For a few days each May, Chelsea hosts temporary worlds. Gardens built to exist briefly and then disappear. Most are admired and then forgotten.

This one was different. Inspired by Jirisan, the mountain the Koreans call the Mother Mountain, designer Jihae Hwang brought fragments of a landscape thousands of miles away into the centre of London. Stone gathered from hillsides. Timber weathered into structure. Planting chosen not for spectacle but for memory.

You felt it before you understood it.

This study was not made as a record of a show garden. The RHS will document what was built. This was interested in something else: what happens when people encounter a landscape that belongs to somewhere they have never been.

Jihae Hwang's garden was designed around the Korean concept of healing through nature, the idea that a landscape can hold something for you if you allow it to. The photographs were made in that spirit. Observational rather than declarative. Looking for the moments when the garden was doing what it was built to do.

The garden moved differently from its neighbours. There was less pressure to perform. Visitors slowed. Some stopped entirely and stayed longer than they had planned.

A musician in white silk sat on the ground and played a gayageum, the notes absorbed by the planting around her. An architect of stone walls and dried herbs stood quietly against the hillside structure. A single flower held itself above the ferns in the low morning light.

The people who moved through the garden became part of it. You could not separate the visitors from the landscape they were visiting. That felt like the point.