Lying in bed, I recalled the various faces of Seokdong I had seen during the day. Each face crafted its own amusing stories with amusing expressions. Since there were no actual sounds to be heard, they were sounds I heard only in my imagination. Trapped in hard stone and unable to move, they might have had to wear expressions even more cheerful than they actually were, because they had to express themselves solely through the faces they possessed. Even with my eyes closed, it felt as though I could hear the voices of the Seokdongs laughing, "Hahaha."

While searching for a place that might be relevant to me in the unfamiliar city of Cheongju, I discovered the National Museum of Cheongju. Designed by architect Kim Soo-geun, he is a figure who can arguably be called a representative architect of Korea. He is also a figure who left a significant milestone in Korean architecture, which had lost its identity following the colonial period and the war. He is known to some as a talented architect, and to others as one who seized the opportunity well. Both accounts are true. He designed buildings boasting outstanding symbolism, such as the Seoul Olympic Stadium, as well as structures of modest elegance, like the Space Building. Although there is public opinion that views him negatively because he did not hesitate to design buildings that suppressed people's human rights at the time, few deny his talent. He is someone who was granted opportunities multiple times that are difficult for others to obtain even once, and he successfully executed them. The era in which he lived was also an ideal time to showcase his talent as an architect. As society develops, rationality and economic efficiency become increasingly important in architecture. For this reason, architecture may at first glance appear to be regressing. Architecture during Kim Soo-geun's time was more extravagant and more persistent than it is today. It was a time when architecture held greater symbolic significance, and for that reason, it was regarded as a matter of great importance. Because it was designed and built with such meticulous care to match its importance, the architecture of that era may actually feel even more valuable when viewed through the eyes of modern people.

I once visited a building designed by Kim Soo-geun while traveling in another city. Unfortunately, I was struck by the impression that the authority of the architecture there had faded. Although the exterior was magnificent and full of grandeur, it sadly appeared to be poorly maintained. It was evident that the vast space had been crammed with various items, as if people were unsure of how to utilize it. Old buildings often possess a rigid, stubborn nature that prevents them from being loved by modern operators and frequently hinders their flexible utilization. Consequently, it is rare to see fine old buildings being put to good use.

As I headed toward the National Cheongju Museum, I struggled to suppress my anticipation. It was larger than I had expected, though it was likely not due to the sheer size of the building itself. The scenery leading up to the entrance, the surrounding nature, and the stone-walled paths made the museum feel like a grand place. The buildings were all perched on the mountain ridge, so they could not be taken in at a single glance. Tile roofs undulating like waves were stacked in multiple layers. That was the view of the National Cheongju Museum from the entrance. In the dry and hot early summer, I began walking step by step, treading on the ground, and the carefully constructed stone walls came out to welcome me and guide my path. And from there, faces began to come into view. Faces that looked somewhat naive like younger siblings, faces that seemed to have so much to say, and powerful faces that would never burn no matter how hot the sun heated them—they filled the inside and outside of the building, bustling silently. They were the stone sculptures known as Seokdong.

“Hello. The expressions on the Seokdongs’ faces are quite amusing, aren’t they?” A real human voice was heard amidst the boisterous clamor of the Seokdongs. The certain distance I had maintained from others in this unfamiliar place crumbled. A female staff member working at the museum approached me and asked where I had come from. She then explained about the museum. This place had been completed in 1985, over 40 years ago. A local resident donated a private plot of land to fulfill the wish for the museum's construction, and Kim Soo-geun added the design to that hillside. Sadly, it is said that both the land donor and Kim Soo-geun passed away before seeing the building completed.

Several buildings were connected internally without passing through the outside. The design was such that walking along the interior, much like a walking path, would lead one up the mountain in a zigzag pattern. At the points where buildings met and pathways overlapped, one could take in the hot, deep blue scenery of summer through the windows. One could sense the architect's intention to utilize the land in its entirety. Although built a very long time ago, it appeared to be operating remarkably well to this day. It had recently undergone renovations, and the direction of the renovations seemed to complement the old buildings perfectly. They boasted, almost as if complaining, that not only outsiders but also local residents visit frequently, yet the residents seem to prefer the outdoor space to the inside of the museum.

“I really like Chagall’s and Picasso’s paintings. But look at these stone sculptures here. Their expressions are alive, one by one. I think they are just as good as Chagall’s or Picasso’s.” The employee pointed to the sculptures in a girlish tone, as if introducing something precious. Covering the entire museum like a grandmother’s garden filled with whatever she had picked up was a collection of stone sculptures donated by someone. Indeed, they were comparable to the paintings of Chagall or Picasso. Their expressions were vividly alive. With mouths wide open, eyes wide, and faces looking the most serious in the world... The scene was so chaotic that the image of the stone sculptures would not leave my mind.

On my way home, I stopped by the storage facility of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Cheongju, and looked around the artworks stored there. It was a simple warehouse building that stood in stark contrast to the old authority of the National Museum of Cheongju. The works in storage were unexhibited, their spotlights temporarily turned off. Yet, I could say that they, too , were alive. Like the clamor of the immobile stone statues speaking to me with their diverse expressions, the artworks continued to live even without being in the spotlight or displayed in a large space. Just like the stone statues, the role of an artwork is to noisily tell its own story and ceaselessly radiate energy. I reflect once again on the guide's remark that the stone statues' expressions were alive. Doesn't saying that expressions are alive simply mean that they are alive, regardless of the circumstances?

After leaving the art museum, I set out in search of a place to catch a few hours of sleep. I felt that driving back to Seoul would be too exhausting. I went to a jjimjilbang marked on the map, but it was a bleak place straight out of a Junji Ito manga. An owner who didn't know how to welcome guests, a deserted interior, and junk piled up in one corner. It didn't feel particularly pleasant. I roughly changed my clothes and was about to find a mattress and pillow to get some sleep when the owner pointed to a small door and told me to go in there. What on earth was this? I opened the door, which was as small as a doghouse, and stepped inside to find a large, dark space. Heavy, hot air pressed down on my entire body. A silent scream escaped through my body. Soon, the most unique structure I had seen today caught my eye. Was he crazy? It was inside a massive pile of stones that the owner must have stacked one by one. It was the inside of a gigantic furnace that defied all common sense. Inside the huge pile of stones that filled my vision, sweat dripped down as heavily as coins. The stone statues laughing silently, the artworks stored in the archives, and the sweltering stone kiln that baked humans more terrifyingly than the midsummer heat. Cheongju on those quiet, sweltering summer days was remembered as such a noisy place.

Han Seung-jae

I serve as a co-representative of the architectural firm Fuhahaha Friends. Starting in 2013, I currently work in architecture with nine colleagues. I have designed projects such as Seongsu Yeonbang, Alley Inside the House, and the Seogyo-dong Concrete Shopping Center. While practicing architecture, I also write consistently. My published works include *What Do We Create While Fumbling* and *Extremely Stupid*. I co-authored the architectural essay *We Are Always in the Process* with my colleagues.