with Hyun: A quiet archive of mind and mood

‘with Hyun’ is a personal archive of beauty — a space where I keep what lingers with me, and sometimes, what resonates from afar.

Here, I write about art, architecture, hotels, and the moments that leave a mark. Some stories come from places I’ve visited or people I’ve met. Others come from images, spaces, or works I’ve never seen in person — but that I’ve found unforgettable.

This isn’t a guide or a travel blog. It’s a slow record of what draws my attention — places I hope to visit, artists I want to remember, and details I don’t want to lose.

Most of these stories come from my work as a magazine editor based in South Korea, writing about design, travel, and culture. But ‘with Hyun’ is different. It’s where I write without format or urgency — slower, and more personally.

This blog began as a quiet habit — collecting things that moved me: a hillside hotel, a fragile drawing, a museum I hope to see someday. This is where I keep them.

I’m drawn to spaces, creators, and brands that care about feeling, detail, and atmosphere. If that sounds like you — welcome.

English isn’t my first language. But I believe beauty often speaks beyond words. This blog is also my way of practicing how to write slowly, sincerely, and visually — like writing a letter to anyone, anywhere, who loves beauty.

Thank you for being here.

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Gagosian: How a Gallery Became a Global System

Long before I ever stepped inside a Gagosian gallery, I was already orbiting its influence. Not physically, but through images: James Turrell’s glowing chambers, Urs Fischer’s melting wax sculptures, Basquiat’s frantic collage energy. I came across them online, in books, in passing mentions. I didn’t realize it then, but many of these artists were drawn into the same center—a gallery that didn’t just show their work, but reshaped how it was seen. That gallery was Gagosian. And by the time I finally stood inside one of its spaces, I realized I’d been absorbing its language for years. This post is for anyone who's ever wondered how one gallery could become something larger: a system that shapes how art moves in the world. (Gagosian, 555 West 24th Street, New York. Courtesy Gagosian ) How Value Gets Built Larry Gagosian didn’t enter the art world through academia or collecting. He came in sideways—through instinct. Born into a middle-class family in Los Angeles, he was bri...

Viceroy Los Cabos: A Dreamlike Modern Hotel by the Sea

It looked unreal at first—white geometric volumes floating on still water, caught between shifting light and sea. The caption mentioned that the architect had intended to create a space deliberately detached from reality—a place designed to feel like a dream. That idea stayed with me. What does it mean to build something that feels imagined rather than inhabited? The question lingered, leading me to learn more about this unusual meeting of land and sea. Located at the southern tip of Mexico’s Baja California Peninsula, Los Cabos is a region where arid landscapes and ocean horizons coexist—a tension that defines much of its scenery, even if not every shoreline bears their immediate trace. In San José del Cabo, the quieter of the twin towns that make up Los Cabos, Viceroy Los Cabos reveals itself not so much as a hotel, but as a spatial experience suspended between elements. Designed by Mexican architect Miguel Ángel Aragonés, the resort is arranged as a series of minimalist white volume...

&Beyond Sandibe Okavango: A Safari Lodge That Vanishes Into the Landscape

What if a building didn’t try to stand out—but disappear? In Botswana’s Okavango Delta, one lodge does just that. Not dramatically, but quietly—like something grown from the land itself. It sits deep in Botswana’s Okavango Delta, where the forest leans low and the floodwaters arrive months late. Here, seasons don’t shout. They seep. The land breathes on a delayed cycle—and so does the lodge. Even from afar, it felt built not to stand out, but to step back. Perhaps that’s what made it linger. The lodge rests on a 22,500-hectare private concession that it manages exclusively. No convoys of vehicles. No need to rush toward a sighting. Just space—open, shared, undisturbed. The kind that lets things happen on their own terms: a lion emerging from the grass, a bird lifting soundlessly into the sky. What first drew me in wasn’t the wildlife, but the architecture. The main lodge echoes the form of a resting pangolin—scaled, curved, low to the ground. Twelve guest suites are lifted slightl...

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