The 'Question of Emptiness' Posed by the Lee Kun-hee Collection to the World

On January 28, 2026, Washington D.C. was a space where the cold fog of the Potomac River intersected with the static weight of the federal government's stone buildings. However, that evening, the temperature inside the Smithsonian Arts and Industries Building (AIB), located in the heart of the National Mall, soared to a different dimension of heat. This historic building, which symbolised the American Industrial Revolution of the 19th century, shone not with electric energy but with the aesthetic brilliance condensed from 5,000 years of Korean history. The gala dinner celebrating the successful conclusion and closing of the overseas tour of the late Lee Kun-hee's donated items, titled 'Korean Treasures: Collected, Cherished, Shared', was not merely a corporate event. It was a grand epic demonstrating how the determination of a family saved the soul of a nation and how the Eastern philosophy that regards 'emptiness' as a virtue encountered the Western 'filled desires'.  

To understand the resonance of this historic night, one must first trace the chronology of the venue. The Smithsonian Arts and Industries Building is the second oldest building among the Smithsonian museums, designed by Adolf Cluss and Paul Schulze, and opened in 1881 with a ball celebrating the inauguration of President James A. Garfield. Built to accommodate 60 carloads of exhibits brought from the 1876 Philadelphia Centennial Exposition, this building was a space proving America's technological genius, progress, and civilisation. The presence of a 1,500-year-old Buddha statue and a Joseon moon jar from 21st-century South Korea in a space dominated by the industrial rationalism of the 19th century was a massive metaphor in itself.  

In the Rotunda Plaza where the gala dinner was held, the spot where the massive 'Statue of America' once stood holding Edison's light bulb was now filled with prominent figures from the political and business sectors of both South Korea and the United States, confronting the essence of Korean aesthetics. The guest list itself was a map of global power. Leading the way was Secretary of Commerce Howard Rutnik, alongside key figures from the U.S. Congress such as Ted Cruz, Tim Scott, and Andy Kim, as well as architects of technological hegemony like Wendell Weeks, Chairman of Corning, Gary Dickerson, CEO of Applied Materials, and Jerry Yang, co-founder of Yahoo. They momentarily set aside the cold rationality of discussing the fine processes of silicon wafers and shared a human sense of awe in front of the heavy rock formations of Inwangsan, glistening in the moonlight, and the curves of the white porcelain.

Notably, many members of Congress from Texas and South Carolina, where Samsung's production bases are located, attended in large numbers. This suggests that the Lee Kun-hee Collection plays a pivotal role in private diplomacy that strengthens the bonds of 'hard power (semiconductors, electronics)' through 'soft power' beyond mere cultural enjoyment. In his speech, Lee Jae-yong, Chairman of Samsung Electronics, stated that the prosperity of modern Korea would not have been possible without the sacrifices of 36,000 American veterans over 70 years ago, showcasing a sophisticated rhetoric that elevates the debt of history into cultural exchange. Among the guests were four veterans of the Korean War, including Rudy B. Mikins, symbolising a touching moment where past blood allies evolved into future cultural partners.  

Walter Benjamin defined the act of collecting as a 'struggle against dispersal'. For collectors, ownership is the most intimate relationship one can have with an object, and collectors believe they live within the items. Amid the loss of sovereignty and the devastation of war that South Korea had to endure in the 20th century, Korean cultural heritage was on the brink of being scattered across the globe. The collections of Lee Byung-chul, the founder, and Lee Kun-hee, the late chairman, were not merely a hobby of collecting expensive antiques but a desperate cultural liberation movement to preserve and protect the 'aura' of a disappearing nation.  

The Lee Kun-hee Collection is astonishing not only for its vast number of over 23,000 items but also for the 'will to preserve' contained within it, which carries even greater weight. When the Samsung family donated this vast collection to the nation in 2021, it was recorded as a 'national contribution' signifying a transition from private ownership to public sharing. At the gala dinner, Honorary Director Hong Ra-hee reflected on the process of expanding the collection's scope from ancient artifacts to modern masterpieces, emphasising how the identity of Korean art connects not only with past relics but also with contemporary avant-garde art. The exhibition held at the Smithsonian NMAA was the first overseas fruit of that donation, surpassing 65,000 cumulative visitors and setting a record as the largest Korean art exhibition ever.  

Among the numerous treasures on display, the item that most powerfully shook the souls of American audiences was undoubtedly the Baekja Daeho moon jar. This jar, representing the restrained beauty of Confucianism in the Joseon Dynasty of the 17th and 18th centuries, embodies the philosophy of 'Yeobaek' rather than ornate colours or gilded decorations. Yeobaek is not merely an empty space; it is the 'fullness of emptiness' intentionally left for the viewer's gaze and heart to linger.  

The moon jar is by no means a perfect sphere. Due to its large size, two hemispheres must be separately crafted and joined, and the inevitable asymmetry and traces of the seams that occur in that process breathe life into the jar. British philosopher Alain de Botton praised the moon jar as a 'supreme tribute to the virtue of humility'. Unlike the Western aesthetic of symmetry that demands perfection, the moon jar affirms human imperfection and offers a sense of relief that 'it is okay for everything not to be perfect'. This 'natural indifference' resonates with the healing aesthetics that modern people crave, and the sell-out of moon jar-related merchandise at the exhibition's souvenir shop is a result of this widespread empathy.  

Art critics refer to the moon jar as the 'jar that swallowed time'. Just as the earth from 200 years ago is reborn as a new entity on a modern canvas, the moon jar within the Lee Kun-hee Collection is not a relic of the past but an ongoing source of inspiration. This is why contemporary artists like Kwon Dae-seop reinterpret the moon jar, exploring the boundaries of existence and absence, form and emptiness.  

If the moon jar symbolises the inner self of Koreans, Jeong Seon’s Inwangjesaekdo shows a revolution in the perspective of Koreans towards the external world. Painted in 1751 when Jeong Seon was 76 years old, this masterpiece is the pinnacle of 'True-view landscape painting'. Before Jeong Seon, painters imitated the idealised landscapes of China, imagining famous mountains they had never visited, but Jeong Seon captured the actual landscapes of Joseon beneath his feet with his brush.  

Inwangjesaekdo depicts Inwangsan right after the rain has cleared. The wet granite rocks settle heavily in dark ink tones, while the mist rising between the valleys contrasts with the dazzling white space. This is not merely a landscape painting; it is a visual manifestation of the Silhak movement among Joseon intellectuals at the time, a subjective declaration to discover the unique value of 'our own' while breaking free from Chinese influence. The repetitive ink lines used to express the texture of the heavy rock formations seem to foreshadow modern abstract techniques, delivering a powerful visual shock to contemporary audiences across 200 years.

This Smithsonian exhibition was particularly special because it did not hesitate to make bold attempts to connect classical art with modern pop culture. A 19th-century lion-shaped drum stand, occupying a corner of the exhibition space, was a ceremonial tool of Buddhist temples but resonated with an entirely different meaning for American MZ generation viewers. They discovered the humorous expression of this lion in the character 'Derpy' from the animated series 'KPop Demon Hunters', which took Netflix by storm in 2025.  

Directed by Maggie Kang, this film tells the story of the K-pop girl group 'Huntrix' defeating ghosts through song and dance, with numerous monsters and guardian deities in the film inspired by the images of tigers in the Lee Kun-hee Collection or in folk paintings. The tiger, which was depicted foolishly in folk paintings to satirise authoritative yangban in the past, has come back to life on the screens of the 21st century, forming a global fandom. This is a perfect example of how high art nourishes popular culture and proves that K-culture is rooted in a deep historical tradition.

The early sell-out of 'moon jar' lights and 'Inwangjesaekdo' souvenirs at the exhibition entrance is not merely a matter of material desire. It signifies that Korean aesthetic identity has established itself as a 'phenomenon' transcending generations and borders, from teenage girls who are enthusiastic about 'Huntrix' to middle-aged individuals moved to tears by soprano Jo Sumi's aria.

Behind this gala dinner led by Lee Jae-yong lies a sophisticated strategy of 'cultural diplomacy'. The conversations exchanged in the hall were as intricate as the seams of ceramics, discussing semiconductor supply chains and AI ecosystems. Wendell Weeks, Chairman of Corning, mentioned the half-century partnership with Samsung, evaluating that this collection is not merely a listing of artworks but an embodiment of the passion for creation that has positively impacted the world across generations.  

This signifies that Samsung, as a company, is establishing its position as a 'cultural leader' that preserves humanity's memories and designs future values, beyond being just a hardware manufacturer. When American political figures gaze at the ink lines of Inwangjesaekdo, they feel the resilience of Korea, and the trust in Samsung's semiconductor investments solidifies in unseen ways. This high-level strengthening of networks, where soft power (art) lends legitimacy and trust to hard power (technology), is likely one of the ultimate goals the Lee Kun-hee Collection aimed to achieve through its donation.  

The successful prologue at the Smithsonian is just the beginning. The global tour of the Lee Kun-hee Collection is now heading to Chicago, the industrial heart of America, and London, the treasure trove of human culture. The exhibition at the Art Institute of Chicago, opening in March 2026, will showcase how modern paintings from the Lee Kun-hee Collection converse with Western modern masters like Matisse and de Kooning. Following that, in September, the British Museum will present the essence of Korean aesthetics to European audiences.

This grand narrative resembles an unending flow. The 'loss of aura in the age of mechanical reproduction' that Walter Benjamin feared has instead been transformed into a 'universal dissemination of aura' through the Samsung Art Store. The digital brushstrokes of Inwangjesaekdo broadcasted on the living room TV screens of tens of thousands of households worldwide do not tarnish the nobility of the original but practice a 'democratic aesthetics' that allows all humanity to possess the beauty of Korea in their own spaces.

On the night of January 28, 2026, the aria of Jo Sumi that flowed from the gala dinner in Washington filled the ceiling of the empty Arts and Industries Building. It was akin to the thoughts of the viewers filling the empty interior of the moon jar. The true message conveyed by the Lee Kun-hee Collection to the world is not 'What do we have?' but rather an answer to 'What have we preserved?'.  

These artifacts, which existed as evidence of resistance during times of national suffering and as a philosophy of sharing during periods of prosperity, are now transcending the boundaries of Korea to become the heritage of all humanity. The flexibility of Korean art, which can contain broader interpretations due to the existence of empty spaces (Yeobaek), is akin to the last 'stronghold of the soul' that humanity must preserve in this desolate age of technology. The aesthetic horizon opened by the Lee Kun-hee Collection will continue to shine with a white light amidst the skyscrapers of Chicago and the fog of London, becoming a golden seam that firmly binds the history of humanity together.