Portrait of Rosalie Kim, 2022. Photo Courtesy: Rosalie Kim.

In 2022, the V&A’s exhibition Hallyu! The Korean Wave captured the rise of Korean popular culture—an impact that continues as the show tours internationally. At the centre is Rosalie Kim, the V&A’s Exhibition Lead Curator. Born in Belgium to Korean parents and raised between Brussels, Paris, and Seoul, Kim’s path from architecture to the museum world has been anything but conventional. Over more than a decade at the V&A, she has worked to expand and reinterpret the museum’s Korean collection, bringing new perspectives to its gallery.

On a bright morning in the museum café, Kim spoke with MADE IN BED about her journey to South Kensington, the making of Hallyu! from first idea to global tour, and the evolving place of Korean art in today’s cultural landscape.

Different Posters of Hallyu! The Korean Wave (left to right: V&A, London/ Asian Art Museum, San Francisco / Rietberg Museum, Zurich). Photo courtesy: V&A South Kensington, Asian Art Museum, and Museum Rietberg, respectively.

Alice Kim: Let’s begin with your background. How did your upbringing shape you—and what ultimately led you to the V&A?

Rosalie Kim: I originally studied engineering in architecture. I actually wanted to be an artist, but my parents were completely against the idea because, in their view, art didn’t pay. I was a very studious student, so they wanted me to go into law or medicine. But I found a middle ground that was acceptable to them and close enough to the arts for me. Architecture seemed like a rational, sustainable choice—it included history of art, history of architecture, drawing classes, and architectural design, all of which I found really interesting.

When I was interning in architecture in Korea, I worked at a place called Studio Metaa. The top floor housed the architecture office where I was interning, and the first floor had an art section that organised a lot of arts-related events. Every week, there were special programmes—film directors would come together to discuss a theme, or curators would lead discussions. That was a great exposure to the art world. In the basement, there was an independent recording studio called Nanjang Studio, where the rock band JAURIM had just started recording. In the same compound, there was also Kim Duk-soo, the leader of SamulNori, who was based there. Being in that environment made me very aware of Korean cultural traditions—but in a very immersive and intense way. It was short but intense—about a year and a half. That period also coincided with the Asian financial crisis, which deeply affected Korea.

After that, I returned to Belgium to finish my architecture internship. I worked for a while, but realised I didn’t see myself doing that for the rest of my life. So, I decided to do a master’s in London. By the time I finished my PhD, a job opening for the curator of Korean art at the V&A came up. I thought, Why not give it a go? Let’s see what they say. And I got the job!

That’s how I ended up at the V&A. It wasn’t a straightforward career path, but in hindsight, it makes sense. The V&A is a place where curators don’t necessarily come from conventional backgrounds. Some have literature degrees, some are makers, and some come from journalism. We’re quite diverse in that sense, and I think that brings fresh perspectives to our work. That diversity is one of the strengths of the museum—it ensures that our exhibitions and displays are always a bit different.

AK: You moved between Brussels, Paris, and Seoul. What was that experience like for you? Did it feel like a struggle, or something you simply adapted to?

RK: I never really struggled in that sense, but I was very aware that Korea wasn’t seen as a great country at the time. Growing up in Belgium, hardly anyone knew about South Korea—and if they did, it was often for the wrong reasons. It was seen as a country that copied Western designs, rather than being recognised for its own innovations. Then, when I went to Korea, nobody had heard of Belgium either. That was frustrating—I was always having to explain my cultural background from both sides. I think that shaped the way I lived. There just weren’t many Koreans in Belgium back then, and if there were, they were mostly adults. So it was a very unusual context to grow up in.

As a child, my mother was adamant that we would return to Korea at some point, so she made sure we learned the language. After school in Belgium, while everyone else was playing outside, we had to sit down and take extra Korean language classes. We learned Korean history, practised writing—things that seemed random at the time, but were really her way of making sure we didn’t lose touch with our heritage.

There were no Korean schools or organised language programmes in Belgium then, so my mum really took it upon herself to teach us. But when I became a teenager, I started to resist. I thought, I’m not Korean—I live here, my life is here, all my friends are here.She would always tell me to look in the mirror and remind me, You are not a white person. You have a Korean background. That constant reminder stayed with me.

I think things settled once I got to university, and especially when I lived in Korea for my internship. It was the first time I’d been fully immersed in the culture, without having to explain anything—why we ate certain foods, why we behaved in certain ways, where I was expected to go. That experience reconciled my sense of double identity. I realised I didn’t have to choose—I could be both. I could eat one thing in Belgium and something else in Korea. I could be whoever I wanted, depending on where I was—and that was okay.

AK: I’d love to highlight your current role and some of the key projects you’ve worked on.

RK: I’ve been working as curator for the Korean collection at the V&A since November 2012. Over the years, I’ve worked on expanding the collection quite a lot. And of course, I’ve been developing the Hallyu! exhibition for a long time. The idea first came to me around 2017 or 2018, I officially pitched it mid-2019, when a new exhibition director, Daniel Slater, joined the museum. I knew he’d travelled to Korea before and had worked at Tate, so he understood the significance of Korean culture. I reached out and got a response almost immediately: “That sounds interesting—let’s talk.” I had two meetings with him, and the project was eventually approved. That was around June or July 2019.

Just as I was finalising the proposal, Covid hit. For a while, I thought, that’s it—no one will care about Korea when we come out of this. Everyone will be focused on survival and recovery. But ironically, during the pandemic, Korean culture exploded globally: Parasite won the Oscar, BTS was everywhere, Squid Game became a massive success, and K-dramas gained unprecedented popularity. When I returned to work, the conversation had completely shifted.

I had originally proposed opening Hallyu! in 2023 to align with the 140th anniversary of Korea-Europe relations, but because of this surge in interest. The exhibition was pushed forward by six months, and we had to fast-track everything. It was incredibly stressful—I had to figure out how to pull it all together much faster than planned, while still dealing with travel restrictions and logistical challenges. By September 2020, I was fully back to work, and we had only two years to complete the show. It was intense, but somehow, we made it happen.

Victoria and Albert Museum, London. Photo courtesy: the V&A.

AK: What were the challenges you faced in the exhibition-making process?

RK: One of the biggest challenges wasn’t just the scale of the project, but the language barrier. Very few people at the V&A spoke Korean. When we began the exhibition, it was just me and my co-curator, Yoojin. We quickly realised our Korean partners were far more comfortable speaking in Korean, so every meeting and email had to be translated back and forth. Once the workload increased—it became difficult to manage. At one point, I suggested we run meetings entirely in Korean, and I’d summarise the key points in English afterwards. Later, we had support from a Korea Foundation intern who helped with translation and coordination, and we eventually found a system that worked.

There were also cultural differences in how people communicated and worked. In Korea, email is often considered too formal or bureaucratic, so most conversations happen through platforms like KakaoTalk, which aren’t commonly used outside Korea. Museums like the V&A rely on email and clear documentation to track decisions, so that mismatch created some friction. The pace was also completely different—things in Korea move quickly, and decisions are made fast. At the museum, it’s a slower process with layers of internal approval.

Another major challenge was the inability to travel. Without going to Korea, it was incredibly difficult to finalise the object list. As soon as restrictions and quarantine rules were lifted, I took the first chance to go.

AK: Could you unpack some of the curatorial decisions that shaped the exhibition?

RK: A key curatorial decision was figuring out how best to structure the exhibition’s historical narrative. Initially, we spread the historical context across different sections—so if you saw an object, its history would be explained next to it. But that led to a lot of repetition. At some point, we decided to separate history into its own dedicated section, with a clear timeline. That became crucial. Many visitors told us afterwards that they had little understanding of modern Korean history. Most only knew Korea through what they’d seen on TV or from permanent museum collections, which tend to focus on ancient art. Even some Korean visitors said they had forgotten parts of their own modern history.

There’s a big gap between how different generations view Korea. Older audiences often think of it in terms of war or traditional culture, while younger people associate it with pop culture. But most exhibitions focus either on ancient dynasties or the contemporary moment, with very little in between. That transition—the story of how Korea moved from one to the other—has rarely been contextualised. Another limitation is that Korean collections in museums tend to be quite small in both scale and scope. Many Korean cultural projects don’t get fully realised because they’re difficult to frame within a Western institutional context.

Before Hallyu!, I started testing different approaches in the Korean Gallery at the V&A—for example, placing contemporary objects alongside historical ones to create a direct visual connection. I wasn’t curating strictly chronologically, but thematically. Sometimes Korean visitors were surprised by the way I juxtaposed things, but for international audiences, it made more sense. If an object from 500 years ago still speaks to something made today, why not show them together? I used that same approach in Hallyu!—for instance, placing a moon jar next to a K-drama. Some Korean visitors were surprised, but for non-Korean audiences, it helped draw a line of continuity. It showed that Korean popular culture is rooted in history—it didn’t appear from nowhere. In doing so, we helped bridge the gap between two audiences: those who only knew Korea for its past, and those who only knew it for pop. In a way, we reconciled both perspectives.

AK: Now that Hallyu! is touring internationally, have you found that the exhibition has evolved over time? Have there been adjustments based on different audiences?

RK: It’s very difficult to make major adjustments once an exhibition begins touring, because we have to secure rights for everything in advance. But each iteration is slightly different depending on the institution and its curatorial focus. At the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston—the first stop—they had a small space and we had to adjust quite a bit of the narrative. However, they made more space for the section devoted to Korean diaspora. They expanded that section, incorporating personal stories from staff and community members. One exhibition staff shared a photo of her grandmother, who used to be part of the police force in Korea. They also brought in two young Korean-American artists who explored themes of heritage and identity. One of the artists dealt with immigration, the other about anti-Asian hate crimes, especially against women. It was one of the most memorable additions to the exhibition—hearing those voices during the guided tour made the show incredibly emotional and resonant, especially for the local Korean-American community. In the wake of the rise in anti-Asian hate crimes, many visitors told us they felt seen and empowered. That was incredibly moving to witness.

Installation view of "Hallyu! The Korean Wave" exhibition at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Photo courtesy: Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

The Asian Art Museum in San Francisco took a very different approach. It’s a smaller museum, so they focused more on interactivity and entertainment. They added immersive features like a Squid Game installation, where visitors could step into a projected scene, and a sensory room capturing the sights and sounds of modern Seoul. There was also a message wall for K-pop fans to leave notes, which added a participatory element. A small display highlighted Kero One, a Korean hip-hop artist and producer from San Francisco who has collaborated with the K-pop industry. Because of the space limitations, the exhibition was spread across multiple rooms and make layout adjustments, including changes to the introductory section.

Now, it’s touring to Switzerland, which presents a completely different context. Since Switzerland wasn’t directly involved in the Korean War, its historical connection to Korea is different. It’s been interesting working with the Rietberg Museum, where the show opened on 4 April, to shape Hallyu! for their audience. Each venue brings a distinct interpretation to the exhibition. After Switzerland, The final stop will be in Australia bringing the tour to an end by mid-2026.

Installation view of Hallyu! The Korean Wave at The Asian Art Museum. Photo courtesy: Asian Art Museum, San Franciso.

Small display on Kero One. Photo courtesy: Asian Art Museum, San Franciso.

For me, Hallyu! was a turning point. It showed that a major exhibition about Korea was not only possible but could thrive in an international context—and now, it’s inspiring other institutions. At the same time, it was very much a V&A exhibition. The way we combined media, fashion, pop culture, and historical material is something the museum has long championed. What made this different was its focus on a minority culture, and the museum’s willingness to take that leap. When I pitched the idea, a key point was about reaching a new audience—a young, global fandom that would not usually visit the V&A. And we did. So many of my colleagues said, “We’ve never seen this many young people in the museum before.” It brought a completely different energy—and that was exciting to see.

AK: To what extent were you thinking about visibility and recognition of women’s contributions in Hallyu!?

RK: The art world, especially in museums, has a lot of women working in it. But in other industries, like film, gender dynamics are still very imbalanced. One thing I was particularly conscious of in the exhibition was how people often remember only male film directors but no one remembers the K-drama screenwriters, mostly women. It’s an industry where men tend to dominate directing, while women often end up in screenwriting. So, in the K-drama section of the show, I made sure that every label included both the director’s name and the screenwriter’s name. I wanted visitors to see that behind every successful drama, there are often women driving the storytelling.

It wasn’t just about screenwriters either—I also made sure to acknowledge other creative roles where women are frequently overlooked. Their names were credited alongside the directors so their contributions wouldn’t be erased. That was a deliberate decision, to highlight the entire creative process behind Korean pop culture—not just the names that usually get the spotlight.

AK: I’d love to hear more about the Korean Wave itself. How do you feel about the way Korean culture is evolving and gaining global recognition?

RK: There’s definitely been an exponential rise in interest in contemporary Korean culture in the UK. You can see it across major institutions—the Tate has hosted Korean exhibitions, the Hayward Gallery has programmed Korean artists, and Haegue Yang recently won the Wolfgang Hahn Prize. There’s been an increase in publications on contemporary Korean art, and you even see it reflected in television programming. Korean culture is becoming more visible and in a much more integrated way. The Wellcome Collection currently features a Korean American artist, and Korean craft keeps a high profile at Collect since 2013. Foyles has held a Korean Culture Month for a couple of years. Even the BBC incorporated K-pop in its television programming, and food shows across broadcasting networks regularly feature Korean chefs or cooking ingredients.

AK: What is it about Korean culture that you think resonates so widely?

RK: I think part of it is contextual. We now have a younger generation that grew up with the internet—they’re much more aware of cultural diversity and inclusivity. Compared to China or Japan, Korea was historically less known in Europe. China and Japan had been in contact with Europe since the 16th century, so they already had an established cultural presence. Korea, by contrast, offered something novel. It wasn’t just another East Asian culture—it was a country with a colonial history, one that had been invaded multiple times, but still managed to maintain a distinct identity. That survival story fascinates people—how Korea navigated its position between two major powers, China and Japan, and still defined itself on its own terms.

The division of the Korean peninsula adds another layer of complexity, making Korea a compelling case study in the modern world. Beyond that, Korean pop culture is a major driver. The rise of digital platforms removed language barriers, making Korean music, film and TV accessible to global audiences in a way that simply wasn’t possible before. So it’s a mix of things—the novelty, the historical and geopolitical context, and the reach of pop culture in the digital age. People are curious: how did Korea go from a war-torn country to a global cultural powerhouse in such a short time?

It’s a great moment. There’s an audience eager to learn, curators tapping into that interest, and a broader awareness of postcolonial and cultural narratives. It all came together at the right time.

AK: Do you think Hallyu! will influence how the V&A approaches its Korean Gallery going forward?

RK: Oh, absolutely. The current Korean Gallery at the V&A was the first permanent gallery dedicated to Korea in a UK national institution, but it was created at a time when Korean culture wasn’t nearly as visible globally. It was designed with a very different perspective. Now, we’re completely rethinking the gallery’s direction. We’ve been conducting audience surveys to understand what people want to see, and it’s interesting to note how different groups—Koreans, non-Koreans, younger generations—have very different priorities in terms of what they want represented.

We’re also actively collecting contemporary Korean craft. At the moment, we have around 1,800 objects, and nearly half of those are contemporary craft and design. This has been a long time coming. When I joined the V&A in 2012, contemporary Korean craft wasn’t widely seen in the UK. But from 2013 onwards, the Korea Craft & Design Foundation began bringing Korean craft to the UK, and that coincided with the period when I had an acquisition budget, so I was able to begin collecting seriously. Samsung Electronics UK generously supported our acquisitions.

Today, the V&A likely holds one of the largest collections of contemporary Korean craft and design outside Korea. It’s a field that has grown exponentially, and we were fortunate to be at the forefront. You can see this reflected in the LOEWE Foundation Craft Prize, where Korean artists are now regularly featured. There were even two years where five Korean makers were shortlisted—a huge number considering the number of inhibitants of Korea compared to countries like the US or Japan.

Korean craft continues to grow. This year, a British gallery even dedicated an entire show to a single Korean artist. That was a real milestone. While British galleries have shown Korean makers before, this was the first time I saw one fully commit to just one Korean artist. It shows how far the perception of Korean craft has come.

AK: Do you think contemporary Korean craft is on its way to becoming a bigger global movement?

RK: I certainly hope so. That’s why so many of the exhibitions I’ve worked on have focused on contemporary craft. I’ve been very intentional about acquiring pieces that represent the full spectrum of Korean artistic practice today.

AK: How do you feel about having made it through all of this? Settling here, starting over, and constantly pushing to build something—it really resonates with me. I feel like I’m in survival mode right now, trying to create a new community for myself. And I see that reflected in your journey too.

RK: Yes, absolutely. At the V&A, we’re lucky to have a strong Asian department. Our team is very cohesive, and we support each other a lot. (despite the challenges, the Asian department has always had a strong sense of community. We’ve always had each other’s backs, and that really helped) We currently have around 25 to 28 curators, each with their own specialism, and we work collaboratively, which is great. But the hardest part was being the only curator for Korea when I started. The Japanese section had five curators, China had three. That didn’t mean I had fewer responsibilities; it just meant I had to do the same amount of work as the others, but on my own. In a bigger team, you can divide responsibilities. When you're alone, you do everything yourself.

AK: That must have been exhausting.

RK: It was. There was no one to delegate to, so I had to manage everything on my own—programming, acquisitions, making sure Korea wasn’t left behind and the collection was properly represented. That changed in late 2021, when Dasom Sung joined the V&A as a dedicated assistant curator for Korean art, funded by the Korean government, which has made a huge difference.

AK: Beyond the Asian department, have you noticed a shift more broadly?

RK: Yes. In recent years, we’ve had younger curators join in different areas, especially in contemporary art. Some have studied in Korea or have a strong interest in Korean culture, and they’ve reached out to collaborate, which has been wonderful. Even beyond the V&A, we’re forming a growing network—through collectors, art fairs, acquisitions—where we’re in constant conversation about artists, collections, and whether something should be prioritised or passed on to another institution. That sense of shared purpose is getting stronger all the time.

AK: do you have any advice for young curators who want to enter the industry?

RK: That’s a difficult question, because I didn’t follow a conventional path into curating—and I don’t want people to think there’s only one way to do it. If anything, I’d say: don’t let that stop you from pursuing the work. The most important thing is to keep an open and critical mind. It sounds obvious, but it’s crucial—especially in a museum context. You have to be able to put yourself in the shoes of someone who may know nothing about your culture. As curators, we often work with beautiful objects that carry deep historical and cultural meaning. But if we don’t find ways to make them relatable to a broader audience, that meaning can get lost. That’s especially important in a place like the V&A, which was originally conceived with an imperialist purpose. National galleries—whether Korean, Japanese, or otherwise—can unintentionally reinforce a sense of otherness. When you highlight something as “different,” it can make visitors see it as separate, or as something from the past, or even as lesser. And we really don’t want that.

So, I would say: know your audience and make connections that feel relevant to them. That’s one of the most important things a curator can do. But beyond that—there’s no one right path. I didn’t take a conventional route into curation, and I don’t think anyone has to. There’s always space to carve out your own way.

A conversation with Rosalie Kim is like paging through a living record of the Korean Wave’s reach in the art world. From Frieze Seoul to major London institutions, Korean contemporary art continues to ripple through contemporary art and communities worldwide. Exhibitions become more than displays—they’re bridges where cultures meet and new dialogues take shape.

MADE IN BED offers its heartfelt thanks and deepest appreciation to Rosalie Kim for generously sharing her time, insight, and expertise in this interview.

We encourage our readers to look out for the Hallyu! Exhibition as it travels to Australia, and to continue supporting the ongoing work of the Korea Gallery at the V&A.

Alice Kim,

Interviews Co-Editor, MADE IN BED

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