Architectural photographer Kim Yong-gwan looks into the camera while adjusting his glasses at the Kyunghyang Shinmun studio in Jeong-dong, Seoul, on the 14th. Seo Seong-il, senior staff reporter

“Not an operator, but a creator.”

This is the phrase Kim Yong-gwan (57), who occupies a singular place among Korea’s architectural photographers, often uses to define himself. While conventional architectural photography is typically commercial work commissioned by architects or clients, his work is different. He pursues photography as art, not as mere record.

He does not view a building as a solitary subject; instead, he savors it within its surrounding landscape for a long time, seeking aesthetic points and capturing the climactic moment. To find the many faces a building shows as time, weather, light, and angle change, he returns again and again. He calls this “a process of conversing with the building, the protagonist of architectural photography.” Over the years, this is why the label ‘auteurist architectural photographer’ has followed him. From Amorepacific Headquarters in Seoul (architect David Chipperfield), the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Gwacheon (Kim Tae-su), Healing Stay Kosmos on Ulleungdo (Kim Chan-joong), and the Water·Wind·Stone Museum in Jeju (Itami Jun), to other works by renowned architects in Korea and abroad, many have been reborn through his photography as creations on another plane.

He has a strong sense of pride. He commands the industry’s highest rates for architectural photography. He was also an early and persistent advocate for credit lines and copyright, and he made them stick. Even if the architect or client funded the shoot, they must obtain prior permission to use his images in any place not covered by the contract. In 1999, he became the first Korean to receive the American Institute of Architects (AIA) Architectural Photography Award, and in 2022, at the request of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, he donated more than ten thousand original large-format negatives.

The interview with Kim Yong-gwan took place at the Kyunghyang Shinmun on the 14th.

‘Kosmos Resort’ photographed by Kim Yong-gwan (designed by Kim Chan-joong / Ulleungdo / 2017)

- Many say your photographs convey both ‘power’ and ‘plainness.’ What is your secret?

“From the time I started photography, I had a principle: if a senior went once, I would go two or three more times. I would climb places seniors found too taxing and take in the whole from above. I have gone back countless times to see what a building looks like at dawn before sunrise or deep in the night, and on snowy or rainy days. I tried to maintain a vision and attitude no less than that of a pure art photographer. If the tones and textures in my photos feel a bit different from others’, I think that may be why.”

- You are known to study a building for a long time and sketch dozens of compositions in your head before each shoot. You are extremely deliberate about even a single press of the shutter.

“You could call it a process of conversing with the building, which is the subject of the photograph. I look at the building and ponder what intentions the architect had, and I also try to experience firsthand how it feels to users. The more I converse with the building, the more delicate the results. Being cautious with the shutter is a long-standing habit. I learned architectural photography on a 4×5 large-format film camera, and in the early 1990s the raw cost to develop a single sheet of film was 12,000 won. My monthly salary then was 180,000 won, so of course I couldn’t just fire away at will (laughs).”

- You recently published the photo essay collection <Architecture Toward Landscape> (Maum-Sansaek). As the title suggests, the landscape enveloping the building is a key component in your work.

“I try to look broadly at which landscape a building is set upon, what role the building plays there, and what expressions arise. Paradoxically, if I consider the landscape to be the original protagonist and the building to be placed within it, sometimes scenes emerge that even the architect did not imagine. Of course, not every building can be photographed that way.”

- Do you use drones as well?

“Occasionally, depending on the case. Even then, if I judge that a drone-captured angle could be the decisive photograph, I call in a crane and go up myself to shoot.”

- How did your images of Jongmyo Jeongjeon shot in 2019 and 2020 come about?

“Because the cameras were large and heavy, architectural photographers in the past would always travel by car. But starting ten years ago, I have tried to walk whenever possible. You see so much that you miss when you drive. That process trains your eye to see a prospective subject building straight-on, from afar, and in extreme close-up. Buildings stand still in place, so it is the photographer’s movement that changes the point of view. I was walking around Jongno when I happened to go up to the rooftop of Sewoon Sangga and saw an astonishing scene, which led me to shoot Jongmyo Jeongjeon. It is the longest single wooden structure of our time, and I saw it embedded in the forest, revealing only its long, slender 100-meter roofline. To convey the power of that length, I bought a very high-performance telephoto lens, went back up to the Sewoon Sangga rooftop, and shot with the lens pulled in.”

Jongmyo photographed by Kim Yong-gwan with a telephoto lens from the rooftop of Sewoon Sangga (Seoul / 2019)

Kim Yong-gwan was born in January 1869 in Ahyeon-dong, Mapo-gu, Seoul, the youngest of three sons and two daughters. Today it is lined with high-priced apartments in an affluent neighborhood, but when he was born and raised, Ahyeon-dong was a shantytown on a hillside. Neighbors queued to use a communal pit latrine in the neighborhood.

- Your family’s finances must not have been very good.

“Our family rented a single room. Until I turned twenty, seven of us slept crammed into one room. We were desperately poor. My father brokered used cars, and he was in heavy debt. My mother kept the household afloat doing cleaning work. Still, none of us ever resented my father. The bond among the siblings was strong. Once, our whole family nearly died from coal briquette gas. I was in second grade; I got up at night to use the bathroom and fainted. That commotion woke everyone, and we survived.”

- What was your dream as a child?

“To be a baseball player. I was on the soccer team at Hanseo Elementary School, but I liked baseball more, so after school I would play baseball with the neighborhood older boys. I was a fervent fan of the Cheonan Bukil High School team. In fourth grade, after six months delivering milk and newspapers, I bought a secondhand leather baseball glove and a hard ball with the money I saved, and I was overjoyed. I begged my mom to transfer me to a school with a baseball team, but given our situation, it wasn’t possible.”

- That must have been heartbreaking.

“It was. I went from Sudo Middle School to Sunrin Commercial High School. University was out of the question. I did quite well in school, but my eldest brother, who graduated from a commercial high school and got a bank job, was my role model. His first paycheck went entirely to paying off my father’s debts.”

- Did you get a job right after graduating, like your brother?

“No. I went through a rough adolescence in high school. I was sick and tired of the poverty that strangled our family. My grades weren’t good and I had no skills, so for two to three years after graduation I couldn’t find a job. My brother told me to at least learn a trade and, through an acquaintance, found me a position. At twenty-one, in 1990, I joined the monthly <Architecture and Environment> as a trainee. I worked mostly in the design team doing paste-up, running errands back and forth to the print shop.”

- How did you end up doing photography?

“From my second day at work, I came in earlier than everyone and started by cleaning. No one told me to, but I wanted to learn and pick up anything I could. One day the magazine’s president asked who had cleaned the floor. He praised me grandly, showing how to do it right. A few months later he asked if I would like to learn photography. He said he had watched me and thought my temperament was calm and meticulous… At the time, he himself was very active as a photographer.”

- Had you ever taken pictures before?

“No. I had never handled a camera in my life. Perhaps because of poverty, I had no childhood photos either. The president said a camera is a machine, so you can learn and master it, and if you learn to handle it well, you might live being called a professional. That gave me the courage to pursue photography.”

- So you learned in an apprentice style from that day on.

“For several months, I carried the heavy camera bag and assisted him. I carefully watched his every move over his shoulder while he shot. A few months later he told me to go alone to Daejeon and photograph ‘Duri Wedding Hall,’ the posthumous work of architect Kim Swoo-geun. It was still the era of fully manual film cameras, and I had only just learned the basics, so I was stunned. I barely slept. At dawn I took the first train to Daejeon and stood before the building. I mimicked the motions I had seen him use and took multiple frames. The next day, after I picked up the developed photos in Chungmuro and brought them back, his first words were, ‘You might be a genius.’”

- That’s high praise.

“I think he said it to encourage me. He pointed to one of my photos and told me to shoot it again in the evening, to change the light. So the next day I took the first train back to Daejeon, waited until dusk, and photographed the building. When those photos ran in the magazine, I took my first step as an architectural photographer. After that, he entrusted me with all the magazine’s photography.”

Ananti in Geumgangsan photographed by Kim Yong-gwan (designed by Min Seong-jin / Geumgangsan / 2008)

He built his reputation by photographing the works of leading Korean architects such as Min Hyun-sik, Seung Hyo-sang, Im Jae-yong, and Kim Jong-gyu in his own distinctive palette. In January 1994 he struck out on his own as a freelancer. He bought a 10 million won set of camera equipment with a bank loan. But for three months, with no work coming in, he did nothing but polish the lenses.

“That year, too, the Kyunghyang Housing Fair, a major event in the architecture world, was held at COEX in Samseong-dong. I was wandering around with a large-format rig on my back when a middle-aged man called out to me and asked if I was a photographer. He asked whether I could shoot their exhibit. They wanted a record because the display would be dismantled after the event. I took the job for a fee. Then he asked if I could come back the next day and how much the fee was. I quoted 150,000 won per frame. He asked for ten frames. A 1.5 million won day rate was huge back then. I shot the next day and brought the results to their Yeouido headquarters, and the higher-ups were very pleased. They said, let’s work together going forward.”

- Which company was it?

“Korea’s top architectural coated-glass maker, Hankuk Glass Industries (now LX Glass). So imagine how many buildings in Seoul used their glass, from the POSCO Center in Daechi-dong on down (laughs). They commissioned me to photograph those buildings. The income was good enough that I didn’t worry about making a living. Then <Architecture and Environment> reached out to sign a contract with me. If joining <Architecture and Environment> was the first opportunity of my life, signing again with them as a freelancer was the second. For the next three to four years, I enjoyed a golden era as an architectural photographer.”

- You’re known for charging the highest fees among architectural photographers.

“To cut costs, some photographers mounted roll-film holders on 4×5 cameras, but even as a freelancer, I insisted on sheet film only. That made my costs about five times higher, so I had to charge at least three times as much.”

- Is that also when you began insisting on credit lines and asserting copyright?

“Yes. Back then, the practice was for the commissioning party who paid to use the photos freely. I thought that was unjust, so I consistently asserted copyright. Quite a few architects complained that my photos were expensive and they couldn’t even use them freely. Some even said they would take me to court. But I did not yield. Especially after I received the Architectural Photography Award at the AIA Design Awards in 1999 for my photographs of the Rodin Gallery, I became even more resolute.”

- The first such award for a Korean photographer, correct?

“It was commissioned by the U.S. architectural firm KPF, which designed the Rodin Gallery, and the architects there sent a handwritten letter of thanks with the trophy, saying in effect, ‘Your wonderful photographs are an honor to us.’ I was in the midst of disputes over copyright with architects, so the cultural shock was great. I thought, ‘My name is a brand.’ I resolved to make architectural photographs that only Kim Yong-gwan could make, that no one else could imitate.”

- It must have been lonely.

“When I reached a critical point, it was hard. In 2001, I finally decided not to shoot for architects for a while. For about two years until 2003, I watched baseball games featuring Park Chan-ho and spent full time playing with my daughter at home. It was the happiest time (laughs).”

- When did you become the staff photographer for the monthly <Space>, founded in 1966 by the late Kim Swoo-geun?

“I first signed in early 2004 and worked there until 2011. I had decided I would not sign unless certain demands, including copyright, were accepted, and they agreed to them all. A new president had just taken office and was trying to completely revamp <Space>, and I heard there were internal opinions that Kim Yong-gwan was essential. My time there as staff photographer was the second golden era of my life. I photographed the best and latest works of the top architects of the time. The magazine handled all the arrangements, so I didn’t even need to do my own sales. And the results naturally brought in new clients.”

Seok Museum photographed by Kim Yong-gwan (designed by Itami Jun / Jeju / 2004)

His relationship with the late Itami Jun (Korean name Yu Dong-ryong; 19372011), known as the architect of ‘wind and stone, water and earth, and light,’ also began in 2004. For more than thirty years, Itami had worked with the Japanese photographer Murai Osamu. While at university, Itami had dreamed, ‘When I grow into an architect and complete my first work, I will ask Murai Osamu to photograph it no matter what.’ From Itami’s first work, the 1971 ‘House for Mother,’ Murai handled the photography. Kim’s first collaboration with Itami was for <Space> in 2004, photographing painter Park Dae-seong’s atelier and house in Pyeongchang-dong and the Hakgojae building in Insa-dong. After seeing the photos, Itami told his daughter (architect Yu I-hwa), “From now on, in Korea, have Kim Yong-gwan photograph my work.”

- We hear that when he saw your photograph of the Seok Museumpart of Itami Jun’s Jeju projects (Podo Hotel at Pinx, Pinx Condominiums, the Water·Wind·Stone museums themed respectively around water, wind, and stone, and Bangju Church)he wept.

“<Space> planned a special feature on Itami Jun’s Jeju museums for the January 2006 issue. In the summer of 2005, I spent over a week on site, living and shooting the Water, Wind, and Stone museums. Months later, one winter morning, I turned on the TV and saw a news report that over a meter of snow had fallen on Jeju’s mid-mountain region and flights had been grounded for days. Instantly, I pictured the red rectangular Seok Museum embedded in the white snow. I called the airport, and they said the flights were operating for the first time in three days, so I went straight there. But from Podo Hotel onward, the snow was so deep that cars couldn’t get through. I strapped on my gear and trudged through snow up to my thighs to get there. After all that, when the January 2006 cover of <Space> featuring the Seok Museum in the snow came out, I heard that Itami shed tears. He said, ‘Perhaps we are somehow connected.’”

- So that’s why you cite Itami’s Jeju projects as the most impressive work.

“Later, at an event in Seoul, he invited me. As soon as he saw me, he embraced me deeply and said, ‘Thank you.’ It was the first and only time an architect had ever embraced me to say thanks. I was moved by the profound sense of trust, respect, and camaraderie from a master architect toward an architectural photographer.”

Southcape photographed by Kim Yong-gwan (designed by Cho Min-suk / Namhae / 2013)

In 2009, he founded the publishing house ‘Archilife’ and released official photobooks of prominent foreign architects such as Bjarke Ingels Group (BIG), HHF, and 3XN. He then launched the architecture magazine <Documentum> in 2014. Whereas most architecture magazines center on discourse, criticism, and introductions to the latest projects, <Documentum> stirred the field by spotlighting the entire process of architecture, including construction sites, like a photographic documentary. The abundance of photographs was striking as well. But publication ceased in 2018.

- The magazine drew attention early on. Why did you stop after five years?

< class="content_text text-l">“Because of a cash crunch. I did no ad sales, took no sponsorships, and ran it only with my own funds, which was like pouring water into a bottomless jar. It was reckless. I tried to hold out by downsizing the office, changing my car, even selling my cameras, but it wasn’t enough. As debts piled up, I eventually had to sell our home. I have been renting since, but I don’t regret it because I did my best.”

- What do you regard as the finest building in Korea?

“I’ve never found it easy to answer this. If we speak of architectural completeness or beauty, many are private-sector buildings. At the very top, most are private properties backed by particular capital. They are things ordinary people rarely experiencefor example, a golf club house like Southcape (architect Cho Min-suk) or a hotel like the Kosmos on Ulleungdo. I think public buildings where everyone can gatherlike libraries or museumsshould become more aesthetically refined and more numerous. Like the Louvre Museum as a symbol of French culture. Aren’t public buildings that are artistically outstanding the true measure of good architecture?”

- Lately you’ve said you are drawn to scenes you must kneel to see, like small wildflowers.

“One day, feeling low, I went to breathe some air at Buseoksa in Yeongju, and the base of the Beomjongnu pavilion pillar caught my eye. Thinking that this pillar had silently supported this great structure here for over 500 years made me reflect and also gave me comfort. That base kept coming back to me, so I returned with my best gear, knelt down, and photographed it. The same is true of small wildflowers you can only properly see if you crouch. Architectural photography, at its base, is putting a large camera on a big tripod to photograph an enormous subject. But when you lower your stance a bit, different lines appear. It means I aim to be a photographer who looks that deeply and intently.”

Aiming for a new leap forward, Kim Yong-gwan will hold a solo exhibition, ‘Architecture Toward Landscape,’ at Yeonhuijeongeum in Seodaemun-gu, Seoul, from the 29th through July 31.