[Cityscapes] Wrapping construction sites in art

By Ron Bandun

A white guy with a nosebleed peers over the construction fence at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Nov. 28, 2012. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

Construction is encountered everywhere in Seoul, even if we aren't always aware of it. So it's no wonder that sometimes the temporary fences built around construction sites are decorated with various types of designs.

They may show local government slogans, or list off cultural heritage assets and tourist sites in the neighborhood, or contain information on the new construction to be built there. They may be informative or aesthetically pleasing, or just silly and regrettable.

Fun fact: the official term for these temporary fences around construction sites is "hoarding," a word which you will probably forget shortly after reading this article and never use again. Hoarding may consist of a variety of materials, but the two we're most likely to encounter in this article are metal shutters standing maybe a little over two meters tall, and flimsier, but taller, white plastic boards that can look a little nicer, and also be more comfortable to climb over. Both present surfaces that can display art for a couple years.

Hoarding art at the Dongdaemun Design Plaza construction site shows an illustration of the finished building populated with translucent white people, photographed April 27, 2008. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

The first time I took notice of construction hoarding art may have been in early 2008, at Dongdaemun Stadium. The two stadiums there ― one that had been converted into a flea market ― were simultaneously undergoing demolition. Big panels were posted on the metal shutters surrounding the site, showing off various renderings depicting how the final building, Dongdaemun Design Plaza (DDP), would look.

The images themselves were somewhat photorealistic and captured the surreal design of the site quite well. But the really weird thing was that an illustrator had tried to populate the as yet unfinished park with clip art of translucent people, some of which have been excessively cloned appearing in multiple spots. In stark contrast to the flea market vendors nearby, the people of the image were all ethnically white, well-fed and in frumpy clothes ― sort of stereotypical American tourists. It's obvious the white figures were just what was available, not an intentional message ― white people are just seen as the "default," and that kind of notion will obviously come out in clip art and stock photography. But that's no excuse ― it still went up on a public-facing wall, right next to where Korean flea market vendors were undergoing violent eviction, with their forced displacement mirrored without commentary in the unintended ethnic displacement presented by the art.

In my eyes this art was an alarming display of encroaching gentrification, signaling unawareness of the local community's needs and struggles, in favor of those half-invisible hypothetical future tourists from a foreign land and the fat wallets they presumably carried. I imagine the market vendors walked by this art every day and it gave them a vision of an affluent future from which they would be excluded.

Hoarding art at the Dongdaemun Design Plaza construction site shows a rendering of the finished building, populated with translucent white people, photographed April 27, 2008. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

Also in spring 2008, I frequented Nasan Homeplace, an abandoned department store close to the site of Gangnam District Office Station on Seoul Metro Line 7 and the Bundang Line. It collapsed during demolition later that year, killing at least two workers, sadly, but at the time it was an alluring target for me. The structure was surrounded on all sides with hoarding: metal shutters around the back, and tall plastic fencing around the front.

I visited a few times agonizing about the best point of entry into the property. Finally, I realized that the fence itself was my way in. Various letters, both in Hangeul and of the Roman alphabet, were pasted to the exterior of the fence. They were made of foam and not solid, but jutted out just enough that I could use them as handholds and footholds. I was able to climb up and clear the fence thanks to those letters. As a writer, it felt good to be assisted so literally by the written word.

The hoarding at Nasan Homeplace in Gangnam District was decorated with letters that made for useful footholds while climbing over the fence, photographed April 27, 2008. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

By far the most striking hoarding art I've ever seen was at what is now the site of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, just east of Gyeongbok Palace, which at that time (around 2011) was nicknamed, "UUL National Art Museum." The wall art featured massive nude illustrations of famous art figures, such as a naked full-body view of a blushing Mona Lisa reclining, with real trees placed strategically to censor certain parts.

Also peering over the tall fence was a giant naked Vincent van Gogh, Michelangelo's David and a few other figures I can't identify. Also present were more anonymous faces of random "foreigners" peeking over the wall, with one white guy suffering a nosebleed, which in Japanese anime imagery means sexual arousal. In spraypainted letters, it announced "MUSEUM GOT NAKED ― It's open for ALL," "Nothing's between You and Art" and, "Sick, tired and Artless ― yes, you can say."

A naked Mona Lisa is depicted on the construction fence surrounding at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Nov. 28, 2012. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

Designed by artist Yi Je-seok (Jeski), it was incredibly effective promotion, making people extremely curious about what was going up on the other side. Curiosity got the better of me and I slipped into the site late one night in 2012. My goal was to climb the construction crane and pose nude mimicking the hoarding art, but you'll be relieved to know I was too nervous to even think about disrobing when I reached the top.

A naked Vincent van Gogh towers over the construction fence at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Nov. 28, 2012. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

Perhaps the most laughable hoarding art I've seen was at an apartment complex remodeling site in Gaepo-dong, which may still be there, located across the street from Ilwon Elementary School. Whoever was in charge wanted to put up aspirational messages for the students, so, along with art depicting classroom settings, at various segments along the wall, it asks "What do you hope for?" and then answers that awkwardly phrased question with a series of potential careers, including "Computer Enginner…" "Barista…" "Semiconductor…" "Sport Man…" and, most ironically, "Contributing Editor…" If you don't know what these words mean, they beat staring at a blank white wall, but if you can read them, they'll inject a moment of unintentional hilarity into your day.

A sign on construction hoarding in Gangnam District's Gaepo-dong asks students what they want to be when they grow up, with other sections offering "Computer Enginner" and "Contributing Editor," Aug. 17, 2019. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

Another very weird example I found was in western Seoul's Morene Market, part of which has been demolished leaving the other section facing a tall construction wall. So they decorated it in a massive panorama of natural scenery. It's breathtaking and beautiful, but so absurd as to be disorienting. On my visit last September, I thought I saw lush trees way down the market passageway, only to discover the hoarding had been decorated with forest scenery. There are even paths enticing people to step into the picture and bonk their heads. I'm honestly curious if it has caused any injuries.

Construction hoarding at Morene Market in Seoul shows a lush forest scene with a path beckoning unwary pedestrians, Sept. 18, 2020. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

More recently, I've been watching the ongoing Gwanghwamun Plaza renovations closely. The barrier art there is incredibly diverse, showcasing some of the worst and best characteristics I've seen in hoarding art.

Hoarding art at Gwanghwamun Square shows the finished square populated with distinctly non-Korean figures, March 23. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

On my first visit, I was disappointed to note more of the same old scenes, showing renderings of the finished square with stock photography models pasted in. Just like I saw in Dongdaemun back in 2008, the people appear to be mostly white, but when I looked closer I was able to spot one or two darker faces, perhaps even from another part of Asia. A few other figures are ambiguous enough that they could possibly be Korean. Still, the ethnic makeup depicted was overwhelmingly mismatched to the surrounding population, which makes me a little uncomfortable.

Hoarding art at Gwanghwamun Square shows the finished square populated with distinctly non-Korean figures, March 23. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

As I moved around the perimeter of the construction site, I found another style of hoarding art taking a step further back from the edge of the uncanny valley. Some elements seem to be photos assembled as a collage, showing trees with colorful autumn leaves, with Gwanghwamun and Mount Bugak in the distance. But the people are more crudely rendered cutouts, more on the level of "South Park" characters. They're just going about their day, looking a little shocked and uncomfortable to be there, and their features as well as fashion are believably typical of Seoul.

Hoarding art at Gwanghwamun Square shows the finished square populated with cartoonish South Park-like figures, March 23. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

Then I found what I'd consider the most attractive hoarding art, viewable over by the King Sejong statue. A wide panoramic scene of the completed Gwanghwamun Plaza is fully illustrated, not remotely attempting to look photorealistic.

The landmarks are beautifully recognizable, including the statues of King Sejong, Admiral Yi Sun-shin and the mythical haechi animal, as well as the Sejong Center for the Performing Arts, Kyobo Building and the palace gate. And the people depicted are cartoons, most of which are identifiably Asian. They show a strong diversity, including playful children with loving parents, young adults having a good time hanging out, along with one even carrying a skateboard, and a few senior citizens here and there. Two different figures are shown in wheelchairs, while one woman is wearing a construction helmet and another guy is dressed in a snazzy silver suit. There are two young white tourists, notable for their pale skin, light hair color and baggage. Another couple I suspect are elderly grey-haired people of foreign nationality, dressed practically and smiling brightly.

Like the other hoarding murals, there is some cloning of the human figures, although it's less noticeable because all the figures are spread out horizontally, so you end up just feeling like you're walking along the same people. One woman giving a friendly wave appears three times in different places, wearing a different color sweater each time. Despite some quirks and the highly stylized depiction, this mural almost perfectly reflects back the city surrounding it. I wish I could find the artist's name.

Hoarding art at Gwanghwamun Square shows the finished square populated with distinctly Asian figures, April 16. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

These different kinds of hoarding art have various effects and deliver differing messages to observers. So while their content has in the past mostly been treated as an afterthought, why don't people start taking this more seriously as an opportunity? Even commercial advertising should be considered, especially in light of just how much visual real estate we're talking about here. Why not dedicate these spaces, or at least a signification portion, to citizen's art? Maybe the corporate ads could pay for the community service and help democratize public spaces. Wouldn't it be a great way to encourage creativity and help build community? Anything's better than blank walls, and it means that somewhere an artist is (hopefully) being paid to beautify these liminal spaces found throughout the city.

Hoarding art at Gwanghwamun Square shows the finished square populated with distinctly Asian figures, April 16. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

Or at least that's what I would have figured, until I was passing through Yeonsinnae area recently in northwestern Seoul and a hideous apparition on some construction hoarding caught my eye. Staring back at me was a massive image of Podori, the male mascot of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency that is some kind of animal, maybe a rat. It's a real photo, probably taken of someone wearing a Podori costume, except the pupils of both eyes are punched out, with two rather cybernetic streetlights sticking out, causing Podori's eyes to shine like spotlights and triggering a very uneasy sensation in me. If it is intended to scare criminals straight, it might be very effective.

Hoarding art near Yeonsinnae Station in northwestern Seoul shows a horrifying photorealistic image of Podori, the Seoul Metropolitan Police mascot, May 23. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

Next Tuesday at noon, I will join the Royal Asiatic Society (RAS) Business and Culture Club on a walk around the Gwanghwamun Plaza renovation site for a look at the ongoing work, during which time, I will probably keep directing everyone's attention to the various styles of hoarding art. The outdoor event is free for everybody to join, although some social distancing measures will be practiced. Visit fb.com/groups/rasbusinessclub for more information.

Ron Bandun is an urban explorer. He has been visiting forgotten, abandoned and forbidden spaces in Korea for over 16 years, documenting the changes and conflicts of the urban environment.