Placing food on a tray, pouring tea, offering a plate to a guest—these ordinary gestures repeat each day, yet they carry meaning in their quiet persistence. Within repetition lies attention, care, and a way of seeing life with greater depth. In this transformation, the smallest moments of daily life become rituals.

Through his woodworking, Hong Jun Park reflects on this threshold where use turns into practice. His objects are functional tools, but they are also vessels of attitude. The grain of the wood, shaped by hand, conveys a quiet warmth and records the traces of their users over time.

This exhibition invites us to consider how the tools of everyday life extend beyond function, shaping our gestures, and returning ordinary moments as rituals of living—an experience of the everyday becoming something ritual-like and special.

Studio Ko
3107 W 6th St, Los Angeles, CA 90020

Exhibition Dates
November 6 (Thu) — November 23 (Sun)

Hours
Thursday — Sunday | 11:00AM — 4:00PM

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Please introduce yourself. What led you to start woodworking, and how has your journey unfolded so far?

I grew up in a city known for its woodworking and lacquerware. There were many workshops around my neighborhood, so the material of wood and the idea of craft were familiar to me from a very young age. When I was in elementary school, I even received a set of adult hand tools as a birthday gift. I used to take scraps of wood piled outside the workshops and carve them, experimenting in different ways. That’s how I began to understand the nature of wood—almost intuitively.

Even later, when I studied visual design and worked in that field, that sensitivity toward materials never left me. The sense of balance, proportion, and form I developed through design still informs my work today. Over time, I became increasingly drawn to working with wood directly—making furniture, trying woodturning, and carving. Among these, carving felt the most natural to me because it relies less on machines and more on the hand’s intuition. Feeling the texture of wood directly through my fingertips and shaping it little by little has always felt like the most honest way of working. Looking back, I think my lifelong relationship with wood has quietly led me to where I am now.

The theme of this exhibition, Rituals of the Everyday, suggests that small, ordinary acts can become rituals. Are there moments in your daily life that feel like rituals to you, and how do those experiences influence your work?

I believe there are moments of ritual hidden within the repetitions of daily life. Simple gestures—placing food on a tray, pouring tea, offering a plate to a guest—can suddenly feel intentional and full of care. Those moments, when we give attention to ourselves or others, are quiet and slow but carry warmth, and sometimes even a sense of reverence.

It’s the same with wooden objects. When you hold a wooden piece, you feel its warmth, its modest texture, and the quiet patience of the time it has endured. Even in the flow of an ordinary day, the act of handling such an object can make your gestures slower, gentler, more deliberate. That calmness often brings a kind of quiet happiness. To me, that shift in attitude is itself a ritual moment.

This way of seeing naturally seeps into my work. I try to treat wood with honesty—to respect its time, to reveal its texture and story as they are. Through carving, I hope this philosophical material becomes something that goes beyond beauty—something that carries emotion and presence.

What makes wood as a material particularly compelling or special compared to others?

Whenever I look at wood, I feel something like what one feels when gazing at the night sky. Just as the starlight we see now traveled from a distant past, I think of wood as a vessel of time. Touching a piece of wood that has lived for decades or centuries fills me with gratitude—it feels almost philosophical to carve away at that accumulated time.

Wood has a quiet simplicity and warmth that I find deeply grounding. As wooden objects are used, they slowly change in color and surface, taking on new character over time. It’s as if the wood, having held time within it, begins to live a new time within our everyday lives. That ongoing transformation—where the material continues to breathe and evolve—is, I think, what makes wood so alive and endlessly fascinating.

In your process, what is the most important moment or action—selecting the wood, carving, finishing, or something else?

For me, the most important moment is when I start carving the wood with hand tools like chisels and planes. That’s when the material truly comes to life. Carving isn’t just about shaping a form—it’s about revealing the hidden grain and story within the wood.

If I rush even a little or fail to read the grain carefully, the wood can tear or splinter. So I try to work slowly, breathing with the rhythm of the material, fully focused. The place where the blade passes becomes both the end of the tree’s time and the beginning of someone else’s touch. That’s why I always approach it with care, letting my hands follow the natural flow of the wood as if keeping pace with its breathing.

How do you find the balance between function and form in your work?

I don’t want form to overshadow function, nor function to limit form. Finding the right balance between the two is always a challenge. Every new piece goes through many tests—using it myself in daily life, observing how it behaves in different situations, and adjusting as needed.

There’s no single answer, because every object is used differently depending on its environment. If the form dominates too much, it takes away space for everyday use; but if I focus only on function, the sense of depth and feeling that defines craft begins to fade. I try to stay in that tension, where beauty and utility quietly coexist. Through repeated trials and errors, I learn more about how objects live within their surroundings—and those experiences, even the failures, become valuable lessons that deepen my understanding of both craft and life.

Is there a particular piece in this exhibition that holds special meaning for you?

Yes, the “Goban” series. Originally, I made this piece for my own use. I often found myself in situations where I needed something both formal and relaxed for tea gatherings. I wanted an object that carried a sense of etiquette but still felt approachable—so I made one myself.

The thin base adds a sense of refinement to the form, and the lowered inner edge allows cups or bowls to be placed and lifted naturally. After using it comfortably for a long time in my daily life, I began to think it would be nice if others could experience it too. That thought led me to refine the design further and present it as part of my work.

What would you like visitors to take away from this exhibition?

I hope this exhibition offers visitors a quiet moment to slow down and see themselves within the pace of everyday life. Even in a fast-moving day, there are small, heartfelt moments—pouring tea, cooking, spending time with family—each filled with warmth and quiet focus. This exhibition, Rituals of the Everyday – The Poetry of Use, was born from that sensibility. The act of use itself holds emotion and presence, and reveals something about our attitude toward life.

I want people to imagine and interpret freely—how the sense of wood, the traces of time carved by hand, and the beauty of craft can continue to live and breathe through everyday use. I hope my work allows viewers to find a fleeting, poetic moment within the ordinary—a moment that turns simple tools into vessels of warmth, mindfulness, and quiet reflection.

How has woodworking influenced your personal life or attitude toward living?

It has changed my sense of speed more than anything else. Wood never allows me to rush. It doesn’t tolerate impatience—if I work against the grain, it tears or breaks instantly. So I’ve learned to follow its flow and move at its pace. Over time, that rhythm has naturally become part of my life.

Now, I find myself cherishing the process more deeply and learning to calm a hurried mind. It’s not just a change in technique—it’s a change in the way I live.

Wood carries decades, sometimes centuries, of time within it. To carve such material is, in a way, to take responsibility for that time. Whenever I visit a forest or stand before a tree, I feel both gratitude and humility. Working with wood constantly reminds me of patience—and of the quiet beauty in giving, not taking.

What do you think makes a “good craft object”?

To me, a good craft object is something that is both useful and beautiful. There are many ways to describe craft, but at the heart of it all is the human being. No matter how beautiful a piece is, if no one uses it, it loses its meaning. A good object, I think, understands people—it’s made with empathy and care for how it will be lived with.

Even if it looks simple on the surface, it carries subtle thoughtfulness that you only discover through use. It has a beauty that doesn’t tire over time. That’s the kind of craft I strive to make—objects that stay quietly close to the hand and the heart, long after the first encounter.

Do you have any advice for caring for wooden pieces so they can last a long time?

Wood is sensitive to moisture and heat, so avoiding long exposure to either is important. When cleaning, I recommend wiping gently with a soft sponge, drying with a clean cloth, and letting it air dry naturally in a cool place. Prolonged exposure to direct sunlight or high heat can cause cracks or warping.

If the surface becomes slightly rough over time, sanding lightly along the grain with fine sandpaper and applying a food-safe wood finish will help maintain it. As with tea cups that take on the color of tea over years of use, wooden objects also develop subtle marks and color changes. I see these traces not as flaws, but as the beauty of time in use. Living with wooden objects—accepting their changes and forming your own aesthetic through them—is, to me, an essential part of the craft itself.

What new directions or materials would you like to explore in the future?

I’m interested in combining wood with other materials—glass, metal, or others that have contrasting characteristics. I want to explore how far wood can extend, and where it might resist or harmonize with different materials.

I often think about how craft can go beyond the idea of “objects.” Craft deals with materials, but within it lie emotion, attitude, and philosophy. If one day my work could become a new kind of language—something that moves people to think, feel, or slow down—then that would be a deeply meaningful direction for me.

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Curator's note

“I believe that the very act of using a crafted object can become a way of engaging with life.”
This phrase from Hongjun Park resonated with me most deeply while preparing this exhibition.

When I was a child, my mother would always transfer takeout or delivery food into proper bowls and plates before serving. At the time, it seemed like nothing more than habit, but now I understand. That small act of care could transform the atmosphere of the table and even shape the way we approached the meal.

As I began using crafted objects myself, I noticed my own attitude shift. A simple meal feels more flavorful when placed in a thoughtful vessel, and when sharing food with others, the sincerity behind that gesture is unmistakably conveyed.

In Korean, there is a saying: “A rice cake that looks good also tastes good." It means that when something is presented with care, the experience itself becomes richer. When we wrap a gift beautifully, our thoughtfulness is felt more deeply. When we set a table with care or tidy up a space, the atmosphere itself changes. There is heart in beauty, and that heart quietly transforms the quality of our experience.

This is the sensibility that Hongjun Park’s work captures.
His wooden objects go beyond function, prompting us to reconsider how we engage with life itself.

Through this exhibition, I hope visitors will share in this feeling — to slow down, even briefly, and find something extraordinary within the quiet rhythm of everyday life.

(KR)

“공예품을 사용하는 행위 자체가 삶을 다루는 태도로 이어질 수 있다고 생각합니다.”
이번 전시를 준비하며 박홍준 작가의 이 말이 오랫동안 제 마음에 남았습니다.

어릴 적, 저희 엄마는 배달음식이나 포장해 온 음식도 꼭 그릇에 예쁘게 담아 주셨습니다. 그때는 단순한 습관처럼 보였지만, 이제는 그 이유를 알 것 같습니다. 엄마의 그 사소한 행동 하나가 식탁의 분위기를 바꾸고, 음식을 대하는 마음까지 달라지게 만들었으니까요.

저 역시 공예품을 사용하면서 제 태도가 조금씩 달라졌습니다. 정성스러운 그릇에 음식을 담으면 혼자 먹는 한 끼도 더 맛있게 느껴지고, 누군가와 나눌 때는 그 마음이 자연스레 전해집니다.

한국에는 “보기 좋은 떡이 먹기도 좋다”라는 말이 있습니다. 누군가에게 선물을 줄 때 포장을 예쁘게 하면 마음이 더 전해지고, 공간을 정돈하거나 식탁을 정성껏 차릴 때 분위기까지 달라지듯, 아름다움에는 마음이 담겨 있고, 그 마음이 경험의 질을 바꾼다는 뜻이에요.

박홍준 작가의 작업은 바로 그 감각에 닿아 있습니다.
그의 나무 작품들은 단순한 쓰임을 넘어, 우리가 삶을 대하는 태도 자체를 다시 바라보게 합니다.

이번 전시를 통해 관객들 또한 이 감각을 함께 느껴보기를 바랍니다 — 잠시라도 속도를 늦추고, 평범한 일상의 리듬 속에서 특별한 순간을 발견하길 바랍니다.