Some objects carry within them the breath of a civilization, the memory of forgotten gestures, and the quiet grace of daily life. Bojagi (보자기), a square of fabric from Korea, is one such object. At once veil and vessel, it drifts through time with lightness, weaving an invisible dialogue between generations. Sometimes humble, sometimes sumptuous, it wraps objects as one might protect a secret or a prayer. But behind its apparent simplicity lies a world of unsuspected richness.
Origin and symbolism: a square of infinity
Bojagi dates back to the era of the Three Kingdoms (57 BCE – 668 CE), though it truly flourished during the Joseon dynasty (1392–1897). More than a utilitarian cloth, it came to reflect Confucian values: respect, discretion, transmission.
The square — a perfect geometric shape — symbolizes harmony, balance, wholeness. To offer something wrapped in a bojagi is to offer more than a gift: it is to pass on an intention, a wish, a protective energy. The fabric becomes an extension of the heart.
Bojagi was also used in rituals, ceremonies, offerings, weddings… A symbol of purification and good fortune, but also of reverence for what is given or carried.
Materials: the voice of seasons and hands
Traditionally, bojagi comes in various materials, selected according to use, season, and social status:
Ramie (모시 / mosi): a light plant-based fiber, favored in summer for its coolness. White, translucent, almost ethereal.
Silk (비단 / bidan): precious and luminous, often dyed in vibrant colors, reserved for the noble class.
Cotton (무명 / mumyeong): humbler, used in modest households but crafted with equal care.
Hemp (삼베 / sambe): ancient, strong, often used for sacred or ritual objects.
Each fabric holds the trace of its land and the silent labor of women who, stitch after stitch, wove their lives into its threads.
Techniques: the needle as calligraphy
Bojagi falls into two main categories: gung-bojagi (궁보자기) from the royal court, and min-bojagi (민보자기) from common households. It is in the latter that the poetry of mending and recomposed fragments finds its full expression.
The most renowned technique is jogakbo (조각보), or Korean patchwork. Fabric scraps of various sizes and colors are meticulously hand-sewn together. Each piece becomes a textile mosaic, where fullness and emptiness echo like an abstract painting.
Jogakbo is not merely an act of frugality or reuse; it is a true art of composition. The alignment of lines, the overlay of translucence, the tension between hues — all speak a silent language. There is something meditative in these assemblies, like a prayer stitched one point at a time.
Other traditional techniques include:
Geumbak bojagi (금박보자기): adorned with gold leaf.
Nubim bojagi (누빔보자기): quilted for added protection.
Hwahye bojagi (화혜보자기): used to wrap traditional shoes.
Uses: from everyday life to sacred rituals
Bojagi is both functional and symbolic. It has been used to:
Wrap everyday items: clothes, books, dishes.
Carry offerings, letters, or gifts.
Conceal sacred or personal objects.
Decorate spaces during weddings or births.
Carry meals or bundle travel baskets.
Today, it still replaces wrapping paper — a sustainable, aesthetic alternative.
Each use changes its size, motif, and material. A wedding bojagi will be red and blue, the colors of yin and yang, symbolizing union and harmony.
A contemporary renaissance
Forgotten for a time in favor of modern packaging, bojagi has seen a vibrant revival since the early 2000s, both in Korea and abroad. Textile artists like Chungie Lee and Youngmin Lee have elevated jogakbo to the realm of fine art, reinterpreting it with contemporary, minimalist sensibility.
Fashion designers, decorators, and slow-design enthusiasts have embraced this heritage. Bojagi becomes curtain, screen, garment, or installation. It joins a global movement that values craftsmanship, slowness, and meaningful beauty.
Bojagi opens a doorway to another way of dwelling in the world — one that is attentive, graceful, and deeply felt. In every fold, every stitch, lies the trace of a hand, the rhythm of a breath, the quiet glow of an intention offered.
For in Korea, to wrap is not to conceal, but to honor. It is to say, without words: “this has value, and I entrust it to your gaze.” Bojagi is a tribute to connection — between people, objects, and generations.
And if you were to reach for that square of fabric, perhaps you would feel the ancient heart of Korea still beating within it.
"Bojagi" workshop organised by King Sejong Institute of Brussels
Bojagi — the art of wrapping, the Korean fabric
