Sculpting the Time of Gyeong (경/景)
Helen Jungyeon Ku
The term jogyeong (조경/造景) translates to “landscape architecture.” The character jo (조/造) is a verb meaning “to create,” while its object, gyeong (경/景), is defined in the dictionary as “the distinct appearance of a specific area—not as separate elements, such as forests, houses, farmland, roads, rivers, or waterways, but as the unified visual effect created by their combination.” In this sense, it refers to scenery or landscape. Although the Sino-Korean term gyeong encompasses a broader scope than simple scenery or landscapes, jogyeong typically refers to the technical act of crafting cultural landscapes through human activity. This is because jogyeong is often understood as a practice aimed at environmental beautification and enhancing spatial value. For instance, in urban planning or apartment complex design, jogyeong is vital in softening the harshness of concrete and artificial structures, transforming human environments into spaces that feel closer to nature.
Hwasoo Yoo also creates landscapes. The landscapes he designs are populated with somewhat unfamiliar and peculiar forms: cut trees, fragments of curbstones, branches and wood pieces placed atop these stones, sensor-equipped branches, weeds from smart farms, and even mushrooms and ants. Together, they form landscapes interwoven with a diverse array of living and non-living entities. Some of these elements were discarded near apartment complexes or memorial forests, while others are naturally occurring wild elements. Yoo collects remnants or waste selectively consumed and abandoned by humans in urban environments, transforming them into new sculptural landscapes. This act of gathering evokes the concept of “decomposition” as proposed by Japanese modern historian Fujihara Tatsushi, which involves collecting fragments of urban waste and, through technological mediation, facilitating new encounters and interactions. In this process, something novel and aesthetic emerges through composition.
In landscaping, plants are both strategically significant and readily disposed of, depending on necessity or public demands. For example, a pine tree may be planted as a landscape feature to enhance the prestige of an apartment complex, while weeds that grow abundantly in its gardens are targeted for removal under the guise of environmental beautification. Weeds are deemed unwelcome because they disrupt the ordered landscape, embodying chaos and disorder. Hwasoo Yoo actively challenges this human-centered worldview that seeks to impose order on nature, raising critical questions about the so-called eco-friendly culture of tree burials. Is it truly justifiable to create a mountain dominated by a single species simply because pine trees are the most popular choice for memorial forests? He also laments the reality that, despite widespread criticism of pine trees for their vulnerability to pests and diseases—which makes them unsuitable as urban landscaping trees—they continue to be revered as treasured symbols. How artificial and arrogant is the notion of “returning to nature” by burying one’s ashes beneath a specific tree? Even in the final moments, humans focus on exploiting nature. To make space for these pine trees, pre-existing trees are cut down, forcibly relocated, or uprooted entirely. Trees that have completed their life cycles are classified as waste and discarded by human society. The artist gathers these remnants of trees and listens to their stories.
Several branches, mounted on the wall like a suspended installation, quiver subtly whenever someone approaches. They tremble and emit rhythmic vibrations before suddenly falling silent. Do these vibrations originate within the branches themselves, or are they a response to the movements of another presence? Rather than commemorating the death of the branches, Hwasoo Yoo restores their life. The branches, equipped with sensors, detect nearby movements and resonate in response. The trembling of these frail, desiccated branches reaches our ears, eyes, and entire bodies, and at that moment, we become acutely aware of their presence. Meanwhile, a sculpture with a wooden column set atop a severed log, resembling a torso, presents a hybrid form where contrasting shapes and textures of the same material intertwine. The unaltered natural form of the wood and the smoothly carved wooden column bring opposing realms into confrontation—not only the past and the future but also nature and the artificial, as well as the technological—creating a heightened scene where differences coexist.
Furthermore, the artist places lifeless wood scraps in a glass greenhouse where the temperature and humidity are carefully controlled. In this process, he cultivates them, transforming the greenhouse into a habitat for new life. Mushrooms sprout, ants build their nests, and earthworms and centipedes occasionally swing by. The discarded wood coexists with the ants and mushrooms, giving rise to a new ecosystem. On the concept of ecosystems, Tatsushi argues that “an ecosystem refers to an exchange system where two compounds interact by giving and receiving.” Furthermore, “it can only be called an ecosystem when the interactions between living organisms and inanimate entities coalesce into a unified whole.” Echoing Tatsushi’s theory, Yoo’s work illustrates the emergence of a new ecosystem from discarded wood, encapsulating a tree’s journey through death, rebirth, and perpetuity.
If we observe and listen closely, countless interactions within the artist’s landscape-sculpture world come to light: the activities of invisible yet real microorganisms and non-human agents, cycles of life, the intersections of birth and death, the creation of new ecological spaces, and the coexistence of nature and technology. It is clear that humanity cannot easily evade the climate and ecological crises. To confront these challenges, new ways of thinking and spaces for dialogue about the relationships between humans and non-humans, as well as among non-humans themselves, will become increasingly necessary. In this context, Hwasoo Yoo’s sculptures invite us to turn our gaze and lend an ear to the entanglements with others across time—past, present, and future—and the responsibilities they entail. In doing so, they prompt a material awareness of the ethical and justice-related issues caused by anthropocentric thinking.
