Kwang Young Chun Mulberry Mindscapes by Rizzoli International Publications

Kwang Young Chun MulberrY MindsCapes

ince 1995, Kwang Young Chun has been making large works called Aggregations. A full appreciation of their power—and originality—will take us from the beginning of Chun’s career, as a young Korean MFA candidate at the Philadelphia College of Art, to his present eminence not only in his homeland but also in the international art world. The National Museum of Contemporary Art, in Seoul, named him Artist of the Year in 2001. This year he showed his work in the company of Anselm Kiefer and Gotthard Graubner at the Kunstwerk Museum, in Eberdingen-Nussdorf, Germany. As well-deserved as they are, these signs of recognition threaten to isolate Chun’s work in the glow of its success. The Abstract Expressionist Willem de Kooning once said, “There’s no way of looking at a work of art by itself. It’s not self-evident—it needs a history, it needs a lot of talking about; it’s part of a man’s whole life.” 1 There is much to say about the history and context of the Aggregations. First, though, we should note the strength of their physical presence. Most of these works hang on the wall. Some stand on the floor. All are covered by small, triangular objects: pieces of Styrofoam neatly wrapped in mulberry paper (hanji) and just as neatly tied with lengths of thin string. The artist’s choice of mulberry paper is crucial, for this material is profoundly important to Korean culture. Its cultural significance is basic to the deepest meanings of the Aggregations, yet we need not know this to intuit the artist’s process and to the sense patience and unflagging clarity of purpose that imbues these works. When a form lies flat, only one of its triangular sides is visible. Jutting outward it displays a certain thickness. Though these objects are like threesided building blocks, Chun does not use them to construct architectural forms. Rather, he arranges them in tight, intricate patterns that bring to mind cracked earth or the jagged texture of shale. These allusions to natural phenomena are countered by signs of civilization: Korean and Chinese characters printed on the mulberry paper. With his triangular objects, Chun brings nature and culture into an intimate relationship. The Aggregations are large, even imposing, and it is something of a shock to realize, from up close, that they achieve their grandeur with such small elements. It’s as if we were glimpsing the molecular structure of matter itself. Scale, for an instant, is infinitesimally small and then shifts dramatically when we focus on color. In some of the Aggregations colors surge slowly over the surface, suggesting a cloudy sky; a drift toward grays or earthen hues reinforces the look of rock or clay; and sometimes there is a single, painterly color, like the dark yet luminescent blue of Aggregation 12MY026, 2012. Whatever the color of an Aggregation, it creates the light that endows the work with its distinctive mood. The matter of moods and their expression is a subtle thing and in Chun’s case requires a look

at Abstract Expressionism, the style of painting he embraced in the late 1960s as a student at the Philadelphia College of Art. Even before he arrived in America, he was aware of other options: Pop Art, Minimalism, and conceptual art. Moreover, he respected these styles, which had redefined contemporary painting and sculpture. Yet he opted for Abstract Expressionism because it was so liberating. It allowed him to experiment at will, unencumbered by the expectations of Korean teachers who embodied centuries of tradition. As he said in a recent statement, his training at Hong-Ik University, in Seoul, was in a tradition that “forced one to have one’s imagination censored by one’s teacher.” 2 Philadelphia—and, more generally, America, the very idea of it—convinced Chun to set aside the past. For the first time, his art could be about the feelings that drew him to the blank canvas. This new freedom of expression was especially welcome because his experience of America gave him so much to convey. Born in 1944, Chun was a young boy when hostilities broke out between the Republic of Korea (South Korea) and the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (communist North Korea). By September 1950, North Korean forces and their Chinese allies had occupied nearly the entire Korean peninsula. Nominally an initiative of the United Nations, the counter-offensive was led bythe United States in close cooperation with South Korean forces. Though the conflict is still unresolved, officially, military action ceased in 1953 with the territory of South Korea wrested from its invaders. Despite the failure to achieve a clear-cut victory, America emerged from the war with an aura of power—and of goodness. Chun came to Philadelphia in the late 1960s expecting to find a land of peace and prosperity. He learned that many Americans were, indeed, prosperous but many were not. The conflict in Vietnam was escalating, relentlessly. As the military draft snared some young people, especially those from lower economic strata, others drifted into the aimless improvisations of hippie culture. Arguably, these were problems on the peripheries of American society. Yet they were rapidly deepening. Rather than address them, the vast, complacent center persisted in its cycle of “getting and spending,” as the poet William Wordsworth called it. A more current name is consumerism, which struck Chun not only as a distraction from social and political unrest but also as a denial of humanity’s spiritual concerns. American society was delivering one shock after another, and in Abstract Expressionism he saw a means of registering their impact. Dispensing with traditional ideals of order and beauty, the Abstract Expressionist brushstroke is quick, aggressive, and even violent. As one rushing, skidding paint-mark begets the next, the image overflows with clashing forms and colors. For Chun, these pictorial conflicts were powerful reflections on the harsher truths of America, this new and once so promising world.

Kwang Young Chun MulberrY MindsCapes

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Since 1995, Kwang Young Chun has been making large works called Aggregations. A full appreciation of their power—and originality—will take us from the beginning of Chun’s career, as a young Korean MFA candidate at the Philadelphia College of Art, to his present eminence not only in his homeland but also in the international art world. The National Museum of © 2013 Rizzoli

their grandeur with such small elements. It’s as if we were glimpsing the molecular structure of matter itself. Scale, for an instant, is infinitesimally small and then shifts dramatically when we focus on color. In some of the Aggregations colors surge slowly over the surface, suggesting a cloudy sky; a drift toward grays or earthen hues reinforces the look of rock or clay; and sometimes there is a single, painterly color, like the dark yet luminescent blue of Aggregation 12-MY026, 2012. Whatever the color of an Aggregation, it creates the light that endows the work with its distinctive mood. The matter of moods and their expression is a subtle thing and in Chun’s case requires a look at Abstract Expressionism, the style of painting he embraced in the late 1960s as a student at the Philadelphia College of Art. Even before he arrived in America, he was aware of other options: Pop Art, Minimalism, and conceptual art. Moreover, he respected these styles, which had redefined contemporary painting and sculpture. Yet he opted for Abstract Expressionism because it was so liberating. It allowed him to experiment at will, unencumbered by the expectations of Korean teachers who embodied centuries of tradition. As he said in a recent statement, his training at Hong-Ik University, in Seoul, was in a tradition that “forced one to have one’s imagination censored by one’s teacher.” 2 Philadelphia—and, more generally, America, the very idea of it—convinced Chun to set aside the past. For the first time, his art could be about the feelings that drew him to the blank canvas. This new freedom of expression was especially welcome because his experience of America gave him so much to convey. Born in 1944, Chun was a young boy when hostilities broke out between the Republic of Korea (South Korea) and the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (communist North Korea). By September 1950, North Korean forces and their Chinese allies had occupied nearSince 1995, Kwang Young Chun has been making large works called ly the entire Korean peninsula. Nominally an initiative of the United Aggregations. A full appreciation of their power—and originality—will Nations, the counter-offensive was led bythe United States in close take us from the beginning of Chun’s career, as a young Korean MFA cooperation with South Korean forces. Though the conflict is still uncandidate at the Philadelphia College of Art, to his present eminence resolved, officially, military action ceased in 1953 with the territory of not only in his homeland but also in the international art world. The South Korea wrested from its invaders. Despite the failure to achieve a National Museum of Contemporary Art, in Seoul, named him Artist clear-cut victory, America emerged from the war with an aura of powof the Year in 2001. This year he showed his work in the company of er—and of goodness. Chun came to Philadelphia in the late 1960s Anselm Kiefer and Gotthard Graubner at the Kunstwerk Museum, in expecting to find a land of peace and prosperity. Eberdingen-Nussdorf, Germany. As well-deserved as they are, these He learned that many Americans were, indeed, prosperous but signs of recognition threaten to isolate Chun’s work in the glow of many were not. The conflict in Vietnam was escalating, relentlessly. its success. The Abstract Expressionist Willem de Kooning once said, As the military draft snared some young people, especially those from “There’s no way of looking at a work of art by itself. It’s not self-evilower economic strata, others drifted into the aimless improvisations dent—it needs a history, it needs a lot of talking about; it’s part of a of hippie culture. Arguably, these were problems on the peripheries man’s whole life.” 1 There is much to say about the history and conof American society. Yet they were rapidly deepening. Rather than text of the Aggregations. First, though, we should note the strength of address them, the vast, complacent center persisted in its cycle of their physical presence. “getting and spending,” as the poet William Wordsworth called it. A Most of these works hang on the wall. Some stand on the more current name is consumerism, which struck Chun not only as floor. All are covered by small, triangular objects: pieces of Styrofoam a distraction from social and political unrest but also as a denial of neatly wrapped in mulberry paper (hanji) and just as neatly tied with humanity’s spiritual concerns. American society was delivering one lengths of thin string. The artist’s choice of mulberry paper is crucial, shock after another, and in Abstract Expressionism he saw a means for this material is profoundly important to Korean culture. Its cultural of registering their impact. Dispensing with traditional ideals of order significance is basic to the deepest meanings of the Aggregations, yet and beauty, the Abstract Expressionist brushstroke is quick, aggreswe need not know this to intuit the artist’s process and to the sense sive, and even violent. As one rushing, skidding paint-mark begets the patience and unflagging clarity of purpose that imbues these works. next, the image overflows with clashing forms and colors. For Chun, When a form lies flat, only one of its triangular sides is visible. Jutthese pictorial conflicts were powerful reflections on the harsher ting outward it displays a certain thickness. Though these objects are truths of America, this new and once so promising world. Despite like three-sided building blocks, Chun does not use them to construct the brilliance of his Abstract Expressionist canvases, however, he was architectural forms. Rather, he arranges them in tight, intricate patnever quite convinced of their value. It troubled him that he had adterns that bring to mind cracked earth or the jagged texture of shale. opted a style of painting from a culture not his own. He felt like an These allusions to natural phenomena are countered by signs of civiliimpersonator, a Korean assuming an American identity the moment zation: Korean and Chinese characters printed on the mulberry paper. he entered the studio and took up his brush. Doubt of this kind shows With his triangular objects, Chun brings nature and culture into an an integrity rare in the history of art. intimate relationship. The Aggregations are large, even imposing, and Invented early in the twentieth century, Cubism quickly became ©it2013 Rizzoli International Publications. All Rights Reserved. is something of a shock to realize, from up close, that they achieve

terraform: the art of KWang-Young Chun John C. WelChman

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an international style, as painters throughout Europe devised variations on precedents set by Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque. Most of this work is thoroughly derivative, and yet its producers didn’t see it that way. For them, to paint in the Cubist manner was to join the forward ranks of the avant-garde. Something similar happened in the 1950s, when French and Italian painters learned of Abstract Expressionism. Imitating the brushwork of de Kooning, Jackson Pollock, and other Abstract Expressionists, these artists made creditable paintings. Yet their originality appears chiefly in new labels: tachisme in France, arte informale in Italy. Genuine originality was not a concern. It was enough to ride fresh currents of paint to the heart of the aesthetic moment. For Abstract Expressionism was not just a style. It was stylish. It felt relevant. The style still felt that way when Chun embraced it in the late 1960s. De Kooning was still producing major work and younger artists—Helen Frankenthaler, for example—were finding new uses for Pollock’s innovations. Abstract Expressionism was a viable option yet Chun wasn’t satisfied with mere viability. It was not enough for him simply to find a place in the art world of the moment. But why not? This is, after all, what most artists want. We can never know an artist’s deepest feelings with any certainty, yet there is a clue to Chun’s dissatisfaction in a quality he calls his “artistic fastidiousness.” At first hearing, the phrase seems to refer to matters of technique, the more so because Chun has always made his work with exquisite skill. Yet there is more to it than that. His fastidiousness focuses not only on the art object but also on the artist—that is to say, himself. And so he came to be haunted by a dilemma. He was truly an Abstract Expressionist but his success in this Western style raised a question: was he truly the artist he wanted to be? His answer, ultimately, was no. Breaking with his immediate past, he looked for a way of making art that would be true to the unique character of his life and experience. He sought an originality grounded in his Korean origins. Any success is difficult to achieve and Chun was reluctant to

abandon his, despite nagging doubts about personal authenticity. To turn away from his accomplishments as a painter was even more wrenching because he saw no feasible substitute for Abstract Expressionism in the contemporary Korean art scene or in the international art world that sets the standards for all artists, Western and non-Western alike. Finding no guidance in any quarter, Chun was completely on his own. Nonetheless, he persevered, determined to make art that was genuinely Korean but not dependent on traditions of the past. He wanted to create a “Koreanness” of the present—of his present. As it turned out, he was able to do so only by leaving art behind and returning, in memory, to his early life. To explain the emergence of the Aggregations, Chun has spoken several times of a memory triggered on a spring day in 1995. He was suffering from a bad cold. His wife brought him a package of pills. When he picked them up and felt their shapes through their paper wrapper, a childhood incident suddenly came back to him. Chun’s mother had taken him to a practitioner of Asian medicine. He didn’t like these visits. An overwhelming smell of infusions filled the doctor’s office. Worse, acupuncture needles lay in plain view. As the doctor took Chun’s pulse and muttered to himself, the boy looked up and saw packages of mulberry paper hanging from the ceiling. Each bag bore the name of the medicine it contained. As that image reverberated in memory, the adult Chun found “a new theme” for his art—one that was uniquely Korean. The elements of the work he has been making for over a decade and a half evolved from those mulberry paper containers. It makes a deep and affecting sense that their contents were medicines, for this evolution has been a healing process. Yet Chun has not retreated into a dream of utopian peace. His “new theme” allows him to face—and come to terms with—conflicts that his earlier work left unresolved. Chun describes his triangular elements as “the minimal unit of information.” With this concise phrase, he presents the endpoint of a complex train of thought that began with ruminations on those bags of medicine. Of course, we

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