The Korean gallery at the MARKK holds one particularly striking face: a red mask dotted with evenly spaced bumps. The narrow eyes and raised eyebrows suggest an angry expression, and there are gaps in the teeth between the pinched nose and open mouth. Yet the mouth itself seems to bear a broad grin, making the mask look even creepier. It has a ferocious energy that could drive away evil spirits at the mere sight of it.

This mask, known in Korea as omjungtal (monk with scabies), takes its name from its vivid depiction of an apostate Buddhist monk (jung) afflicted with a pockmarked skin disease (om)—a satirical character created to critique moral hypocrisy. As one of the masks commonly used in Seoul and the surrounding Gyeonggi-do Province during the Joseon Dynasty, it mainly featured in traditional mask dances on tal movable stages known as sandae. The mask represented a stock character that played an important role in scenes satirizing the corruption and absurdities of society.

But why would these plays portray a monk—ostensibly a noble figure devoted to following the Buddha—in such a way? There was a time in the late Joseon period when the Korean state, beholden to its Confucian ideology, sought to suppress Buddhism. Under those circumstances, some monks broke their religious precepts and sought worldly pleasure instead. Rather than subjecting those monks to self-righteous condemnation, Koreans preferred to have some good-natured fun and parodied them in their street entertainments.

The sores on the monk’s face symbolize their punishment for transgressing their religious precepts. In the play, the omjung is a comic figure who puts on airs before the other characters, only to be mocked and chased off the stage. By ridiculing outwardly respectable figures who were the source of social disorder, Koreans chose to laugh at troubles they might otherwise groan about.

Through the mask dances, Koreans gave voice to the contradictions of everyday life. Rather than simply enduring hardships, they transformed them into raucous laughter and merry-making, forging the pain of reality and the joy of overcoming that pain into a single emotion. Such moments gave rise to Koreans’ characteristic fun-loving spirit—often known as heung—which was epitomized by every contorted feature and histrionic expression on the omjungtal mask.

The omjungtal is only one of several Korean masks held by the museum. There’s also a mask of a young dancer (somutal), with powdered face, crimson lips and the red dots traditionally found on a bride’s cheeks and forehead. That mask represents a young woman of the lower classes. Another mask at the museum is that of an old man (sinharabital), vividly portraying a frail yet cantankerous character. With a crooked mouth and gaps in the teeth, this expressive mask reveals the character’s personality at a glance.

The Korean masks in the museum’s collection are distinguished by their pronounced features and distinctive personalities. Their expressions tend to be grotesque and exaggerated, and their colors garish. That was presumably because the mask dances were performed outdoors at night and illuminated by torchlight, requiring characters that would be instantly recognizable from a distance. Strange and grotesque yet somehow comical, these faces embody Korea’s distinctive aesthetics and sense of humor.

The omjungtal mask is on display in “Uri Korea,” the permanent exhibition at the museum covering Korea’s past and present. Rather than representing Korea solely through traditional artifacts, the exhibition explores the cultural and social forces that have shaped the country as we know it today.

The exhibition is organized around “topics that affect modern Koreans,” including “the culture of speed, the pursuit of education and the challenges and joys of a normal daily routine, as well as the intense devotion to one’s own tradition.” It’s a story told not through grand symbols, but through ordinary objects from Koreans’ everyday lives.

The result is a fascinating exhibition. Rather than solely recreating Korea’s past with artifacts that are centuries or even millennia old, it pairs those historical artifacts with items still in use today. That juxtaposition invites visitors to consider what it really means for something to be “Korean.” Visitors are greeted by an array of objects embodying Korea today—from traditional crafts like omjungtal and Hanbok (Korean traditional clothing) to a grill epitomizing street food culture, a motorcycle representing the country’s delivery culture and merchandise reflecting the many fandoms that have formed around K-pop.

To be sure, tradition has its place in the exhibition. Items such as folk paintings and costumes spotlight Korea’s continuing aesthetic sensibility, as well as its long-standing emphasis on social rules and norms. As a result, visitors hoping to encounter the Korea of today have a chance to dig down to find the vibrant cultural roots beneath the surface. The exhibition shows that Korean culture is not starkly divided between past and present, but is a continuous current that’s always flowing and always in flux.

Although Uri Korea is a permanent exhibition, the museum also hosts occasional events that offer visitors a more personal experience of Korean culture. One example was the Treffpunkt Korea festival, held this past July.

The festival began with a guided tour of the Uri Korea exhibition, followed by a traditional mask dance and hands-on cultural activities for children. Workshops were also held on folk paintings and the Jikji, the world’s oldest surviving book printed with movable metal type. Memorably, the Jikji workshop afforded participants a chance to bind books in Korean and German. A snack bar serving up Korean treats provided a relaxed setting for cultural exchange between Koreans and Germans.

Korea as encountered at the MARKK is very much alive. As Korea fascinates people around the world, this museum is sure to satisfy all who are curious about where Korea is today—and how it got there.