김승구 X Fotografisk Center
Swimming pools, blooming fields and ice sculptures — South Koreans are creative when it comes to spending their days off. In a country that ranked third in having the longest working hours (OECD, 2021) and where there’s a word for dying from being overworked (“Gwarosa”), leisure time has become a rare and valuable luxury. Seoul-based photographer Seunggu Kim sees the intricacy and humanity of the South Korean’s working class’s shared pursuit of fun and relaxation. In his ongoing series “Better Days”, he allows a glimpse into the urban leisure spaces that people flock to in hopes of escaping their work lives.
Seunggu Kim, “Better Days” has gained a lot of international attention over the years. Why do you think that this particular topic is so universally relevant, and have you observed any differences in how South Korean audiences and Western audiences receive your work?
I think “Better Days” resonates with a broad audience because it deals with the conditions of contemporary cities — particularly the dense environments of Korean society — and the ways leisure is formed within them. In this work, I aimed to present people not as individual figures but rather as a flow or pattern through a high viewpoint and a wide frame. Because of this, even without understanding a specific cultural background, viewers seem to naturally project their own experiences onto these scenes. From audience responses, Korean viewers tend to read these scenes as more concrete realities, while Western viewers often perceive them as somewhat unfamiliar, yet still as a fragment of contemporary urban life. Ultimately, although the work begins with a Korean landscape, I believe it creates a broader point of connection through the way people exist together within it.
Through scenes of collective leisure formed in limited urban spaces, I try to look at what I call “community-oriented individualism” in Korean society. Seunggu Kim
There seems to be an overarching theme in your work that consists of the interplay between nature and civilisation. Your series “Bam Islet” shows seemingly untouched nature with only occasional hints of civilisation while “Riverside” depicts civilisation being taken over by nature. In “Jingyeong Sansu” we can see real, iconic landscapes being recreated in an urban environment. How does “Better Days” connect to your other work and where does your personal interest for people and nature stem from?
My work generally begins with an interest in how nature and civilization influence one another. “Bam Islet” presents a paradoxical landscape — it seemed to disappear due to urban development, but over time it has regenerated and remains as a form of nature in the middle of the city. In “Riverside,” people continue their leisure activities even in areas flooded by heavy rain, and I think this scene reflects an attitude of maintaining everyday life despite environmental changes. In “Jingyeong Sansu,” symbolic mountains rooted in geomancy and mythology are recreated in apartment complexes, and I explore how their symbolic energy is projected onto the lives of residents, as a kind of materialization of the sublime. In this context, “Better Days” does not directly reveal the relationship between nature and civilization, but rather focuses on how people behave and coexist within such environments. Through scenes of collective leisure formed in limited urban spaces, I try to look at what I call “community-oriented individualism” in Korean society. Ultimately, these works deal with a way in which nature and civilization, individuals and groups, are not separated but adjusted and coexist — in other words, what I understand as the “order of coexistence” in Korean society.
The fake mountain ranges depicted in “Jingyeong Sansu” are found outside luxury apartment complexes and private villas. When it comes to the leisure activities shown in “Better Days”, are they financially accessible for the general population or are they reserved for a certain economic group? How do you feel about nature being “monetised” in that way?
In “Jingyeong Sansu,” the landscapes are constructed within luxury apartment complexes, and since they are mainly enjoyed by residents, they can be seen as an example of nature being commodified. In contrast, the leisure spaces in “Better Days” are public spaces around the city. Most of them are free or relatively affordable, so they are easily accessible to the general public. In that sense, they are not limited to a specific class but are closer to shared environments. As for the commodification of nature, it can be viewed from different perspectives, but I tend to see it as a kind of “harmony within contradiction.” Personally, I value experiences such as walking in a forest or hiking, but in urban life these experiences are often replaced by other forms. At the same time, contemporary people experience nature indirectly through various media and environments, and in that process they form a certain sensibility. I think that nature, in this context, is also consumed in a certain way. Ultimately, how one maintains a sense of experience and sensibility toward nature within these conditions depends on each individual’s attitude.
One crucial element of “Better Days” is the crowds of people participating in different leisure activities. What role does community and co-existence play here? Is there a socialisation aspect or do people tend to stay in their own circles? Is being part of a crowd enjoyed or rather tolerated?
The crowds in “Better Days” are closer to a loose form of coexistence rather than a traditional sense of community — people share the same space while enjoying their own individual leisure activities. Except for occasional situations, such as asking someone to take a photograph, most people spend their time in their own way without direct interaction. I think of this as a kind of “freedom and safety within the crowd.” It is not the same as being completely alone, but at the same time it is a state not bound by relationships. In some cases, it can even feel more stable than being alone in a remote place. What I describe as the “order of coexistence” in Korean society is not so much a relationship between “you and me,” but rather a loose bond that exists prior to relationships — a kind of social trust. I think this is related to agricultural traditions, Confucian consideration for others, and a Buddhist worldview in which everything is interconnected. In Korean society, while individualistic tendencies are strong in everyday life, under the conditions of collective leisure people tend to maintain an unspoken order. And in times of crisis, such as during the COVID-19 pandemic or recent political situations, this loose coexistence can shift into stronger forms of solidarity. Therefore, the crowd in “Better Days” is not simply something to endure, but can be seen as another form of balance and coexistence.
In Korean society, while individualistic tendencies are strong in everyday life, under the conditions of collective leisure people tend to maintain an unspoken order. Seunggu Kim
“Better Days” consists of wide, high-angle shots, we see social situations from afar rather than individuals. In what way does this reflect your personal experience while shooting? Do you see yourself as a spectator or do you also participate in these activities?
I think a photographer is someone who observes reality and creates new meaning through the selection and arrangement of scenes. In that sense, I would say I am primarily an observer. At times, however, I also become a participant, for example when I spend time in these spaces with my family. I try to look at reality critically, but at the same time I try not to remain cynical. A critical perspective can sharpen one’s thinking, but when that standard is applied to oneself, it can lead to confronting one’s own contradictions. Korean society also contains many contradictions, but over time I feel that it is gradually changing. The high viewpoint and wide frame in “Better Days” reflect this layered sensibility — distance and participation, critique and empathy.
Can you walk us through the process of starting a new series? Do you seek out locations already having a topic in mind or do you simply photograph something and then find the coherence between different images later on?
On the surface, I tend to begin by photographing scenes that I find meaningful, and then later work toward building a formal coherence. However, since my work ultimately converges on the interests I have held over time, it is difficult to say that shooting simply comes first. The questions I am interested in include how tradition appears in contemporary society, how hybridity manifests in Korea, how people perceive their environment, and how human desire is condensed and expressed. I am also interested in the dynamism and responsiveness of Korean people, community-oriented individualism, and the “order of coexistence” formed between humans, nature, and the artificial. In that sense, rather than a fixed sequence, shooting and conceptualization influence each other and gradually form a series.
Your series are developed over multiple years. When, if ever, do you consider a series finished?
I have never really thought of a series as being completed. For example, “Bam Islet” required two years just to obtain permission to access the site, and even after eight years of photographing it with over 300 large-format film images, I still feel there are limitations. “Better Days” also has many locations that I have yet to photograph, which sometimes makes me reflect on my own pace. Working with large-format film involves many steps, which naturally slows down the process. Since 2010, my work has expanded into more than ten series (including unpublished ones), and except for “Bam Islet,” most of them remain open and are carried out in parallel. Ultimately, this state of incompletion comes from a desire to create better images, as well as from an intention to continuously record changing landscapes and accumulate a sense of temporality through the work.
by Lotte Marie Rein