PHILOSOPHY Ryo at LCDC Seoul — Quiet Courage in Seongsu

Writer’s notes - Since this post was published, reports have surfaced about labour issues surrounding London Bagel Museum. This story focuses only on the creative concept of the exhibition and does not reflect or comment on any ongoing controversy.

I’d heard a whisper that something calm and lovely had opened in Seongsu (성수). The name on the poster: Ryo (료) — the creative behind London Bagel Museum. She’s the one who baked warmth into Seoul’s café culture. This time, though, she wasn’t baking anything. She was showing us how she thinks.

Exhibition space of PHILOSOPHY Ryo at LCDC Seoul with soft light and minimal setup

Inside Ryo’s quiet world at LCDC Seoul — where gentleness turns into courage.

The space: LCDC Seoul (LCDC 서울) — concrete bones, soft lighting, a little shop-and-gallery ecosystem where time loosens its grip. It’s about a ten-minute walk from Seongsu Station, past studios, coffee roasters and that gentle clatter you only get in this neighbourhood. Inside, Ryo’s world felt small in size, but perfectly precise — like opening someone’s best notebook and finding drawings still warm from the pen.

Ryo’s sketch studies and line drawings arranged on the wall at LCDC Seoul

Line drawings and process sketches — thoughts wandering out of a notebook.

At the entrance hung a line I couldn’t stop reading:

“I wanted to record the beauty of each moment without letting it slip.”

It flicked something on in my head.

And then the room opened: a canvas with an ordinary chair beside it, a hand-shaped object resting like punctuation, a scrap of handwriting on the wall that didn’t ask to be photographed, only noticed. Ryo’s style is that delicious contradiction — orderly disorder — where nothing shouts yet everything speaks.

There were familiar friends too. Adori (아도리), the London Bagel Museum’s mascot, hid here and there like a private joke. A figure in turtleneck and black frames — Toma — appeared again and again, as if to say that repetition isn’t laziness; it’s a way of paying attention. I love when a show invites you to spot things. This one invites you to spot feelings.

Adori, the London Bagel Museum mascot, tucked into the exhibition like a private joke

Adori pops up again — a wink to London Bagel Museum fans.

Exhibition facts

Title: PHILOSOPHY Ryo
Artist: Ryo (료 / Lee Hyo-jeong), founder of London Bagel Museum
Venue: LCDC Seoul (LCDC 서울), ten minutes on foot from Seongsu (성수) Station
Dates: 27 September – 21 October 2025 (finished)
Entry: Free with Instagram follow during the run

People often ask why Ryo is such a big deal. Partly it’s the taste — yes, the bagels are excellent — but mostly it’s the space that wraps around them. She started in fashion, then a trip to London in 2009 rearranged her compass. The cafés weren’t just cafés; they were micro-theatres of everyday tenderness. London Bagel Museum became a love letter to that feeling. This exhibition? The same letter, written with objects instead of dough.

London Bagel Museum reference piece connecting café culture to the exhibition’s mood

A nod to London Bagel Museum — the origin story threaded through objects.

Inside, the pieces didn’t behave like formal “artworks”. They behaved like thoughts that had wandered out of a journal and perched themselves on plinths. The canvas is never just a canvas — there’s a chair beside it, a number below it, a sentence at eye level that reframes what you think you’re seeing. The whole room acts like a single paragraph with beautiful line breaks.

Someone told me that on opening night, Ryo drew directly on the wall in front of visitors — no sketch, no pencil marks, just a single minute of confident lines. I wish I’d seen it live. The point wasn’t speed; it was trust. Trust that a line you start will find where it needs to go. “The moment you think I must do it perfectly, it becomes harder,” she’s said. It’s the sort of sentence you want to tape to your laptop for days when your inner critic is doing lunges.

Seongsu mood, LCDC energy

Seongsu is having a well-deserved moment — and not the loud kind. It’s the place you go when you want your thoughts to walk slower. At LCDC Seoul (LCDC 서울) the scent of coffee mingles with the metal stair tapping underfoot; a film camera clicks somewhere; someone’s dog sighs by a table. Ryo’s show slipped into that rhythm like it belonged. In the gentle light, her sentences felt less like statements and more like handrails you could hold for a while.

Why this exhibition matters (beyond the pretty)

Minimal installation view with chair, canvas and a hand-shaped object under soft light

Orderly disorder — nothing shouts, everything speaks.

We live in a time that worships the big ta-da: faster, louder, slicker. Ryo proposes something else — a creative practice that’s consistent, imperfect and honest. Not the drama of “reinvent your life by Monday”, but the daily discipline of noticing. A doodle today, a phrase tomorrow, a small object placed exactly where it needs to be. Stack those quietly and, one morning, you wake up inside a world you’ve made. That’s what this show felt like: the architecture of a life built from tiny brave starts.

Walking the room, I kept thinking about how courage rarely arrives with trumpets. It shows up as a practical friend: open the notes app; draw one line; choose one word; start the thing. Ryo’s work carries that kind of permission slip. If her bagels gave Seoul a taste memory, this exhibition gave us a thinking memory — the sense that gentleness can be an engine, not a weakness.

Leaving LCDC — and keeping the message

I stepped back out into Seongsu air — cooler now, almost autumn-sweet — and felt oddly warmed. Some exhibitions want you to clap. This one wanted you to breathe. Her sentence kept looping: “I wanted to record the beauty of each moment.” It’s almost impossible, of course. But trying is the point.

If you missed the run or you’re far away, you can still take the best part with you. Swap the pressure to be brilliant for the decision to begin. One honest line today beats a perfect idea that never leaves your head. In Ryo’s language: don’t over-season; just start cooking.

Her exhibition has finished, but the message still lingers — like a small light on a white wall that you notice when you aren’t rushing. Today, I’m choosing to be a braver version of myself. Not loud-brave — quiet-brave. Less hesitation, more heart. A step that may be imperfect, but is unmistakably mine.