Author

Gibson Rhie, Architect / VP ARCASIA zone C

Gibson Rhie is an architect and author with more than 30 years of experience in Architectural Design. Gibson is the Vice President of ARCASIA—a professional body of architects in ASIA with 24 member countries. His role as the Zone C Vice President covers Eastern part of ASIA. As the practicing architect, he is focusing on promoting architecture with growing awareness and commitment to 17 SDGs (Sustainable Development Goals) set up by the United Nations in 2015. He has been a passionate supporter of International Collaboration in practice and academia. He is the founder and managing principal of a boutique architecture office -Studio 5- that focuses on Design and Project Management helping international clients to pursue project opportunities and design excellence in Asia. Gibson is a LEED AP and an ardent supporter of sustainable development. He is frequently invited by many institutes from Denmark to Sri Lanka to speak at architects' conferences and urban design forums. Gibson participated in many design forums, which aims to bring awareness of the Power of Design. Gibson wrote 3 books in Architectural theory and history.

A. Korean cultural scene at its height

If you look at South Korea through a screen these days, it is the coolest place on Earth. These days there are so many compelling cases that captures global attention to "Things from Korea." It is the dark portrayal of social ambivalence in the Parasite winning the Oscar; it is the candy-colored existentialism of Squid Game dominating Netflix; it is the "Demon Hunters" of Kpop leaping across digital stages with supernatural precision.

South Korea seems to achieve a global cultural takeover. However, the Nation had been considered a cultural "hermit kingdom" until South Korean singer/songwriter Psy released "Gangnam style" in 2012, which became one of the most watched music videos of all time (it had 5 billion views in the You tube). The world has been watching Korean Kpop and movie's rise ever since.

As American writer Euny Hong (she came from a Korean immigrant family) described in her book "The Birth of Korean Cool: how one nation is conquering the world through pop culture (2014)," Korea's "Soft Power" is now becoming its most visible export along with high-tech semiconductor chips and automobiles.

However, there is a marked contrast in the Korean cultural scene. The highly successful Korean movies, dramas, and Kpop that generated big global fans who are excited about the actors, singers such as boy band BTS, but there is much less recognition towards Korean architecture. One of the important cultural genre—architecture—is often considered silent or eclipsed by the other vibrant cultural scene. Why architecture in South Korea that contributed heavily to achieve "economic miracle of South Korea," that built cities that provided workplace and housing for the masses in the days of "Compressed Modernity" through 1980s and 1990s—as professor Jin Baek described in his essay in this magazine—now lackluster?

We may find the clue that architecture once performed well under the state-led development period. And the built environment functioned well as an operative instrument for the quantitative pursuit of industrialization and urbanization. This was Korea's "Industrial 70s and 80s," a period where speed and efficiency erased the nuances of place. As a result of this, Korean architecture has been criticized as the culprit of the cookie-cutter buildings.

With the advent of Korean culture phenomenon, someone can find similarity in Britain's "Cool Britannia" in the 1990s, which saw a surge of cultural optimism and a rebranding of national identity in Britain after the tumultuous 1980s' social unrest and economic hardship. However, contemporary South Korea underwent a profound social, economic, and cultural change in modern times.

As described by Euny Hong in her book "The Birth of Korean Cool," the nation has successfully transformed their "Han, 한"—collective sorrow that caused from the sufferings of the Korean people from invasion and oppression which made a deep and long-lasting resentment in the mind of Koreans, which can be found in the Traditional art that include songs and dances.

If Han—a collective sense of sorrow and repressed resentment—was the baseline of the Korean soul, there is something that made a stark contrast to Han. The opposite one that makes a counterbalance to Han is Heung, which is a spontaneous, infectious energy that made a state of collective euphoria, buoyance, and joy. In the late 1990s, the nation pivoted. Koreans took that Han and channeled it into "Heung, 흥"—a state that creates charisma and fun in art forms. Many areas of Korean culture repeat this transformation from Han to Heung in various ways through their intensive effort.

With this fundamental shift, Korean cultural phenomenon of "Hallyu, 한류, 韓流" (Korean wave) came to the global stage throughout the 1990s and early 2000s. This global success is built on a profound psychological shift: the transition from "Han 한" to "Heung 흥." But there is one more essential thing to kick-start the Korean culture to the next level.

B. Architecture is the only field still suffers from foot binding that prevents growth

There is a final "secret ingredient" to Korean wave's success story: abolition of censorship. It was widespread in Korea until it was finally abolished in 1990s. There was a landmark ruling from the Constitutional court of Korea which declared film censorship "unconstitutional" on October 4th, 1996. After this ruling, Korean government's cultural policy quickly transformed—"support but not interfere"—the creativity. Suddenly, the "vocal cords" of the nation were set free. Directors and song writers were no longer struggling to evade censorship by civil servants from the relevant ministry; they were set free to be messy and provocative. Creativity flourished, and as a natural extension of this unbound creativity, investment of long-term and large-scale followed. That witnessed a lot of successful movie directors, actors, and actresses who won so many recognitions emerged after abolition.

Yet, in this grand stage of cultural freedom, someone forgot to bring the keys for the architects. I argue Korean architects still suffer from the unfavorable condition that other genres of Korean artists and movie makers no longer consider it as obstacles. The major vehicle to block unconstrained and freewheeling architecture comes with good intentions: the architectural reviews from the local, regional, and national government. The review committee's members are comprised with experts of design, engineering, and public sector workers who has stellar CVs. The "limbs" of the nation's young architects remained tied in a web of local and governmental review boards as well as complex design guidelines. Architecture became the "last backwater," a final discipline still struggling to move from the industrial "Han" of the past to the creative "Heung" of the future.

C. The patronage paradox

To understand why Korean movies and song writing win awards while Korean buildings just play it safe and get less recognition: to decode the systemic silence of Korean architecture, we must look at the "patronage gap or support gap." Every cultural revolution needs its "Dealer in Danger." In London of the 1990s, that art dealer was Charles Saatchi. He didn't just buy art; he bought attention. The famed Young British Artists (YBAs) weren't born in the hallowed halls of traditional galleries; they were born in a warehouse in southeast London during an exhibition in 1988 called Freeze. Saatchi saw something in young artist Damien Hirst, who only had passion but no career. Damien and his band of misfits had something that the British art establishment missed: they had energy. When Saatchi funded Hirst's shark in a tank of formaldehyde, he wasn't just purchasing a dead fish. He was issuing a "Certificate of Audacity." He signaled to the global market that British creativity was allowed to be shocking, expensive, and profoundly weird.

In Korea, the "Saatchis" appeared in film and music entertainment—moguls who funded the gritty and the weird. These "Moguls" at Movie industry and Entertainment are the spiritual cousins of Saatchi. They realized early on that if you give a "young but no career" director like Bong Joon-ho enough room to be "weird," he may eventually bring back an Oscar along with tons of revenue. They understood that Han (the sorrow of the repressed) could be converted into Heung (the joy of the liberated) only if the artist was allowed to break the rules.

But in the world of Korean architecture, the "Saatchis" are missing. Instead, there is the mantra of "when it comes to architecture always play it safer then you will be fine." It is a Paradox. When a major Korean conglomerate or a local government decides they want a "cool" building, they don't look for the local "Damien Hirst" of architecture. They don't look for the Young Korean Architects (YKAs) who are currently operating out of small studios in Seoul, Busan, or Jeju. Instead, they go "Global Shopping." They treat architecture like a luxury handbag—they want the "Hermès" or "Louis Vuitton" label of a European or American "Starchitect."

The young Korean architect is trapped: too "small or local" for big corporate commissions, too "inexperienced" for important government competitions, and too "crazy" for local review boards.

They are the F-1 race car drivers being asked to drive in a school zone, complying with every small details of speed guideline. While a Korean director can show a blood-soaked scene of social rebellion, a young architect sitting before a District Design Review Committee (DRC) is often fighting for the right to experiment with a roof form, which does not follow the safer recommendation or guideline from the committee, or use a shade of color that isn't "too depressing." This is the "Beige Mandate"—the idea that a building's primary job is to not "offend" the status quo. Most of the comments from the review encourage something safe, harmonious, and blends into both urban and natural environments.

We have seen beautiful, floating roofs hilariously negotiated by redundant pillars because a bureaucrat or professor in structural safety committee "didn't like the look or didn't believe safety of it."

In the DRC, visual anxiety has priority over artistic experiments. This is why architecture is still "backwater": Korean government stopped censoring movie Parasite, but they never stopped censoring the roofline with the intention of achieving "maximum benefits for the greatest number of people."

D. Emerging YKAs (Young Korean Architects)

As Britain had Young British Artists (YBAs) who emerged from the 1980s and dominated the global art scene for the last 30 years, Korea has YKAs. With the rise of Hallyu, there is a new generation of Koreans growing with self-awareness or self-esteem that "Things Korean is Cool." Things once their predecessors consider ugly, quirky, and behind, therefore has no value of preserving, they view this something interesting and important. Architecture is not an exception. In this context, a new generation of architects is emerging. They do not have the Euro- or American-centric tendencies of their predecessors, and they do not follow dogmas of the past. These young architects want to experiment with what they think important, or they just follow what they like. This common trait can be found among the seven team of architects presented by Korea Institute of Registered Architects (KIRA) for this issue. In an era that architects no longer seek to build the fastest or the largest, which was the norm of the state-led development—instead, these "Young Korean Architects" (YKAs) who treat the remnants of "compressed modernity" as their fertile playground or workplace in their pursuit of their own architectural expression.

E. The 7 demon hunters of Korean Architecture

Against this backdrop, the seven teams presented by KIRA are just a small fraction of creative Young Korean Architects in the country. As their works were analyzed by Professor Jin Baek in his essay, I attempted to see their works with a few tweaks using Kpop satire. Although they practice architecture in different cities and regions all over South Korea, they realized that they are exposed in a totally different economic and social environment, in a stark contrast their predecessors enjoyed during 1980s and 90s building boom. From early on they did not have the luxury of enjoying large-scale commissions; they had to focus on creating projects such as small-scale renovations, curating exhibition, and interior installations.

Therefore, they are not just designers in a traditional sense. To use the Kpop analogy from the popular Netflix hit animation "Kpop demon hunters"—they are like the demon hunters, who continually fight the market force to survive or wage a fierce battle against institutional barriers to restrain them in a cage to keep them harmonious and blend in. Although they had to continue their daily struggle to survive and try to keep afloat in architectural design. They gradually contributed to transforming the city where they practice by using their design skills and knowledge as a weapon to bring positive change. In doing so, the navigating treacherous paths in architecture, they somehow share the efforts and camaraderie with other Korean artists, collectively change the architecture to move from Han to Heung.

I would like to group these 7 architects into 3 categories.

1. The Introverts (Architecture Label 1458 & Shin Design Lab): Since the outside world is a barren wasteland, they have built their own "Secret Gardens." By blocking the barren city with massive walls or program components, they've created private oasis where creativity is finally gain individual freedom and establish a shelter from the harsh environment.

2. The Remixers (ODETO.A & a co lab): They treat space or programs like a musical score to be remixed to achieve different tonality. In projects like the Art Archives, ODETO.A uses light and height to create "Performative Indeterminacy." They didn't ask for permission to make the space interesting; they engineered it through the math of light. In the Painter N's house, a co lab tried to do a renovation of a mundane house, but transformed into a studio space with generous volume and natural light, suitable for an artist's practice. Its height is carefully calibrated to avoid obstructing the view from the living room of the neighboring house behind. In this house, materials and forces of contrasting character are brought into a deliberate conjunction. The heaviness of masonry, seemingly drawn downward by gravity, meets the airiness of the timber structure that rises toward the sky. The bricolage of the space and material choice completes the musical drama.

3. The freewheeling Fugitives (Kim-O, A-Root, & Zitta): When the "Review Board Republic" becomes too harsh, they find refuge at the far corners of the country, either in a sub-tropical Jeju island or a port city of Busan. Whether it's the "Modern Cave" in the Jeju forest or the stark "Poem of the Right Angle" facing the East Sea, where you have to show you are capable of designing and building something meaningful and transcends the ordinary. And meeting the expectations of clients and users who expect otherworldly. These teams proved that you can still survive if you leave beyond the city limits, and achieving the Sublime is still possible.

Conclusion: The Final Act

The "Korean Cool" will never be complete until Korean buildings are as daring and innovative as Korean movies. Korean architects have the talent. YKAs have the spirit to make people feel joyful and energetic. We just need to stop treating architects like civil servants and start treating them like the brave "Demon Hunters" of the physical world.

For decades, during the era of "Compressed Modernity," architecture was a mechanical necessity. It was a tool for survival. We built "matchbox Apartment" because we needed to house millions of people at lightning speed. In that era, it was a strategy for efficiency. It was the architectural embodiment of Han—the quiet endurance of a people focused solely on building a future they couldn't yet inhabit.

But that future has arrived. Korea is no longer a nation in the "Industrial 70s and 80s." Korea is a nation in the "Digital 2020s." We have moved from the "Sorrow" of the factory line to the "Joy" of the creative stage. Yet, our physical streets still look like they are waiting for a factory shift to end.

This is the manifesto for the "Final Act": We must stop treating buildings as passive containers for life and start treating them as active participants in our culture. If the younger generation of Koreans—the ones who queue for hours for limited-edition sneakers and follow avant-garde designers on Instagram—are still content to live in mundane "Beige Boxes," then the Cultural change has failed.

The YKAs are the "Demon Hunters" of this new era. They are trying to exorcise the ghosts of the industrial past and replace them with the energy of the present. They are trying to prove that a house can be as dramatic as a K-Drama and a street can be as infectious in a good way as a Kpop hook. But they cannot do it alone. They need a new kind of "support for Korean Cities"—who values the "Certificate of Audacity" more than the "Safety of the Standard." It is time to let the Heung hit the streets. It is time to stop the motto of "comply then you will not fail." The final act of the K-architecture isn't just about winning awards; it's about finally building a world that looks as daring but humanistic as we want to feel.

Figure 1: a poster of Kpop demon hunters, Netflix, 2025.

Figure 2: Gangnam style music video clip from Psy, 2012.

Figure 3: Euny Hong's highly energetic book "The Birth of Korean Cool: how one nation is conquering the world through pop culture," Picador, 2014.

Figure 4: Spice Girls became the high-energy icons of Cool Britannia.

Figure 5: "The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living," a shark in a tank of formaldehyde, Damien Hirst, 1991.

Figure 6: Saatchi gallery in London.

Figure 7: a poster for movie "the Fountainhead," 1949; original author Ayn Rand (1905–1982): In the Fountainhead, the anti-protagonist Ellsworth Toohey persuade the architect Howard Roark that "Nothing has ever been invented by one man in Architecture. The proper creative process is a slow, gradual, anonymous, collective one, in which each man collaborates with all the others and subordinates himself to the standard of the majority." And the protagonist refuses to succumb to Collectivism of the masses.