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Perceived unfamiliar landscapes in unfamiliar places. Unfamiliar landscapes that fleetingly pass by in familiar spaces. Landscapes that feel unfamiliar yet familiar. And both visual and non-visual sounds. An attempt to focus on the boundary between familiarity and unfamiliarity in preserved landscapes.

Film director Siyeon wants to love forever. But is that really possible? Both eternity and love are infinitely heavy for Siyeon. Then, in a letter from her parents that she found by chance 27 years ago, she sees two people who are convinced of eternal love. Where did the love of Jaesoon and Jaehwan, who dreamed of eternal love, go? Siyeon wants to learn how to love forever by filming a documentary about the two.

A love letter to all unknown musicians in the world from an indie band from Tongyeong, located at the southern tip of the Korean Peninsula. It’s okay if you don’t know! It’s okay to be wrong! The origin story of an indie band in the seaside town of Tongyeong. A baker, a bookstore owner, a restaurant owner, and a dog lover live busy lives in the beautiful seaside town of Tongyeong. ‘Listening to Us is Your Duty’ is a band they created by chance. Although they never officially learned music, they created one song after another that is unique and different. Far away from the Korean music industry which is full of harsh competition, these amateur musicians find a new world. Listening to the songs written by those who live in Tongyeong is... your duty!

Flowers Blooming Backward Into Noise is a 20-minute animated “documanifesto” about AI art. It explains how Diffusion models work, as well as their entanglement with composite photography, statistical correlations and eugenics. In the end, the film veers into the director's own work, and how he sees his work: as bending the tool to create images that may not be beautiful, but are a product of rejecting automated characterizations of images, bodies, and human beings.

Coal-fired power stations are the first to go in responding to climate crisis. However, the greenhouse gas released during the combustion of coal is not the only problem. We find unfair social structure on the path of coal consumption. In the whole process of mining, moving, burning and disposing coal, the contamination and damages have been pushed to the local mining areas, the laborers, and the nature. We can’t, however, continue to grow at the sacrifice of someone else. Development through exploitation has reached the end. About time to realize that our economic growth is relying on the deep-rooted externalization. Now, what do we need to change?

Janchi guksu is a Korean noodle dish consisting of wheat flour noodles in a light anchovy stock, typically topped with thin strips of beef, eggs and vegetables. The name derives from the Korean word janchi (meaning ‘feast’ or ‘banquet’), as the noodle dish is traditionally eaten on special occasions throughout Korea, such as at weddings and birthday parties. The word guksu means ‘noodles’ in Korean and they symbolise longevity. The film culminates with a party, the guests eating janchi guksu and wishing one another long lives filled with joy. Meanwhile, the camera pans to those who are no longer experiencing such joy.

Mr. Chae Soo-dal, a handsome man in Gangdong-gu, said that he has deer eyes and a long neck that resembles a giraffe. Otter, a happy man thanks to his wife's love and the sincere devotion of his three amiable daughters

Songdo is a new city that was quietly built from scratch on land that was reclaimed from the sea in South Korea that is essentially the blueprint for the new city building boom that has swept across Asia and Africa. While it features all the high-tech, smart city features which are designed to make resident’s lives easier, it is also a place that is 100% covered in surveillance cameras where people are watched and listened to 24/7.

In December 2024, an emergency martial law is declared by the Yoon Sukyeol government. Designers join the impeachment protests as members of the solidarity group "Democracy Saving Fem- Queer- Network." However, they face a situation where there are neither banners nor placards available for immediate use at the rally!

In the heart of bustling Seoul, Korea, small neighborhood playgrounds become a sanctuary for children, adults, and grandparents alike. Squeezing Seoul observes three generations of visitors as they navigate the playground’s swings, slides, and open spaces, reflecting on memories, childhood games, and the simple joys of play. Through candid conversations and intimate b-roll, the documentary explores how these pockets of calm foster community, nostalgia, and connection amidst the city’s relentless pace. With a delicate balance of observation and storytelling, the film celebrates the quiet yet profound importance of public spaces in urban life.

Eun-Jeong, who works for a company by day and manages an independent film community called Curtaincall at night, sees her future at the company one day. She quit her job as she got promoted and then focused on the community. One day after 4 years, she doubted, “am I doing well?” followed by depressed thoughts. Hoping to soothe her anxiety, she visits friends who do similar things to her.

Here is a crazy man who goes to the movies. Today's destination is 'Seoul Art Cinema' located in Jeong-dong, Seoul. Before passing through Independence Gate, climb the mountain and look at Seoul Art Cinema in the distance. Will he be able to watch the movie safely?

Having cherished nature and films, she is now part of the sea. Her friends, who carry her memory clearly, return to the ocean.

Architects, cultural planners, and public administrators come together to reopen the Gunsan Cultural Center, which had remained abandoned for over a decade after its closure. Is chronic operational deficit an unavoidable fate for public cultural facilities, or can a sustainable revenue model be developed? This film documents the struggle to reinterpret underutilized spaces and uncover new public value in cultural venues of our time.

A former Japanese soldier during World War II gives his testimony about the massacres in China and the existence of the ‘comfort women’ in this animation.

The film's soundtrack is an ecstatic musical accompaniment to the Korean ritual “kut” performed by a shaman, which connects the living and the dead. The visual component, in turn, combines the experience of distance and proximity: rhythmically shrinking frames, filled with an ever-receding perspective, gradually reveal a central space in the midst of a dense agglomeration that seems to pulsate with music.

I made a short documentary on my experience of medical abortion in Denmark in 2017. Feeling liberated from that happening, I head to Denmark to conclude this memory. Beneath the dazzling lights of Copenhagen's city, I finally realize, 'This is the beginning of the journey.' I called my ex-partner, wondering if he would welcome me in Portugal. I head to Portugal to meet him with several questions in mind. Has he already forgotten those dim times? Or do those memories still cling to him in the past?

Hanchul has been running a small neighborhood supermarket in Hoengseong, Gangwon Province, for decades. Over time, he faces the wear and tear of the store's belongings.

I continue to indulge in the illusion that I am a fish.

I often envisioned floating images. Not knowing where they were heading or why they were drifting left me feeling uneasy. So, I decided to observe from a distance. I layered the moments when I felt myself floating over the gestures of drifting. Could the image of floating, settled onto film, provide answers to these questions?

This film begins from what is unseen rather than what is seen. The act of connecting fragments is carried out by the audience. Images that were once unrelated become intertwined, and something unfolds in the spaces between them. That which does not flow is dead. Fragment is a collection of images derived from this sentence.

A lyrical reflection on the commodification of affection takes place among the spectacular forms of carbon. The sounds, broken down into acoustic and synthetic sections and composed into an urgent poem, are accompanied by images taken from documentary and fictional forms and folded into visual reflections on light, its refraction and decay. Sound details coalesce into a spatial formation, and randomness gives way to a solid structure.

Park Sungeum is an elderly woman who lives in a shabby tile-roofed house. The eaves of her roof are sagging, and the utilities have been cut off. When she is not at home, she goes to a local Senior Citizens Centre. The centre is her shelter when it gets bitterly cold in winter. She usually spends a day, however, by the wooden gate at the entrance of her house. By the gate, there is clutter of clothes, dishes, a table and a plastic bag of miscellaneous items. A cat is also leashed there in the dark, and Sungeum cares for the cat.

Years after a fire burned down the infamous Moria camp in 2020, the living situation of refugees in Greece is still dire. Noemí, the Spanish photographer, shares the story of the Instagram project Now You See Me Moria, which she initiated with Amir, an Afghan refugee in Moria. Determined to change the often one-dimensional media portrayal of refugees and raise awareness of human rights violations, Now You See Me Moria depicts the daily lives of refugees through their eyes. Volumetric Interviews follows their memories with Noemí and transforms the videos recorded inside the refugee camps into 3D landscapes, bringing Noemí and the interviewer digitally to the camps. Through the inherently limited view resulting from the cameras’ perspective from the original videos, Volumetric Interviews challenges the limitations of information in humanitarian crises.

After a heartbreaking experience at school, a teacher took her own life. Her father, a potter, was devastated and could not fire his kiln for a long time. 15 months after his daughter`s death, he finally fires the kiln again. As he watches the flames, he begins to sing a song in her memory. Through the very personal story of the deceased teacher`s family and an artist, this documentary delves into the challenges of the education system in South Korea and reveals the path to healing.

In the midst of political battles, people sang together, hoping for solidarity and a brighter future. The lyrics and syllables people used to chant always seemed to align with the song's ideals, but in reality, it's heading to a blurry past. The Maeng-Kong's cry, however, is not tied to a specific era that people yearned for. Their song simply echoes as their mating call rather than a political statement. The sound "Maeng-Kong-(Croak- Croak-)" howls; could we imagine a space of struggle and solidarity once more?

What would it be if anything had bloomed from where everything collapsed? Amid the pouring out of irreducible beings, some endure time and space that are only shattered and torn apart.

Maria has been dreaming about escaping from her slum neighborhood in Davao, Philippines, and getting a job abroad. When Maria was introduced to a talent manager, Madam Yolie, her dream was about to come true.

An elderly couple runs a store in a hillside neighborhood that was busy when it first opened but is now quiet. As the couple gets older, they spend more time apart than together, yet the time they spend together is still full of affection. It is the story of a couple that appear cold on the surface but have a kind heart.

When I accidentally found out that my grandmother had two names, Oksoon and Chunja, I was fascinated by the countless stories she told me. The distant and the not-so-distant stories, were sometimes trivial, sometimes overwhelming. During the filming, meeting Chunja, whom I had not known, and Oksoon, my maternal grandmother, repeated. I recorded the daily labor of Oksoon, who had lived as a woman and an ordinary citizen through the Japanese colonial days.

Jinu is unable to cry when he wants to. So, He learns to cry and express emotions through acting class.

On weekdays at 8am, Solidarity Against Disability Discrimination (SADD) protests at the subway platforms in Seoul. The protest demands policy and budget for disabled people living in the community. SADD’s year-long subway action, which began in December 2021, delays subway trains during rush hour, greets incoming trains at the platform, to call out to the public. On a busy commute, on a subway that doesn't move, some are silent, some cheer, and some swear. SADD claims, "We want to move around together, to be educated together, to work together, and to live in the community together." Their repeated protests and actions on subway platforms have started to draw reaction from the government, the politicians, the media, and the citizens.

A short film by Rhee Hun

This story begins with a photo taken a century ago during the colonial era. The director goes to Yeongdeungpo with a camera to find any trace or signs of factory girls in the photo. There are no large factories anymore, only apartments, department stores, racetracks, inns, steel factories, restaurants, unidentified places, or empty ruins. Through the lives and landscapes of Yeongdeungpo, the director wants to discover any traces that factory girls might have left.

Being a lesbian in Korea is hard. Marriage, a happy future, or even one’s own death seem far away. So this unique woman makes an unconventional choice – she arranges her first funeral.

A bamboo forest becomes a city with bustling streets that then smoothly transform into photographs: never really in focus, ever more fragmentary and blurred. Born in Gunsan and after seven years, I was repatriated to Japan… begins as a formidable exercise in fūkei-ron, only to turn into a meditation on what remains of the past, with worlds, eras and personal views colliding.

While images are forgotten and returned to memory in a spinning motility, the empty point of view returns to the viewer and repetition returns to the uninterpretable dimension.

A man and a woman are watching television on the beach. The television shows a film taken a year ago on the beach, which is adapted from the man's novel. Frame In Frame foregrounds the concept of intellectual play related to the cinema.​

Lee Yunjeong, my mother, who was devoted to church, stopped attending after the Sewol ferry disaster. Instead, she started going to work at the office of a human rights group for migrants in Ilsan. As her daughter and a film director, I began filming her surprising and unfamiliar transition.

This documentary film is based on the works done over the period from May 2005 to February 2006. It featured a homeless community named The House Living Together which attempted to squat as a way of demonstration of the poor for the first time in Korea. The film followed the homeless' efforts with their determination on self-help and the squat process. Following the people closely, this documentary film tried to observe what the house means to human beings and how housing rights shall be realized in this society. Housing can be the primary condition for the homeless to maintain hope in their life. However, once a house was secured for them, the initial questions began to transform.

"We dream of a world where we can find our own way." If a woman removes the option of 'marriage' from her life, even those who see her for the first time predict her miserable future. The old belief that a woman's life has a happy ending only when she ends up as a 'wife' or 'mother' is still alive in 2020. Now in 2020, many women are throwing away old customs and flying into their own world. This documentary sheds light on the stories of women who are walking the path of singleness over time. Through this documentary, I hope that the freedom is expanded into two options, and thus make women's daily lives more diverse and free.

Kim Jae-pil, who participated in the Korean War as a member of the North Korean People's Army, saved the life of Ward Miller, a U.S. fighter pilot who was the enemy. The two hid in the mountains and shared life, death and friendship for 15 days. Finally, they were rescued by a U.S. military helicopter. Ward Millar was repatriated to the United States and Kim Jae-pil was sent by the U.S. military to the U.N. as a prisoner of war as he was dressed as a member of the North Korean People's Army. Ward Miller, who returned to the U.S. at the end of the war, found Kim Jae-pil and sent him a letter. Kim Jae-pil and Ward Millar exchanged letters in Korea and the U.S. respectively and shared deep friendships, but at some point, their letters were cut off for unknown reasons.