When I was an itty bitty toddler, my grandma took care of me because my mom was working full time. She shared her bed with me and took care of a very clingy child for 24 hours. Of course, every night, I refused to fall asleep — a toddler's life is so exciting, you know, and besides, I'd already had my nap! Story after story, I'd ask, "one more, please," for the whole night. Eventually my very tired grandmother would sigh and say, "It's too late — a tiger will come down from the mountain to get a child who's still awake.”
In my day, a tiger was still a believable, fearsome creature that could come down from a mountain to get you. Yeah, I'm that old.
Then there are these folk art tigers — funny, goofy, even friendly, painted by unknown artists and loved by Korean people for generations. I've been drawn to these creatures long before K-pop Demon Hunters ever hit the screen.
These folk tigers were mostly painted by unnamed folk artists, and instead of fearful, terrifying predators, they're depicted as humorous, cross-eyed creatures grinning awkwardly at the world. There are a few interpretations of why. Some say it's visual satire — mocking a corrupt or arrogant noble, making a powerful figure look foolish. Others say the tiger's silly grin was meant to scare off bad luck and evil spirits, guarding the home with humor instead of fear.
Nevertheless, in my opinion, the composition, pattern, and expression in these tigers is exceptionally honest — the simplicity and modernity of the geometry surpasses most graphic design being made today. Whoever these anonymous painters were, they understood rhythm, repetition, and restraint centuries before anyone called it “design.”
Looking back, I think that's what got me. The tiger my grandmother warned me about was something to fear. But the tiger Korean folk painters drew was something to laugh with — cross-eyed, grinning, a little embarrassed to be so fierce. Somewhere between her bedtime stories and these paintings, the tiger stopped being a monster and became a friend.
That's the tiger I wanted for K·Citizen. Not the one prowling the mountain, but the one grinning back at you from a 300-year-old scroll — a little silly, a little wise, and completely unbothered by how it looks. It felt right that our logo should carry that same spirit forward.
