The artist is the antenna of the race.

—Ezra Pound

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.

—TS Eliot, From Burnt Norton

The day's first still life forms with a cup of tea or coffee. The sun is up again; the air is filled with the energy of beginnings. On the table, before the day gathers speed, there is a drink waiting, a bowl, a book, and the pale light of morning. I sit for a moment, breathing, letting my mind clear. Waiting on the table is a still life. The day could begin on a biological level, but through this encounter, morning becomes civilizational time.

During the past seven months preparing this exhibition, I used one of Hwang In Sung's tea bowls every morning. In my hands, it often felt like an antenna.

The history of ceramics reveals that it is not merely the history of tableware, but also the history of rituals. In many civilizations, the most carefully crafted objects were often made for offerings to gods, ancestors, and communal rites. Human beings gathered not only to survive but to share meaning. From these gatherings emerged rituals, and from rituals emerged the patterns we call culture. The vessel is among the oldest forms through which these moments have been held.

In Objects on a Table, a contemplative study on still life represented in literature and art, Guy Davenport said: “Culture is like a magnetic field, a patterned energy shaping history.” It is invisible until a receiver with an antenna sensitive enough to catch the frequency and give it a form. He continues that "In still life, we find an ongoing meditation on where matter ends, and spirit begins, and on the nature of their interdependence." How is the spirit embodied in the tea bowl from which I drink formed and transmitted through matter? Can we, too, become sensitive to the frequencies through which such patterns are drawn?

The artist presented in this exhibition, Hwang In Sung, is a ceramicist whose practice is deeply rooted in the study of Korea's tradition of stoneware and the technologies of wood-fired kilns that made it possible.

The history of stoneware on the Korean peninsula dates back to the third and fourth centuries CE. In the late third century, the introduction of the potter's wheel and enclosed kiln technologies to the southeastern region made it possible to sustain temperatures of 1,000–1,200°C and to fire vessels in a reduction atmosphere, where oxygen is carefully restricted. These innovations gave rise to hard, gray-blue stoneware of remarkable strength and durability.

The development of this technology was closely connected to the iron-smelting culture flourishing on the peninsula at the time. Producing iron required the ability to generate and maintain temperatures above 1,200°C while carefully controlling the flow of oxygen. The same knowledge of heat management and reduction firing was adapted to ceramic kilns, making the production of high-fired stoneware possible. In particular, reduction techniques developed through iron production contributed to the distinctive gray-blue surfaces and exceptional hardness of Gaya ceramics. Archaeological sites throughout the former Gaya Confederacy frequently reveal iron-smelting furnaces and ceramic kilns in close proximity, suggesting that metallurgy and pottery evolved within the same technological ecosystem.

The Japanese tradition of Sueki ware, which continues to this day, traces its origins directly to ceramic technologies introduced from Gaya during the fifth century. At a time when earthenware predominated in Japan, potters from the Korean peninsula brought with them the technologies of tunnel kilns, wheel throwing, and firing at temperatures exceeding 1,200°C. These innovations gave rise to Sueki, a dense gray stoneware often described as having the strength of iron. Some scholars have even suggested that the word Sue may derive from the Korean word soe (쇠), meaning iron.

Hwang In Sung's work connects these ancient traditions of stoneware, developed from the Byeonhan and Gaya periods onward, with ceramic practices associated with late Goryeo and early Joseon folk wares, including Buncheong. Through both research and making, he explores the continuity of these traditions within contemporary ceramics. One of the defining characteristics of Korean stoneware is its prolonged firing at temperatures exceeding 1,200°C. Such conditions enable the creation of surfaces that require little or no applied glaze, allowing natural ash glazes to emerge directly from the firing process.

Natural ash glaze is a vitreous surface that forms naturally through the prolonged interaction of clay, fire, ash, and atmosphere inside a wood-fired kiln. The formation of natural ash glaze requires days of sustained high-temperature firing. As wood burns, large quantities of ash settle onto the vessels. The mineral components within the ash melt at high temperatures and bond with the clay body, gradually forming a glaze. The final surface is shaped by countless variables: the temperature of the kiln, the movement of flame, the composition of the clay, the accumulation of ash, and even the vessel's position within the firing chamber. For this reason, no two pieces emerge from the kiln with exactly the same surface, even when fired side by side.

The works in this exhibition may be broadly grouped into four approaches: pieces finished entirely through natural ash glaze without any applied glaze; puredo-gi, in which salt and ash interact to create the surface; works glazed with a simple feldspar-and-clay glaze often associated with Shino ware; and works in which small amounts of glaze are introduced to encourage the formation of natural ash deposits during firing. What unites all of these methods is the active role of the kiln itself: in every case, natural ash glaze continues to develop throughout the firing process.

In East Asia there exists a concept known as gwanmul觀物, often translated as contemplating objects. The Song-dynasty philosopher Shao Yong described it not as the act of looking at objects, but as an attempt to understand them from their own point of view. He urged us to move beyond "seeing things through oneself" and arrive at "seeing things through things." To contemplate, in this sense, is to suspend our judgments and assumptions and become receptive to the order and principles embodied within the world. Perhaps, as in meditation, it is only when we place ourselves within a space where time and presence converge that the antenna capable of receiving such signals becomes active.

When we attend closely to an object, we begin to sense that tradition is not something transmitted in a straight line from past to present. Rather, it is a web of relationships within history through which we come to realize our own coordination. Time, too, is not a linear thing, like a river that flows. Time reveals itself through connections of things. To encounter an object, then, is not merely to look at a thing, but to find oneself situated within a particular configuration of time and space, and become sensitive enough to catch the frequencies.

When we set aside what we think we know and stand before an object infused with the labor and spirit of its maker, we arrive at a certain stillness. In that moment, the object begins to disclose its own history, order, vitality, and logic, and in a sense, it looks back at us. This is the moment when we locate ourselves within time and space; the moment when we become part of the patterns of history. T. S. Eliot may have had such moments in mind when he wrote, “And time future contained in time past.”

The subtitle of this exhibition—Bowl鉢 · Tea Bowl盌 · Bottle甁 · Jar壺—is intended to encompass the range of forms that emerge from Hwang Insung's ongoing investigations into kilns, firing, and the ceramic traditions of Korea.

Bowl鉢

The bowl is among the oldest and most fundamental forms in the history of human culture. Its origins are often associated with the beginnings of agriculture, though some trace it even further back. From Neolithic pottery to ritual vessels and Buddhist alms bowls, human beings have long fashioned bowls in order to hold, share, and offer. In East Asia, the bowl acquired additional meanings through the Buddhist baru (alms bowl), becoming not merely a container but a vessel for discipline and restraint. Holding, sharing, offering, and emptying—some of humanity's oldest gestures—reside within this form.

In Korea, the term bal traditionally referred to a bowl used for rice. Historical records suggest that the terms bal and wan were often used interchangeably, both describing generous vessels intended for everyday meals. As one of the most enduring forms in human history, the bowl remains a simple yet profound expression of our desire to receive and sustain the world.

Tea Bowl盌

The tea bowl belongs to the same lineage as the bowl, yet in this exhibition, it is distinguished by its intimacy with the body. Held in the hands and brought to the lips, it establishes one of the closest relationships between object and person. In East Asia, the tea bowl came to occupy a special place through the rituals and disciplines surrounding tea. More than a vessel, it became a bearer of cultural ideals and aesthetic values. Each period and each tradition found its own image of beauty in the tea bowl. Through touch, use, and contemplation, it evolved into an object that carries not only tea but also a particular way of being in the world.

Bottle甁

The bottle was made to contain, transport, and share liquids. Its defining feature is its narrow neck, too small for a hand to enter. This form protects its contents, facilitates transport, and allows liquids to be poured with control and precision. For this reason, the bottle is more than a storage vessel. It is a form that made movement, exchange, and distribution possible. From the amphorae of ancient Greece and Rome to Chinese wine bottles and Joseon white porcelain bottles, its history is tied to the circulation of water, wine, oil, and other precious substances. Over time, bottles also acquired ceremonial functions, appearing in rituals, feasts, and communal gatherings. If the bowl receives, the bottle conveys.

Jar壺

The jar is a storage vessel, and Korea's tradition of stoneware developed largely in response to this need. Fired for extended periods at temperatures exceeding 1,200°C, high-fired stoneware achieves exceptional strength and density while retaining microscopic pores. This unique structure allows air to circulate while preventing water from leaking, creating ideal conditions for long-term storage. Both onggi and puredo-gi emerged from this tradition and were widely used to store Korea's fermented foods, including soybean paste, soy sauce, and kimchi. Although such vessels are now rarely found in ordinary households, they remain among the most effective containers ever developed for fermentation. Their ability to breathe while protecting their contents made them indispensable to the preservation and maturation of foods, and helped shape the distinctive character of Korea's fermentation culture.

Mimi Park