
Feb 25, 2026
By Joseon Yangban

What does it feel like to meet someone who has devoted 60 years of his life to a single calling?
Honestly, I was quite nervous on the day I first went to meet Jeon Sang-gyu, the holder of the Seoul Intangible Cultural Heritage for Brush Making (Baekmopil). However, as we spoke, my nervousness completely melted away. His warm consideration and hearty laughter soon had me smiling genuinely, forgetting my initial tension.
Listening to his story was like hearing an old tale from a friendly grandfather. From the days when his hometown, Baekun-dong in Gwangju, was nicknamed "Water Bucket Street," to the excellence of the bamboo groves in the Honam region, the story of how he recreated the brush of King Sejong the Great, and his relentless efforts to protect South Korea's high-quality brushes against the flood of cheap imports, I lost all track of time.



For Master Jeon, whose grandfather ran a traditional village school (Seodang) and whose father made fine-detail brushes, this path may have been his destiny. As the eldest son in a large family during a time when everyone struggled to make ends meet, he had to work from a very young age.
At the age of sixteen, he became an apprentice to his father's friend, the greatest brush artisan of the time. Gradually, word of his skill began to spread. Artisans from Seoul traveled all the way down to Gwangju just to find him. The quiet but undeniable path of a master had opened before him.




1. Gathering the hairs to be used for the brush.
2. Wetting the brush hair with water.
3. Aligning the wet brush once using the mouth.

4. Combing out the uneven hairs with a comb.
5. Using combs with different spacing to thin out unaligned hairs.
Binding the brush head with exquisite care and precision.
6. Testing the brush directly. A good brush, even after being used back and forth, will return to its original position when lifted.
I asked the master to show me how he writes himself. He humbly said he is a brush maker, not a calligrapher, so he doesn't write beautifully, but I really wanted to capture the characters written with his brush. He wrote his surname, 'Jeon'.
Having made brushes for over 60 years, his insistence on quality borders on a sacred mission. In his relentless quest to create the finest brush, he meticulously studied and compared the characteristics of goat hair from various parts of the body. The master also shared that the absolute best material is the hair of a 1- to 1.5-year-old male goat that has endured the harsh winter.
Unlike in China or Japan, where brush production is typically highly specialized and divided among different workers for each stage, a traditional brush maker in South Korea handles the entire process completely alone. From selecting and cleaning the hair to binding it to the bamboo, a single artisan bears the weight of every intricate step.
For our sake, he demonstrated a small fraction of the process: organizing the brush hair. After gathering the carefully selected goat hair into the shape of a brush, he repeatedly combed through it, picking out any unaligned strands. Amazingly, when first gathering the hair, he wet the brush and used his own lips to align the tip. Indeed, every brush that passes through the master's hands is a masterpiece infused not only with his touch but with his breath and lips.
Once the hair is sorted, the brush is directly put to the test. Depending on its intended use—whether for traditional folk painting (Minhwa), Hangul (Korean alphabet), or Hanja (Chinese characters)—the master tests it multiple times. He then carefully arranges the hair to create a brush optimized for the person who will use it. When I asked if he had any interest in selling these exquisite brushes online, he replied that he hopes people will, whenever possible, visit his workshop to try the brushes firsthand before buying them. While a very small number are sold online, he believes the most important thing is for a person to find the brush that truly fits them. It is the heart of a true artisan who wishes for his creations to fully serve their purpose long after they are handed over. His uncompromising attitude left me speechless once again. Refusing to compromise on a single grueling step, even as cheap imports encroach upon the market—this is his way of protecting the traditional brushes of South Korea.
Now recognized as a holder of Intangible Cultural Heritage and with apprentices coming to learn from him, I asked what he wants to do in the future. With a sparkle in his eyes, he replied, "I want to make better brushes." To achieve this, he shared his dream of cultivating a bamboo forest for the brush handles and raising purebred South Korean goats himself. Beyond merely securing materials, his ultimate mission is to fiercely protect and preserve the pure native breeds of Korea, ensuring the absolute finest roots of his craft are never lost.
The gaze of the master who has dedicated 60 years of his life to his craft, yet still dreams of planting a bamboo forest and raising his own purebred goats to make even better brushes, is something I will never forget. The powerful energy and sincerity felt in his every word made me quietly ask myself:
What am I striving toward right now?

I believe it is his grace, the ability to smile so brightly even after sixty years of hardship, that truly defines him as a master. Among all the moments spent with him, I felt most compelled to share this radiant, joyful spirit.
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