art | Lee Hun Chung: Where a New Value is Created 

Lee Hun Chung has explored ceramics, sculpture, installations, art furniture, painting, and architectural work in clay. Two seemingly contradicting characteristics—the boundlessness of contemporary art and clay—have led Lee’s unique journey, which is very human and ethereal.

 

Lee Hun Chung (b. 1967, Seoul) is an artist who most vividly represents traditional Korean sensibility through both his materials and his historical understanding. At the same time, he is also one of its most experimental voices. Walking the borders between categories, he has forged a path that is uniquely his own.

“Stools,” 2010, glazed ceramic, various sizes.  Photos by Park Myung Rae ©Gallery Seomi 

 

In 2009, Lee’s art furniture gained international recognition at Design Miami/Basel, where renowned collectors—including Hollywood star Brad Pitt—purchased his pieces, and the global spotlight turned toward Korea’s contemporary art scene. Already well established in Korea for his craft-based ceramic work, many might have expected him to settle into a signature style. The renowned New York design gallery R & Company enthusiastically hosted his exhibition, drawing attention from figures such as celebrated architect Norman Foster.

“Lightings,” 2010, glazed ceramic, light bulbs, various sizes.  Photos by Park Myung Rae ©Gallery Seomi 

 

But rather than settling down, Lee continues to push forward on his next journey. Driven by an insatiable curiosity about the meaning of art and the possibilities of clay, his work has once again taken on a conceptual form.

 

Regarding Lee’s creative force, Zesty Meyers, co-founder of R & Company, shared what anyone who knows Lee would agree with:

“Hun Chung didn’t stay small scale where it’s safe. He’s not afraid to scale up—making a bathtub, even an entire room out of clay. He keeps pushing himself, and somewhere in there, he becomes the master of himself. That’s an amazing power to have. That’s what we’re looking for from artists. That is real.”

“Bench,” 2012, glazed ceramic, concrete  Photo by Park Myung Rae ©Gallery Seomi 

When you see his work, you feel flow, energy, and positivity. The more he refines his technical mastery and immerses himself in the process—rather than trying to control the result—the bolder and more youthful his expression becomes.

 

Having edited his monograph years ago, I felt it was the perfect moment to reconnect. Despite his packed schedule, Hun Chung was as relaxed as ever, and our conversation was just as inspiring and encouraging.

 

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Many people admire the painterly qualities of your ceramics. Where does that come from?

What I enjoy about painting on canvas is being able to see the color right away. But painting on ceramics is different. After I throw a piece, I have to wait to see the result. Then nature finishes it—creating color flows and patterns. That’s the joy ceramics gives me. And when an artist enjoys it, I think the audience can feel it too.

 

So you're intentionally leaving room for nature?

It comes from experience. After decades of working with ceramics, I’ve learned that you can’t fully control it. It’s a material you have to flow with—and accept the result that nature gives you. That mindset has shaped how I work.

 

“Stool,” 2011, glazed ceramic, mixed media  Photo by Park Myung Rae ©Gallery Seomi 

There’s a widely recognized aesthetic of “void” in Korean art, and many global viewers are curious about it. Your approach seems to resonate with Dansaekhwa artists in that regard.

I agree that we come from the same philosophy, even though the results are different. Dansaekhwa artists translated the aesthetics of the Joseon Dynasty into painting. The philosophy behind craft is very abstract, and I think they embraced that.
As for me, I studied pottery, so I’m used to it. If you ask why Koreans value the beauty of void, I’d say it’s because we value balance. Instead of trying to control every step, we do our part and let go at the fine line where you and nature are balanced.

You’ve worked across ceramics, sculpture, installations, art furniture, and architecture. You’ve said you like to be on the borders between categories. What do you mean by that?

In general, I’m not comfortable belonging to a specific category. Imagine a visual: in the art world, ceramics, sculpture, and painting each sit in their own baskets, with little space between them. But if you look at how contemporary culture forms its world today, the beads from the ceramics basket and the beads from the sculpture basket spill out onto the ground—and from that intersection, countless new values emerge.

If they stayed in their baskets, nothing would happen. I believe new value doesn’t come from clear, solid stages but from ambiguous ones. It always comes from the unknown, the abstract—places we can’t explain logically. When I work in that space, I feel more objective and free.

“Table with Landscape,” 2008, concrete, ceramic, 320 x 80 x 120cm (126 x 31.5 x 47.2 inch). Photos by Kim Sang Tae

 

Most people avoid borders—they’re uncomfortable.

I think differently. Our parents’ generation in Korea went through a lot, including the Korean War. So the life they taught us wasn’t about finding the value of living, but about how to survive safely—like getting a stable job. I think that kind of safe life is different from what we ultimately pursue as human beings.

Creating new value doesn’t come from fixed structures that already exist. Innovation happens where new challenges arise. What I want to do with my art is keep making new values. In that sense, if my spirit isn’t free, none of it can happen. Especially in the art field, artists should let their spirit be free—I believe that’s the foundation of creating something new.

 

Your work has become more conceptual again, which echoes your early career. In that sense, “East Man,” your recent work in Portugal, seems like part of that shift.

There’s a poem I love called Island by Korean poet Hyun-Jong Jung. It says: “There is an island between people. I want to go to the island.”
The island is a bridge that connects people. Looking back on our work together for my book LEE Hun Chung, The Journey—which covered my early work through 2012—I realized my work was always about people. But instead of approaching them directly, I was circling around. I wanted that to change.

 “East Man,” 2019, five different local soils and wooden mould, concrete, São Miguel Island, Portugal.

 

Tell us more about the “East Man” project.

It began with an interest in people. The piece was installed on São Miguel Island in Portugal. The title simply means “a person from the East,” but I heard it can also refer to the biblical magi. In this project, the island became a bridge—connecting me with the islanders, Korea with Portugal, East with West.
Local people helped me, and I used five different soils representing five eras of the island’s ancient past. The mold was made from wood the settlers had used since the 15th century—so the work carries their traces.
There are eight more Portuguese islands, and I plan to work with each of them. That will be my next 10-year project—hopefully my masterpiece. I consider it process art because every step—meeting the governor, working with locals—will be archived as part of the work.

 

To the public, your art furniture may be the most accessible. Do you still enjoy making it?

Of course. It’s still very exciting. When I was younger, I was always thinking about what category I belonged to and where I would move next. But now, everything is happening at the same time—exhibitions, art furniture projects, business.
Rather than moving between things, I feel like my world has become more diverse. I never thought I would stop making art furniture. I think it will become even more sculptural in the future.

 

You’re very open-minded—even about being seen as business-savvy. In the end, I think that openness is what keeps you moving forward.

I don’t think art and business are that different. If business were only about making money, then yes, they’d be very far apart. But I’ve met businesspeople who helped me realize: business can also be about creating new value.
When I think about art, it can be as small as decorating a home, but at its core, it’s about creating new value. In that sense, they’re not so different.
As I said in my book, if I had to choose between becoming a creative businessman or a businessman-like artist, I’d still choose the creative businessman. Whatever it is—creating new and imaginative things or situations—that’s what makes me happy.

Words by Ye Joon Han-Mann — Originally interviewed in 2021 — All images © Courtesy Lee Hun Chung — Front image. “Stools,” 2010, glazed ceramic, various sizes. Photos by Park Myung Rae © Gallery Seomi