Gunilla Öberg
Gunilla Öberg’s journey into photography was not a straightforward one. As a child, she was encouraged to explore the arts, attending museums, concerts, and galleries with her family. However, it was subtly reinforced that art was a pursuit for the soul, not a viable career. Photography first piqued her interest as a teenager, particularly in capturing fleeting facial expressions, but financial constraints and technological limitations caused her to drift away from it for years.
Her creative journey reignited when she found herself immersed in the artistic environment of a partner and his siblings—each deeply involved in making art. Their influence and encouragement led her to experiment with drawing, but more significantly, it revived her passion for photography. Initially, she used her phone to capture doors, stairs, shadows, and street art. However, her attempts to photograph the shifting light on the rugged Fountain Ridge in Xaxli’p territory (Lillooet, B.C.) revealed the limitations of her phone camera, prompting her to invest in a Panasonic G9.
With this new camera, Gunilla set out to master landscape photography, yet she soon found that capturing the essence of a mountain was as elusive as those once-missed moments with early digital cameras. Realizing this pursuit did not fulfill her, she turned her attention to something smaller—plants in stages of wilting and decay. The sensual textures, unexpected colors, and organic forms drew her in. She sought to get closer, first with a macro lens, then through extensive experimentation. Her photography became increasingly abstract, and she found joy in making viewers pause, slow down, and look closer.
Encouraged by the artists in her life, Gunilla pushed further. She began photographing decomposing plant matter suspended in the nearly black liquid drained from her worm compost, also known as worm tea. This work became a meditation on time, impermanence, and the unseen beauty of decay. It also served as a commentary on modern fast-paced consumption, where life, fashion, and media are fleeting and disposable. In contrast, decomposition is slow yet essential—without it, life itself could not continue.
For over two years, Gunilla has been committed to this project, which she calls Hidden Worlds Revealed. Her creative process follows a strict routine: she pours worm tea into a glass bowl, places a piece of decomposing plant matter within it, and photographs it outdoors. She then imports the images to her computer, stacks multiple exposures for depth, and makes minimal adjustments—removing distracting elements and fine-tuning highlights and shadows, but never altering the colors. Her work is a study in light and texture, revealing intricate details that might otherwise go unnoticed.
In July 2024, Gunilla exhibited her work at Gallery George in Vancouver, B.C., where she also delivered an artist talk. Seeing visitors lean in to examine her images, step back, and ask, “What is that?” was immensely rewarding. The show sparked conversations, curiosity, and engagement. However, despite the positive reception, she found herself artistically blocked afterward, questioning the purpose of her work. Was it truly art? Why was she photographing? The fact that her pieces captivated people but did not sell left her wondering about the value of her work in a commercial sense.
Curiously, during this period, her earthworms stopped producing compost, as if mirroring her need for a pause. But as time passed, she felt the pull to return. Now, Gunilla is once again engaged in her work, embracing the practice of slowing down, observing, and revealing beauty in the overlooked. Through her art, she continues to challenge the way we see decay—not as an ending, but as a necessary and intricate part of life’s cycle.
