Installation view of 《Sacred Site》 (Artspace Boan, 2025) © Jung Jungho

The relocation of the presidential office from the Blue House and the controversies surrounding shamanistic practices involving a former president and his spouse are more than mere political gossip. They reveal how feng shui and shamanism continue to hold meaning and operate within Korean society. Although the public sometimes ridicules shamanism as an irrational belief, it has long been rooted in the traditional folk religion of Korea.

Even today, people encounter its symbolic language and rituals, directly or indirectly, in search of even the slightest guidance amid life's uncertainties. Beginning with the question, "Are feng shui and shamanism still relevant today?" this exhibition traces the meaning of sacred sites through the historical transformations of the Inwangsan area, long regarded as sacred ground, and Guksadang, a shrine where state rituals were performed during the Joseon dynasty to pray for the nation's prosperity and well-being.

The legends surrounding Inwangsan extend from the story of the Buddhist monk Muhak and King Taejo Yi Seong-gye determining the boundaries of the capital at Seonbawi Rock, to the tiger-shaped mountain terrain and a king's dream of Gyeongbokgung Palace collapsing, as well as the practice of bibo feng shui (裨補風水), which seeks to compensate for perceived deficiencies in the surrounding landscape.

These legends are more than simple tales. They are evolving narratives in which the auspicious qualities attributed to particular landscapes have taken shape through historical circumstances, people's beliefs, and lived experiences, continuing across generations. Through encounters and conversations with people who still visit these places to bow before rocks and offer prayers at wells, the artist observed how ancient legends remain intertwined with contemporary beliefs.

Installation view of 《Sacred Site》 (Artspace Boan, 2025) © Jung Jungho

Guksadang (國師堂) was a state-sanctioned shrine for shamanistic rituals dedicated to the nation, even under the Confucian rule of the Joseon dynasty. Today, it remains a symbolically significant sacred site for shamans and a place where collective memory and power intersect. Namsan, formerly known as Mongmyeoksan, was originally a ceremonial site where the Joseon court conducted rituals, including prayers for rain.

King Taejo bestowed upon the mountain the title "King Mongmyeok" and designated it a guardian deity of the nation. The ritual site at its summit became known as Guksadang because it was used for state ceremonies. However, with the construction of the Chosen Shrine during the Japanese colonial period, Guksadang was relocated to Inwangsan.

Shamanism, which had preserved the continuity of traditional beliefs, was subsequently stigmatized as superstition and pushed to the margins of society. Although Guksadang remains an auspicious site for shamans, its significance has undeniably changed as it became a privately operated shamanistic shrine.

As the Korean word "teo" (site) suggests—a place where something takes place or comes into being—a place becomes filled with meaning through its relationships with people. Sacred mountains and rocks, water and forests—in other words, the sites themselves—come into being and disappear through their connections with human experience.

Where, then, can we find the sacredness we seek to rely upon today?

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