The Walk is gradus’s interview series featuring creators and artists who inspire us to imagine a better life. As we step into their worlds, we walk through the creative landscapes they have cultivated. Walking has long been a powerful metaphor for life’s journey. To follow in someone’s footsteps is not just about tracing their gait—it’s an attempt to understand the trajectory of their life. By exploring their journeys, we hope to spark flexible thinking and creative energy in your own.

In this series, we walk alongside architect Seo Seung-mo. Since 2010, he has been designing diverse architectural projects, including homes, hotels, and office buildings, through his firm Samuso Hyojadong. As the head of the firm, his main role is to design the “inside”—spaces where people can live and work. But to do this effectively, he stays sensitive to the world around him, drawing inspiration from the “outside.” Let’s walk with him through the streets, where people from all walks of life pass by, and see how he finds meaning in his surroundings.

A Weekend Passion

I’m a big fan of radio, especially a program called Shonan Beach FM. It’s broadcast from a station near Enoshima, which is also where the anime Slam Dunk is set. The playlist is super relaxing, coming from Tokyo’s closest surf spot.

Have you ever surfed there?

No, I haven’t had the chance yet.

I’ve heard you go surfing every weekend. Do you surf year-round?

Well, not exactly. I’m not great at surfing, but I do enjoy it. Mostly, I just float on my board in the water.

That sounds good, too.

Incognito Visits

The work I do might look impressive when it’s finished, but the process is far from glamorous. There are so many people involved, and I end up seeing both the good and bad sides of the area or country I’m working in. There’s the client paying the bills, the architect pretending to know everything, and my staff who support me. Then there’s the construction company, plus the residents and the public officials around the building site.

Do you revisit completed projects over time?

Yes, I do. I usually visit without anyone knowing. If I’m working nearby, I’ll stop by. Just last weekend, I was working on a site in Yeonnam-dong, so I also visited two other places I worked on in the same area. Honestly, it feels like I’m jumping from one topic to another without much order.

I know what you mean. It’s probably because the theme of this interview—‘walking’—is quite broad and a bit superficial. The metaphor leads us to touch on many different topics, but it’s hard to tie them all together logically. I’m used to interviewing people from the literature and publishing world, so talking to writers and publishers feels comfortable. But today’s conversation with you feels like a whole new challenge.

As for publishing, we also work with clients like Workroom and Seulgi and Min.

They’re a great role model for smaller publishing brands like ours. Their active work is inspiring.

I think they’re amazing people. They have strong personalities, and even though they might argue, they never cross each other’s boundaries. It’s interesting to watch. Unlike the typical “How could you do this to me?” scenes in dramas, their relationships maintain just the right distance, which I believe helps the group last longer.

A Habit of Imagination

You once mentioned that, instead of simply following a set structure in architecture, you’d prefer students to build their identity from the culture they’ve experienced by age 20. With that in mind, what were some key experiences for you before you turned 20?

I was a pretty quiet kid. I’d spend a lot of time listening to music in a dark room

This studio is quite dark too. Did you always have a room of your own growing up?

Yes, since elementary school. When you’re a kid, your parents buy you things, right? I remember they bought me a trash can for my room, but I didn’t like it, so I decorated it with string. For a long time, I didn’t buy anything I liked—just nothing felt right. I guess I was a kid who imagined a lot.

Imagining?

Yes, that habit of imagining stayed with me throughout my architecture career. For example, when I design a bedroom that’s just big enough for a bed, I start imagining the person who’s going to use the space. Maybe they shower, wrap a towel around their head, look out the window, and drink some cold water before picking up a book or a gadget. I think about where they would sit, or if they’re tired, where they’d sit on the bed to read.

Dining spaces can be for eating, but they can also be places for drinking tea, reading, daydreaming, or just enjoying the view. Imagining these kinds of scenes helps me figure out how to design the space. The word "scene" is often used in both films and Japanese architecture, and It’s made up of two characters: 場 (space) and 面 (surface). The space is the three-dimensional environment, and the surface is like the slice you take of that space. These surfaces come together to create both architecture and film. And when you make a surface, there’s always a person in the scene.

When I imagine these specific scenes, the client's personal taste plays a big role. So, I pay attention to every detail when meeting them, trying to picture the scene that best reflects what they want.

What about clients who aren’t used to sharing their thoughts? I sometimes wonder how to approach someone who’s not comfortable talking about themselves.

I try to gather as much information as I can from outside, instead of just relying on what’s inside me. Sometimes, it’s not easy. After a client meeting, I’ll talk it over with my team. “What do you think the client really wants? Do we understand the bigger picture?” We need to pick up on what they don’t say directly, because once we understand their tastes, we can figure out what combinations will work for them.

There’s a Japanese architect named Yamamoto Riken who once said, “An architect is not a translation machine.” Architecture isn’t just about directly translating a client’s needs or building codes; it’s about understanding the deeper meaning. As an architect, imagination is crucial if I’m going to take all the information and make something meaningful out of it.

It seems like you avoid rigid, direct translations in your work.

As I said earlier, when I teach architecture, I tell my students to draw from within themselves. Art is the same, no matter what medium you use. The difference is in how you express it—whether through writing, painting, music, or architecture. If you don’t have your own voice, you need to find it. The experiences and thoughts you gather before your twenties are especially important. Architecture, in particular, is influenced by your environment. So someone who grew up in Europe is going to see architecture differently than someone who grew up in Seoul or a small village in the mountains. When I was deeply immersed in architecture and art, I went to Hawaii. I suddenly thought, “What’s the big deal about architecture here? A simple hut would do.” In that mild climate, you could just open the windows, clean up, eat moderately, go to the beach, listen to music, and study—that would be enough. The friends who grew up in Hawaii would have a completely different perspective on architecture than those from Seoul.

Well, then it would be complicated if someone from Seoul ends up working on an architecture project in Hawaii.

Yeah, it could be tricky. But what I’m really talking about isn’t about good or bad, but about authenticity.

Isn’t it one of the hardest challenges though? To “draw out what’s inside” from yourself?

Exactly. It’s like being asked to pull something out that I don’t even know is there. In the end, whatever comes out should connect with people, or make them feel something. But it can’t be something too simple.

For some people, expressing themselves might be straightforward because they already know what they want to say and just pick the right medium. But for people who see themselves as a medium, they absorb and adapt to the world around them. These people often wander in search of meaning.

Yes. I really admire director Hirokazu Kore-eda. I like him because his perspective is open to the world.

It's clear just from the fact that he started his career in documentaries.

Yeah, Kore-eda seems to be pretty against the whole “art for art's sake” or ego-driven approach. His stories are never light, but after the film ends, instead of feeling uneasy, you walk away with a stronger sense of connection to others and a deeper social awareness.

Lessons from Studying Abroad

Did you choose to study abroad to experience another country's society and culture?

Everyone wants to feel protected, right? When you're in Korea, everything’s familiar—friends, family, and language. But when I went to Japan to study at 28, I felt a sense of freedom because there was no protective wall around me. I fought with foreign friends, got ignored, and went through some difficult experiences, but all of that helped me. It gave me the strength to adapt well when I returned to Korea.

I learned two big lessons about architecture during my time abroad. The first was a school project where I had to design a dance studio. I did a lot of research, found case studies and history, and even brought in some philosophical ideas. I pinned everything on a board, but my teacher told me that my perspective wasn’t clear and I needed to stop. The feedback was that I needed to focus on expressing the feeling, not just showing materials. Without clear and original thoughts, no matter how much you try to build something, it won’t work. After that, I focused on staying open and paying attention to everything around me to get more ideas.

The other thing I learned was about language. Architects often talk in a complicated way, and I found myself doing the same. When I was talking with my Japanese friends, one of them said, “Sorry, I really don’t understand what you’re saying. If you’re an expert, you should be able to explain it simply.” In Japan, there are different trends in architecture, but what I learned is that architecture should be connected to society, not something that’s completely separate from it.

Building the Team: From the First to Today

Would you say your true career as an architect began with RDAunit?

I came back to Korea in March 2004. My school in Japan was in the old part of Ueno, where there were small traditional houses. It was a nice area to walk around and explore the alleys. When I got back to Seoul, I thought about living in Samcheong-dong, but the prices were way too high. So, the real estate agent showed me a quieter neighborhood on the other side of town. It was close to the Blue House, so there wasn't much development, and it was peaceful and calm—exactly what I was looking for. I found a small house, fixed it up on a tight budget, and that became my first studio. I called it RDAunit because I wanted to focus on the idea of "Relative Density (RD)." To me, architecture wasn’t just about creating something fixed and solid, but about organizing different parts that change in density. That’s the architect's job—to adjust how those parts come together.

At that time, I didn’t have many architecture projects. Since I graduated from an art school, I worked on some art gallery projects instead. But once I started focusing on real architecture projects, I named my office “Samuso Hyojadong." So, I’ve really been working full-time as an architect for about 10 years. Therefore, it’s more accurate to say that my real architectural career began with Samuso Hyojadong.

Starting Samuso Hyojadong and bringing in employees must've felt like a big turning point, right?

Yeah, exactly. My first and second employees are now running their own studio, Oheje. They still live in the same neighborhood as us, and they live in the traditional Korean house we designed together. My wife helps take care of their kids, so there’s a really strong emotional connection. It’s great that they’re still with me, especially considering how tough things must’ve been in the early days when you're working so closely with people.

When did you stop counting employees by number?

I used to keep track—the third, fourth, fifth... but about four or five years ago, I started feeling more like an "old-school architect." The emotional relationships with my colleagues used to be a bit sticky, but now there’s more of a fresh distance. When I think back to my first and second employees, we used to work late every day together, eat at a 24/7 restaurant, cry, argue, and go through a lot together.

I guess even today, many small business owners have similar "sticky" relationships.

Yeah, I agree. After going through two big changes, it’s been a bit confusing. I was reading a book by Song Gil-young and found a great quote. To sum it up, it said, "Change is neutral. A prepared person will find opportunities through change, and an unprepared person will lose their way." I try to accept the situation as it is. I keep my values in check and look for people who are on the same page so we can talk things through.

Since you're still very involved in the work, it must be hard to completely switch off.

Exactly. So, I’ve started to separate spaces and create some distance. When I meet with my team, we have focused, deep discussions. I keep personal conversations to a minimum, no office parties, and keep things professional. Even with that, some people get close, and others might feel left out. But I let them figure it out themselves, giving them the freedom to handle it.

So, everyone won’t really come together unless the boss becomes the “bad guy,” right?

Well, that’s a relief, right? In the architecture world, the boss is usually seen as the "bad guy." The workload is heavy, and the pay isn’t great, so people tend to feel unsatisfied. But I tell my team, don’t just come to me with things that are out of my control. I’ll do my best, but expecting me to change the system is asking too much. It’s also their responsibility if they expect me to fix the bigger issues. But I do promise to minimize the irrational parts of the architectural process. Despite my efforts, I might already be seen as "the bad guy."

You seem like LeBron James in the NBA.

LeBron?

He’s one of the longest-playing NBA players. Even at 40, he’s still at the top. He plays with the team but also controls the tempo of the game, especially in the final quarter when he finishes the tough tasks. He has this ability to change the flow of the game, and it’s pretty amazing.

Well, that’s really important.

Likewise, you’re not the owner or coach, but you’re the leader who plays alongside the team.

You know, my nickname is "Manager." I used to be the boss, but now I’ve voluntarily dropped down to team leader. If I stay removed and just give orders, the project falls apart. So, I’ve had to step down, get closer, and get more involved.

LeBron also comes out hours early to practice before the game.

You know, I’m the first to arrive at work, too. I get there before my team, and my first routine is to go over the day’s tasks with them.

Settling in Korea

You often mention Korean identity.

Since I studied in Japan, I was really inspired by how the Japanese developed their cultural identity. In Korea, we have all kinds of architecture from around the world—from Swiss architecture to Japanese. Someone who studied in Switzerland will bring Swiss architecture here, and someone who studied in Japan will bring Japanese architecture. I’m not a huge fan of the current K-trends, but when I was younger, I really liked the energy of Korea that pushed boundaries. But now, when I think about Korea in terms of architecture, I feel like the city is getting uglier. The landscapes of new towns all look the same. Environments without a sense of humanity feel depressing. When people are present in these spaces, there’s a message that emerges, a kind of linguistic trigger. I really prefer that process.

A beautiful city should embrace different time periods within it. When you visit London or Berlin, you can feel the different time periods just by looking at the way people dress. It makes the city interesting and enjoyable, both for your eyes and your mind.

As you said, in Korea, places tend to change quickly, like stores and the vibe of the area. While that can be good, it also has its downsides.

My younger brother also studied in Japan, and he noticed that restaurants there tend to stick around for a long time. When he visits the area near his old school, all his old memories come back. When you’ve spent about 10 years in a place, you form a strong emotional connection to it. To bring those memories back, you need both the place and the people you shared it with. It's sad when those places that hold our memories are gone.

It’s not just about businesses disappearing fast. I understand—it’s tough to survive in a hard environment. But businesses that have a solid foundation tend to last longer. That’s probably why I like Seochon. Even though it’s gotten busier, it still keeps its charm, and the shops, connected like a spider’s web, are still there. I also like stopping by places like “Duomo” and “Bar Cham.”

For me, a happy place is where different time periods meet. These days, I don’t talk to many architects. They often talk about the same things, and it gets a bit depressing. I enjoy talking to people with their own energy and ideas. I love those moments when different people’s experiences and ideas come together. Even in today’s conversation, I feel like I’m learning something new.

Anger is Fire

I notice you've put little quotes around the space.

I didn’t write them myself; they’re just quotes I’ve collected, ones that are good to read when I’m feeling stressed or down. I keep picking them out to remind myself of my goals, and over time, they’ve built up into what feels like a series.

I tend to get angry a lot. When I was an apprentice, I would express it immediately. But eventually, I realized that getting angry didn’t feel good at all. In the end, anger is like fire. The person who gets angry burns too. The one who’s angry also suffers. That’s why I started printing words like "calmness" and putting them up.

Materials with Light and Shadow

What materials do you usually use in your architecture?

I think of it in two ways: what’s visible and what’s invisible. If we start with the invisible, I focus on the tactile things—the stuff you can’t really capture in photos. In photos, form and design are what stand out, but in a space, light and shadow interact with the materials, and create a tactile experience. I like to play with things like light and shadow, and even change textures, without needing to use new materials—just simple, everyday ones.

I generally prefer natural materials like stone, metal, and earth—genuine materials. I prefer things that hold time, rather than plastic.

Do you have any materials you particularly favor among these natural materials?

I tend to favor concrete, especially with aggregate finishes. I also really like stone and wood. It all depends on the situation and the conditions each material behaves differently depending on the context.

Starting Point and End Point

How does an architectural project typically progress, from the starting point to the end?

First, I carefully examine the client's requirements and the conditions of the land. It’s easier to explain with an example. This picture shows a building that will be built in Yeonnam-dong. It's a typical neighborhood building you’d find around here. It's meant to have services that are convenient for people living nearby—like a restaurant, flower shop, or store.

Architecture isn’t just about creating a fixed structure and filling it up with a program. For this building, I designed a circular staircase and hallways that extend outside a bit to give it a more open feel. In the semi-outdoor spaces, tenants could put out their furniture or other objects, turning it into a sort of living room that faces the street. If these exposed spaces are well-managed and visible, they can bring life and energy to the area. Adding things like awnings or flower pots to the terrace makes the building feel like it’s connecting with the outside world.

It’s nice that it doesn’t feel closed off.

Once it’s all finished, feel free to stop by. We start with a basic idea and build it up through diagrams. Then, the team continues to tweak and improve it until we make something truly special. It’s like cooking: you start with a simple recipe and keep adding things like salt, sugar, and soy sauce to deepen the flavor.

The cooking metaphor makes it really easy to understand.

I talk about cooking a lot. When it comes to comparing life to something, cooking just makes the most sense.

I’ve heard that after a project is finished, you share an archive called the “delivery box” with the client and everyone involved.

When a project wraps up, I like to mark the end physically. We make three boxes—one for the client, one for the contractor, and one for us—and share them with everyone who worked on it.

Variables and Constants

What kind of architecture would you like to work on in the future? This is probably one of the most common questions you get.

I don’t have a specific ideal when it comes to architecture. Meeting good people is more important. Architecture is created through the conversation between the architect and the client.

When you say "good people," do you mean you’re gradually meeting clients who are a better fit for you, or do you still find yourself discovering "goodness" through meeting unpredictable people?

You can’t really know who’s going to be a good client from the start. People are unpredictable. I often think about simple things like, "What does this person do? How did they find us? How did we end up meeting?" Every project is fun because every person is different.

It's pretty impressive how much you enjoy meeting people like this.

I wouldn’t call it a talent. I just prefer imagining things on my own instead of meeting people all the time.

So it’s more about making deep connections, then?

Yeah, exactly.

I think that’s important. If I lost the desire to connect deeply, learn, and enjoy the process, I don’t think I could work anymore. When I feel that curiosity and affection fading, it’s kind of scary.

You mean when you stop being interested in others?

Yes, we make books not because we want to teach, but because we want to learn. If there comes a time when learning and discovering feel like a hassle, and I’m okay with being on my own, I wonder what will happen to my work then.

I’m sure that time will come. Even for me, back in my 20s and 30s, I used to meet people every other day, spend hours searching the web for things I liked, and travel constantly—taking photos and recording everything. But now, I’m not like that anymore. When I travel, I focus on just one place. I enjoy it more like a peaceful retreat than as a tourist. I get something different from it, and I’m okay with that. So, don’t worry.

I think life only works when there’s a proper balance of rewards. It’s not just about money; when you have good people around you, life feels richer. If things keep growing, you’ll probably continue to work in a way that’s different from when you were in your 30s.

Sandulbaram (Gentle Breeze) and Pizza

About three years ago, I was mentally struggling a lot. The work environment had shifted, the clients were making things difficult, and everything seemed to pile up. So, I decided to start running. There was a time when I ran around Gyeongbokgung Palace non-stop, like I was obsessed.

And then you switched to surfing because of knee issues, right?

Yes, I was pushing myself too hard with running, so I switched to surfing. I’m not great at it, but just floating on the board feels nice. I named this studio "Sandulbaram" (Gentle Breeze) because I felt like the wind was giving me life.

You mentioned you’d like to open a pizzeria when you retire. Could you tell us more about that?

Yes, I plan to go to Italy, take a six-month pizza course, and then open my own pizzeria.

So, you’ll be making oven pizzas by the beach? A friend of mine once got a pizza recipe as payment for a project, although I think they got more of the story than the recipe!

My plan is pretty simple: to make pizzas using seasonal, fresh ingredients. I don’t want too many customers. It’s more about enjoying the process than making a lot of money.

What if you have leftover stock? Would you share it?

I don’t want any leftover stock. If I end up struggling because of it, it defeats the purpose. Imagining life after retirement is fun. ‘Where should I do it? What music should I play? Let’s make a playlist.’ It’s all about imagining and enjoying the process.

Greeting and Cleaning

I really like the word “breath.” Whether I'm running or walking, I always try to be mindful of my breathing. When I focus on my breath, it’s like I’m really just with myself. When I walk, drive, or take a bath, my mind starts to wander, and at some point, everything blends together, and the boundaries between my thoughts seem to disappear. Then, something clicks, and everything makes sense. I try to remember those moments and use them in my work. They serve as inspiration for my projects.

This is such a great answer for the interview! It sounds like you really get inspiration from walking. Streets and cities are both a part of an architect’s world and something they design, right? It must feel like such a complex action for an architect to walk through a city.

It’s a little tricky, but simply put, I think what I love most is the mix of different time periods. That’s the essence of the city’s charm. For people from different times to interact, it’s important to greet each other and keep the space clean.

I recently heard an interesting story about greetings. A friend of mine has a dog, and to help it improve its social skills, they taught it to greet every animal it meets. At first, the neighbors were shocked because this person, who never greeted anyone before, was now saying hello to everyone. But after a while, the neighbors got used to it, and soon, greeting each other became natural in the community. In the end, it was my friend who learned about social skills.

It's nothing extraordinary. In my view, improving a place starts with the basics—greeting people, keeping things clean —like just sweeping in front of your house.