Korea JoongAng Daily - Daily News from Korea

The author is an editorial writer at the JoongAng Ilbo.

A petition posted on the National Assembly's public petition board on Jan. 12 captured a growing unease among workers over the government's plan to turn Korea's retirement pension system into a centralized fund.

"Retirement pensions are private assets accumulated as compensation for a lifetime of work," the petition read. "Yet fund-based management restricts individuals' control over their own assets and creates a structure in which responsibility is unclear if management fails. […] The state should never manage private assets. Young people in their 20s and 30s already worry they may not even receive the national pension. The government should not interfere with retirement pensions as well."

The petition calls for a halt to the push toward fund-based management and opposes any blanket conversion without workers' consent. Put more bluntly, its message is simple: "I'll manage my own retirement pension."

The petition followed remarks on Jan. 7 by Han Jeoung-ae, policy chief of the Democratic Party, who said the ruling party and government would unveil concrete measures to manage the retirement pension fund later this month, signaling a fast-track approach. As of Jan. 18, the petition had garnered 3,859 signatures.

Under the proposed reform, retirement pensions now managed by individual financial institutions would be pooled into a single large fund and run by a designated body. Since the retirement pension system was introduced in 2005, large companies have typically offered either defined benefit plans managed by firms or defined contribution plans managed by individual workers through contracts with private financial institutions. Smaller businesses, however, still rely largely on the traditional severance pay system rather than formal pensions.

The government and the ruling party cite two main justifications for fund-based management. One is to close coverage gaps by gradually making retirement pensions mandatory for workplaces that still operate under the severance pay system. The other is to boost returns. Currently, 82.6 percent of retirement pension assets are parked in principal-protected products, resulting in an average annual return of just 2.86 percent over the past five years. By pooling assets and exploiting economies of scale, officials argue, returns could be improved.

The rationale appears straightforward, but the issue is far from simple. Supporters often point to the performance of the National Pension Service and the Small Business Retirement Pension Fund, known as "Blue Seed," as evidence that larger funds deliver higher returns. That logic, critics say, rests on an overly broad assumption. Size alone does not guarantee better performance, and turning deferred wages into a centralized fund raises serious questions about investment choice, property rights and governance.

The most fundamental concern emerges when investments go wrong. Any losses would ultimately be borne by workers themselves. Without the ability to choose investments, participants would have little recourse beyond absorbing the damage. Japan's AIJ scandal looms large in such discussions. In that case, a trustee mismanaged roughly 200 billion yen (about $1.2 billion) in pension assets, concealed the losses and wiped out the retirement savings of some 880,000 workers. Because decision-making authority lay with the fund while the beneficiaries were workers, accountability proved murky, and disputes dragged on.

Perhaps most sensitive is the way fund-based management revives what many call "national pension trauma." Critics fear retirement pensions could become another tool for policy goals, much like the national pension has been accused of serving as a de facto piggy bank for currency stabilization or stock market support. The petition warned that concentrating retirement pension assets into a single fund would heighten the risk of political and policy intervention, with a single misjud...

Jaung Hoon

The author is an emeritus professor at Chung-Ang University and a columnist at the JoongAng Ilbo.

At this point in the political calendar, it would be normal for both ruling and opposition parties to be abuzz with talk of recruiting new faces and renewing themselves. With local elections scheduled for June, parties should be busy rebranding and presenting themselves earnestly before voters.

Instead, Korea's major parties are mired in confusion that bears little resemblance to reform. The Democratic Party (DP) is engulfed in allegations of illicit money linked to nominations for local elections. Its ethics committee has expelled a former floor leader who stepped down, while police investigations have begun into figures connected to the alleged nomination donations. The People Power Party (PPP) is hardly in better shape. Last year, it attempted a predawn replacement of its own presidential candidate. More recently, its ethics committee expelled a former party leader who had played a key role in leading the National Assembly vote to lift martial law in late 2024.

These episodes go beyond the familiar mix of corruption scandals and power struggles that periodically surface in politics. The parties appear to be in free fall, with nowhere left to descend. With major elections imminent, such disarray is itself evidence of a deepening crisis.

The root of the turmoil, I would argue, lies in the bankruptcy of the power narratives that have long sustained the political aristocracies dominating both camps. Within the PPP, the mainstream has been shaped by technocrats drawn from the courts, the prosecution and the bureaucracy. These are legacy political elites still trapped in the values of the developmental state era, defined by hierarchy, command and loyalty. Their entry into politics followed worldly success in the judiciary, prosecution or administration. Unsurprisingly, they cling to familiar habits of obedience and top-down instruction.

It is hardly surprising that such legacy elites struggle to adapt to the compromise and coordination demanded by party politics in a democratic era. As a result, their isolation has deepened, and they have remained unable to step out from the shadow of "Yoon Again," the lingering influence of the former administration.

The DP's mainstream, by contrast, has been led for more than two decades by figures rooted in the pro-democracy movement. The so-called 586 and 686 generations ("586" refers to politicians in their 50s who entered university in the 1980s and were born in the 1960s, while "686" extends the label to the same cohort now in their 60s) consolidated power by foregrounding morality and ethics. By presenting themselves as guardians of new moral codes — minority rights, environmental protection, integrity and human rights — they succeeded in strengthening their political dominance. There is no denying that these norms contributed to the deepening of democracy.

The problem arises when those who built power on moral legitimacy succumb to the temptations of abuse and corruption. The recent uproar over nomination donations is not merely a case of individual misconduct. It represents a crisis shaking the power that was constructed on moral claims from its very foundations.

Consider first the PPP. Even after democratization, it remained dominated by bureaucrats from the courts, prosecution and administration, while styling itself as the rightful heir of the industrialization era. Under the Lee Myung-bak and Park Geun-hye administrations, these figures largely played supporting roles. They reached their zenith as legacy political elites when a former prosecutor general Yoon Suk Yeol was elected president.

Yet as the country painfully witnessed, a president from the prosecution never adapted to democratic politics. He squandered 30 months issuing unilateral directives and ruling from above, only to end in self-destruction by turning violence against democratic governance itself.

Even aft...

As Washington's proposed semiconductor tariff regime takes clearer shape, calculations in both government and corporate circles in Korea are growing more complex. After concluding a semiconductor agreement with Taiwan, U.S. officials have raised the pressure on other major exporters, signaling that tariffs are no longer a hypothetical threat.

At the heart of the policy is a direct linkage between semiconductor tariffs and investment in the United States. On Jan. 16, U.S. Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick delivered a blunt message at the groundbreaking ceremony for a new plant by Micron Technology. "If you want to make memory chips," he said, "you have two choices: pay a 100 percent tariff or produce them in the United States." The warning was unmistakable. Companies that do not invest in U.S.-based production will face steep tariffs.

Washington's strategy was made explicit in the semiconductor agreement announced with Taiwan on Jan. 15. Taiwan pledged a total of $500 billion in semiconductor investment, including $250 billion by TSMC, the world's largest contract chipmaker. In return, the United States granted a tariff-free semiconductor quota. The more chips produced in the United States, the larger the volume exempt from tariffs.

This is where concerns deepen for Korea's government and chipmakers. The Taiwan deal risks becoming a de facto benchmark. A clause in the Korea-U.S. tariff negotiation fact sheet stating that Korea should not receive treatment less favorable than countries with larger semiconductor trade volumes with the United States, namely Taiwan, could prove a double-edged sword. Matching Taiwan's scale may be unavoidable. By comparison, U.S. investments announced by Samsung Electronics and SK hynix total about $41 billion, leaving room for Washington to push for additional commitments.

In response, the presidential office said it would continue consultations to minimize the impact on Korean firms, in line with the principle of non-discrimination. Caution is necessary, but a purely defensive posture would be risky. With semiconductor demand in the United States rising sharply, Washington also faces limits in raising tariffs indiscriminately. This leaves space for coordinated public-private negotiations that balance firmness with flexibility.

Semiconductors account for roughly 30 percent of Korea's exports and are its second-largest export item to the United States. As petrochemicals, steel and batteries lose ground to Chinese competitors, chips remain Korea's most critical global advantage. If Seoul fails to negotiate effectively and is simply pulled along by U.S. demands, the consequences for Korea's economic future would be severe.

This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.

This article is by Kim Su-min, Sarah Chea and read by an artificial voice.

Taiwan has secured exemptions from looming U.S. semiconductor tariffs by pledging to expand production on U.S. soil, a development analysts say will have limited immediate impact for Korea but underscores the vulnerability of its export-driven chip industry to shifting U.S. trade rules.

With U.S. Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick once again mentioning the possibility of 100 percent tariffs on chip companies that don't build in America on Friday, Korean players such as Samsung Electronics and SK hynix remain on edge.

Under the deal made between the United States and Taiwan on Thursday, the United States agreed to lower tariffs on Taiwan to 15 percent and to exempt Taiwanese semiconductor companies from additional product-specific chip tariffs if they build manufacturing facilities in the United States, Reuters reported.

Taiwanese companies are committed to investing at least $250 billion to build the facilities in the United States, while the Taiwanese government will provide an additional $250 billion in credit guarantees to help smaller enterprises expand there, according to the U.S. Department of Commerce.

The structure of the agreement links tariff relief directly to U.S.-based production. Taiwanese companies constructing new semiconductor plants in the United States will be allowed to import a set volume of chips without paying product-specific duties.

During construction, the companies can bring in tariff-free shipments equal to up to 2.5 times the planned production capacity of the new facility. Once the plant is completed, that allowance falls to 1.5 times its production capacity.

In practical terms, a company building a factory capable of producing 1 million wafers could ship 2.5 million wafers from Taiwan to the United States during construction without incurring additional duties, and up to 1.5 million wafers annually after the facility starts operating.

The arrangement makes clear that tariff benefits would grow in proportion to the amount of production that moved onto U.S. soil.

At the center of the deal is TSMC, the world's largest contract chipmaker. TSMC is already building or expanding six semiconductor plants in Arizona and plans to add five more under the new framework, according to a New York Times report.

The U.S. secretary of commerce said the investment includes the $100 billion TSMC previously committed, with additional investment to follow.

"They just bought hundreds of acres adjacent to their property," Lutnick said in an interview with CNBC, referring to TSMC's facilities in Arizona.

"[The company] will come in huge, bigger — you've seen reports on possibly doubling in size," he said.

Lutnick said the administration's broader objective is far-reaching. "The objective is to bring 40 percent of Taiwan's entire supply chain and production, to domestically bring it into America," he said, warning that if companies "don't build in America, the tariffs are likely to be 100 percent."

For Korea's semiconductor industry, the immediate effects of the U.S.-Taiwan agreement appear limited. On Wednesday, the United States issued a proclamation imposing a 25 percent tariff on certain advanced AI semiconductors, including Nvidia's H200 chips. But the measure applies only to chips imported into the United States and then reexported overseas. Chips imported for U.S. data centers or for consumer, industrial or public-sector use are exempt.

That distinction protects much of the current U.S. demand served by Korean chipmakers, at least for now.

The longer-term uncertainty lies in whether Washington will apply similar conditions to Seoul. The United States described the 25 percent tariff as part of a "first phase" and signaled that it could expand duties across a broader range of semiconductor products. The proclamation also stated that companies investing in specific segments of the U.S. semiconductor supply chain could qualify for a "tariff...

This article is by Kim Ji-ye and read by an artificial voice.

Warning: The article may contain spoilers.

The second season of "Culinary Class Wars" (2024-) concluded with the crowning of its winner, chef Choi Kang-rok. Having appeared in the first season, Choi returned to the nerve-wracking kitchen battle show, candidly admitting that he initially worried his final dish might not be suitable for the finale, even referring to it as something akin to a "staff meal."

In the final round, chef Choi faced off against Black Spoon chef Culinary Monster, whose real name is Lee Ha-sung. Choi presented a soup with sesame tofu, a dish that earned unanimous approval from both judges, restaurateur Paik Jong-won and chef Anh Sung-jae, bringing the competition to a close.

The dish was demanding, as he had to stir the tofu by hand for over 20 minutes during the 90-minute round. He later explained that the dish served as a form of self-examination and reflection.

"I think every dish carries a bit of meaning for the chef who makes it," Choi said during an interview with reporters at a cafe in central Seoul on Friday. "For me, sesame tofu is a reminder not to get lazy. As you get older, you stop making certain dishes because your body starts to hurt. There are dishes that make you check yourself, that make you think, 'I used to make this so easily.' Sesame tofu is one of those dishes for me.

"It used to feel effortless when young, but as I've gotten older, it's become much harder. Making this dish made me reflect on what it means to me, and I wanted to present it and be judged."

When asked about his victory, he said the experience will be "a reason for him to live the next 10 years."

He also shared his plans for the 300 million won ($203,825) prize money.

"I plan to use the prize money to help open a noodle shop in the later years of my life," he said.

Although Choi emerged as the winner, the show also marked his return to the high-pressure culinary battlefield he had already experienced in the previous season. He was introduced as one of the season's "hidden" White Spoon chefs, alongside chef Kim Do-yun, which was a concept newly introduced in this season.

Choi said his decision to return was driven by the thrill of the survival-style competition.

"It really gives you a dopamine boost," he said. "I don't think there are many big stages like this in life — places where you can put on a mask and step out. If a stage like that exists, and if the opportunity comes along, I think it's worth taking."

But he jokingly said he wouldn't have participated if he'd known how he would appear, being thrust straight under bright lights the moment he was introduced.

Returning to the show also came with a sense of responsibility, he said. "So many people around me wanted to be here, and as someone who had already been on the show once, I felt a responsibility coming back. I didn't know how far I'd go, but I wanted to make it as far as possible before leaving. That was my mindset."

Choi added, "In my own mind, the team round was my final. I figured if I made it through that, I'd worry about the rest later."

The chef first came into the public eye after appearing on another cooking survival show, "Master Chef Korea" (2012-16), in 2013, where he also won. He also appeared in shows like "Please Take Care of My Refrigerator" (2014-). During his appearance, the chef always showed a deep, genuine passion toward cooking. Despite this, he revealed that his culinary journey began from a very different place.

"I chose cooking as a way to make a living," Choi shared. "I started out thinking, 'This is what I'll do for business,' and began working with food from that perspective. But somewhere along the way, it ended up taking me in the opposite direction."

Known for his expertise in braising, Choi has earned nicknames such as "Mr. Braise" and "Serial Braiser." His affection for the technique aligns with his philosophy of cooking as "art shaped by time and patience."

How...

This article is by Shin Ha-nee and read by an artificial voice.

Outside a three-story gallery facing Gyeongbok Palace, Jennie's gaze from five years ago meets the present, staring out toward the city that raised her.

As the K-pop star turned 30 on Friday, a photo exhibition celebrating fragments of her 20s — at times bold, at others intimate — opened in the heart of her hometown, Seoul.

Titled "J2NNI5," the exhibition runs from Friday through Jan. 29 at Youthquake gallery in Jongno District, central Seoul. The event marks her first photo exhibition, featuring photos taken when the Blackpink member was 25. Jennie collaborated with renowned Korean photographers Hong Jang-hyun, Shin Sun-hye and Mok Jung-wook, presenting "the most authentic fragments of Jennie discovered in unplanned moments," according to her agency, Odd Atelier.

Upon entering the venue, visitors are first met with a dimly lit room anchored by a long table scattered with puzzle pieces. As the pieces are placed into their missing slots, images of Jennie begin to appear on the walls and the table, offering a preview of the exhibition.

The second floor largely centers on bright, natural images of Jennie, while a series of monochrome photographs placed beside a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Gyeongbok Palace make an homage to her roots — previously seen in moments such as her recent 2025 Melon Music Awards performance, where she appeared in a veil engraved with passages from "Cheongguyeongeon" (1728), Korea's earliest known compilation of song lyrics.

On the third floor, the mood turns more intimate. Muted, largely monochromatic images — including a half-nude portrait of her covering her upper torso — are displayed, with some hanging from the wall on thin screens, alongside blue acrylic photographs of the artist in water.

The exhibition concludes on the rooftop. Inside a small booth, Jennie's recorded narration plays, listing keywords such as "twenty-five," "curiosity, "time" and "love."

"In Seoul city, I see your soul," Jennie sang in her 2025 track "Seoul City." The latest exhibition turns that sentiment inward, and at the same time, outward.

Reflecting on herself at 25, Jennie said she often felt lost.

"At first, I excluded so many photos because I felt embarrassed, trying to leave only the ones I thought were pretty," Jennie said in a recorded interview footage played at the end of the exhibition. "But when I asked myself about why I took these photos and looked at them again, I realized they were simply me, and came to embrace that."

Hoping her candid self-reflection would resonate with visitors, she added, "I wish this exhibition could be a time where you can think about fragments of your own."

A photobook is available for purchase at the venue alongside various merchandise. The revenue from ticket sales will be donated to charity, according to her agency.

This article is by Shin Ha-nee and read by an artificial voice.

Outside a three-story gallery facing Gyeongbok Palace, Jennie's gaze from five years ago meets the present, staring out toward the city that raised her.

As the K-pop star turned 30 on Friday, a photo exhibition celebrating fragments of her 20s — at times bold, at others intimate — opened in the heart of her hometown, Seoul.

Titled "J2NNI5," the exhibition runs from Friday through Jan. 29 at Youthquake gallery in Jongno District, central Seoul. The event marks her first photo exhibition, featuring photos taken when the Blackpink member was 25. Jennie collaborated with renowned Korean photographers Hong Jang-hyun, Shin Sun-hye and Mok Jung-wook, presenting "the most authentic fragments of Jennie discovered in unplanned moments," according to her agency, Odd Atelier.

Upon entering the venue, visitors are first met with a dimly lit room anchored by a long table scattered with puzzle pieces. As the pieces are placed into their missing slots, images of Jennie begin to appear on the walls and the table, offering a preview of the exhibition.

The second floor largely centers on bright, natural images of Jennie, while a series of monochrome photographs placed beside a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Gyeongbok Palace make an homage to her roots — previously seen in moments such as her recent 2025 Melon Music Awards performance, where she appeared in a veil engraved with passages from "Cheongguyeongeon" (1728), Korea's earliest known compilation of song lyrics.

On the third floor, the mood turns more intimate. Muted, largely monochromatic images — including a half-nude portrait of her covering her upper torso — are displayed, with some hanging from the wall on thin screens, alongside blue acrylic photographs of the artist in water.

The exhibition concludes on the rooftop. Inside a small booth, Jennie's recorded narration plays, listing keywords such as "twenty-five," "curiosity, "time" and "love."

"In Seoul city, I see your soul," Jennie sang in her 2025 track "Seoul City." The latest exhibition turns that sentiment inward, and at the same time, outward.

Reflecting on herself at 25, Jennie said she often felt lost.

"At first, I excluded so many photos because I felt embarrassed, trying to leave only the ones I thought were pretty," Jennie said in a recorded interview footage played at the end of the exhibition. "But when I asked myself about why I took these photos and looked at them again, I realized they were simply me, and came to embrace that."

Hoping her candid self-reflection would resonate with visitors, she added, "I wish this exhibition could be a time where you can think about fragments of your own."

A photobook is available for purchase at the venue alongside various merchandise. The revenue from ticket sales will be donated to charity, according to her agency.

This article is by Yoon Seung-jin and read by an artificial voice.

Ahead of the upcoming 2026 FIFA World Cup, the FIFA World Cup Trophy returned to Korea on Friday as part of the FIFA World Cup Trophy Tour organized by Coca-Cola. The visit marks its fifth trip to Korea since its first visit in 2006.

At a press event held Friday at CGV Yongsan I'Park Mall in central Seoul, the trophy was unveiled in the presence of Korean football legends Cha Bum-kun, Cha Du-ri, Lee Young-pyo and Koo Ja-cheol, along with former Brazilian football player Gilberto Silva.

"I feel bittersweet seeing the trophy. It's something you want but can't easily have, yet it gives you hope," said Cha Bum-kun, who represented Korea at the 1986 Mexico World Cup as a player. "Korea first made it to the World Cup in 1954 in Switzerland, and in 2002, my son's generation made it to the semifinals. Another generation has passed since then, and I believe that someday, we may be the ones lifting this trophy."

Lee, who played in the 2002 World Cup when Korea reached the semifinals for the first time, shared a similar sentiment about the World Cup victory and the trophy.

"We once came very close, and although we've stepped back a bit since then, if our younger players continue leaving their mark little by little as we once did, they can build something that once felt impossible: a World Cup victory," Lee said.

Gilberto Silva, invited by FIFA to take part in the Korea stop of the tour, expressed special emotions as a member of Brazil's most recent World Cup-winning squad in 2002.

"The 2002 World Cup holds an important meaning in my life and career," Gilberto Silva said. "This visit is very meaningful to me, especially because I get to see Lee and Cha Du-ri again, whom I truly respect and competed with in 2002."

Asked what he looks forward to most in the upcoming tournament, Gilberto Silva added, "Personally, seeing Brazil and Korea face each other in the final would be very special. I see great potential in Korean football, and it would be a match the whole world would pay attention to."

The FIFA World Cup Trophy Tour kicked off in Saudi Arabia on Jan. 3 and is scheduled to visit 75 cities across 30 FIFA member countries. The trophy featured in the tour is the official prize that will be awarded to the champions of the 2026 FIFA World Cup, which will be co-hosted by Canada, Mexico and the United States beginning June 11.

An exhibition event, which will allow visitors to see the iconic trophy up close, will take place on Saturday at CGV Yongsan I'Park Mall.

Korea has been drawn into Group A alongside host nation Mexico, South Africa and the winner of UEFA Playoff Path D, which has yet to be determined. From 1986 to 2026, Korea has qualified for the World Cup finals in 11 consecutive tournaments, a streak that began at the 1986 Mexico World Cup. Korea is the only Asian nation to achieve this feat.

This article is by Kim Ji-ye and read by an artificial voice.

Warning: The article may contain spoilers.

One of the most important elements of a survival show is keeping vacuum-sealed confidentiality, especially regarding the eventual winner and runner-up. However, the latest season of "Culinary Class Wars" (2024-) failed to keep its results under wraps. Regarding this unfortunate turn of events, the show's producers apologized, stating they have "no other words to say."

"We did not realize it before it was released," said co-producer Kim Hak-min to reporters on Friday, referring to an incident where Black Spoon chef Culinary Monster's real name was revealed to reporters during an interview segment. The mishap led to viewers eventually figuring out the show's final two.

"It's an accident too serious to simply call it a mistake. The production team, especially producer Kim Eun-ji and I, feel deeply upset about this, and the responsibility ultimately lies with us," Kim Hak-min said.

The second season of "Culinary Class Wars," which pitted lesser-known cooks, dubbed the Black Spoon chefs, against top-tier chefs, dubbed the White Spoon chefs, concluded Wednesday, announcing chef Choi Kang-rok as the winner and Culinary Monster — whose real name is Lee Ha-sung — as the runner-up.

As buzz around the show grew, it was rocked by a major spoiler early on, revealing that Choi would win by defeating a U.S.-based chef who had not appeared in the previous season.

While spoilers are often an inevitable by-product of a wildly popular show, especially one that has achieved global success, speculation intensified after some lackluster editing revealed Culinary Monster wearing a name tag with his real name. The rule of the series is that the Black Spoon chefs use a fake moniker throughout the show, unless they make it into the final round, where the chef's real name is revealed. Lee's name tag, which showed his real name, gave away that he had made it into the final two.

Kim Hak-min also noted that the spoiler in question, which revealed the winner and runner-up early on in the show, will go under investigation by Netflix, citing it as an "intentional leak that can hardly be called a mistake."

The producers also addressed criticism over Culinary Monster, whom some view as the show's villain. They emphasized that there was never any intention to frame him in a negative light, but rather to portray him with respect.

"When Chef Lee Ha-sung said, 'I came here to win,' that's not an easy thing to say," producer Kim Hak-min said. "We thought it was a statement of a challenge and commitment to himself, and saw it as something to admire. That's why we showed that side of him honestly."

He added, "Also, rather, we aimed to portray him as he truly is, with respect, while making every effort to present his cooking in the best possible way."

Aside from the controversies, the show did well internationally, topping Netflix's global top 10 list for non-English shows.

The show introduced a diverse range of chef personalities who resonated strongly with viewers, including Hou Deok-juk and Im Sung-geun.

"Hou took part in our shoot at the age of 76, so we were quite worried, although we were also deeply rooting for him," producer Kim Eun-ji said. "But he enjoyed the set far more than we expected and looked truly happy while cooking, which deeply moved the entire production team."

As for chef Im, the producers revealed that he was the very first to accept the offer to appear on the show. While they anticipated that his outgoing personality would draw attention, they admitted they did not expect his popularity to grow to such an extent.

Meanwhile, Netflix announced Friday that the series will return for a third season and introduced a major format change. Instead of individual chefs, the upcoming installment will feature restaurant-based teams.

Although production is still in its early stages and only the concept has been finalized, the producers shared the r...

This article is by Lee Jian and read by an artificial voice.

Art by the people, for the people.

Minhwa, or Korean folk painting, is typically produced by anonymous, nonprofessional painters. Uncomplicated in style and often tinged with humor or satire, the works present direct, symbolic depictions of Joseon-era (1392-1910) society.

That legacy is the focus of a two-part exhibition that opened Wednesday at Gallery Hyundai, bringing together historical minhwa and contemporary works that reinterpret the genre.

Born largely in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, minhwa developed as a popular and practical form of visual expression among commoners, as folding screens or hanging scrolls to adorn domestic and ceremonial spaces, and is produced mostly by painters of low social standing and whose names often go unrecorded.

Minhwa, consequently, frequently disregards the academic rules of perspective and proportion, and favors vivid colors and bold patterns. Motifs are selected not only for their visual appeal but also for their symbolic meaning, conveying everyday wishes, humor, satire and emotion.

Gallery Hyundai's minhwa exhibitions run through Feb. 28. A total of 27 Joseon-era minhwa and court paintings are shown as part of the main building's "Magnificence and Creativity: Variations in Korean Folk Painting" show. The annex exhibition, "The Way of Painting," features 75 works by six contemporary artists — Kim Ji-pyeong, Ahn Seong-min, Kim Nam-kyoung, Lee Doo-won, Bak Bang-young and Jae Jung — who reinterpret minhwa through painting, installation and fiber-based mediums.

Founded in 1970, Gallery Hyundai is one of Korea's oldest commercial galleries. The exhibition follows the gallery's earlier engagement with minhwa, which began in 2016, and marks its first curated presentation of traditional Korean painting in five years.

Though presented as two separate exhibitions, the shows are best viewed together. Taken as a whole, they frame minhwa not as a closed historical category, but as a visual language that continues to be reexamined and adapted in contemporary contexts.

Across both venues, recurring motifs serve as points of connection, with tigers and books emerging as particularly prominent.

Tigers

In minhwa, the tiger carries a dual meaning: a defense against evil and a symbol of authority. Regarded as a powerful and numinous presence, it is often imagined as a being on par with spirits and gods.

That symbolism is evident in one of the exhibition's most commanding works, the 4-meter-long (13-foot-long) ink-on-paper folding screen "Tiger Skins." Likely commissioned by a high-ranking official in the 19th century, according to the gallery, the screen renders the animal's spotted coat in careful detail, creating a surface that closely evokes the texture of fur.

At the annex, artist Kim Ji-pyeong extends the tiger motif into a contemporary, female narrative with works that incorporate feminine elements, such as butterflies, long hair, yeonji gonji (red dots on the cheeks of brides on their wedding day), into the tiger's skin to construct a personal and historical narrative that intertwines female subjectivity with the animal's symbolic weight.

Classic tiger-and-magpie paintings or hojakdo, are also present at the gallery's shows.

Historically, the genre is known for its satirical tone. The tiger, standing for authority, appears with exaggerated, sometimes comical expressions, while the magpies, symbols of ordinary people, register as attentive or vocal. The genre has recently gained renewed visibility through popular culture, including in the Netflix animated film "KPop Demon Hunters" (2025).

With multiple different hojakdo on view at Gallery Hyundai, viewers can easily recognize that no two tigers appear alike, each carrying a distinct, and very human, expression or temperament. Many of the tigers also combine stripes with leopard-like spots, reflecting the fact that folk painters often work from imagination rather than direc...