A Visual Poem in Black and White: Fingerboarding as Cinematic Expression
- Noah Yang
- Sep 16
- 4 min read
Form alone can never complete a space. It takes the quiet presence of light for a story to begin. Day and night, shadow and silence, the gentle bloom of reflections—this entire vocabulary of light turns architecture into a stage.
In the small world of fingerboarding, light becomes something more than illumination. It breathes life into movement, etches emotion into each frame, and transforms the fleeting into something almost cinematic.
In Korea, there is a concept of 여백의 미 (Yeo-baek-ui Mi), best introduced in English as “the beauty of empty space” or “the aesthetics of emptiness.”
At its core, it is not about absence for its own sake but about intentional space—a deliberate quietness that allows the essential to emerge. In traditional Korean painting, calligraphy, architecture and more, this philosophy honors the idea that what is not filled is just as meaningful as what is.
Our guest in this story is a Korean fingerboard creator celebrated for his stark black-and-white aesthetics. With minimal spaces and a delicate command of light, he shapes the tiniest gestures into a visual poem. Today, we sit down with @seungseob.fb to explore how space and light converge—how they create not just images, but experiences, narratives, and moments that linger.
Here, Seungseob shares how he weaves light, space, and the aesthetics of emptiness into his fingerboarding.
(NY) What led you to choose the black-and-white aesthetic for your videos, and what message do you aim to convey through it?
(SS) When I first started my fingerboard Instagram account, I had no idea the hobby had such a global following.
In Korea, fingerboarding is a niche within a niche—hardly anyone does it.
In the early days, my account didn’t draw much attention, so I felt I needed something distinct—a visual signature.
Since I’ve always been loyal to maple blank decks, I realized the best companions to highlight them would be black, white, and the interplay of light and shadow.
(NY) How would you describe your creative philosophy of stripping away the unnecessary and focusing on the essence?
(SS) I’ve always pursued minimalism.
It’s a philosophy that extends into my personal life as well.
But with two kids, anyone married will know—it’s nearly impossible to maintain minimalism at home.
So I think my creative work is where I reclaim that sense of clarity and simplicity.
(NY) When creating a video, what does your process look like from idea to completion?
(SS) I was never a skateboarder, so I don’t know many trick names beyond the basics.
Usually, I start by watching other people’s videos for reference and build my line from there.
Then I pick the music early, practice while listening to it, film, edit, and upload.
It’s a consistent routine—always the same sequence.
(NY) What drew you to the small world of fingerboarding, and how does it connect to your personal identity?
(SS) I’ve always been someone deeply devoted to my family.
But after marriage and kids, I had to give up hobbies like basketball or computer games—things that demand a lot of time.
Fingerboarding was different. It fit in my pocket. I could do it with my kids.
It even earned me my own little creative space at home.
And I have my wife to thank for supporting that.
(NY) How would you describe the Korean fingerboard scene compared to overseas?
(SS) It’s tiny—almost unbelievably so.
Even compared to nearby countries like China or Japan, the scene here is small.
There aren’t even 100 people who could be called active.
So it feels like a family. Everyone knows everyone. We’ve been around each other for years, sharing it all like brothers.
(NY) How have online platforms or communities influenced your creative work?
(SS) Once I got serious about the online side, I started creating “rivals” in my head—
pushing myself to surpass them, whether in video skills or follower counts.
It became part of the fun, that constant drive to outdo myself.
(NY) Do music, film, or architecture inspire your visual style?
(SS) Music, definitely.
I lean toward simple beats for video, and more lyrical, atmospheric music when it comes to photography.
(NY) Are there new video styles or content formats you’d like to explore?
(SS) I want to try making long-form YouTube videos.
But it’s time-intensive, so I haven’t taken on that challenge yet.
(NY) Are there creators or brands you’d love to collaborate with?
(SS) East Asian brands, first and foremost.
They’ve grown so much recently—there are some truly incredible ones out there.
I want to grow alongside them.
(NY) How do you see the future of Korean fingerboard culture?
(SS) Brand owners and community leaders here are working hard, and the scene is slowly growing.
But honestly, I don’t see it changing dramatically anytime soon.
(NY) The minimalism in your spaces seems to make light and movement stand out even more. What role does intentional emptiness play in your work?
(SS) I see it as a supporting role.
Whether in photos or videos, I want people to focus on the subject.
If the background is cluttered, the attention gets scattered.
(NY) Looking ahead, what new territories would you like to explore through the medium of space, light, and fingerboarding?
(SS) I want to collaborate with more diverse people—
to see what new ideas emerge when space, light, and fingerboarding meet fresh perspectives.
Seungseob
Instagram: @seungseob.fb
As our conversation draws to a close, it becomes clear that his work is not simply about fingerboarding—or even about light and space in the literal sense. It is about creating a language where the smallest movements carry weight, where shadows and silences become part of the story.
In the monochrome frames he crafts, there is both restraint and depth—a reminder that minimalism does not mean emptiness, but rather the deliberate choice to let meaning emerge through absence, through contrast, through light itself.
Perhaps that is why his videos linger long after the screen goes dark. They are not just moments captured, but experiences distilled—a dialogue between space, light, and the fleeting poetry of motion. And as he looks toward the future, dreaming of new collaborations and broader horizons, one suspects the stage he builds will only grow more intricate, yet always remain illuminated by that same quiet, deliberate grace.
Comments