Park Han-sol reports on Korea's financial regulators, along with fintech and insurance. She previously wrote about the art world, from biennales and exhibitions to fairs and auctions, with a focus on Seoul and the figures shaping the scene. Before joining The Korea Times, she spent a year at ABC News' Seoul bureau, contributing to coverage of major Asia-Pacific events.
INTERVIEW Artist transforms Atelier Hermes into pet crematorium as garish capitalist nightmare
As part of her solo exhibition, “The Burning Love Song,” visual artist Ryu Sung-sil has transformed the Atelier Hermes, a gallery in Gangnam District, Seoul, into a virtual pet crematorium as a kitschy commentary on neoliberal Korean society's fixation with money-making schemes and material well-being. Courtesy of the artist, Fondation d'entreprise Hermes
By Park Han-sol
Ryu Sung-sil's 'The Burning Love Song' lays bare primal desire for wealth prevalent in Korea's neoliberal market economy
By Park Han-sol
What awaits visitors at the Atelier Hermes, a gallery nestled in Gangnam, southern Seoul, after they pass by row after row of high-end clothes and a luxurious cafe, is far beyond their wildest imaginations: a dog funeral service.
Even if one has never attended a memorial service for a canine, they'll probably know something is off right away. Located at the entrance is a digital monitor detailing the information about the deceased: a 14-year-old Bichon Frise named Gongju.
But what catches the eye even more is an interview with the fictitious CEO of Big King Dog Funeral that plays on a loop in the corner.
“Our dog customers are very environmentally friendly. Do you know how much pollution occurs when you burn human bodies? The cost of fuel used by crematoriums alone comes out to 50 million won a month,” the CEO states solemnly.
“However, when it comes to our dog customers, they are able to go to heaven for just a small amount of fuel. Isn't that great?”
A digital monitor detailing the information about the deceased, a 14-year-old Bichon Frise named Gongju, at the Atelier Hermes / Courtesy of Fondation d'entreprise Hermes
The end of his unnerving statement is a sign for the audience to move on to the next stage. In the middle of the gallery stands a virtual furnace that is ready to begin a 10-minute cremation process.
The video session consists of an utterly chaotic jumble of events. After Gongju's body is placed inside the furnace, under the watch of the grieving owner, the two cremators show, in gaudy visuals, how the canine is “being shot up in a rocket” to a rainbow-colored dog heaven. One even presents herself as an “animal communicator” possessed by the spirit of the dead dog, calling the sobbing owner, “Mom.”
Witnessing the entire process transform ― from a site of mourning into a flashy marketing ruse to profit from the client's emotional vulnerability ― will likely leave a sour taste in visitors' mouths.
The virtual pet crematorium, fashioned by visual artist Ryu Sung-sil as part of her latest solo exhibition, invites the audience into a garish capitalist nightmare.
Visual artist Ryu Sung-sil became the youngest artist to be named the winner of the Hermes Foundation Missulsang last year. Courtesy of Fondation d'entreprise Hermes
Titled “The Burning Love Song,” the show is a kitschy commentary on neoliberal Korean society's fixation with money-making schemes and material well-being. It's an especially intriguing presentation, considering that it unfolds inside the flagship Hermes store in the heart of the upmarket neighborhood of Gangnam.
“Someone once told me it is highly probable that many of the current Gangnam residents weren't born in that area, because the region didn't emerge (as the richest neighborhood in Korea) until relatively recently. They likely flocked there from other parts of the Korean Peninsula; however, everyone there acts as if they were born and raised in Gangnam,” the 29-year-old artist told The Korea Times in a recent interview.
She saw that such an obsession with an elite upbringing and wealth could speak to one aspect of Korea's particular economic sensibilities, as the country's rapid growth brought equally swift changes to people's financial statuses.
One of Ryu's primary focuses over the years has been on laying bare the intense, primal human desire for wealth prevalent in Korea's neoliberal market economy ― warts and all.
An installation view of “The Burning Love Song” at the Atelier Hermes / Courtesy of Fondation d'entreprise Hermes
Last year, she became the youngest artist to be named the winner of the Hermes Foundation Missulsang, the prestigious art prize awarded by Hermes Korea since 2000.
Granted, launching such a jab at capitalism's willingness to exploit anything for profit has been a path traveled by many other creators in the past. But what makes Ryu's critique noteworthy is that she resorts to her own made-up universe of easily recognizable characters ― with their gaudy looks and heavily manipulated voices ― and a convincing plot that steers into dark humor.
She employs three recurring main characters in her capitalist narrative: Cherry Jang, Natasha and Lee Dae-wang.
Jang, performed by the artist herself on streaming platforms such as YouTube and AfreecaTV, is an influencer and a pseudo opinion leader, whose powdered face and tawdry costumes never fail to grab the viewer's attention.
The character actively toys with the idea of generating profits from fake news, as she launches an unfounded conspiracy theory that North Korea has fired nuclear missiles towards Seoul and encourages viewers to purchase “citizenship to heaven.”
Ryu Sung-sil's “BJ Cherry Jang 2018.4” (2018) / Courtesy of the artist
The birth of Jang was partially inspired by the artist's own experience of broadcasting herself online on AfreecaTV. “It was interesting to communicate with the faceless masses while I had my own face exposed. It felt like a bizarre otherworld, an untamed jungle that was the complete opposite of white cube galleries,” she said.
Natasha is identical in appearance to Jang. What sets them apart is her nationality and her job. As a self-proclaimed “foreigner” of unknown nationality, Natasha speaks Korean with a random accent. Working as a local tour guide for a fictitious faraway land called Ching Chen, she makes money by claiming to offer a taste of “exoticism” to elderly Korean bumpkins.
However, the star of the ongoing show at the Atelier Hermes is Lee Dae-wang, who calls himself “Mr. Big King.” Referred to as Jang's “Big King Oppa (brother)” and Natasha's boss as the owner of a travel agency (Big King Travel), Lee is portrayed as an opportunist entrepreneur who is never hesitant to expand his business through reckless diversification.
“During the COVID-19 pandemic, which put a stop to international trips, Lee's Big King Travel came to suffer as well. The only business that was in demand at the time was funeral services,” Ryu noted.
“He eyed a chance to start a memorial service business and soon discovered that a service for dogs would be particularly profitable. This was because the animals were smaller in size, which would use up much less fuel when cremated. Also, due to their shorter life span when compared with humans, this would guarantee a higher turnover ratio.”
Hence came the launch of his Big King Dog Funeral.
A fake wall relief that portrays Lee Dae-wang in the style of a national hero inside the Atelier Hermes / Courtesy of Fondation d'entreprise Hermes
As an ostentatious figure who isn't afraid to resort to self-promotion whenever he is given a chance and is always on the move to start a new business, he even turns the crematorium into a cheap site of self-glorification.
This self-promotion is evident from the fake wall relief he creates of himself in a style that is reminiscent of a national hero's statue located in the War Memorial of Korea, as well as the full-color mural that traces his business footprint, while also highlighting his artistic sensitivity in order to shed his crude, philistine image.
“At first glance, the space appears to be focused on a funeral, but in the end, it's all about Lee's attempt to show off his elaborate achievement and success story to the world,” the artist said.
Ryu's decision to launch a critique of capitalism through the mouths of fictional characters like Lee and Jang, instead of her own, stems from her belief that the speaker's status determines how the same message can be interpreted differently.
“There are real-life labels that already define me ― woman, college graduate, artist and Seoul-born resident ― and therefore, it influences how people will interpret my words. I didn't think it was the most effective or convincing way to deliver my message as Ryu Sung-sil.”
Ryu Sung-sil's interactive mobile webpage, “Big King Travel 2020” (2020) / Courtesy of the artist
As an emerging artist whose works have traveled freely between online platforms and brick-and-mortar galleries, Ryu still has plenty of ideas to experiment with in her creative path, including a web-based project in the near future.
At the end of 2020, she launched an interactive mobile webpage titled,
that invites users to a 15-minute virtual tour of the exotic land of Ching Chen led by the guide Natasha.
What struck her the most was how quickly and widely the work circulated online. Even without the artist's explicit promotional campaigns, the number of users who accessed the webpage reached 200,000 in less than two years.
“It was interesting to witness how people came to voluntarily promote my project simply by sharing the link via KakaoTalk and other social media channels,” she said.
“Therefore, I want my next web-based project to take into consideration even the dissemination process of online content in order to further map out and control the user experience.”
“The Burning Love Song” runs until Oct. 2 at the Atelier Hermes in Gangnam District.