The British Museum is building on the success of its recent Bayeux tapestry display with a new exhibition titled “Korea,” a broad survey covering 2,000 years of creativity. While the exhibition celebrates the peninsula’s long history of artistic achievement, it ultimately presents a fractured narrative that struggles to bridge the divide between its serene ancient past and the brutal realities of the 20th century. Perhaps making it, at this moment, the leading museum on earth – and it’s rapidly following up with Korea, a survey of “2,000, the runaway success of the Bayeux tapestry has put the British Museum in a league of its own. A lovely broken vase badly stuck together, but it’s a blockbuster with a tragic flaw. There are bells and gongs on the now obligatory exhibition soundtrack), a gong adds to the harmony (and if you need that underlining. Ceramics came to Korea from China but took root in creations of fantastic originality.
Visitors are initially greeted by a sense of nirvana, anchored by an eighth-century Buddhist bronze bell intricately decorated with dragons and flames. This meditative opening sets a tone of spiritual depth, further reinforced by delicate statuettes of bodhisattvas. Long before the widespread adoption of Buddhism, Korean artisans demonstrated immense technical skill. Exhibits include practical yet refined stoneware from the fifth century, such as a horse figure fitted with a drinking horn, showcasing a unique aesthetic that evolved through centuries of interaction with Chinese artistic traditions. When the contemplative religion from India interacted with the artistic influence of China to inspire ecstatic hand-copied sutras (spiritual scriptures) and slender little statuettes of bodhisattvas (Buddhist saints who have achieved enlightened holiness), i was held rapt by this Buddhist period in Korea’s history.
The kingdom of Goryeo, which held sway from 918 to 1392 and established Buddhism as the state religion, is credited with fostering exceptional courtly ceramics. Potters during this era refined the green-glazed stoneware known as celadon, creating bowls and vases of remarkable smoothness. This tradition of excellence continued through the neo-Confucian Joseon dynasty, which spanned from 1392 until 1897. A centerpiece of this period is an 18th-century white moon jar; its near-spherical shape, achieved by joining two separate bowls, reflects a cultural appreciation for the beauty found in imperfect, dimpled surfaces. Which ruled from 1392 until, astonishingly, 1897, a flair for exquisite earthenware continued under the neo-Confucian Joseon dynasty.
However, the exhibition experience undergoes a jarring transformation as it transitions into the 20th century. The narrative shifts toward early modern Korean art, featuring a collection largely curated by Lee Kun-hee, the late chair of the exhibition’s corporate partner, Samsung. While the collection contains significant national treasures, its subjective nature obscures a cohesive history. The displayed modern works—often combining traditional styles with 1900s to 1950s European and American modernism—fail to address the geopolitical trauma of the era, including the 1910 to 1945 Japanese colonial occupation. In fact, this is, with a few additions, the collection of Lee Kun-hee, who was the chair of Samsung – the exhibition’s “corporate partner” – until his death in 2020.
The brutal realities of the 20th century are only selectively addressed. While the Korean War, which claimed three million lives, receives mention, the connection remains tenuous. Works by Lee Jung-seop offer a glimpse into this era, such as a pastel depicting a fisher’s unfulfilled dream of returning home and a raw, chilling illustration of bound bodies. Despite these inclusions, the exhibit lacks a clear thematic bridge between the peaceful artistry of the past and the subsequent political division and chaos.
The exhibition’s strength remains the display of Korea’s profound connection to its natural environment. A standout piece is Jeong Seon’s 1751 ink-on-paper scroll, “Clearing After Rain on Mount Inwang,” which captures a dynamic, atmospheric encounter with the landscape. The exhibition concludes with Do Ho Suh’s 2019 self-portrait, featuring the artist as a small figure beneath a cascade of threads from a floating traditional house. This final image poignantly encapsulates the theme of vanishing heritage, leaving the viewer to grapple with the contrast between the grace of ancient traditions and the fragmented modern history that followed.
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