Why Did Min Guhong Found Min Guhong Manufacturing?

I evoke the term “Handmade Web” to suggest slowness and smallness as a forms of resistance. In today’s highly commercialised web of multinational corporations, proprietary applications, read-only devices, search algorithms, Content Management Systems, WYSIWYG editors, and digital publishers it becomes an increasingly radical act to hand-code and self-publish experimental web art and writing projects. The more proprietary, predatory, and puerile a place the web becomes, the more committed I am to using it in poetic and intransigent ways.

In 2015, when first-generation net artist J.R. Carpenter advocated for the “Handmade Web,” Min Guhong found himself deep in thought. This was the era following Sulki and Min and Workroom, when studios with the prefix “small-scale” began to emerge. His feelings toward them split endlessly, like the paths in a Jorge Luis Borges story.

In all fiction, when a man is faced with alternatives, he chooses one at the expense of others. In the almost unfathomable Ts’ui Pên, he chooses—simultaneously—all of them.

He wanted to become independent like them, fueled by his long-held love for writing and the web, but his heart hesitated. Above all, he lacked capital and courage. He also wanted to avoid the tax-related responsibilities that awaited the newly independent—tasks he had only glimpsed over the shoulders of others. This wasn’t something that could be resolved with envy or admiration alone. 2015, the UN-designated International Year of Light, called for a third way—a path that could lead him to his own light.

At the time, Min Guhong was working at Ahn Graphics, a “creative group dedicated to rewriting the history of Korean graphic design,” where employees were allowed to use a portion of their working hours for personal projects. Remembering the advice of William Smith Clark, founder of Hokkaido University—“Boys, be ambitious!”—Min resolved to establish a company that would aim not for “small” but “large” in scale. However, instead of becoming independent, he chose to parasitize his workplace—offering labor and a bit of joy in exchange for full use of its movable property (table, computers, Wi-Fi, coffee machines) and real estate (workspace). He believed that, with this model, he could do without capital or courage—and even run the company as a hobby, free from the burden of generating profit and purely in pursuit of his own happiness.

This decision naturally led to another: naming the company. Having long believed that a work could be complete with just its title, Min regarded the company name as crucial. Yet he didn’t want to front his own name, stark and alone. Being shy by nature, he needed some distance between himself and the name. At the same time, choosing a name based on words or word combinations felt likely to age poorly. After much deliberation, he decided to append thirteen letters—“Manufacturing”—to his own name. The moment he did, all his worries seemed to lift. The decision was perhaps also shaped by his admiration for the works of “Young-hae Chang Heavy Industries” and “Ahn Eunme Company”—or simply by his fondness for the freshly baked bread at “Kim Jinhwan Bakery,” tucked beside the train tracks in Sinchon.

The term “Manufacturing” originates from the English verb meaning “to shape matter by hand into something usable”—though today, it’s mostly used to describe the industrial mass production of goods via labor or machines. In baseball, it also refers to the craft of scoring without a hit—through stolen bases, sacrifice flies, and strategic play. Min imagined the outputs of his writing and web-making—things made with his own hands—being mass-produced across users’ web browsers. And thus, a company name was born: “Min Guhong Manufacturing,” maintaining just the right distance from himself, blending pragmatism with opportunism.

Soon after, he began drafting orthographic principles for the name—starting with a guideline for its Korean spacing: “The default spelling is ‘Min Guhong Manufacturing,’ spaced, but the unspaced version is also acceptable.” This extended to romanization. In this system, “Min Guhong Manufacturing” can be abbreviated as “Min Guhong Mfg.” Then came kana, and eventually even abjad and Arabic transliterations. Around that time, he received an email from Ahn Inyong, co-director of the exhibition space Audio Visual Pavilion (now with Hybe), inviting him to contribute to the thirteenth installment of “Audio Visual Pavilion Documents,” a series of texts by creators inside and outside the art and design world. The twelfth document had been written by science fiction author DJUNA.

Having established the company and even decided on spelling conventions, it was time to introduce it. Using a Google spreadsheet, Min Guhong compiled a list of thirty-seven things Min Guhong Manufacturing does not do. On October 16 of that same year, he published it under the title “Company Introduction”—or, as it might also be called, “About the Company”—reflecting the project’s essence in form and content:

Min Guhong Manufacturing doesn’t cut up A.P.C. tote bags to use as promotional towels. (…) Min Guhong Manufacturing doesn’t trace the trajectory of abandoned basketballs on the street. (…) Min Guhong Manufacturing doesn’t distribute guides on accounting fraud to independent bookstores. (…) Min Guhong Manufacturing doesn’t stock linear algebra textbooks in the bathroom.

This was because, even after founding the company, he still didn’t know what he ought to be doing. There was also a vague belief at play—that what a company doesn’t do may be more important than what it does. With that, the conveyor belt of Min Guhong Manufacturing slowly began to move, powered by the forces Min loved most: writing and the web.

Afterward, he built an official website and email address, and even purchased one acre of land on the Moon via the Lunar Embassy. Gradually, Min Guhong Manufacturing accumulated beautiful memories. After studying at the School for Poetic Computation (SFPC) in New York in 2016, Min Guhong returned to Korea and continued to explore what a company could be. With the generous support of its hosts—Ahn Graphics and Workroom—Min Guhong Manufacturing went on to create numerous websites, both large and small, in collaboration with institutions, companies, collectives, and individuals across Korea and beyond: the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Seoul Museum of Art, Art Sonje Center, Ilmin Museum of Art, Arko Art Center, Google, Baemin, thisisneverthat, DooRooDooRoo Artist Company, Seoul Mediacity Biennale, Busan Biennale, Typojanchi, Seoul Record Fair, Park Minhee, Jung Seo-young, Don Sunpil, Kim Nuiyeon & Jeon Yongwan, Lee Hanbeom, and others. It also became an official friend of Google Fonts, held solo exhibitions, participated in several group shows, published the company-introductory book Rainbow Sherbet with the help of Archive Bomm and Workroom Specter, created company names for friends like “Dongshinsa” and “Jeonsan System,” supported “New Order” since 2016, and hosted interns including Song Yehwan, Kim Minji, Kim Jaeyeon, and Baek Changin—from the Netherlands, Japan, and elsewhere. Through all this, Min Guhong Manufacturing bent and twisted depending on the phase it was in. That’s why “Company Introduction” deliberately refrained from defining what the company does. Only one thing remained firm: all of it would ultimately lead back to “Company Introduction”—that is, the continuous act of introducing Min Guhong Manufacturing even when what to do remains unknown.

During this time, the host of Min Guhong Manufacturing shifted from Ahn Graphics (2011–6) to Workroom (2016–22), and then back to Ahn Graphics (2022–), more precisely, to Ahn Graphics Lab. (At one point, a nameless company made a bold proposal to serve as host.) In the process, the company’s work expanded to nourish its hosts in return, evolving the relationship from parasitism to mutual symbiosis. Through this, Min discovered that Min Guhong Manufacturing could offer an alternative business model—especially within the art and design fields. His own roles evolved too: within his workplace, he became a director after being a planner, editor, designer, and programmer; outside of work, he became a writer, translator, adjunct professor at Hongik University, vice president of the Korea Society of Typography, and VJ. In many ways, this was thanks to Min Guhong Manufacturing. For him, it offered one possible answer to how one might work—and live. Lim Kyungyong, director of Mediabus and a longtime friend of Min Guhong Manufacturing, once said this about Min and Min Guhong Manufacturing:

Min Guhong Manufacturing might be the result of Min editing himself solely for his own happiness—or perhaps an editorial guideline for that very purpose.

As of 2025, Min Guhong works Monday through Thursday at Ahn Graphics Lab, where he directs the integrated website for the Seoul Mediacity Biennale, the digital Morning Calm for Korean Air, and contributes to various other projects. On Fridays, he meets with friends who love the web as much as he does through “New Order.” He is also working on the expanded edition of New Order, soon to be published by Mediabus, and a Korean picture book with font designer and illustrator Cyrus Highsmith. Min Guhong Manufacturing still resides somewhere in between all of that.

In 2025, Min Guhong Manufacturing will celebrate its 10th anniversary. And a new line will be added to the ever-evolving “Company Introduction” on the official website:

Min Guhong Manufacturing does not plan a commemorative spread in Monthly Design to mark its 10th anniversary.

Meanwhile, the official motto of Min Guhong Manufacturing is “(laugh).” What follows is its explanation.

Min Guhong Manufacturing’s latest product, (laugh), is a multipurpose poster that—true to its title—features the word “(laugh).” The notation “(laugh)” [(笑)] is said to have originated with stenographers in the Japanese parliament during World War II. Today, it appears in transcripts of talks and interviews to describe the speaker’s or audience’s reaction, soften serious statements, or invert meaning altogether. Sometimes, it serves as a quiet signal of self-contained autism, especially among those immersed in subcultures. In every case, the tone of “(laugh)”—hearty or faint, amused or bitter—depends entirely on context. How does language become useful? And if a word can be useful, can it be just as useful on a poster? In response to this question’s latent hope, (laugh) takes it upon itself to represent “(laugh)” in an exhibition about useful words. Even if the word “laugh,” gracefully typeset in Choi Jeongho’s elegant parentheses, strikes some as no more than a feeble chuckle—so what? After all, it’s now scientifically proven: “Laughter brings good luck.” (laugh)

Operator (and Founder)

FYI: Since 2013, operator (and founder) Min Guhong (also known as Guhong Min) has been updating his biography—one word, one phrase, and one sentence at a time. The following is the most recent version.

Born on March 5, 1985. Around the age of five, in 1989, he began receiving formal Montessori education. At seven, in 1991, he encountered a computer for the first time—a Macintosh LC. By eleven, in 1995, he had built his first website for a beloved friend. He studied literature and linguistics at Chung-Ang University, and later studied computer programming (though he prefers to call it “poetic computation” or “literature and linguistics in the narrow sense”) at the School for Poetic Computation in New York, United States. After working in the research lab “Nalgaejip” under Ahn Sang-soo, he began his professional journey in 2010 as an editor, designer, and programmer at Ahn Graphics and Workroom, where he spent over thirteen years planning series such as “16[sibyuk]-si” and “Practical Series,” and creating numerous websites both big and small. Since 2015, he has run the one-person company Min Guhong Manufacturing, introducing the company through various projects—alone or in collaboration with institutions, companies, collectives, and individuals—inside and outside the fields of art and design. Since 2016, he has been teaching in the program “New Order,” a “liberal arts course for contemporary humans,” where he approaches coding as “a form of writing that is both practical and conceptual,” helping people learn how to speak of themselves through the web. His authored works include this book and One-Hour Series: New Order (Mediabus, 2019). His translated works include Wasting Time on the Internet (abb press, 2025), The Present (Boisforet, 2025), A New Program for Graphic Design (Workroom Specter, 2024), The Concert (Boisforet, 2024), Dogs Are Just Like Us (Boisforet, 2024), What Colour Is the World? (Boisforet, 2023), Handmade Web (J.R. Carpenter, 2023), and Forget all the rules you ever learned about graphic design. Including the ones in this book. (Workroom Specter, 2017). He also published a book about Min Guhong Manufacturing titled Rainbow Sherbet (Archive Bomm & Workroom Specter, 2019). Building on these practices, since February 22, 2022, he has been working as a director at Ahn Graphics Lab (also known as “AG Lab”), where he develops the project “Hyperlink.” In 2024, somewhat unexpectedly, he became both a friend of DooRooDooRoo Artist Company and a co-director of PIE.
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