Following its successful exhibition of the Bayeux tapestry, the British Museum has launched a new survey titled “2,000 years of creativity” to explore the history of Korea. The exhibition invites visitors into a serene world of ancient artistry, showcasing a legacy of calm that preceded the catastrophic events of the 20th century. However, the experience is ultimately fragmented, feeling less like a cohesive historical narrative and more like a collection of works that struggles to bridge its past and present. 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. You are lured at first into a nirvana of beauty.
The early stages of the show are marked by an immersive sense of harmony. Highlights include an eighth-century Buddhist bronze bell intricately decorated with dragons and flames, alongside delicate statuettes of bodhisattvas. The craftsmanship displays deep ingenuity, such as a fifth-century stoneware horse featuring a functional drinking horn. As the Goryeo kingdom unified the peninsula from 918 to 1392, it established Buddhism as the state religion and fostered the creation of high-quality celadon ceramics, which remain celebrated for their smooth, pale green aesthetic. Cast in the eighth century AD and bulging with dragons, flames and flowery embossments, strikes the tone, a giant bronze bell from a Buddhist monastery.
The Joseon dynasty, which maintained neo-Confucian rule from 1392 until 1897, continued this tradition of refined earthenware. Among the most impressive pieces from this era is a massive, near-spherical white moon jar from the 18th century. Its distinctive, dimpled construction—formed by joining two semi-circular bowls—is a point of cultural pride, highlighting the value placed on natural imperfection.
A notable turning point occurs when the exhibition abruptly shifts into early 20th-century Korean art. This section blends traditional motifs with European and American modernist influences from the 1900s to the 1950s, creating an awkward transition that disrupts the show’s historical flow. Much of this material is drawn from the personal collection of the late Samsung chair Lee Kun-hee, who died in 2020 and whose firm serves as the exhibition’s “corporate partner.” While the pieces are individually significant, they reflect the specific taste of a private collector rather than an objective historical account.
The omission of the region’s complex modern history is particularly evident. Despite Japan’s colonization of Korea between 1910 and 1945, the exhibition’s modern paintings largely ignore this period. References to the Korean War—a conflict that claimed three million lives—are sparse. Lee Jung-seop’s works offer a somber exception; his pastel depiction of a fisherman represents the unfulfilled dreams of refugees, while another work vividly illustrates the harrowing reality of bound, naked bodies during wartime. The 20th century was a brutal period for Korea: from 1910 to 1945 it was colonised by the Japanese empire but the cosy modern paintings here say nothing about that. A lovely broken vase badly stuck together, but it’s a blockbuster with a tragic flaw.
The exhibition’s most evocative response to the landscape remains Jeong Seon’s 1751 ink-on-paper scroll, “Clearing After Rain on Mount Inwang.” The work captures a spontaneous, atmospheric connection to nature that contrasts sharply with the eventual onset of modernity. The exhibition concludes with Do Ho Suh’s 2019 self-portrait, owned by the British Museum, which features the artist as a miniature figure beneath threads falling from an image of a traditional house. This final piece serves as a poignant reminder of a cultural harmony that, while beautiful, remains increasingly distant. There are bells and gongs on the now obligatory exhibition soundtrack), a gong adds to the harmony (and if you need that underlining.
