Byung-Hun Min: Spiritual Journey

 

Through the chaos of information and illusions on the internet, simply looking at the sky becomes a humane moment. In an era where everybody is looking for the meaning of mindfulness, what does Byung-Hun Min’s work tell us?

 

 

Byung-hun Min, Snowland, Gelatin silver print, 2005

 

“One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;" - Wallace Stevens, "The Snow Man"

 

Byung-hun Min, Snowland, 2005

 

 Byung-hun Min, Snowland, 2005

 

Byung-hun Min, Snowland, 2005 

 

I.

Now one of the most revered Korean photographers, Byung-Hun Min (민병헌, b. 1955, Seoul) started his career somewhat casually. In 1980s, he was a wandering young man. Born after the Korean War, he was raised north of Seoul in Dongducheon, where many U.S military bases were gathered, he was deeply affected by and bonded to American folk and country music. He once dreamed of becoming a musician but wasn’t extroverted enough.

 

Following a friend into electronic engineering at Hongik University was a hasty decision; he didn’t return after military service. Instead, Min worked at a comic book shop and sold roasted sweet potatoes as a street vendor in Shinchon, a popular university district in Seoul. One day, Min got inspired by the world of photography, luckily, he had a place to go; a studio of Hong Sun Tae, a father figure of early Korean photography and Min’s high school mentor. Ever since then, the practically self-taught artist, never leaves B&W straight photography and a film camera. 

 

Byung-Hun Min at his house studio, in Gunsan

 

Like everyone else, Min learned that bright light makes ‘a good photo.’ However, he had a different approach. When something looks very clear, you don’t need to add any thoughts about it. What you do is simply admire it. In contrary, If light is low and your vision is blurred like in a deep fog, your thought begins to grow, and senses are awakened. Things that you never notice in a bright light comes out - a soft silhouette of a mountain, vibration of foliage, and subtle nuance of the air - something maybe more essential. Rather than visually revealing, it calms you down. This would be a reason that Min was intrigued by low lights in his practice.

 

 

Byung-hun Min, River, 2013

 

Byung-hun Min, River, 2011

 

Min’s subjects are also somethings that usually don’t draw others’ attention. Since he debuted in 1984 with a series called “Landscape with Nothing Special” portraying bumpy roads and unmade country roads in his inimitable delicacy, Min’s subjects never have been exhausted the last nearly 40 years as we see through his other series like “Weeds,” “Sky,” “Waterfalls,” “Snowland,” “River,” “Nude,” and “Moss.” Ordinary landscapes that resonate his mind were everywhere.

 

Interestingly, his signature style, accompanied by an intense darkroom process, was developed by his inferiority complex. When Min was still an outsider, many of his contemporaries studied photography abroad and were returning back to their homeland, to make a name for themselves. To Min, the darkroom was a sanctuary. Even now, he sticks to making only gelatin silver prints for its delicacy, which requires an intensive labor and toxic chemicals, and repeats the process until he acquires a perfect tone that revives his subject.

 

In fact, his photo making needs much more time and effort for the subsidiary processes. For example, Min spends more time in the field not taking pictures. Standing out there in front of a tripod, the artist endlessly contemplates and envisions a better composition and the perfect moment which means “when a totally banal scenery shows an extraordinary visual” according to the artist. Now he is waiting a moment when flurries of snow cast over rocky islands of the coast where he is living nearby. In this regards, his photographs are like a mindscape that is filled with a time of contemplation, a painting drawn by nature.

 

Byung-hun Min, Birds, 2008

 

Byung-hun Min, Birds, 2019

 

Byung-hun Min, Birds, 2005

 

 

Byung-hun Min, Birds, 2020

 

II.

About six years ago, Min moved his base from Yangsu-ri, the outskirts of Seoul where there is often deep fog and heavy snow, to Gunsan, the middle west coast of the Korean Peninsula. When he saw a hundred-year-old house, abandoned ten plus years in a quiet town that reminded him of his childhood, he felt as if it was destiny. Like in his photos, Min must have found a beauty in the house with his undisturbed eyes. Rather than hiring an architect or designer, the artist proceeded a big project by himself; bringing the house back to life. “Although the outcome could be clumsy, I prefer to repair this house by myself.” says Min.

 

The artist’s touch is every corner of the house

 

Weeds and wildflowers are equally welcomed

 

Many compare Min’s work to Sumukhwa, ink-and-wash painting, pointing its graceful expression of light and shadow, and contemplative void. On the other hand, the artist feels a strong bond towards Western culture. Longing for American deserts, he drove across the country many times and even tried to depict it with camera; although he gave up, attributing to the gigantic scenery not something to convey his sentiment at that time. What we see from there is not just his trueness to his work and himself, but also his attachment to untouched land, in other word, purity.

 

Gardening became an important hobby to the artist

 

Min never tried a digital camera reasoning “there are still a lot of things to do (in my analog practice)”

 

To Min, photographing is something he really enjoys. When he doesn’t enjoy it anymore, he is ready to leave without regret, even though it seems to never happen. Furthermore, he is having a turning point. His recent “Birds” series was originated somewhat differently than his other series. While arranging old films, the artist noticed that there were many birds. Since they were randomly taken in the middle of other series, gathered images have different tones and moods depending on his emotion, weather, and time etc. Min, who never included animals in his series before, was freshly inspired by the creatures’ harmonious state in its surrounding.

 

After working on more birds theme, this autumn he released a new photo book with French publisher Atelier EXB; “Des Oiseaux (Birds) – Byung-Hun Min.” The publisher has worked on “Birds” collection since 2018 introducing notable international photographers like Pentti Sammallahti and Michael Kenna. Has the new environment changed him overall? “Feels more comfortable on various lights, weathers, and tones now.” says Min.

While our life is getting faster and more competitive, the artist has nurtured his solid world: more intuitive and subjective. Min’s purifying images remind us of something more important in life, something spiritual, somewhere in-between mind and thought.

 

Byung-Hun Min, Birds, 2005, Gelatin silver print, 2019