With the runaway global success of Netflix’s animated film KPop Demon Hunters, interest in Korean culture—particularly its traditional roots—has been rising. Riding this wave of attention, the Leeum Museum of Art in Hannam-dong, Yongsan, Seoul, has opened a major special exhibition, Tigers and Magpies, which runs from September 10, 2025, through January 11, 2026. The show is both a rare opportunity to see historic treasures and a cultural reflection on why the tiger continues to loom so large in the Korean imagination, even long after its disappearance from the peninsula.
A Rare Glimpse of Korea’s Oldest Hojakdo
For the first time in Korea, Leeum is unveiling the country’s oldest surviving Hojakdo—a “Tiger and Magpie” painting dating back to 1592. This extraordinary piece anchors the exhibition, serving as a starting point for tracing how the tiger has been imagined and reimagined in Korean art across centuries.
The exhibition gathers a total of seven works. Among them are 19th-century minhwa, or folk paintings, celebrated for their playful humor and biting satire; an orthodox piece by Joseon master Kim Hong-do (1745–1806); and the Hojakdo that famously inspired “Hodori,” the beloved tiger mascot of the 1988 Seoul Olympics. Together, these works show the remarkable range of meanings tigers carried—from auspicious guardians to comical caricatures—and how magpies, birds associated with good fortune, became their natural companions in art.
Tigers in Korean Art and Belief
Tigers have long occupied a special place in Korean culture. In myths and legends, they appeared as fearsome yet noble creatures, protectors of mountains and villages. In Confucian moral philosophy, the tiger often symbolized the virtues of a gentleman—strong, upright, and dignified. Folk paintings frequently depicted tiger pelts as protective screens, believed to ward off evil spirits and misfortune.
The Hojakdo, pairing a tiger with a magpie, crystallized these ideas into one of the most recognizable motifs of late Joseon painting. For common households, hanging such paintings was more than decoration—it was a ritual of protection and a visual wish for blessings in the new year. At the same time, artists used the motif to satirize authority, portraying tigers as bumbling or ridiculous in contrast to the clever magpie, thereby infusing social commentary into art.
The Absence of the Real Tiger
Yet the poignancy of Leeum’s exhibition lies in the fact that the Korean tiger itself no longer exists in the wild. Once roaming the mountains of the peninsula in great numbers, the species was driven to extinction in the early 20th century due to systematic hunting during the Japanese colonial era and the loss of natural habitat. Today, its closest relatives—the Amur tigers—survive in the Russian Far East and northeastern China, leaving Korea without its once-dominant apex predator.
This absence, however, has only strengthened the tiger’s symbolic life. It has shifted from a living animal to a cultural archetype, embedded in art, memory, and national identity.
Tigers as National Symbols Today
Modern Korea continues to embrace the tiger as a symbol of strength, resilience, and pride. The South Korean national football team bears the nickname “Taegeuk Tigers,” and its emblem carries the fierce feline as a mark of identity. The very geography of the Korean peninsula is often poetically likened to the form of a crouching tiger, its head and body poised in dynamic tension.
In the modern era, Olympic mascots have brought the tiger into the international spotlight. Hodori, the cheerful tiger of the 1988 Seoul Olympics, became an emblem of Korea’s cultural emergence on the global stage. Three decades later, Soohorang, the white tiger mascot of the 2018 PyeongChang Winter Olympics, carried the symbolism forward, linking tradition with contemporary creativity.
A Living Presence in the Korean Heart
What the Leeum’s Tigers and Magpies exhibition demonstrates is that the tiger’s power transcends its physical absence. Though extinct in Korea’s forests, the tiger thrives as an artistic and cultural spirit—seen in paintings, mascots, proverbs, folk tales, and the national psyche. It is both a nostalgic memory and a living metaphor, embodying qualities Koreans continue to admire and aspire to: courage, wit, and the ability to face contradictions with dignity.
The exhibition is thus more than a display of historical art. It is an invitation to reflect on why an animal no longer present in the wild remains so deeply present in the imagination. To stand before the oldest Hojakdo, painted more than four centuries ago, is to realize that the tiger has never truly left Korea—it has only changed form, moving from the mountains into the minds and hearts of the people.
The Leeum Museum of Art’s special exhibition Tigers and Magpies runs through January 11, 2026.
Sayart / Jason Yim yimjongho1969@gmail.com
