously carved fragments of a planter in his studio.

Born in Seoul, Ahn was raised in a creative family. His father is renowned actor Ahn Sung-Ki, and the basics of filmmaking—following a script, framing a shot to capture a mood, conjuring emotional responses—ground some of the artist’s practice. After a compulsory two years in the Korean Air Force, the artist finished his degree at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and he still calls the city home.

As an undergrad, Ahn dabbled in abstraction before settling firmly in representation, beginning with self-portraits and later venturing into still life. Part of that decision came from a desire to make work with multiple entry points. A viewer could appreciate the delicate interplay of light and shadow in “Aura,” for example, without having a robust knowledge of Korean porcelain traditions. But, like the tiny scenes the artist tucks into the sides of paintings, in his work, there’s always more to be found by taking a second look.

Ahn is deeply engaged with art history and the ceramic practices of his native Korea. His vessels often evoke the white porcelain ware of the Joseon dynasty (1392-1910), elegant forms evoking the purity and minimalism of Neo-Confucianist thought. Cobalt motifs and a blue tinge later emerged as a rare and highly valued twist on the traditional vessels.

Although Ahn no longer works in self-portraiture, his works are always autobiographical and reflective of what’s happening in his life. As he opens his solo exhibition, Good Things Take Time, this week at Harper’s Gallery in New York, he’s more hopeful than he has been for a while.

Ahn’s father was diagnosed with cancer in 2020, and the artist spent the last four years processing the news and grieving. “It really affected the reality of things,” he shared. “My work was all over the place. I was making paintings. I was making sculptures. The image was not really there, and it was not cohesive. I was just mentally not stable at the time, maybe a little too depressed.”

Then last year, Ahn decided to scrap the work he made and begin anew. Rather than face the vast, if not daunting, white space of a blank canvas, he started small by painting a taper candle on the side frame. “It was a very meditative process. Candles are related to meditation and hold a lot of emotion. It was really calming for me,” he adds.

He began to carve away sections of frames to reveal smaller works within the larger composition. Today, his studio is bisected to create a clean space for painting and another for his woodshop. Ahn is reflective and incredibly focused, and he works on both parts of a composition simultaneously, fostering a constant conversation between painting and sculpture.

Candles feature prominently in this new body of work and offer a counterpoint to the sometimes somber elements of the artist’s work. Symbols of hope and warmth, the flames softly illuminate the vestiges of a vessel or the beveled edges of a wooden frame.

Similarly, the butterflies and moths painted on the pottery shards are met with lively insects that, in the case of “Twin Flame,” cast a shadow as they flutter across the canvas. He adds:

I choose to depict insects not only because they appear in some of the objects I reference, but because they almost feel like a universal language, similar to how candles are among the most easily recognizable objects. I want my works to be approachable and inviting to all audiences regardless of their background.

Although they contain remnants of previous bodies of work, these new paintings mark a turning point. “I think I’m done with the really sad sadness,” the artist says. “It’s bright, almost happy. There’s hope this time.”

Good Things Take Time is on view through December 7. Find more from the artist on Instagram.