ISSUE 39 Apr. 2020
에디터의 글 Whit Altizer, John Shrader 상아하 Sang AHA 정래순 Rae Soon Jung 김기용 Ki Yong Kim 권남득 Namdeuk Kwon 류제비 Ryoo Jae Bee 우주연 Joo Yeon Woo 윤규홍 Yoon Kew Hong
Apr. 2020
Artists Sang Ha tmakdlf211@naver.com Rae Soon Jung hallo.raesoon@gmail.com Ki Yong Kim jinsolker1@naver.com Namdeuk Kwon frj3100@naver.com Ryoo Jae Bee pablo30@hanmail.net Joo Yeon Woo spacekite@gmail.com Writers Hanadi Istambouli histambouli@gmail.com Terry O. Faulkner terryofaulkner@gmail.com Isabelle Choi isabellechoi@live.com John Shrader ioannes.shrader@gmail.com Seo Hee Joo art-phil@hanmail.net Bethany Starr Stultz bethanystarrstultz@gmail.com Contact bracketmagazinekorea.com bracket.magazine@gmail.com facebook.com/bracketmagazine facebook bracket.magazine Instagram
ISSUE 39
Staff Chung Sae Yong publisher John Shrader editor in chief Whit Altizer editor Kim Dae Il design editor Seo Hee Joo, PhD words editor Yoon Kyung Amanda Lee digital editor Yoon Kew Hong writer
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Copyright for Magazine © 2020 [b]racket magazine Copyright for works of art by 2020 [b]racket magazine Used by permission. All Rights Reserved. Publisher / Chung, Sae yong 64-22, Dongduck-ro, Jung-gu, Daegu, S.Korea tel +82 10 3811 1229 www.bracketmagazinekorea.com bracket.magazine@gmail.com
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본 사업은 2019 대구문화재단 우수기획지원입니다.
Whit Altizer Editor’s Letter
Dear [b]racket readers, It is with a heavy heart that I sign off as editor of [b]racket. It has been one of my favorite pursuits over the last 7 years. My friend and [b]racket co-creator, Jess Hinshaw, asked me to write for the September 2013 issue in a back alley of my neighborhood after a traditional Korean meal and probably a bowl of dong-dong-ju. He knew I liked to write and, I imagine, they were desperate for writers. Not having a compelling or quick reason to decline, I agreed. In my first issue, I struggled over what to say about Kevin Kilgore’s comics and tried to plug the article with his own words, assured I had nothing interesting to say. In the end, however, I was pleased with the article (after some heavy encouragement and edits) and before I knew it I had Andy Knowlton and his Drunken Poets assigned to me. I was officially hooked. [b]racket artists became an obsession. Putting their art under a microscope allowed me to see the time and thought each person put into their work. I became proud of my writing. My articles shifted from quote-driven pieces to my own creations. In July 2015, I moved into the role of editor. Chris Cote, Sae Yong Chung, and I led a new iteration of [b]racket. Now, almost five years later, it is time for another rebirth. After an extended break, longtime writer John Shrader will serve as the new editor of [b]racket. I expect [b]racket to flourish under John’s creativity and energy. I hope [b]racket continues to foster the same art community that adopted me all those years ago in a Gyeongsan back alley. Thanks, [b]racket community, for everything. You helped me see the world more artfully. Keep creating, Whit
John Shrader Editor’s Letter
Dear [b]racket readers, It does not feel like six years have passed since I started writing for [b]racket. I still feel like the new guy, just happy to be along for the ride. And now I am the new guy again, just in a different capacity. I am grateful to the original crew who started [b]racket, to Jess Hinshaw who gave me a chance to write for this wonderful magazine, and to Whit Altizer who continued to let me write and suggested that I take over as editor. And now it is my turn to give opportunities to others. In this issue, three writers make their [b] racket debuts. Isabelle Choi expounds on the irony of Kim Kiyong’s organic steel, Hanadi Istambouli explores the depths of Sang Ha’s AHA MOTEL, and Bethany Starr Stultz examines Joo Yeon Woo’s unconventional portraits of immigrants. Returning to write, I take a peek at the surreal constructions of Namdeuk Kwon, Terry Faulkner contemplates the isolation of Raesoon Jung’s paintings and Seo Hee Joo contextualizes the colorful Ryoo Jae Bee. I am happy to have them all on board and I hope that you enjoy our perspectives. You see, there is so much interesting art out there, and so much talent and creativity right here in Korea. The mission of [b]racket has been to shine a light on the talent right here, around the corner. I am excited to carry on this work, and I hope you, dear readers, will enjoy what is to come. So until next time, be well, stay curious, and thanks for reading. John
상아하 글. 하나디 이스탐볼리
AHA MOTEL 5242호 로고
Sang AHA written by Hanadi Istambouli
Sang Ha’s large scale installations, collectively known as “AHA MOTEL”, verge on the brink of pandemonium yet encompass carefully placed components presented in a playful, yet thought-provoking manner. Her multidisciplinary work is brought to life through the intermingling of everyday objects with vivacious paintings, handmade props, characters, and lights — hordes of lights. Let’s explore two rooms of “AHA MOTEL” together. Trendy girls are seen inside the window of "The Green Room, Room 6105” (page 10) as though they are mannequins in a storefront, beckoning silently to be followed through a materialistic forest of make-believe. In front of these windows and lining the nook of a rooftop is overgrown ivy, astroturf, and a blown up doll lounging in a hammock — unbeknownst or willfully ignoring that there is truly no way to hide. Green and yellow overwhelm the scene, yet all sits starkly against the skyline of a cement habitat. The urban jungle looms in our periphery, reminding us that we are forever on display through panes of glass, remaining as distanced as perfect strangers. Should we seek solitude outdoors in a backyard retreat, a place of tranquility within the high-rise life, then we render our privacy obsolete. Viewing the innards of a Ha installation is to experience a psychedelic journey: the madness of “Dark Side of the Moon” meets the energetic vibrations of “Barbie Girl. She took our collective memories and deconstructed them into objects and color. Textures from metallic to plush, organic shapes, bright lights, fairy-esque cutouts, and paintings on the walls are syncopated with Ha’s unique perspective. An underlying note resonates quietly amidst the cataclasm of artifacts; there is emotion in impermanence. Ha’s Motel is a space to stumble down a visual rabbit hole. In "AHA MOTEL Room 5242 (DANCE WITH KISS)" (page 8), considerably sized beings of fantasy are strewn amidst her display. The large painted walls bend, as if deflecting reality itself, covered with the doodles of daydreams. Our eyes can easily chase a reflection, first bouncing from the streamers to the wall with colors of a 1970’s flower power vintage poster that eventually leaves us wondering in which dimension we exist. Are we reliving a love affair? Fairy lights and toys are arranged in such a way it resembles a moment left behind, but everything dances around like secrets expelling from an energized heart.
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AHA MOTEL Room 5242 , DANCE WITH KISS, 가변설치, 2019
9
Motels welcome short term visitors, and are especially alluring to meetings hush-hush in nature. The focal point of room 5242 is a bunk bed, centered in front of a large screen on which spray-painted inspired shapes shift loudly behind a quiet ghost. The trippy organic forms morph and transform prismatically. The ghost is comprised of lace and is illuminated by light (page 11). It sits expressionless, has two large bejeweled eyes and 4 appendages reaching from beneath its body like the souls of lovers entwined. Some of our most intimate moments later become distant, transparently sewn together with the fabric of ever fading memories. Below are two pillows caught in the moment of a kiss. The result of Ha’s creative process opens avenues to be explored for the curious. As we blink ourselves back into the orderly world everything seems a bit muted and sedated in comparison. To create a space that punctuates our momentary human condition requires the intersection of intelligence and ingenuity.
HA 모텔 6105호, 마네킹, 인조잔디, 풍선인형, 해먹, 가변설치, 2019
“LOVE MOMENTS:KISS“ , K현대 미술관 전시전경
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정래순 테리 오 포크너
You couldn’t blame a viewer for thinking Raesoon Jung’s work is strictly based on houses: shelters traditionally providing stability, comfort, and peace of mind. But upon further investigation of Jung’s work, that stability and comfort becomes distorted, uneasy and foreboding. Unnaturally colored skies of pink and aquamarine predominate many of her pieces. Those lush skies grow darker and the landscape simultaneously becomes more hostile. Water floods the houses and tangible subjects exist within a water, dream-like world. One work (page 12) reads “Warum nur ist der Himmel so weit? Ich bin ganz still allein” meaning, “Why is the sky so far away, I am completely alone” admitting to her solitude as a stranger in a strange land. Jung is a stranger as a Korean in Berlin having moved there from Daegu in 2013. Perhaps her art expresses her loneliness in a place where it's hard to meet other people. Her houses reflect a tight, claustrophobic space forcing the viewer to feel trapped. Conversely, the ever-changing environment outside discourages those inside not to venture out. A common theme among expatriates is the isolation from being away so far away from home and friends who understand. On living alone in a foreign land, “Silent Night Part 2” (page 12) portrays a drab single house with windblown trees and German writing underneath “Freund ist der Fremde nur in der Fremde” roughly translating to “Friend is the stranger from foreign lands.” The trees are the only other objects in the painting. Do the trees provide companionship from the harsh emptiness of the Berlin environs?
Rae Soon Jung Terry O. Faulkner
Another piece, “Reverie Hause,” (page 13) blends both themes, alluding not only to loneliness but also the unfortunate reality of climate change in the not too distant future. Houses represent stability and the impermanence of water, a world that changes drastically. These houses, while still intact, are floating on and eventually sink into a sea of harsh purple and gray: polluted water or perhaps the artist’s vision of the tension between dream and reality. Some viewers may see the flood surrounding the houses like a wine, imbibed over time and incidentally causing more distance as the flood waters rise. Some people, in an effort to allay their fears of isolation, might find themselves digging even deeper into loneliness either through vice or through cutting themselves off completely. Increasing distance from others is at times a focus on one’s own desires, and other times is a form of defense. Jung believes that reality shapes our imagination, and those ideas eventually become our reality. Notice how the houses all but disappear in “An Unfinished World” (page 13) blending into the night sky. Will the darkness envelop the houses completely or will there be a return to normalcy? As each painting becomes progressively more unstable, in the end will there be some relief? The artist appears to express the conflict of being from a culture that values group identity with the coming of age in a culture that prizes individuality. Perhaps it is not too late to change our ways and avoid the darkness to come.
←← Silent night, 90 x 73cm, Mixed material on paper, 2019
→ An unfinished world, Pigment on canvas, 95x75cm, 2017
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Here where we live, 40 x 60cm, Mixed material on paper, 2016
Reverie Hause, 50 x 70cm, Acrylic on canvas, 2015
15
김기용 최 이사벨
From a sink of soaking dishes, you hold up a gleaming saucepan to scrub; the surface against the sponge feels round and smooth as your hand glides along the side. Waiting in front of the elevator, you catch a diffused reflection against the brushed metal doors. On the subway to work, you firmly grip the polished handrail for balance. It feels cold to the touch; it feels solid. Steel — it is ubiquitous in our daily lives and an integral component in many industries, such as transportation and modern construction. This was the functional relationship Kim Kiyong had with the synthetic metal during his decade-long tenure at an ironworks. Amid the blast furnaces and casting equipment, he was compelled by steel structures and the versatility of their forms, which set the ground for his formative years as a metal sculptor. Kim’s background in the arts began at Yeongnam University in 1986, where he studied Asian painting. Upon graduation Kim struggled with his identity as a painter; he poignantly stated, “I grabbed a brush and stood in front of a sheet of hanji. My mind turned blank and I realized that what I learned and felt were not my thoughts but those of others.” Kim experimented in folk art and engaged in the transformative Minjung art movement through its development into postmodernism. To support himself, Kim took on various work in outdoor commercial installations before landing among factory steel plates and welding rods. After a 17-year hiatus, Kim had re-emerged to explore his artistry and technical dexterity. Today, moulding his own philosophy, Kim strips his medium of its industrial purpose into abstraction with hand-crafted texture, often representing his connection to the environment around him. This is playfully shown in Kim’s latest series, “Meltdown,” where he uses an arrangement of fundamental forms — prominently featuring intertwined and layered rings of varying scale that are drenched in metallic lustre. In “Meltdown” (page 17), the geometric figures overlap one another, vying for the viewer’s attention in a reminiscent manner of Kandinsky’s transcending, non-objective paintings. There is an allusion of airiness and the sculpture appears to be floating — though not above the will of gravity as melted steel drips toward the ground. Movement is inferred yet suspended in time, indicated by the tail of the dense drippings as they meld at the base. The irony does not escape the viewer: the fabricated liquidity created by molten metal — a nod to his method — is still cold to the touch.
Ki Yong Kim Isabelle Choi
용융, 스텐레스 스틸, 1110 x 570 x 260cm
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↑ Sibererian Chrysanthemum, 자연석, 370 x 390 x 240cm
← Fruiting, 스텐레스 스틸, 960 x 700 x 500cm
And rough. Every curve and elevation is unique from the one that follows, a contrast from the uniformity of factory assembled steel. It would not be farfetched to note that the rugged textures of “Meltdown” resembles a foiled tree-bark surface. Perhaps this is not mere coincidence, as the juxtaposition of metal with natural form has been a recurring theme in Kim’s work. During his artistic evolution, Kim has also been called the “sculptor of steel and stone,” and produced notable works such as “Siberian Chrysanthemum” (page 18). Here, stainless steel piping — or rather, silvery, organic roots — seem to envelop an arching stack of stones. The duality of nature and artificiality is evident, the latter protectively coating and supporting the basalt structure as if suggesting a call to environmental action. The same embrace appears in Kim’s “Fruiting” (page 18), a thoughtful homage to his late father, an apple farmer from North Gyeongsang Province. Both collections were featured in Kim’s pivotal solo exhibition in 2017, “I Can’t Say I Want To Be Loved.” It has been a multifarious journey for Kim, having become immersed in the heat of creation as an experimentalist, an artist and welder. From function to form, Kim’s steely romance continues to be transformed with each telling series. As new narratives are forged, echoing the production of steel in our immediate world, we are reminded of this lustrous metal’s endless facets and enduring beauty.
→ 용융-뫼비우스의 띠, 스텐레스 스틸, 460 x 700 x 330cm
→→ 커피, 스텐레스 스틸, 430 x 1370 x 430cm
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권남득 존 슈레이더
↑ 호흡하다, 스테인리스 스틸, 철가루, LCD 모니터, 기계장치, 2채널 스피커, 150 x 150 x 150cm, 2007
→ 우주와 시간, 스텐리스 스틸, 듀랄루민 알루미늄, 기계장치, BLDC모터, LED조명등 450 x 450 x 580cm(가변설치), 2017
Namdeuk Kwon John Shrader
There are certain constructions that call us to partake in another world. Some take the form of a stainless steel cube. An ineffable alienness of purpose pulls us closer to investigate. It pulls us as if it were to integrate our biological and technological distinctiveness into its own. We do not fear, only, as its name describes, “Breathe” (page 20). The lucid images and sounds bring a meditation, and once we push past the being in the present, perhaps we’ll notice the cube is like swiss cheese. Considering the rest of Namdeuk Kwon’s oeuvre that we will explore, it feels like a wry joke. Most of Kwon’s work plays with the mechanical rather than the dairy. In “Moon” (page 23), Kwon constructs an orrery that draws attention less to the orbits of the celestial cube and its moon, but to the underlying mechanisms of the universe which revolve so as to intermittently hide and reveal the truths underneath. Much of Kwon’s oeuvre requires patience to actually experience, not for fear of missing out, but out of a cultivation of a mindspace that can be present in the shaping of the now. It’s this time element that is important. While we stand looking at the mechanical recreation of celestial movements, we are also looking out beyond it. We become the astronaut lost in “Space and Time” (page 21).
21
This piece takes the mechanical operation of “Moon” and cranks it up to fill a lobby. This time, the mechanical nature is more directly associated with a mechanical view of time. Assumptions of the underlying nature of reality might be comforting to our desire for order, but this piece hints at the deeper truth holding our reality together that we can hardly fathom. Look closely at the place between the material and the chronological and here you will find us, the spacefarers. Stuck in this spectrum, there is so much that goes on right above our heads. In this piece, this concept is very literal. The astronaut sits on the ledge dividing the time piece and the orrery as they look out from their solar system. But they can’t see the depth and detail of the mechanisms of time beneath their feet, nor can they see the explosive singularity far above them. This type of contemplation is important. We see another strain of contemplation in “Flower Explosion” (page 22). This whimsical piece takes the destructive capacity of a modern tank’s gun and replaces the fire and smoke with flowers, lit up to mimic an explosion. Now, it’s easy enough to just leave it at that, but we are not the astronaut looking out, we are the spectator looking in. The flower is a traditional memento mori, fleeting beauty that either will die soon, or is ironically already dead. Those of us who have never experienced the horrors of war first hand will be easily amused by the spectacle of war presented in movies and games. The flowers remind us that war is death, and we and our machines are the flowers on display. When we come to understand this, we see that these pieces are not calling us to experience the surreal nature of another world, but rather, to reflect on the absurdities of our own.
꽃폭탄, 스텐인리스 스틸, 230 x 130 x 180cm, 2009
Moon, 스텐리스 스틸, 듀랄루민 알루미늄, 기계장치, BLDC모터, LED조명등, 180 x 180 x 230cm, 2018
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류제비 서희주
꽃이 있는 정물이 생략된 배경에 강렬한 색과 단순한 형태로 그려져 있다. 인상적인 이 정물은 멀리서 보아도 류제비 작가의 작품임을 알아챌 수 있다. 그녀의 작품은 기억 속에 오래 간직 된다. 류제비라는 이름은 곧장 그녀의 작품 이미지와 연결되고 기억될 만큼이나 작가의 길을 걷기 시작하면서 지금까지 일관된 작품 세계를 가져왔다. 많은 사람들이 그녀의 작품을 사랑하지만 긴 시간 동안 일관된 작업을 한다는 것은 작가로서 쉽지 않다. 그 이유는 시각적 이미지가 이미 잘 알려져 있는 만큼 충분히 소비되었다는 생각이 지배하기 때문이다. 어떤 사람들은 그 긴 시간 동안, 한결 같은 작품을 보이는 작가에게 작가로서의 열정에 의심을 던지기도 한다. 그래서 류제비와 같은 작가들의 고민은 새로운 작업에 대한 열망과 두려움이다. 류제비 스스로도 그러한 고민에 빠져있었다. 그리고 작업에 대한 집념과 반성으로 자신을 돌아보고 작가로서의 삶에 태도에 질문을 던지며 새로운 것에 끝없이 도전하고 시도하려고 노력했다. 그녀의 차분하고 침착 함은 긴 시간의 고민과 함께 서서히 작품에 변화를 가져왔고 그 변화는 풍경화로 나타났다. 작품에 대한 진지한 그녀의 태도는 천천히 그렇게 작품에 담겼다. 인물과 꽃에서 꽃이 있는 정물로 그리고 풍경으로 그림의 주제가 변화해오는 과정은 그녀의 삶과 같이했고 그 삶이 그림에 담겼다. 그리고 지금에도 예술적 욕망은 새로운 주제로 그녀를 설레게 하고 있다. 류제비의 작품은 명도가 높은 색들의 조합과 생략되고 단순화된 사물이 만나 강함과 단순함이 화면 안에 어우러진다. 깔끔하고 매끈한 화면, 생략된 배경, 강한 색, 안정된 구도는 류제비 만의 예술적 특성 임에 분명하다. 특히 섬세한 붓질로 칠해진 강한 색은 일상에서 부드럽고 겸손하지만 자신의 작품과 작업 앞에서 엄격하고 강한 작가의 내면이 그대로 투영되고 있다. 다시 말하자면, 작품에는 작가의 예술관과 가치관이 담겨 있고 자신의 삶 또한 작품에 깊숙이 스며들어 작품의 바탕을 이룬다. 긴 시간을 예술가로서의 고통과 힘듦을 인내해온 강함과 세계에 대한 배려와 넓은 사고가 작품에 스며들어 힘있는 정물화가 되었다. 그러므로 꽃이 있는 정물은 곧 류제비를 의미한다.
Ryoo Jae Bee Hee Joo Seo
명상 20P, Acrylic, sand on canvas
25
바람이시작되는곳, 194x112cm, Acrylic sand on canvas, 2018
요사이 류제비는 새로운 주제에 빠지고 있다. 어느 날, 작업실에서만 시간을 보내는 자신을 발견한 그녀는 긴 시간 동안, 쉼 없는 생활을 반복하고 있음을 문뜩 깨닫게 되었다. 그때부터 그녀의 작품에 아름다운 여유와 쉼이 등장한다. 바로 바다가 있는 동화적 풍경이다. 지중해의 어느 섬이나 태평양 한 가운데 있을 거 같은 섬에 햇살 아래 가득한 마을과 집이 등장한다. 모든 사물들은 찬란하게 빛난다. 그녀는 쉬지 않고 살아온 자신에게 풍경이라는 그림을 선물한 것이다. 여행을 가서 긴 휴식을 즐길 만큼 시간적, 정신적, 경제적 여유가 없는 자신과 우리에게 동화적 풍경으로 휴식하게 하고 있다. 인물이 등장하지 않는 풍경은 자신의 희망에 대한 강한 상징이다. 그녀는 풍경 속 골목골목을 다니며 햇살을 즐기는 있고 그 작품을 바라보는 우리도 자연스럽게 그녀를 따라 그 풍경 속에 들어가게 된다. 우리는 그녀를 따라 골목길을 걷다 바다가 보이는 어느 카페에서 칵테일 한잔의 여유를 즐긴다. ‘쉼’에 대한 그녀의 욕망이 묘한 마법을 부리고 있는 것 같다. 예술가로서의 고민은 그녀를 아주 천천히 발전시켜왔고 작품의 변화를 가져왔다. 새로운 작업에 대한 끝없는 열망은 몇 년이 지나 우리에게 또 다른 세계로 안내할 것이다. 류제비는 희망 가득한 고민으로 새로운 작업에 대해 조심스럽게 이야기했다. 새로운 작업을 마주하게 될 그 시간이 궁금해진다.
바람이시작되는곳 20P, Acrylic, sand on canvas.
27
우주연 베타니 스타 스털츠
Cloop, 26 x 40inch, Sumi ink on paper, 2018
Joo Yeon Woo Bethany Starr Stultz
Shush, 26 x 40inch, Sumi ink on paper, 2018
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What's my name, 40 x 26.7 inch, Digital pigment print, 2014-2016
Joo Yeon Woo is a South Korean born contemporary artist who has exhibited nationally and internationally. Woo spent most of her academic career in South Korea before immigrating to the United States for graduate school in 2005. After immigrating, Woo’s work began to build upon the life and experience of the immigrant. Though undoubtedly inspired by her personal experience as a gyopo, her work expands and reaches much deeper by documenting how each experience is saturated with culture through language and the surveillance of identity. Most of Woo’s oeuvre are portraits exploring the makings of identity, including her own. In her series, “What’s My Name?” (page 30) Woo displays photographs of the completely mundane and compulsory parts of immigration: binders containing various paper documents, applications, green cards, and visas shot against a white background. This series focuses on the mountainous but unseen details, the movements of receiving an identity. Each folder represents a family traversing through the Korean diaspora. The steps each family has made along their journey are not focused on so much, as are the amalgamations of why those steps were taken to begin with. This series opens up a conversation about the identity immigrants are born into and the identity immigrants often cope with in order to survive. Each innocuous addition to each families’ binder is another reminder of just how easy identities can be mobilized. This series continues the dialogue of identity started in Woo’s other works. A part of the series Sound Words, “Cloop” (page 28) and “Shush” (page 29) discuss the more verbal parts of identity. These pieces take traditional Korean techniques and contrast them with contemporary methods of creation in a way that brilliantly showcases how peoples’ native languages are often at odds with their adopted languages. These pieces are created with sumi ink on paper paired with digitally styled renditions of text in both Korean and English. The focus in this series is on onomatopoeia. In a battle, these words convey the cultural reliance on certain expressions and how changing them often leave holes in communication due to relativity. The work gives the viewers an opening to understand how these moments with language are so culturally specific and unequivocally unnecessary. The levels of tonality in color and transparency in ink speak to the impact these words have in the way of communication. Woo tackles the intricacies of what it is like to battle with one's own identity in a world where every aspect of who you are is determined through minor instances of communication until it becomes what is left. These two series are a wonderful exploration of the immigrant way of life.
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스페이스 [b] 윤규홍 Yoon Kew Hong
예술은 사회를 치유할 수 있나 꽤 오래 전에 나온 <이머징>이라는 일본 만화가 있다. 책을 사서 읽었던 것 같은데, 서재를 다 뒤져봐도 안 보인다. 책을 다시 훑으면 자세히 요약하겠는데, 아무튼 내용은 이렇다. 일본 토쿄 한복판에서 정체불명의 병이 사람들 사이에서 빠른 속도로 퍼져 나간다. 이 전염병은 악성 출혈열 바이러스가 원인인데, 원래 있던 에볼라 바이러스보다 훨씬 무섭다. 이 만화도 이런 서사 구조가 흔히 취하는 클리셰로 사건의 발단을 알린다. 한 남자가 길거리에서 갑자기 눈코입귀처럼 몸에 있는 모든 구멍이란 구멍에서 죄다 피를 뿜어내며 죽는다. 옆을 지나던 사람들이 그 공포스러운 광경을 보며 경악하는데, 보이지 않는 바이러스는 희생자가 흘린 피와 공기를 타고 딴 사람들에게 삽시간에 퍼져 나간다. 당국이 이 사실을 알았을 때는 전염병이 이미 걷잡을 수 없이 확산된 이후였다. 신종 바이러스는 열도를 벗어나 전 세계로 퍼져나갔고, 치료약을 만들 틈도 없이 인류를 멸종의 위기로 몰아간다. 이 무시무시한 줄거리의 끝은 좀 싱겁고 황당하다. 이 병의 확진자가 된 한 소녀를 사랑해 온 소년이 자기도 기꺼이 그녀와 같은 운명을 나눌 심정에서 입맞춤 한다. 그러자 이 소년의 몸에 바이러스에 대한 항체가 생성된다. 이 항체를 통해 바이러스 백신이 만들어지고 병은 그제야 사그라진다는 게 만화의 결말이다. 소재나 묘사된 그림체가 자극적인데다 사건도 급박하게 펼쳐지며 몰입도를 높인 점을 다 깎아먹은 그저 그런 만화가 되었다. 사랑의 힘이 그 모든 생화학 치료제가 감당 못한 괴질을 제압한다는 설정은 만화라서 가능한 일이긴 하다. 이 만화는 사스 바이러스 창궐기에 구상되었고, 현실 세계는 이후에 신종 인플루엔자와 메르스 바이러스를 거쳐서 지금 코로나 19에 맞서고 있다. 이제는 헌책으로도 구하기 힘든 <이머징>을 돌이켜 보면 재난의 사회학으로 눈여겨 볼만한 부분은 곳곳에 있다. 현실 속에서 국가가 전염병을 통제하는 시스템은 통상적으로 네 개의 수준으로 층을 나눈다고 한다. 레벨1은 흔히 퍼져있는 보통 감기나 대장균 같은 질병에 대한 대처다. 좀 더 높은 레벨2는 인플루엔자 독감이나 홍역 같은 증상들에 대처하는 법이고, 레벨3이 에이즈와 에볼라 바이러스, 조류 독감, 돼지 구제역, 신종 변형 바이러스처럼 인간에게 직간접으로 심각하다고 판단되는 병들을 다룬다. 코로나19 바이러스도 여기에 해당된다. 각 수준의 질병들은 거기에 맞는 대응책이 마련되어 있고, 이 매뉴얼 항목이 평소에 잘 준비되어 있는가, 그렇지 않은가. 정부나 지자체가 그걸 채택하는가, 기각하는가에 따라서 결과는 다르게 나올 것이다. 이 속도전이자 전면전과 같은 항 바이러스전에서 세계의 전황은 한국과 다른 여러 나라들의 현실로 구분되고 있다. 그런데 <이머징>에서 묘사된 종류의 괴질은 심각한 수준을 훨씬 뛰어넘는 레벨4의 상황이다. 이런 병이 창궐하면 국가 행정 체계나 과학과 의료 기술 체계로 통제가 거의 불가능하다. 즉, 레벨4는 그것을 분류하는 최악의 상황을 도식화해서 통제 시스템 안에 넣었지만 애당초 통제될 수 없는 역설에 쌓여 있다. 뭔가 그럴 듯한 상황을 상상했지만, 현실 속에선 몇 가지 이유로 갈팡질팡하는 이 만화의 원작 국가를 보면 더 그렇다. 이 끔찍한 출혈열 바이러스도 그렇고, 창작물의 단솔 소재가 되어 온 좀비 바이러스도 비슷하다. 레벨3에 해당하는 질병은 전문가들과 정치가들도 현 기술로 통제할 수 있다는 낙천적 신념을 공유한다. 하지만 그 단계를 넘어서면 해결 능력은 방향을 잃고, 수퍼 히어로나 형이상학적 가치에 문제를 떠넘겨 버린다. 예컨대 신의 구원에 대한 호소가 아니겠나. 영화 <레지던트 이블>과 게임 <바이오 하자드 >의 세계관에서는 주인공 앨리스라는 치트키가 등장한다. <이머징>에서는 그 형이상학이 남녀의 지고지순한 사랑이다. 예술은? 대면 집회의 자제 분위기 속에서 종교와 예술은 빛을 바래고 있다. 예술이 세상을 바꿀 수 있다는 믿음은 제정일치 시대와 서구 중세 암흑기의 종교적 권능만큼이나 순박하다. 예술과 종교는 과학과 정치가 지금 영리하게 잡은 입장처럼, 자기 한계를 고백하는 게 나아 보인다. 예술가 개인이 처한 불안과 무기력함이 딱 고만고만한 세계관만 드러낸다고 볼 수는 없다. 인류사에서 역병의 창궐기에 탄생한 위대한 문학과 음악과 미술 작품들을 봐도 알 수 있다. 아픔을 치유하기보다 드러내는 것이 예술의 탁월함 아닌가.
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