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opening a new chapter for the gwangju culture and art scene, the KUNSTHALLE GWANGJU is a social experiment that aims at attracting direct participation from all visitors. thus the visitor is not merely consuming art but becomes a part of the artwork itself. to generate a true cultural incubation the transformation from passive perception to active involvement is at the very core of the KUNSTHALLE GWANGJU concept.
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Love from a Mama and a Papa Two years ago I visited an art gallery in Kwangju, there on a big wall was this painting of a flower which reminded me of a 3D flower sketch my son did for a collage project. The next morning when I got up this flower was still so fresh in my mind that I decided to try to paint it myself. So I did and ever since that day I’ve been painting anything that my eye catches. At first I did it just for fun and a new hobby but now I’m actually studying art because I’m thinking of opening an art class when I go back home to South Africa. Recently I have embarked on joint projects with my husband so that I could become more involve and practice in enhancing our skills together. He does enjoy the art but observing gives him more pleasure than actually getting off the chair away from the computer to engage with me and our “brush” friends”. We hope we bring some joy to anyone interested in the conventional style of painting and to remind people you are never too old to learn. It took a yellow flower to discover my talent.
Thora & Errol Patience email: errolthora@yahoo.com
phography by Lindsay Nash
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“The greatest treasures are those invisible to the eye but found by the heart.” What is beauty? There have been hundreds of philosophers, writers, designers and a hand full of others that have attempted to define it, and I’m sure this is one of the greatest impossibilities of life.
FOUNDER / Joe Wabe EDITORS/ Hannah Messmann, Amanda Hollingworth, Andrea Galvez, Eleny Rosado, Lorryn Smit, Frank McKinley ART DIRECTOR/ Joe Wabe CONTRIBUTING WRITERS/ Leigh Hellman, Daniel Luzio, Andrea Galvez, Karyn Johner CONTRIBUTING ARTISTS/ Evelyn Curry, Hyein Lee, Lindsay Nash, Thora & Errol Patience MEDIA/ Odette Wessels, Lorryn Smit ADVERTISING/ Joe Wabe PRINTING/ Alex J. Hwang WEBSITE/ artelemento.com EMAIL/ email@artelemento.com SPECIAL THANKS/ To Kyong Hwa Jung from the Kunsthalle project for all her help and hard work.
There are sayings, expressions, poems that try to transmit the meaning of one of the most abstracts ideas in our vocabulary, our world and in my opinion they aren’t able to do so. I certainly don’t have an answer either. It’s true what they say “beauty is in the eye of the beholder’, and in this issue you can have an idea of what I think is beautiful. Like Bumblebee in the movie Transformers, I’m not able to speak much, but I’m able to express what I think is beautiful through someone else’s voice. In Cuatro, Evelyn, Hyein, Linsay, Leigh, Daniel, and everyone else did that for me. Enjoy beautiful.
Cover art by Hyein Lee
I WOULD LIKE TO THANK EVERYONE WHO HAS FURNISHED INFORMATION AND MATERIALS FOR THIS ISSUE. UNLESS OTHERWISE NOTED, ARTISTS FEATURE IN ART ELEMENTO RETAIN COPYRIGHT TO THEIR WORK. WE WILL BE PLEASED TO CORRECT ANY MISTAKES OR OMISSIONS IN OUR NEXT ISSUE. WE WELCOME EDITORIAL SUBMISSIONS; HOWEVER, RETURN POSTAGE MUST ACCOMPANY ALL UNSOLICITED MANUSCRIPTS, ART, DRAWINGS AND PHOTOGRAPHIC MATERIAL IF THEY ARE TO BE RETURNED. NO RESPONSIBLITY CAN BE ASSUMED FOR UNSOLICITED MATERIALS. ALL LETTERS WILL BE TREATED AS UNCONDITIONALLY ASSIGNED FOR PUBLICATION AND COPYRIGHT PURPOSES AND SUBJECTS TO ART ELEMENTO’S RIGHT TO EDIT AND COMMENT EDITORIALLY.
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artelemento cuatro EVELYNCURRY8 HYEINLEE10 LINDSAYNASH14 YUJINJUNG16 DESERTS18 DAILYCODI20 LIFE,DEATH&ASIDEOFKIMCHI22 WITHHELD25
Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is prohibited. Opinions expressed in articles are those of the author. All rights reserved on entire contents. Advertising inquiries should be directed to email@artelemento.com
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Evelyn Curry
From the age of a young child, I have looked through the fantastic photographs within National Geographic. From a later age, it was travel books, such as The Lonely Planet. I imagined the day when I could travel to such places and see such wonders.
Photos and photos and photos and photos.
My photographs are a visual memory bank of my travel experiences. I love color, repetition, nature: close up details and vast landscapes, candid portraiture and animals. I found, I could never select a single photograph to represent my travel time in any one place. No one image could embody the fullness of my memory. I needed several images to do this. I began to play around with multiple images while studying at University, and have developed my collaged manipulated photographs.
They are a visual documentation of my experience in a place and to a place I have visited. Yet, they are wonderfully distorted and illusionary. Quite the opposite of our comprehension of what a photograph is. A photograph is known to be an accurate documentation of the real and existing. I have followed in many others’ footsteps in manipulated the apparent ‘realness’ of the photograph. I endeavor to create some visual form of my memories when I was in that place. My overlapping and erasing
and cropping add a three dimensional view to my two dimensional photograph. These manipulations tease and contort, forcing the viewer to take a second, deeper look into my image. Shapes and directions are created with my layered objects. A new image is in existence. I guess, essentially what I am doing is taking the magazine of photographs that is a National Geographic edition and condensing the pages into one. One image. One photograph
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ience.Layer. Redo. Repeat. O
eeking
d photos.S
Paste. Redo. Repeat. Redo. Repeat. visual illusions and distortions. New photographic image of my memory
Essence.Sensor
ut. Redo. Repeat.
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. Redo. Repeat. Erase. Redo. Repeat
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Hyein Lee
I am an illustrator and motion graphic designer in Toronto, Canada. Despite of what my mom says, it is a real job. I became an illustrator to avoid 9 to 5 jobs, instead, I work 10 to 4 (meaning 10AM to 4AM). The pay is very unstable; I have no idea what I’m going to do in January. I can start selling my inner organs to black market maybe. Surely, I don’t need 2 kidneys to live, do I? Sarcasm aside, I really love my work. It is great to make living doing what I love. Few years ago, I used to be an engineer. Covered in dirt, I’d drive the red company truck doing dam inspections at the great Canadian oil patch in Northern Alberta. What was I thinking! Between photocopying giant spiders to play pranks on my co-workers and numbly staring at the total environmental destruction, I realized I didn’t really enjoy my job. What if I get hit by a monster truck tomorrow? In my dying breath, I’d regret not pursuing art. Visual art wasn’t new to me. My mom was an art teacher and dad was a top interior designer in Korea. I’ve been drawing and painting most of my life and everyone including me thought I was going to be an artist. But once we moved to Canada things were different. My parents could not find a job in their fields without ‘Canadian experience.’ My math and
science marks were better than anyone in my class, so I started to pursue a stable career. I surely didn’t want to end up working in a store like my parents!
wants you to believe. The biggest inspiration in my art is deadline. As an inherently and pathetically lazy person that I am, I do not get anything done if there is no deadline. Look at the modern life! Internet and social networking sites are so interesting. Why would I work to better my career when I can waste time on Facebook, looking up what my ex’s new girlfriend’s wearing? I have to trick myself to be busy; I book a lot of art shows a year. I book more than a human being can possibly handle, and say yes to most of illustration jobs. I do sometimes wonder if my work would be better if I take the time to polish. But really, does the work get better when you work slower? In my case, no.
After wasting a long time in engineering field, I changed my career as an illustrator. People sometimes ask me if I ever regret it. To be honest, I sometimes do. My engineer friends bought an Audi, condo and dined in fancy restaurants, while I struggle to pay rent. Plus my shoes are all leaky. But I learned the hard way that material richness does not necessarily equal to happiness and a duct tapes solves a lot of leaky problems. I am truly happy right now, where things are going exactly I planned and dreamed them to be. Do you love making art? Don’t worry about anything else and just pick up that brush (or a Wacom My other inspirations are travpen) and go. The world is not elling, reading and staying up as scary as the older generation at night. Whenever I travel, my
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creativity explodes. “In Bruges I & II” were painted right after a trip to Bruges, Belgium two years ago. In that beautifully preserved Gothic city, everything closes at 5pm and all the tourists leave the city. I was travelling alone - like I always do, not by choice - strolling around the empty medieval city, eating Belgian fries, feeling lonely. I tried to capture that feeling in my paintings. “In Bruges I” won second place in the Courvoisier Collective Art Awards.
“Mom, I am invited to do a show in Paris. It’s a very nice gallery too! -“That’s great! Maybe it can help you to get a REAL job.”
My most recent travel was to Berlin for Pictoplasma 2011. I was mesmerized by Eastern Berlin, where everyone is an artist, walls are covered with street art and construction sites moonlight as raves just like in the late 1990s. I made great connections too. I am invited to show my work in La Gaîté lyrique museum in Paris hosted by Pictoplasma in December. Toronto is my favourite city, so I rarely see a place I want to move to. Vibrant and seriously cool Eastern Berlin made me want to live there. I am even learning German in preparations for the next year’s visit. I am contemplating to do series of paintings dedicated to the beloved city of Berlin. My goal is to have a show there next year. I also really want to visit Korea. Ever since my family left Korea in 1995, I’ve only been back once in 2004. I only expe-
artelemento we are living in an apocalyptic world with global warming, subprime mortgage crisis and all. Sci-fi gives me hope and let me dream a little. Monsters I paint are inspired by sci-fi. I dream of the day I get to paint sci-fi book covers. I know my style is not I wish I had cooler past time ac- traditional sci-fi illustration, but tivities, but reading is what I do I believe I can bring something mostly. Not only that I love read- fresh to the genre. ing, but I think it helps me develop a quirky sense of humour. Nighttime is when I am the I believe it’s artists’ responsibil- most inspired and focused, ity to reflect what’s going on in hence I usually work at night. It’s the world around them: socially, something I have to fix. Workpolitically or culturally. I espe- ing at night has been bad for my cially love science fiction. I love health and social life. The bad reading about monsters, aliens, habit of working at night is very clones, nuclear holocaust and hard to kick because night is so outer space. It seems as though much fun. All kinds of magical rienced dark and poor Korea in my childhood, and I want to experience fun. I’ve never been to the famous Hong Dae area, and I want to go one day. I look forward to what reverse culture shock can bring to my work.
things happen at night when owls come out. When 3AM hits, all my insecurities go away and I can paint, paint, paint. I love being acquainted with the night. I just finished my Master’s in Design three weeks ago, so a lot of things are up in the air. If you are in Paris in December, please do check out “Pictoplasma: Post-Digital Monsters” show that I am participating in. I am also collaborating with a ceramic artist, Alexx Boisjoli (rcboisjoli.blogspot.com) to work on one hundred limited edition art bottles. If things go well, I have a lot more shows planned in the year 2012.
Please check my blog, hyeinlee.blogspot.com for upcoming news!
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Lindsay Nash That’s my name, and I love to photograph people.When I am in a new country, I tend to point my camera at the faces I see rather than the landscapes or tourist attractions. In Vietnam, the women who hawk their wares on the street. In Cambodia, the children who spend their days speaking English to visitors amidst the sitting stones.
artelemento In India, the woman who walks the mountain paths near her village carrying a rabbit. One thing I’ve learned from my travels is that people are just people. Some are beautiful. Some are kind. Some are proud. Some humble. Some warm. Some silent and staring. I like to capture people being people, in their everyday lives, in their everyday form, in their everyday world. We are not simply from this place or that. Stars and stripes or maple leaves or the red and blue taegeuk do not define us. At the end of the day, we are all just trying to survive –an adventure realized or a dream closer. Whatever it is that makes you fall into bed at night with a deep sigh and a hint of a smile.
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I like to capture people being people, in their everyday lives, in their everyday form, in their everyday world.
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Yujin Jung
by Andrea Galvez
She is the petite woman behind the big mystery that is Kunsthalle. To many people, Kunsthalle is nothing more than a strange orange container taking up real-estate on a prime corner of downtown. To those expats that may have ventured to a flea market or music concert, the understanding may have grown to include words like “location” or “venue” or any other kind of empty space that is easily shaped to many purposes.
She agreed to tell us all she knows, and sat with AE for a one-on-one to help educate the community on what Kunsthalle really is.
Yujin: The KHG has also become a social spot for a lot of people and providing a place where people come to, to just meet other similar minded people is also a key service for us. We also help Korean artists to go abroad through our residence program and we opened a KHG show room called the “Gwangju Pavilion” in Germany so that the whole KHG and ACC project becomes more well-known abroad. More spaces like this are planned for the next years in different culture hot spots around the globe.
AE: For those unfamiliar with Kunsthalle, what exactly is it and how is this related to the future Cultural Center?
AE: There seems to be much involvement from foreigners in Kunsthalle. What this the original design or did it occur organically?
Yujin: Well, KHG is a multi purpose art and event space and also serves as the new home for the ACC Info Center. The idea was to give the Gwangju people a taste of what the ACC will be like once it’s construction is completed in 2014. Once the ACC will be completed the KHG will probably be moved to another location.
Yujin: As mentioned before the basic design and concept came from a German company and my husband who acts as advisor to the ministry of culture sport and tourism is also a foreigner. So there surely is a certain “foreign touch” to the place. But that was also the idea, to create an international place where diverse cultures come together. And after all it is the ACC (Asia Culture Complex) and not the KCC (Korea Culture Complex) which already shows that the place was always meant to be “foreign” to some extend.
But it’s something altogether more for Yujin. She’s been there from the beginning. Her husband was involved in the initial negotiations between the ministry of culture, sports & tourism and the Germany company that built the green structure that is Kunsthalle, so really this is a long-term family affair. She knows what it’s about.
AE: Other than events and exhibitions, what services, if any, do you provide the community?
AE: What will happen to the Kunsthalle once the Cultural Center is completed? Yujin: …it is likely to be moved from the current location. Where to and if the concept and content will change is not yet clear. It will also depend on how popular it is at the time and what the Gwangju people want, I guess. AE: Do you think the new Gwangju Cultural Center will affect in a negative way the local artist since artists from all over the world will be coming to Gwangju? Yujin: No, the opposite should be the case. If you believe the local artists can only survive because they have no real competition (if you want to call it that) than you may be right. But we believe the Gwangju art scene has a lot to offer and show to the world and it will blossom even further with the opening of the ACC. Already we have a very positive response from a lot of the local artists. But of course in such a big project you can never make things right for all people… AE: If someone wanted to get involved, what are the avenues to do so
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Kunsthalle is, generally, in German speaking regions a term for a facility mounting temporary art exhibitions. It literally means “art hole”.
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It is a “social sculpture” a definition created through the art of the German artist Joseph Beuys who said that everybody is an artist in some way or another.
other than just attending events? Do you need volunteers? If so, what background? Yujin: Volunteers with a good motivation and some skill are always good and we already have some. Some people just came up to us and wanted to work with us and we were happy to welcome them. The background is not so important. The motivation, attitude and of course the skills are more important to us. And we need people with all kinds of skills, though good communication skills and interest in culture and art are surely helpful if you want to work with us. AE: What is coming up on your calendar that the art community should know about? Yujin: On the 11th of November we have a solo-exhibition of the young talented artist Brian Hunter from Canada. He will show all his new interactive artworks, which he intensively produced over the last few months. On the 18th of November we host a groovy indie music concert with 3 bands all from different Asian Countries. And on the 4th of December we have an open talk with an artist who works with unconventional fashion and clothing. In the middle of
December we have another solo exhibition of the renowned artist Inkyung Kim with his huge installation. And the regular programs such as the movie night on Friday night in December and night flea market every last Saturday of the month continue. In addition we also have a big Christmas party as the last DJ+night of the year on the 23rd of the December. So there is really a lot going on at the KHG, right? (laughs) For more information about the events, please visit our web-site or our facebook page. It really is important to me that people understand that the Kunsthalle Gwangju is not only a place for an exhibition likes a museum or gallery The KHG is a meeting place for people who are always curious about something new. It is a “social sculpture” a definition created through the art of the German artist Joseph Beuys who said that everybody is an artist in some way or another. Anybody can participate in all our activities and through this social experiment with all the different people in the end we hope to create a new kind of atmosphere that people could so far not experience in Gwangju. So are you ready for a small change in your life? ;-)
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Deserts
by Andrew Vlasblom
Deserts. Perhaps when you hear the word, you think of the Sahara, or the Gobi, or the Arabian—all vast, glorious locales in their own right. But if you happened to be in Gwangju on a Saturday night in the company of good friends and live music, and you heard the word “Deserts,” you might ask “Where are they playing?” or “When are they playing?” or “Why the hell are they playing again?”
As a rock music band, Deserts played numerous venues in Gwangju and throughout Korea. We played to audiences ranging from 200 to 10 people. We changed our band line-up— twice. We booked a gig for Jeju Island on a weekend. We had numerous microphone difficul-
ties. We had poster issues. We snapped guitar strings, smashed a guitar, wrote 6 songs in 2 weeks, sounded terrible at Kunsthalle, took pretentious band profile photos, wound up in a bar brawl, and at one point contemplated changing our name to Crazy Horse. I hope by this
point you’ve been enticed to read more, so let’s get the history over with, shall we? Our band’s roots can be found in a music night that I held weekly at the German Bar, where musicians would come together and cover well-known
artelemento songs or improvise new tunes on the spot. Matt LaPlant, Brian Dendy, Michael Paul and SeBeom Park were regulars at the music nights, and we found that our collective musicals styles jived quite nicely—or at least to a manageable degree. We decided to experiment as a band together, and after a couple of practice sessions, already had a few songs ready to go.
Brian returned to the U.S., and Se-Beom was required to go to the army. So, we went on a period of hiatus between November ’10 and March ’11.
In early March, we started talking about reassembling the band with Ramsey Kyles and Kenny Megan, who would replace our lost band members. Practice sessions went quite well and the two talented musicians proved Within three weeks of our first enthusiastic to learn some of practice, we had our first private our songs, while writing some gig, which was well-received. new ones as well. Ramsey Kyles, also a prominent participant of the music night, Now, in October, Matt, Ramsey and Kenny Megan were in at- and I have started writing songs tendance, both of who would featuring a new influence—that effectively replace Brian Dendy of Megook Movement memand Se-Beom Park in the future. bers. Our songs will feature a The classic line-up went on for a mix of rap styling with instrufew months, and we toured Ko- mental bits and lots of syntherea to small and large crowds, sizer overtones, so while the always to a good reception. The music will definitely sound difglory days ended when at last ferent from that of Deserts’, we
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Nobody really agreed on any name, but as Michael was stuck on Deserts while we were still thinking of other names, Deserts we became.
will retain the musicality—the beauty of live music with instruments and vocals. Deserts was a boat that I am glad we could board, rock, and dock. To say that there were no problems would be a lie—we had tension sometimes as most bands do. But we were fairly tight as a band, and our friendships overruled whatever tensions might arise within. With the help of our friends and a nice bit of alcohol, no major issues arose that couldn’t be resolved. The bonding can’t be forgotten, nor can the songs, which you can check out on Myspace or Youtube if you like. The future looks bright for live music in Gwangju, so stay tuned for news about our new band’s upcoming gigs.
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Dailycodi
When I saw the Dailycodi announcement on the Kunsthalle website looking for models I thought that playing fashion model for a day could be fun. Soon I would realize that this fashion show was not going to be like any other fashion work I had done in the past, but it took me much longer to understand what the project was all about.
Probably, if I could read Korean I would have been able to read the information displayed in dailycodi.com, but I only looked at the photos. After a few practice sessions and few talks with the thinking head, Andeath, I understood that this show was not much about fashion but more about creating a visual impact through movement, expression and music us-
ing clothes and accessories in unusual, unexpected ways. The clothes were used as a mere tool to create a very much surrealistic fashion show. Or at least, that was my -ongoing- interpretation of the show.
3 hours, until the performance day, which was September 2nd. This show had been scheduled as one piece of a bigger puzzle, the Kunsthalle dingsdabumsda opening party.
This was quite a lot of time to Artist and designer, Andeath, volunteer, but I still was enjoyasked participants to commit to ing my summer vacation, so 3 practice sessions a week, each that was one of the reasons I deof them would take between 2 to cided to stay to the end.
artelemento I really like the atmosphere and positive vibes in the Kunsthalle, it is one of my favorite places in Gwangju, and I personally think that is pumping up the artistic vein on this city. I have been bitter about how little there is in this city to do or to participate in, so I thought, if given the chance, I should contribute with my granito de arena (grain of sand). Andeath was very ambitious about getting everything to perfection for the performance, but at the same time she allowed the models to shape the final product. She would meet at a midpoint between her preconceived idea from previous works and the fresh input (a humble word for talents) from all of us, which often resulted in colorful camera mementos to treasure and share. The models were an amazing bunch of fun people and most of them spoke English in a very natural and pretty relaxed way, which of course, not only helped me to follow directions (sometimes literally) but also it gave the opportunity to participate and get more involved than usual. The vibrant and open-minded atmosphere at the sessions nurtured everyone’s creativity. Andeath´s assistant, Noel, punctually kept us updated of schedules and changes. Not an easy task since we were about 15 models in total with all different personal agendas.
I have to admit that at times I thought, ¨This is weird stuff.¨ I have to admit that at times I thought, ¨This is weird stuff.¨ When I brought my 4 year-old daughter to one practice sessions, she was a little scared at the look of some models, specially the girl in green, with her face covered with a rag wearing her glasses on top of it. But after the first time, she was fine and named the project the ¨silly clothes¨ place, so she could understand easily where we were going. Her favorite model was the one girl wearing 7 nickers
over the trousers (on a line, no on on top of each other!). The day that the music -percussion, synthesisers and a pianowas added everything seemed to magically fall into place. The last ingredients added to the cauldron on the opening day was a psychedelic decoration and stroking lighting effects to provide our very diverse audience with an original and unique experience.
22 life, death and a side of kimchi by Leigh Hellman
“Teacher?” Middle of roll-call. No raised hand—just an impatient voice that presses everything with the same urgency. “What?” A pause for the language barrier. I give him a beat to assemble his sentence before I start ignoring him. I have a headache and secretly hope it falls apart in his head rather than tumbling across my classroom. “전쟁.” No dice. YH is lazy but consistent, so I give him points for that. He offers me the same intentioned, if slightly shorter, pause. “미국 가?” of wood from where the bullets slice into our old doors and walls. Noble charges, last stands, I don’t look back down at my sand and dust and a deafening clipboard because I know he’s silence that really hooks the audience. But that’s not war. Not not finished. real war. “같이 가자.” A leapfrog of giggles and I roll my eyes. YH Even the loops of footage would be the one to say that. streaming in from 연평도 aren’t With him I can’t differentiate real war to us. between sincerity and mockery. YH doesn’t mean harm, but he I have no idea what that is or doesn’t mean particularly well what it would be. either. YH smugly congratulates himI think, not for the first time, self amid his cluster of friends, about what war would mean all seeds from the same rotting for my students. Imminent—as apple. My rotting apple, but I it has been for two and a half still taste the bitterness. I resume years now. I can’t form a clear roll and wonder if I imagined picture of it in my mind. I see the hint of uncertainty, of innovignettes from the original— cent fear in his interruption. still the only—Korean War or scenes I’ve probably filed away I wonder what YH sees when from overzealous Hollywood he thinks of war. What he sees war epics. Bloodstained school when he thinks of danger in his uniforms, slow-motion bursts life. Can he imagine finality like “I don’t know.” I keep my answers clipped and honest.
that? I can’t imagine finality for any of these boys, ripe and sour alike. Then one boy is twisting another’s arm and thoughts of war and ends trickle back to the edge of my mind. KS died in the fall. I am the last to know. I don’t know why it surprises me. I understand my school’s subconscious; I know its motivation to stifle as many opportunities for unfavorable judgment as possible. Maybe I’d just been forgotten in the sweep of things—as I often was, even now. Or maybe they hadn’t thought it relevant to tell me. After all, it was probably something I wouldn’t care about. But I do care about it.
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I remember how he knew maybe five words in English and employed two of them to keep the class in-line. ‘Shut up’ is a perennial favorite with my low boys. A teacher lets it slip during a car ride. “The school has to be careful these days to let the third graders leave early.” “Why?” I ask it reflexively, not fully committed to the conversation. “Because of that student who died.” The sentence rolls out casually, wrapped in only half a thought. My ears buzz low and I swallow a laugh. I’m not so sure that this is one of his awkward jokes. “What happened?” Maybe this isn’t something I’m allowed to know, but the teacher keeps talking.
badness in that student, a faulty moral compass that led him from the guidance of his school to that cold river path. I keep thinking: It must have been so cold that night.
KS, KS, KS. I run it through my memories, certain that it’s familiar but still missing some necessary clue to this unwanted mystery. The lump pulses with guilt. Guilt for my impotency, guilt for not protecting my boys but mostly guilt for not being able to match a damn face to a name. Guilt that one of my babies is dead, and I can’t even remember who he was.
“Who was it?” I flip through snapshots of third graders I’ve seen recently. I am suddenly, painfully aware of how little I see those boys now—boys who I saw weekly for a year and a half—and how they really could be up to anything and I’d never I remember it later, possibly in the shower while my mind is on know it. defrag for the day. The teacher isn’t listening; he’s racing to make a left-turn ar- I remember my first Teachers’ row. Once we’re safely through, Day, and how I was the only I repeat my question. He shrugs. teacher they forgot to prepare a corsage for. I remember his “I don’t know.” A lump of rage disbelief, his disgust, and how rises out of the bottom of my he raced off and reappeared five stomach. How can he not know minutes later with some poor which one of our—my—stu- sucker’s pilfered flowers. I remember how he mugged for dents is dead? our picture. I remember how I “It happened a while ago. I can’t indulged him. remember.” He must have been so afraid. Pieces start to fall into place. I remember his class, one of the “When did it happen?” lowest level classes I taught. I “Two, three months ago. I’m not remember how he knew maybe five words in English and emsure exactly.” ployed two of them to keep the I nod mechanically and feel the class in-line. ‘Shut up’ is a perenstrangeness of the movement. It nial favorite with my low boys. amplifies the strangeness of eveI hope he wasn’t in pain. rything else.
“He fell in the water and died.” There is more to it, of course. He tells me what he heard from the Another teacher answers my I remember patting him on the administration. The tale flirts chat message later. She writes shoulder one day and him wincwith a subtle implication of his name: KS. ing. When I asked what was
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wrong he pulled back his collar, exposing gashes across his shoulder and down his arm. He mimed an accident and boasted about his part-time job as a motorcycle delivery boy for his parents’ chicken restaurant. I remember I shook my head and made him promise to wear a helmet and be careful. “I don’t want you to die.” I hope he didn’t feel alone.
YH is late again. Granted, he’s I don’t know what YH wants to not alone. But it’s almost finals be, but I know that in this moweek and I’m not in the mood. ment I still have time to find out. They stand in the back. Most of them sway idly, shifting from foot to foot. A few chat despite my warning looks. But YH props his book open on the edge of a desk and follows along. I know because I can hear his obnoxiously distinct voice repeating with the drone of the rest.
It’s more effort than he’s ever I remember his first day in class, really made. I’m careful not to a transfer student near the end be impressed. There are seven of my first teaching semester. I minutes left and we’re pushing remember our first Christmas through. The dance of fifth periparty and how I offered stu- od feels more like a slow gulagdents cards to make for me. Out trudge most days. of 800 or so students, he was the only one who did. Then it’s there, like an exclamation point in the middle of endI remember him whispering to less ellipses. YH’s arm stretchthe co-teacher. When I asked ing, straining up, and I don’t him about it he turned away know why but I acknowledge it. without saying anything. She told me later that he’d wanted to “What?” I’m not as angry as I know if he could write, “I love sound, but they can’t know that. you”. “Teacher, teacher!” I grit my When he gave me the card at teeth and consider that maybe the end of class, “I love you” was he has nothing to say. noticeably absent above his signature—KS. “What?” I press more, challenging him to surprise me. I hope he knew—knows—that I will never forget him. And he does. “I want to learn.” It hits me like a sucker punch and I stare at the card now, taken out I’m out. A boy one year older of its plastic cover amongst the than YH was feisty like that too. compulsively organized memories of my Korean life. Then I KS wanted to be an actor. He put it away quickly, worried that was studying; that’s why he’d my tears might smudge the ink. been in that city with that river.
I struggle for my balance between leeway and backtracking, strict and totalitarian. “Alright,” I finally exhale with only one corner of a smile. “But you can’t sit down.” YH nods, bouncing his whole body. I pull back to the march—five minutes to go. After class the others throw glares at YH, a mix of envy and resentment for his grandstanding. I watch them shuffle out of class and suddenly feel how short my time with my boys really is. From within the ebb and flow of everything else, it’s so easy to forget how soon they’ll be gone.
artelemento
Withheld
by Daniel Luzio
I base my judgement of myself solely on my actions. My thoughts and feelings have no place. That is how I knew it was possible for someone to love me when you ran away from me. Disappeared from view when I was still within reach. I will know how much you love me when you punish me. That is all that I am waiting for. The ground with its tangle of lives is far below; the sky, closer than it should be, not offering the infinity it reaches out to. I am trapped within the hemisphere, not ascending or descending but merely in love. I thought only elation could bring me this high. But here I am now with no direction to go in. I imagine that you are the wind, unseen yet always felt rushing by, trying to get away from me in your desperation to hide. And when the rain soaks the world below, tears for mine that never came. Looking down, I’m only searching for you. But it doesn’t matter even if you are in plain view, for I won’t see you unless you want me to. Like the time you went out of your way to ignore me. Where did it begin? It was going so well. We met up a few times, I knew you liked him but that didn’t stop you from meeting me. Even though I tried to keep
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you at a small distance, I fell for you when your face was lit up in blue, sharing headphones, united by your music. Then, when I made a few casual moves, the empty space between us became defensively cluttered. Was I getting too close? Were you too afraid to get too close to me? But still you made another date with me. Until your “secret” made you cancel. Why couldn’t you tell me you started seeing the other guy? You weren’t afraid to tell me about him before. When we found each other after that, everything was still fine; you just couldn’t meet up with me due to your secret. Days of planning and nights of anguish yet I didn’t know how to spur things forward. Not that it mattered. When I told you I missed you, you turned cold. I walked around the campus we shared searching for you. If I saw you one time, I would note the time and be there waiting the next week. You wouldn’t. I was living your past. In the coffee shop you waved and smiled but when I approached you, you knowingly walked away. When I waved at you outside the library with your boyfriend you could still muster a wave back, surprised as you were to do so. I couldn’t do any more than walk away. When I caught you in the canteen, me shaking because of your distance, your answers were curt but still you could be friendly. Catching you offguard worked. It was when you had time to prepare that things
fell apart. When I next mustered the courage to ask to meet you, you ignored me. It was over. You are a fantastic person but I know when over is over. And so it should have been until you saw me once, both headed in the same direction. At first you were cool, casual, then quickening your pace when you knew I was still behind you. I halted to talk to friends, just for a moment, to take the heat off you. You panicked, you pelted and a few seconds later you had managed to find impossible shelter. That hurt. Deep. I know as I saw the blood. Still, my first reaction was to smile. At least I knew I existed. And I was pulled up into the sky into the stasis that I am now in. If I want out of this self-pity, I will have to do something. I am forcing myself to be patient when I’m impatient and frustrated. However, I think relief is my biggest emotion. The privilege of loving you without displaying it is a warm pacification. My concern is whether to wait for the perfect plan that will never be or whether to do something rash now. Although anything I do will only make this situation worse, I still consider stupidity to be better than nothing. Because now you hide. You self-sacrifice and damage yourself purely to avoid me. Yet an apology is the one thing that I won’t do. I know only this much about
you: your destructive actions towards me are only done to emphasise my awareness of you. You need me to acknowledge you under any circumstance, no matter how much you think you hate me right now. If you’re so happy with him then why the sudden hostility towards me? I did nothing, much to my own regret. Because you made a mistake by choosing the easy option – of not rejecting he who asked, now you are angry with yourself. I am the cause of that anger because you need me too much and so the only thing you can do is to strike out at me. What would you have done had I really tried to snare you? It’s easier to hurt someone you love, isn’t it? It’s so difficult to dredge up even negative feelings for someone you are indifferent to. Ignorance is not indifference;
artelemento and rip, fingernails searching for purchase until my casing is destroyed. I am de-humanising myself, but I must, to stop being myself for as long as this will take.
it’s fear. But you have trapped me, and I cannot move on, cannot let go of you until you let go of me. For as long as you hide from me, fear to see me, fear that anywhere you go I might be there, you hold on to me. Suspend me in this hateful stasis. A bank of clouds is nearing me. A storm is coming. And there you are. You display yourself, your intent I will never understand. It is where we first dated, where I needed you to say goodbye. The clouds obscure all – you from me and me from you. Now is the time to open up my feelings.
seeping into me until my fingers are forced apart from their mesh. It is the energy that explodes out of my heart that is the lightning, dragging me with it. I ride the lightning, headed towards you. I fight the acceleration of my The storm is gathering. The emotions to reach out my heart conditions are not yet correct, towards you. I strike and then… still I am stationary and I fear that you know what my game is. Finally I feel movement, barely I tear out my heart but clasp it a twitch, and I think that maybe in my hands, not for safety, the I am falling. But it is a pull uptime to reveal myself is not here. wards. It wouldn’t matter, either way; my only reaction would The tension is building. The be joy, as it is now. I accelerate rains continue, betraying me, through the layers of the atmosan outburst I am not prepared phere with such speed that my for yet and the lightning begins. limbs are pulled into my body, The light bounces around me, as forcing me into the foetal posimuch trapped in the dark cloud tion. The effort of keeping the as I am. Its will lasts an instant, forces from crushing my body my will is waiting. is quickly draining my energy. A lifetime of hiding from my Soon, flames surround me; I own self has not prepared me am travelling at such speed. As for how difficult it is to restrain I am finally pulled out of the atmy heart within my hands. Its mosphere and into the darkness beating pummels my palms and of space, my skin melts around I fight the urge to release myself. my body, still crushed into the My unreleased scream feeds the foetal position. The heat raditension that builds around me. ates off my body and the skin, I understand now that my pro- cooling, fuses into a solid mass tection is not to stop the world surrounding me. I am nothing getting into me but to stop me but a ball of skin in the depths from howling out to the world. of eternity, forced now to forBut you were the one who ever look inwards. taught me that hiding is not the answer. This, finally, is an ac- To cause this much pain means tion. For better or for worse, it only one thing. You love me. I will justify a consequence. My achieved that much. consequences until now have been justified by passivity. My limbo is a result only of my lack of hope.
I tear at the skin covering my chest but the shell is too thick, every layer a protection that is now my weakness. I scratch The light builds around me then
28 POP LIFE Tell Me More
Last October artists from the U.S., Canada, Japan, Turkey, and Australia converged at Metro Gallery , Downtown Gwangju, to complete a drawing for the exhibition during the allotted time of 24 hours. All work for the exhibition started and was completed within the gallery space during 24 hrs. One of the masterminds behind this show was Gwangju’s resident artist and curator Michael Anthony Simon. The vibes at the gallery during the 24 hours the artist prepare their work was awesome. So much energy is needed in this world. According to Michael there should be a number 2 show in the near future. If you missed it , second should be a must.
artelemento
POP LIFE Poetry Slam
The event slammed up the stage at the Speakeasy around 8pm. Waygooks from Gwangju, came in with a need to speak with words of laughter, sorrow, anger, happiness, fear, and strength pulling through their vocal chords so they could release the feeling and express it to the listeners in the audience. Each person that spoke had something to say, as the crowd went silent, and the flow of each speakers words ignited, the fire began to grow in the hearts of the listeners. Power, passion, expression…”Finally we have a place to let go, be free.” If only for a moment each speaker is given a chance to let go, they have that moment where everyone will listen. Next Slamwill be held in December.
artelemento
KUNSTHALLE GWANGJU is a cultural showcase of the asian culture complex and a part of the platform of asian culture project.
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KUNSTHALLE GWANGJU is a cultural showcase of the asian culture complex and a part of the platform of asian culture project.