Remembering what vanishes: The biography of the Hilton Seoul

Like human lives, cities change, and architecture, too, has a lifespan. What has passed must be allowed to pass. But memory, at the very least, should remain.

Kim Bong-ryeol The author is an architect and a former president of the Korea National University of Arts.

The Hilton Seoul, once a calm and dignified presence embracing the slopes of Mount Namsan like a folding screen, is now receding into the past. Opened in 1983, the hotel was long admired for its refined service and architectural quality. It closed in 2022, and demolition work on the building began this May. The site is slated for redevelopment into a large mixed-use complex rising 39 stories above ground and extending 10 levels underground, led by a private asset management firm under the banner of “urban regeneration.”

The grand atrium of the Hilton Seoul, seen as demolition work proceeds. [KIM BONG-RYEOL]

In a space called Picnic near the foot of the central mountain, an exhibition is now being held that traces the hotel’s life from birth to dismantling. Framed as a “biography,” the exhibition speaks on behalf of a building that can no longer speak for itself, recounting its 40-year existence. The organizers say the project was conceived both to ease the sense of loss felt at the disappearance of a distinguished architectural neighbor and to invite broader reflection on preservation and development in the modern city.

There is a saying that the structural frame of all architecture is beautiful. Designed through mathematical calculation, a building’s skeleton is inherently aesthetic, the phrase goes, but becomes visually compromised as finishes and decorations are added. The true measure of architectural quality is ultimately decided in the final stages of construction, where materials and details come together. Examining the finishing materials and meticulously drawn detail plans on display, one is reminded how complete the Hilton Seoul was as a work of architecture.

Its primary materials included green marble from Acceglio, travertine from Tivoli, red marble from the Levant and oak veneer panels sourced from North America. Metal fixtures such as door handles and faucets were crafted in elegant brass. Even the main structural columns were clad in hand-finished brass panels. These finishes and ornaments were not incidental but played a central supporting role in establishing the hotel’s classical sense of dignity.

The spatial centerpiece of the hotel was its grand atrium, rising four floors, widely regarded as one of the finest interior spaces in 20th-century Korea. In an August 7, 2023, column, I argued that the atrium should at least be preserved. That hope was partly realized when the new development plan incorporated a proposal to retain it. However, the atrium is to be reconfigured as an outdoor landscaped space, falling short of full spatial preservation.

Like human lives, cities change, and architecture, too, has a lifespan. What has passed must be allowed to pass. But memory, at the very least, should remain. With 2025, the Hilton Seoul disappears from the cityscape.

This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.