To cherish what already exists and to make what is ours more fully our own.
The world is paying attention to Korea today. Korean content has become one of the most widely consumed cultures after English, and the global spotlight increasingly turns toward what Korea creates and does. Considering the relatively small number of people who speak Korean, this shift feels quite remarkable.
Yet within this wave of attention I sometimes feel a sense of distance. The “Korea” that is being discussed does not always seem to reflect the everyday sensibilities and experiences of the people who actually live here. Much of the global interest begins with specific individuals, works, or industries, and in the process the ordinary landscapes and attitudes that shape daily life are often left unspoken.
That is why I wanted to look again at the ordinary moments around us. I believe that within familiar scenes such as street corners, small gestures, everyday objects, and quiet atmospheres, the character and sensibility of Korean society reveal themselves most honestly. Kosmosis began from this idea. It is an ongoing attempt to observe and document these moments while exploring the question of “Koreanness.” The book Koreanness was one result of that journey, and this exhibition is an extension of that perspective through photography.
Just as Germany is often associated with efficiency, Switzerland with precision, and Spain with passion, the identity of a country is often found not in grand symbols but in the everyday attitudes of its people. I believe the time has come for the ordinary rhythms of Korean life to be spoken of as a cultural language of their own.
These photographs do not attempt to fully explain Korea, but I hope they may offer one way of looking at it. As you spend time with the images and texts in this exhibition, I invite you to notice the subtle textures of the society and culture we inhabit and perhaps see Korea from a slightly different perspective.
01
Worth visiting, per reviews.
A Society of Collective Intelligence
This photograph was taken at Oknyeo Junction, a quiet intersection on the road from Gunsan to the Saemangeum seawall. There is no major landmark here and no well-known tourist attraction nearby. Yet the place gradually became known for its beautiful view, and today many people stop their cars, step out for a moment, and take a photograph.
No one really knows who first discovered this spot. But one person’s experience is shared with another, and over time more and more people begin to visit the same place. The landscape slowly becomes a kind of symbol through this process.
In Korean society, this kind of collective judgment forms very quickly. When we buy something, we check the reviews first. When we choose a restaurant, we often go where many others have already been. The same is true when deciding where to travel. In a busy society, other people’s experiences become a reliable guide.
At times this culture can lead individuals to follow the choices of the majority rather than their own preferences. At the same time, it also creates a shared cultural landscape shaped by collective experience.
Looking at this scene, I find myself thinking about how we often move by following the experiences of others, and yet within that movement new stories continue to emerge.
02
Small talk, big relief.
This photograph was taken during a walk through Jungnim-dong at lunchtime. In truth, scenes like this can be found not only in Jungnim-dong but in almost any neighborhood in Korea.
Korea has an unusually high number of cafés relative to its population. The reason is probably not simply that people enjoy coffee. Cafés are places where people gather, if only briefly, to share conversations and small pieces of their daily lives.
There is an old greeting in Korea: “Have you eaten?” The question is not really about food. It is a way of asking if someone is doing well. Through these small exchanges, through brief conversations and shared moments, we find the energy to move through another day.
The difference becomes clearer when compared with café cultures in other countries. In Japan, cafés often feel like quiet places where individuals spend time alone. In Rome, cafés are closer to places where people quickly drink an espresso and begin their day.
Korean cafés feel slightly different. People working on laptops and groups of friends chatting together share the same space.
Perhaps that is why Korea needs so many cafés. They function as small oases in the middle of daily life.
Like the phrase written on the café window in this photograph, we sometimes treat these moments the way we take vitamins in the morning. For a short time we share our worries and small triumphs, and then return to the day again.
Separately, yet together.
03
Unintentionally iconic.
A landscape that became symbolic without intending to be.
This photograph shows a small sashimi restaurant and fishing supply shop at Topmeori Beach in Muan. When I first saw this building standing against the sea, I felt a quiet fascination. It was not designed to be stylish or carefully staged, yet that very lack of intention made the scene feel even more compelling.
In moments like this I often notice a distinctly Korean sense of aesthetics. It is sometimes said that Korea is not a society particularly known for refined visual taste, but in truth a subtle sensibility has long existed within our traditions and culture. Hanok architecture was designed to live in harmony with nature, and even Hangul itself carries an elegant visual structure.
We are practical people, but we also understand a certain kind of quiet romance and spirit. Because of this, the most ordinary places can sometimes become the most recognizably Korean landscapes. A drivers’ diner, a small neighborhood restaurant, or an old local shop can hold that feeling.
Ironically, the more we try to make a place appear stylish, the more its character can disappear. Cities increasingly begin to look the same. Rows of apartment buildings that resemble matchboxes and similar storefronts create landscapes that feel interchangeable.
That is why I hope places like this remain for a long time.
Within landscapes that were never intentionally designed to be iconic, we sometimes discover the most authentic expressions of Koreanness.
04
Bent often, never broken.
To bend, but not to break.
Korean society often demands high standards. That expectation has allowed the country to grow at an astonishing pace, but it has also required many people to live intensely demanding lives. Even when we are already trying our best, we sometimes find ourselves comparing our lives with others and feeling smaller as a result.
This photograph was taken one afternoon while I was walking through a small alley in Cheongpa-dong. Through a half-open door, I noticed someone taking a brief smoking break. Normally I would not look into someone else’s space like that, but the atmosphere of the moment was so striking that it made me pause. The room carried clear traces of a life being lived, and the image of someone briefly retreating into their own solitary moment stayed with me.
Korean society is often described as highly collective, yet there is also a deep sense of individual solitude. We live surrounded by many people, but each of us carries our own worries and responsibilities while moving through the day. Perhaps those brief pauses, moments when we stop and breathe, are the balance we quietly seek.
Even after a difficult day, the ability to shake it off during a short break and step back outside again.
That perseverance, that endurance, and the solitude that lives alongside it.
In moments like this, I glimpse one small facet of Koreanness.
05
Korea Time
This photograph was taken on Wonhyo-ro. At that exact moment, a young man rode into my frame at full speed on his bicycle. In that brief instant, I began imagining different stories. Why was he riding so fast, his shirt fluttering in the wind? Was he late for a date? On his way to an academy? Or perhaps he simply wanted to clear his head by racing through the street.
Korean society moves quickly. We push ourselves when we study, when we work, and sometimes even when we try to relax. It is a place where people who work hard and move with intensity are often the ones who are recognized. Because of this, it can sometimes feel as if everyone is always heading somewhere with urgency.
Interestingly, within this fast-moving society there is also the expression “Korean time.” It refers to the cultural tolerance for arriving slightly late to an appointment. In one sense, it reflects an understanding of other people’s circumstances. At the same time, it also reveals how full and demanding our daily lives can be.
Today truly feels like Korea’s moment. I hope this moment becomes an opportunity for the country to move toward a healthier and more balanced society.
And perhaps along the way, we can pause from time to time to ask ourselves where all this effort is taking us.
06
Rarely alone, even in silence.
This place is Jeonggwanheon inside Deoksugung Palace. It was built during the Korean Empire as a Western-style pavilion used to receive foreign guests, and its design reflects strong Russian architectural influence. Within Deoksugung, buildings of very different styles exist side by side.
I believe this is what makes Deoksugung special. Compared with other palaces it is smaller in scale, but it carries visible traces of change and reflection.
Looking at this scene, I found myself imagining the many meetings that might once have taken place here. Encounters with unfamiliar foreign envoys, careful conversations exchanged across cultural boundaries, and the figures of people weighing the future of the country.
The space is empty now, yet perhaps because of that it feels filled with invisible presence. It almost resembles a meeting room just after a gathering has ended, as if the voices of those conversations still linger somewhere in the air.
In this scene I am reminded of another characteristic of Korean society. We live as individuals, yet at the same time we are always part of a group. We recall conversations shared with friends and smile to ourselves, or find comfort in memories of being together.
Even in moments of solitude, we rarely feel entirely alone.
Perhaps that is one of the emotional textures that defines life in Korean society.
07
Fast Internet, slow authentication.
Korea is often known as one of the countries with the fastest internet speeds in the world. Mobile networks are highly developed, and the percentage of people connected to the internet is among the highest anywhere.
Yet using the web in Korea can sometimes feel unexpectedly complicated. The inconvenience does not come from the speed itself, but from the many layers surrounding it. Complex verification procedures and systems that require installing multiple programs can still create barriers. For foreigners, and even for Mac users, these processes can feel particularly difficult to navigate.
It sometimes feels like a highway that is perfectly built, yet requires passing through too many gates just to enter.
This scene is not simply about a technical issue. Korean society often places strong emphasis on achievements such as being the first in the world or the fastest in the world. At times, however, user experience and everyday convenience receive less attention than those visible milestones.
Korea now communicates with the world not only through technology but also through culture and creative content. Perhaps this means it is time to think not only about speed, but also about the quality of experience.
After all, our lives do not exist in headlines.
They unfold in the services we use and in the everyday experiences that shape our daily routines.
08
Nothing stays as it is.
There is an old Korean saying that even mountains and rivers change in ten years. In today’s Korea, change often happens much faster. Entire neighborhoods can look completely different within a few years, and even people sometimes appear transformed in a surprisingly short time.
This photograph was taken while walking along Seoullo toward the Manri-dong area. Across from Seoul Station, a large construction site was unfolding. Korea is a place where things are constantly demolished and rebuilt. Buildings change, cities change, and sometimes even faces change within the same landscape of rapid transformation.
Of course, there are reasons for these changes. Redevelopment is often driven by the desire to build more convenient cities and improve living environments. Yet at times I find it difficult to feel entirely at ease within such constant renewal. Rather than gradually adapting what already exists, many projects begin by clearing away every trace of the past and replacing it with something completely new.
The buildings behind the barricades in this photograph will likely disappear soon as well. Yet even now they seem perfectly acceptable as they are. They are not particularly striking, but neither are they without character. They simply form part of the everyday landscape of the city.
I often feel that a city where time accumulates layer by layer is more human than one where past, present, and future are abruptly disconnected. Just like people, cities may be most beautiful when they grow by quietly adding new rings of time.
These photographs do not attempt to define Korea.
They simply offer one way of seeing it.