Chun Kwang Young: Aggregation | The Memory of Paper and Time

Opening on Hangul Day, October 9, the Korean national holiday celebrating the creation of the Korean alphabet, Aggregation: The Memory of Paper & Time presents new and recent works by Chun Kwang Young (b. 1944, South Korea). 

The exhibition marks a significant evolution in the artist’s decades-long exploration of memory, history, and time, with a new group of works created specifically for London incorporating Hangul, Korea’s modern writing system and a powerful symbol of Korean culture. 

Chun Kwang Young is internationally recognized for his Aggregations, sculptural installations and wall reliefs comprising thousands of triangular forms wrapped in carefully folded and dyed pages of text printed on traditional Korean mulberry paper. Each form embodies fragments of distinct human experience thanks to the words that envelop them. Chun’s abstract compositions are at once organic and architectural, evoking landscapes that appear both ancient and otherworldly.

EXHIBITION HIGHLIGHTS

The exhibition includes more than a dozen new Aggregations that signal a departure from Chun’s longstanding use of paper primarily sourced from antique Korean books printed in Classical Chinese characters, or Hanja. The new works shift the emphasis toward Hangul, the Korean alphabet developed in the fifteenth century.

Before Hangul, Korean government, scholarly, and literary texts were largely written using Classical Chinese characters, a complex system that did not align with the Korean spoken language and was understood only by those with a formal education. In 1446, King Sejong the Great introduced Hunminjeongeum, the new Korean alphabet, now known as Hangul. The simple, scientific system was designed to promote literacy across Korea by making reading and writing more accessible to ordinary people.

The principles behind Hangul’s creation were documented in historical texts, and in his new works, Chun incorporates these important texts, printing them onto traditional Korean mulberry paper, also known as hanji, handcrafted by a hanji artisan. By giving greater prominence to Hangul, Chun imbues a layer of contemporary Korean identity into his Aggregations while retaining language as a formal element. “This is not simply a change of text,” he says. “It’s a conceptual shift from accumulating the records of the past toward creating and accumulating the living time of the present.”

A CONVERSATION WITH CHUN KWANG YOUNG 

Sundaram Tagore Gallery: Your work has been described as occupying a “third space” that dissolves the boundaries between painting and sculpture. How do you define your practice?

Chun Kwang Young: I would describe it as more than the physical act of cutting and wrapping hanji; it is a process of imbuing the paper with spirit. My work cannot be confined within the Western categories of painting or sculpture. What matters to me is not classification, but the process of accumulation—of material, time, and memory. Through my work, I seek to give physical form to these invisible layers of time and remembrance.

STG: How did your Aggregation series begin?

CKY: It began with a deeply personal childhood memory. I vividly remember the medicinal herb packages wrapped in hanji that hung from the ceiling of traditional herbal medicine shops. That image became deeply embedded in my subconscious.

Each small triangular form that makes up an Aggregation is the smallest unit capable of containing fragments of memory and the density of time. As if gently wrapping and embracing wounds and memories in hanji, I carefully attach each element to the canvas, gradually constructing the vast world of Aggregation.

STG: You have famously said, “This is not paper. This is accumulated time.” What philosophical idea lies behind this statement?

CKY: The antique books I use have absorbed centuries of human life. Every sheet of paper carries traces of thought, language, and lived experience—it is, in a sense, a material embodiment of memory.

When I assemble thousands of these individual triangular units, I am not simply constructing a form. I am building layers of time and human consciousness. The finished work becomes a condensed embodiment of lived time and the accumulated wisdom embedded within Eastern thought.

STG: Your work reflects both Korean tradition and contemporary abstraction. How do you balance these seemingly different worlds?

CKY: I do not consciously try to strike a balance between them. To me, tradition is not a relic confined to the past, but something that continues to live and evolve through constant reinterpretation. My work naturally reflects both my deep-rooted Korean identity and the experiences that have shaped me through my time abroad. In my view, tradition and modernity are not opposing forces; rather, they exist as part of the same continuous flow.

STG: Some critics have suggested that transforming old books into sculptural forms represents a disruption or recontextualization of tradition. How do you respond to that interpretation?

CKY: I respect such interpretations because they represent thoughtful ways of engaging with my work. However, my own intention is rooted less in disruption than in continuity and the revitalization of tradition.

I see the pages of antique books not as static historical artifacts, but as living vessels of memory. Bringing these fragments together is not an act of erasing history, but of allowing tradition to breathe again through a new material presence and visual language.

STG: Your Aggregation series has long incorporated antique Korean books written primarily in Classical Chinese. Why are these materials so central to your practice?

CKY: For centuries, Korea belonged to the broader cultural sphere that used Classical Chinese. Most surviving scholarly texts, literary collections, and medical books from the Joseon Dynasty were written in Hanja. As I searched for aged hanji carrying the marks of time, it was only natural that these papers became the primary material for my work.

The characters themselves were never important to me as simply words to be read. Rather, they were the material presence of time itself—surfaces upon which generations of thought, memory, and human experience had quietly accumulated.

STG: The new work in this exhibition foregrounds Hangul. What does this shift mean to you?

CKY: Over the years, many international audiences have asked me, “As a Korean artist, why do you use Chinese characters?” Although this question often reflects an unfamiliarity with Korea’s historical and cultural context, it also prompted me to reflect more deeply on the identity of my own practice.

For a long time, I had hoped to move beyond the historical limitations of my materials and incorporate Hangul—a powerful symbol of Korean cultural identity.

This exhibition in London marks that long-awaited transition. Rather than remaining solely with the materials of the past, I seek to introduce a new layer of identity through Hangul. This is not simply a change of text, but a conceptual shift—from accumulating the records of the past toward creating and accumulating the living time of the present.