Koreana Spring 2016 (English)

spring 2016

Korean culTure & arTS

Special FeaTure

Korean TheaTer

Korean Theater Today People and Trends

Stage Artist Lee Byoung-bok, a Beacon for Korean Theater for a Half Century; Daehangno, the Ever Evolving Theater District of Seoul

vol. 30 no. 1

ISSN 1016-0744

IMAGE OF KOREA

Marronnier Magic Kim Hwa-young Literary Critic; Member of the National Academy of Arts

his is Marronnier Park in Daehangno, a street in central Seoul. An actor in a red hat and red jacket is performing in the middle of the square. Is he a magician, perhaps? A crowd soon starts to gather around him. It’s a street festival. On this street, every day, every moment is a festival. But peel back just one layer of the exuberant exterior, and a slice of Korea’s modern history is revealed.

This northeastern section of the historic center of the capital city is home to countless small theaters clustered cheek by jowl, including Arko Arts Theater of the Arts Council Korea. The Daehangno area, stretching 1.5 kilometers in either direction from Hyehwa Subway Station, is a state-designated cultural zone. It’s an area with a rich history, boasting proximity to such historical sites as Mt. Nak rising to the rear, and Changgyeong Palace, Changdeok Palace, and Jongmyo Shrine, all located within walking distance.

The name Daehangno, which literally means “university street,” comes from the fact that Seoul National University, Korea’s first modern university, was established here in 1946. In 1961, I entered the university’s College of Liberal Arts and Sciences as a French literature major. In the background where the red brick Arko Arts Theater can be seen, that’s the site of the classical beige brick building which housed the university library and the offices of many professors. And that’s where I first read L'Étranger (“The Stranger”) by Albert Camus. In front was a grove of zelkova trees. The path running through the lawn, redolent with the scent of lilacs, led to the university’s front gate. From there, crossing the bridge over the stream in front, which we called “the Seine” as we dreamt of Paris so far away, led to the road that is called Daehangno today. Across the road, the Seoul National University Hospital and College of Medicine still stand in the same place.

The old brick building was also the place where I gave my first and last lecture at my alma mater after returning from my study in France in the autumn of 1974.

In 1975, Seoul National University was relocated to a vast new campus on the southern outskirts of the city, and the old campus area became the youth and culture center of Seoul.

That’s not all. Before the establishment of Seoul National University, this is where Keijo Imperial University’s College of Law was founded by the Japanese government-general in 1924. The two giant trees at the very back of the photo are the horse chestnut (marronnier) trees planted in 1927 by Ueno Naoteru, a professor of aesthetics at the school, who brought them here from France. It is these trees that gave Marronnier Park its name. The actor in the red hat, would he be aware of the archaeological magic of time and history that is part of this square?

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puBliSher eDiTorial DirecTor eDiTor-in-chieF eDiTorial BoarD

Editor’s letter

nameless, Faceless, Two hearts On a drizzly afternoon last winter, I visited Sun Mu at his studio in Goyang, on the northern outskirts of Seoul. His studio was part of a converted house not far from the riverside freeway running northward. If there was no border separating the two Koreas, he would need just a couple of hours to reach his hometown in South Hwanghae Province, North Korea, where his family lives. There, he was painting in the style he had learned in the North, rendering most works in red and blue, the colors of its national flag.

It takes a few moments to discern the true messages of paintings by this man known by his pseudonym Sun Mu, and what he means when he says he has “two hearts.” The visit was arranged only after much persuasion because he was initially very reluctant to meet the media. Instead of having his face photographed for our story, “Defector Artists Dream of a Borderless Korea,” he provided digital data of his self-portraits.

It is with a similar pain in my heart that I bring to our readers’ attention the protagonist of the musical drama “Baek Seok’s Fable” featured on the cover of this issue. Baek Seok is one of the most popular poets among South Koreans today, but he was forgotten — forbidden actually — during the Cold War era. This was all because he happened to be in his hometown in the North when the nation was divided seven decades ago. Unable to adapt to the North’s system, he is known to have died on a collective farm in a remote mountainous region.

“Baek Seok’s Fable” is one of the latest productions by the Street Theatre Troupe, which is known for staging works with explicit social messages. The readers can learn more about the goings-on in Korea’s theatrical community in the Special Feature, “Korean Theater Today: People and Trends.” This issue also debuts a new column titled “An Ordinary Day,” which offers a glimpse into the everyday lives of ordinary Koreans. lee Kyong-hee Editor-in-Chief

copY eDiTor aSSociaTe eDiTor aSSiSTanT eDiTorS creaTiVe DirecTor eDiTorS arT DirecTor DeSignerS

Yu Hyun-seok Yoon Keum-jin lee Kyong-hee Bae Bien-u Charles la Shure Choi Young-in Han Kyung-koo Kim Hwa-young Kim Young-na Koh Mi-seok Song Hye-jin Song Young-man Werner Sasse Dean Jiro Aoki lim Sun-kun Teresita M. Reed Cho Yoon-jung Kim Sam noh Yoon-young, Park Sin-hye lee Young-bok Kim Ji-hyun, lee Sung-ki, Yeob lan-kyeong

laYouT & DeSign

Kim’s Communication Associates 44 Yanghwa-ro 7-gil, Mapo-gu Seoul 04035, Korea www.gegd.co.kr Tel: 82-2-335-4741 Fax: 82-2-335-4743

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Korean culTure & arTS spring 2016

Image from a publicity poster for the musical drama “Baek Seok’s Fable,” written and directed by lee Yountaek, and premiered by the Street Theatre Troupe in August 2015 at the Daejeon Culture and Arts Center. The drama depicts the life and work of north Korean poet Baek Seok (1912–1996).

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Published quarterly by The Korea Foundation 2558 nambusunhwan-ro, Seocho-gu Seoul 06750, Korea http://www.koreana.or.kr

© The Korea Foundation 2016 All rights reserved. no part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without the prior permission of the Korea Foundation.

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Koreana , registered as a quarterly magazine with the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism (Registration no. Ba-1033, August 8, 1987), is also published in Arabic, Chinese, French, German, Indonesian, Japanese, Russian and Spanish.

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Focus

Cho Seong-jin’s Triumph at Chopin Competition and its Meaning for Classical Music in Korea Park Yong-wan

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inTerview

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arT review

Six Photographers Interpret Traditional Architecture

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guarDian oF HeriTage

Master Craftsman Restores the Sounds of Heirloom Instruments

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Tales oF Two Koreas

Defector Artists Dream of a Borderless Korea

special FeaTure 2

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Daehangno, the Ever Evolving Theater District of Seoul

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Street Theatre Troupe Revisits Chekhov for 21st-century Audiences lee Chang-guy

special FeaTure 4

Ryan Cassidy: A Voice Ringing Across Cultures

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Hwang Jin-mee

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Garlic Many Ways: Harbinger of Spring and Potent Flavor Enhancer Kim Jin-young

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Jeon Sung-won

journeYs in Korean liTeraTure

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A Wanderer’s Surrealistic Song

Darcy Paquet

Cho Yong-ho

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Hamyang and Sancheong: Balmy Fragrances of Scholars’ Ink and Spring Mountains

The Wayfarer Never Rests on the Road lee Ze-ha

Gwak Jae-gu

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an orDinarY DaY

Choi Yoon-woo

special FeaTure 3

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on THe roaD

Kim Su-mi

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Reality TV Shows Revive Sense of Community

Food Delivery Gets its Apps

in love wiTH Korea

Stage Artist Lee Byoung-bok, a Beacon for Korean Theater for a Half Century

Charles la Shure, Park Seok-hwan

liFesTYle

Kim Hak-soon

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Websites offer Korean Webtoons in english

essenTial ingreDienTs

Chung Jae-suk

special FeaTure 1

“An Intellectual History of Seonbi in Korea — Korean Cultural DNA”

enTerTainMenT

Mok Soo-hyun

Korean Theater Today: people and Trends

First english Translation of the annals of a Joseon King

www.spottoon.com; www.webtoons.com; www.tapastic.com

Cho Sung-sik

SpEcIAl FEAtuRE

“The Annals of King T’aejo: Founder of Korea's Chosōn Dynasty”

a new approach to probe Korea’s intellectual history

Pop Diva Insooni Seeks to Give People Hope

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BooKs & More

Banchan Store, a New Challenge on a Familiar Road Kim Seo-ryung

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New Leaders at the Forefront of Korean Theater Kim So-yeon

special FeaTure 5

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Changgeuk Enjoys a Renaissance Kang Il-joong

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SpEcIAl FEAtuRE 1 Korean Theater Today: People and Trends

StAGE ARtISt lEE ByOunG-BOK, A BEAcOn FOR KOREAn tHEAtER FOR A HAlF cEntuRy

Kim Su-mi Theater Critic Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

lee Byoung-bok is a pioneer who paved the way for modern stage art in Korea. She opened a theater café in 1969 to introduce to local theater lovers a variety of contemporary Western plays, Korean folk dramas, and other original works of the era. lee humbly calls herself “a backstage clown,” but during her 40 years at the helm of the Jayu [Freedom] theater company, younger-generation theater artists regarded her as their lodestar.

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n December 2014, a small party was held to celebrate Lee Byoung-bok’s 90th birthday at her workshop in Jangchung-dong, Seoul. Among the modest gathering of family members and artists, septuagenarian stage actress Son Sook said, “It is your tenacity that has guided theater people like us to persevere in this country. We’ve come this far because you never lost that spirit. For that, we truly thank you.”

I

café theatre and the Jayu theater company Lee Byoung-bok was representative of the Jayu Theater Company for 40 years (1964–2004). Unlike other organizations of its kind, where the artistic director would typically serve as the representative and oversee the creative and administrative affairs, Jayu was led by a costume designer. This was possible due to its unique system of “collective creation.” Throughout its production process, including the selection of plays to be staged, the company collaborates with specialists in various fields. As a specialist in stage costumes and props, Lee actively participated in the process, thereby contributing to the development of stage art and design in Korea.

Jayu was modeled after the French theater ensemble Compagnie RenaudBarrault, which was led by the couple Madeline Renaud and Jean-Louis Barrault.

Lee’s working partner was the director Kim Jung-ok, a friend since her student days in France. In the 1960s, the two young artists combined their enthusiasm for theater to found the troupe, but it was difficult to find a good stage at that time in Korea. The members were highly motivated but needed a place to perform on a regular basis. Remembering the small theaters scattered through Montparnasse and along the Seine in Paris, Lee came up with the idea of opening a theater café.

Working with her husband, artist Kwon Ok-youn, she leased a run-down space in Myeong-dong, central Seoul, and began to make renovations. Drawing lines on the floor with chalk, they divided the space into functional areas: the entrance, the stage area, machine room, hall, ticket booth and cloakroom, counter, small bar, restroom, and kitchen. After many days and nights of hard work, Café Theatre was opened in April 1969.

A place where people could enjoy stage performances over drinks, it was the first venue of its kind in Korea. It staged college plays on Mondays, and folk dramas, pansori (traditional narrative song), and puppet plays on Fridays, while the remaining days were reserved for performances by Jayu and other theater companies. The café introduced contemporary Western plays, such as “The Bald Soprano” by Eugène Ionesco and “The Zoo Story” by Edward Albee, and a wide repertoire of acclaimed original Korean plays, including “The Roly Poly on Roller Skates” by Oh Tae-seok, as well as remakes from the 1920s and 1930s. Exposing young people to traditional folk arts, through performances of pansori and puppet plays, and providing the then fledgling theater companies (Jayu, Minye, Gwangjang, Kagyo and Minjung) with a much-needed space to present their works, Café Theatre made a monumental contribution to the little theater movement in Korea. In its heyday, it was also a popular haunt for local arts and culture figures.

While the Jayu Theater Company was one axis of Lee Byoung-bok’s career, which led her to contemplate the meaning of community and collaboration, Café Theatre was another axis which enabled her to devote herself to small theater productions and maintain a dialogue with her audience. The numerous intersections that she has created along these two axes and the crises and tensions which arose around them have encouraged Korean theater artists to pursue their dreams.

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 5

Experimental costumes and Stage Designs Lee went to France in 1957. In those days, it took a month on a ship to get there. She made the tough decision to leave her three young children in the care of her mother-in-law, not out of her personal ambition to become a world-class costume designer or stage artist but from her desire to support her husband studying art in France. In time, her intellectual background as the graduate of a prestigious university with a major in English literature back home as well as her diligent and determined character led Lee to seek her own career. While assisting her husband in his studies, she spent her free time studying at a tailoring school.

“I was expelled because I ventured into draping when I was supposed to make flat patterns. I was just trying to save time by doing as much as I could, but I ended up dropping out after six months,” Lee recalled. Chagrined, she started to work at a dressmaker’s shop, where her experiences working on evening dresses helped her to develop a sense of stylish tailoring. “A model stripped to her underwear would work with the tailor for hours on end, so that we could cut the cloth to fit on a live model. We would frequently dress the

model and have her move about to check the hang of the material and change the design if needed. That was something I would never have learned at school,” she said.

Lee’s experiences in Paris formed the basis for her work when she returned to Korea in 1961. She started to see a piece of clothing not just as an object but a living, breathing thing. In addition, she began to develop her signature style, producing costumes that seemed to be an integral part of the wearer.

With stage settings in which the costumes, props, and other elements achieved perfect harmony, Lee brought the hitherto unknown concept of stage design to Korean theater. In this sense, the presentation of “What Shall We Become?” in 1978 was a sort of milestone. Lee’s artistry continued to flourish in “Evening Primroses” (1982), in which a group of onlookers was

Her devotion to these mundane tasks may reflect her life as a theater artist who works backstage, fussing with the costumes of actors and the sets to the very last moment before the curtain rises. The glory and rapture of the stage would not have been possible without her callused hands and silent support.

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represented by cloth puppets with eyeless faces hung from bush clover, and “Flowers Bloom Even on a Windy Day” (1984), where puppets and masks were brought into the foreground.

“Hens Will Do If the Roosters Don’t Crow” (1988) brought Lee widespread acclaim for over 70 costumes made with hanji, or traditional mulberry paper.

Paper can express a wide variety of styles in costumes depending on the gluing technique and the layers of raw material. Lee’s paper costumes were tailored to each actor’s physical movements. Distinctly stylized, the costumes highlighted the ritual atmosphere of the performance. The unrealistic costumes made with paper, their subdued tones conveying an old-time elegance, added depth to the time and space depicted on stage.

The wrap-around skirts designed for “Blood Wed-

A regiment of hemp-cloth puppets forms the backdrop for “Blood Wedding.” Especially fond of the play written by Spanish playwright Federico Garcia Lorca, Lee Byoung-bok has repeatedly reinterpreted the stage design since the play’s Korean premiere in 1982.

ding” (1988) to express the common people’s sensibilities, the puffed-up trousers in the shape of Korean earthenware pots in “Birds in Flight against the Setting Sun” (1992), and the funeral hall with an awning built by hanging 400 bolts of hemp cloth across the ceiling and down the backdrop were all products of Lee’s artistic insight and ingenuity. Exploiting shape and texture, Lee created stages that struck a chord with audiences. The culmination of her stage art was the ritual drama “Exorcism for Costumes” (1999), which featured most of the costumes that she had produced over the years, obliterating the boundaries between drama, costumes, and stage design.

A chest of drawers in Lee’s workshop neatly stores all kinds of raw materials for her work, which include empty rice sacks, sheets of yellowed newspaper, twine, plastic film, and leftover scraps of mulberry paper. Even her most elaborate costumes are actually made of household junk. She used dried homegrown sponge gourds to give volume to clothes, and created the insignia on royal robes through repeated experimentation — twisting, attaching, and ironing strands of thread and sheets of plastic film. While using common materials that can be found anywhere, she has developed a strikingly individual approach, without being frustrated by repeated failures and laborious manual tasks.

Her experimental attitude has inspired her coworkers in various ways and on numerous occasions.

“Good hanji is pretty durable. So, I save the pieces from botched costumes to make masks,” Lee said. “Nothing is just thrown away, since everything can be turned into a great stage prop. The lawn that I once produced for ‘Thieves’

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 7

Carnival’ was made with strips of scrap metal. The idea occurred to me when I was passing by a metal workshop, where a sheet of metal was being cut. The leftover strips seemed like soft silk thread, and put together they had a natural volume. I used to collect a load of such junk whenever I went out.”

Of all her props, the masks are especially creative. They either have no eyes or just narrow slits, and their crushed noses and crooked mouths look ugly at a glance.

But these grotesque masks take on various expressions when seen from different angles, and in this way they reveal the amorphousness that underlies Korean sensibilities.

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©Arko Art Center, Joom

‘lee Byoung-bok Is nowhere’ A decade ago, a unique exhibition was held in Geumgok, Namyangju, Gyeonggi Province, to showcase the stage costumes, props, puppets, and other objects that Lee had created over her 50-year career. The exhibition was not only unusual in character, it had a rather peculiar title, “Lee Byoung-bok Is Nowhere,” a proclamation of her intention to get rid of all the works that she had created over the years.

A collection of works spanning over half a century of an artist’s life constitute valuable materials for art history. But, they may be easily ruined or lost unless appropriate efforts are made to preserve them after the artist’s death. Based on this awareness, Lee’s exhibition was her own protest over the lack of due recognition in Korea for the value of artistic history and documentation. Feeling the sorrow of a mother who has survived her child, she decided to burn all her works. Fortunately, the Museum of Performing Arts was opened in the National Theater of Korea in December 2009. Although the museum is not wholly dedicated to the art of theater, it does house an impressive array of materials on Korean performing arts collected since the 1950s, which are shown to the public through exhibitions and educational programs.

These days, one of Lee’s major concerns is her property in Geumgok, a 6.5-acre compound that includes ten traditional Korean houses. With her husband, who passed away in 2011, she had relocated the buildings from all over the nation. In the 1970s and 1980s, a time of rapid social and economic development in Korea, the urban landscape was drastically transformed. Under the banner of the Saemaul [New Community] Movement, a grand-scale government-led modernization drive, traditional buildings were largely replaced by Western-style structures. In those days, Lee and her husband took keen interest in the preservation of dilapidated traditional homes that were being rapidly replaced by fancy new buildings.

One of the notable buildings in the Geumgok compound is Gungjip (meaning “royal villa”), which was built in the 18th century by King Yeongjo for his youngest daughter, Princess Hwagil. In recognition of its cultural and historical value, the house was designated an Important Folklore Material in 1984. With this historic building at the compound’s center, Lee and her husband relocated other old houses found in Yongin, Gunsan, and elsewhere, while restoring some run-down thatchedroofed houses nearby and rebuilding others. It took them many years to level the grounds, plant trees, and dig streams.

It was in Geumgok that one of Lee’s most memorable works, “Prince Hodong” (1991), was premiered. The stage built on the pond against the backdrop of a historic building was itself a fantastic sight. The outdoor stage, the excellent performance of first-class actresses such as Park Jung-ja and Yoon Seok-hwa, and the exquisite costumes and props all worked together in wondrous harmony. Until today, this performance is cited as a masterpiece culminating modern Korean stage design.

Myung Sook Park Dance Theater’s tribute performance at the opening ceremony of the exhibition “Lee Byoung-bok: Act 3, Scene 3,” held at Arko Arts Theater in 2013. The long lengths of cloth draped naturally and the costumes made of mulberry paper and other symbolic elements of Lee Byoung-bok’s stage design formed an integral part of the dance performance.

“Prince Hodong” marked the finale of the OISTAT (International Organisation of Scenographers, Theatre Architects and Technicians) World Congress held in Korea. The performance seemed to attract more attention from other Asian countries than the home audience. Some Chinese and Japanese participants remarked that they were proud to see such a wonderful work produced by fellow Asians. In this regard, Lee said, “Korea is certainly competent in stage design.

Our capabilities have been proven many times at the Prague Quadrennial, among other major international events, since the 1990s.” Lee was the first Korean to be awarded a Medal in Costume Design at the Theatre Architecture Competition of the Prague Quadrennial of Performance Design and Space in 1991, and other stage artists like Shin Sun-hee and Yoon Jung-sup have since followed in her footsteps. Today, many younger Korean stage designers are vying for this prestigious award every year.

Dreams of a ‘Backstage clown’ For Lee, Geumgok is a beloved place marked with precious moments in her life and career. However, she has found it increasingly difficult to maintain the old buildings in a condition that befits their status as cultural properties.

Although the buildings were restored after their relocation, that was now over 40 years ago. All of the buildings are decades or centuries old. To make matters worse, the houses were once ransacked by burglars. On that day, when some of the valuable cultural assets were irrevocably lost, she sat in a stupor under the eaves for a long time. She no longer has the energy to courageously fight back as she did a decade ago with the “Nowhere” exhibition. Her hearing in one ear is almost gone, and she suffers from arthritis in her wrists.

But Lee still goes to Geumgok at every opportunity, if only for chores like weeding or sweeping up leaves, which she has never neglected over the past 50 years. Her devotion to these mundane tasks may reflect her life as a theater artist who works backstage, fussing with the costumes of actors and the sets to the very last moment before the curtain rises. The glory and rapture of the stage would not have been possible without her callused hands and silent support. As opposed to the actors appearing in full view of the audience, Lee has often called herself “a backstage clown.”

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SpEcIAl FEAtuRE 2 Korean Theater Today: People and Trends

DAEHANGNO, THE EvER EvOLvING THEATER DISTRICT OF SEOUL choi yoon-woo Theater Critic; Editor-in-Chief, Webzine Theater-In Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

the streets are lined with 160 or so small theaters within a 2.5km radius, where close to 2,000 plays, musicals, and dance performances are staged every year. On any given day, there are some 150 shows to choose from. these account for about 80 percent of Korea’s total theater revenues, involving 70 percent of all stage actors in the nation. this is Daehangno, or “university street,” which represents the ground zero of cultural and artistic pursuits in Seoul.

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1 Back alleys in the heart of Daehangno. With the increase in small theaters staging lighthearted rom-com plays that appeal to popular tastes, theaters adhering to more serious fare with a social message have moved to the outskirts of the district, giving rise to the term “off-Daehangno.”

2 Arko Arts Theater’s outdoor stage symbolizes the youth and freedom of Daehangno.

nown as the “theater mecca” of Korea, Daehangno bustles with people who come to enjoy plays or musicals or just to stroll along the streets and soak up the ambience, especially on carfree weekends. But the area was not originally planned as a theater district. Keijo Imperial University was once located here, during the first half of the 20th century, when Korea was under Japanese occupation [Keijo, or Gyeongseong in Korean, was the colonial-era name of Seoul]. And when the nation was liberated, Seoul National University opened in its place. In 1975, after the university’s College of Liberal Arts and Sciences and College of Law moved to the current Gwanak campus, the school buildings were demolished. However, the modern red brick building that had housed the Col-

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lege of Liberal Arts and Sciences was spared, together with three horse chestnut trees (marronnier), which remain as historic symbols of the former university site.

A park was created at this site, which people began to call Marronnier Park.

the Mecca of Korean theater Red brick buildings were built around the park. They include Munye Theater (current Arko Arts Theater), which opened in 1981 and played a pivotal role in the area’s development into Korea’s theatrical hub. During the 1980s, Samtoh Blue Bird Theater and Marronnier Theater also opened, and 10 or so small theaters from the college district of Sinchon, like Batangol Small Theater, Dongsoong Art Center, Yeonwoo Theater, and KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 11

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Daehangno embodies the passion and vision of Korea’s culture and arts community. Here, trends in the local performing arts scene can be spotted and assessed. But above all, Daehangno is the cradle for young actors and would-be actors to hone their skills, suffering setbacks at times but never giving up their dreams.

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1 Posters covering the entire wall lure passers-by into the theaters.

2 A scene from “The Wizard of Oz Fantasy,” a family musical staged

by Play of Art 21, which won the theatrical art award at the 12th ASSITEJ Korea Winter Festival, Seoul 2016, held January 7–16.

3 Ihwa village is located between the backstreets of Marronnier Park and Naksan Park. The old walls and steps in the alleyways have emerged as a popular tourist attraction since they were painted over with murals as part of a public art project.

Daehangno Theater, relocated here in search of lower rents. With major culture and arts organizations, such as the Arts Council Korea and the National Theater Association of Korea also settling in the area, Daehangno quickly became a cultural center. Around this time, regulations on the establishment and operation of small theaters in downtown Seoul were also eased, leading to the mushrooming of small-scale theaters, theater groups, and various cultural facilities.

When the Seoul Metropolitan Government officially adopted the name Daehangno in 1985, it hoped to create a global cultural destination like Montmartre in Paris, once the world’s mecca of modern art, Tokyo’s fashion hotspot Harajuku, and London’s Piccadilly Circus. As Daehangno has now become a theater district widely known among performing artists around the world, the city’s ambitious plans can be said to have reached fruition.

Upon its designation as a car-free zone on weekends, the streets of Daehangno came alive with a great variety of cultural activities. Numerous exhibitions, performances, folk games, and poetry readings were held in the square in front of the Arts Council Korea building, and the theater district earned further fame as a street of festivals and youthful exuberance. A range of cultural facilities and amenities, such as iconic sculptures, poster bulletin boards, ticket boxes, streetlamps, and benches, were installed on the streets. With outdoor performances at Marronnier Park luring crowds throughout the week, Daehangno firmly established itself as the center of live performing arts offering a diversity of attractions all year round.

Recently, Daehangno has been playing host to international performing arts festivals all year round, bringing together artists from every corner of the world. In January, the ASSITEJ Festival for children and adolescents kicks the year off, followed by the New Stage and the ARKO Young Art Frontier for budding young artists.

In March, the Asia Theater Directors’ Workshop is held, and the winning plays of the spring literary contests sponsored by major Korean dailies are put on stage.

From April to May, the Seoul Theater Festival is staged, followed by the Seoul Marginal Theatre Festival in July to August, the Daehangno Street Performance Festival in September, and the Seoul Performing Arts Festival and the Daehangno Small Theater Festival in October and November. With such a diversity of festivals and events being presented on a continuous basis, the area is constantly abuzz with creative energy.

Indeed, Daehangno embodies the passion and vision of Korea’s culture and arts community. Here, trends in the local performing arts scene can be spotted and assessed. The area thus plays a lead role in shaping the direction of the government’s cultural and arts policy.

But above all, Daehangno is the cradle for young actors and would-be actors to hone their skills, suffering setbacks at times but never giving up their dreams.

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larger and More Diverse Audiences If this high-energy district was popular with mainly the twenty-something crowd in the past, it now attracts diverse age groups. Although young people still dominate the scene, there has been a noticeable rise in families with children and middle-aged couples thanks to the variety and abundance of attractions on offer.

Tourists visiting nearby Naksan Park or Ihwa village, known for its murals, head to Daehangno to explore the streets or watch a show. The Filipino flea market held every Sunday in front of the cathedral at Hyehwa-dong rotary is another unique attraction. Migrant workers from the Philippines gather here to socialize and sell a variety of products, from their native foods to electric appliances and miscellaneous goods. Dubbed “Little Manila,” this exotic marketplace has been drawing crowds for over 20 years.

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SpEcIAl FEAtuRE 3 Korean Theater Today: People and Trends

StREEt tHEAtRE tROupE REvISItS cHEKHOv FOR 21St-cEntuRy AuDIEncES An artistic commune for people aspiring to create theater that is distinctly Korean and contemporary at the same time, the Miryang theatre village is also the venue for an annual summer theater festival. through this event, the Street theatre troupe provides valuable experience for theater lovers and sends thought-provoking messages to Korean society. lee chang-guy Poet and Literary Critic Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

n the 14th century, when religious plays focusing on the theme of salvation, as symbolized by the consecrated bread and wine, coexisted alongside secular forms of entertainment, the Bishop of Salisbury (presumably Simon of Ghent) denounced every type of professional actor, calling them obscene, adulating, and seeking to arouse drunken revelry. But he is also said to have remarked: “But there are also others, who are called jesters, who sing the deeds of rulers and the lives of the saints, and provide solace for men in their sicknesses or in low spirits, and they do not invent countless infamies as do the dancers and dancing girls and the others who play in shameful representations and cause apparitions to be seen through enchantments or by other methods.” — Oscar G. Brockett et al. (1977).

“European Theater in the Late Middle Ages” from “History of the Theatre.”

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A theater company on the Road In September 1999, a theater troupe left its home in Daehangno, Seoul, where its members had staged a steady run of plays, providing solace for both their audiences and themselves. If this brings to mind images of an ensemble burdened by meager finances and internal strife, think again. For almost 13 years since its founding, this troupe had been attracting sizable audiences with a repertoire of experimental plays that combined drama and traditional ritu14 KoREANA spring 2016

als of exorcism, as well as more conventional works steeped in social awareness. Over a decade of success enabled this pioneering group to introduce its brand of Korean theater to audiences overseas. In 1998, its performance of “A Feeling, Like Paradise” garnered five awards at the Seoul International Theater Festival, including Best Performance. Such success seems all the more significant when recalling that Korea was then under the IMF’s stewardship in the wake of its foreign currency crisis.

In spite of the glamour of the dazzling spotlight and thunderous applause from the audience, however, the actors found themselves exhausted, physically and mentally. They had done all they could to cope with the social trends toward commercialization and vulgarization, handing out flyers on the street and making desperate telephone calls to earn a few lines of publicity in the newspapers. Even after a string of so-called successful productions, their circumstances hardly changed. They saw no end to their “underground life,” sleeping, rehearsing and performing in underground spaces, which threatened both their mental and physical well-being.

At the time in a newspaper column, the group’s founder and art director Lee Youn-taek adopted literary rhetoric to explain the reason for its retreat: “I choose to remain a twentieth-century man forever.” But most other members must have been driven by their simple desire “to devote themselves to theater with a healthy body

Lee Youn-taek, art director of the Street Theatre Troupe, leads a rehearsal.

He stresses to the actors how to move the puppets in a way that shows meaning through their eyelines and subtle motions.

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Leading a communal life, they live together and make plays together, sometimes traveling all over the country to perform on request or by necessity, as did the itinerant entertainers of olden days.

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and mind.” The ensemble found a new home in an abandoned school building in Miryang, a town 350 kilometers south of Seoul with a population of about 100,000. Sixty members opted for this “emergency evacuation.” This is the story of the Street Theatre Troupe, which celebrates its 30th anniversary this year.

‘powers of the Weak’ The troupe has earned numerous epithets, such as “cultural guerrillas” or “cultural anarchists.” Recently, a Japanese scholar called them “an idealist theatrical community.” These descriptions are not so far-fetched; they somehow reflect the mode of life that its members have chosen. Leading a communal life, they live together and make plays together, sometimes traveling all over the country to perform on request or by necessity, as did the itinerant entertainers of olden days.

Their lifestyle is clearly distinct from that of other theater people who are based in major cities where most cultural consump16 KoREANA spring 2016

tion takes place. But this is not entirely new. In pre-modern Korea, all-male vagabond entertainment troupes, called namsadang pae, performed all over the country. Japan’s kabuki theater and the traveling theaters of Europe after the Middle Ages may be regarded as their counterparts. More recently, France’s Theatre of the Sun (Le Théâtre du Soleil) has been active for over 50 years, living up to a credo of equitable distribution, collaborative production, and collective management. In the U.S. state of vermont, the Bread and Puppet Theater engages in a new type of theatrical community, supporting themselves by farming, sharing food from harvested crops, making puppets with agricultural by-products, and staging puppet shows. These communities of “jesters” realized early on that they would not be able to convert their theatrical instincts into value (exchangeable) of their time while living as members of the mainstream (capitalist) society. Notwithstanding their frustration, they have created lifestyles optimized for their respective social environments.

As a consequence, however, they have found themselves inhabiting a “twilight zone,” straddling the established social structure and the outer fringe, and keeping a certain distance from the mainstream society. While respecting their choice, there seemed to be little reason to take special notice of the lives of those who chose to shun competition. Nevertheless, anthropologist victor Turner turned his attention to the “powers of the weak” that are possessed by liminal beings (whom he called “members of the communitas”), such as the poor, the handicapped, and the mentally ill, as well as clowns, shamans, and prophets. He viewed these socially underprivileged groups as those who maximized the relative values left neglected by society (homogeneity, equality, morality, shared ownership/distribution, etc.) by means of their “symbolic power” (dangerousness, infectiousness, anarchy, anonymity, etc.) to facilitate the passage of the current social structure to the next. This view matches the path taken by the Street Theatre Troupe and the values they have pursued for the past 30 years.

communal life and Work Things have changed considerably since the Miryang Theatre village was built.

Equipped with accommodation, performance venues, and other auxiliary facilities for the Street Theatre Troupe, the village also hosts the Miryang Summer Performing Arts Festival in July to August every year. The festival is staged primarily to introduce a wide range of plays and other performing arts from Korea and abroad, but it has also offered various theatrical experiences for the culturally disadvantaged. Moreover, through the “Productions of Young Directors” program, the festival promotes experimental works by fledgling directors who are striving to find their own methods of expression.

In addition, the village includes Uri Theatre Institute, which was founded in 1996 to offer training for performers. Anyone who hopes to become a member of the Street Theatre Troupe must complete the institute’s month-long basic course as well as practical training in diverse fields. This is entirely different from the conventional system of theatrical production, in which the producer or the promoter selects the play to be staged and casts actors through auditions.

One of the first graduates of the institute is the troupe’s present leader Kim So-hee, who looks after management along with some ten long-time members, each with over 20 years of experience and taking charge of different duties.

The company now has about 80 members, who work in three or four teams to stage five or so long-running productions. Each actor

plays four roles at the least, and seven to eight at the most. Members receive free room and board, and since ten years ago they have been paid salaries. The monthly salary consists of basic pay, which ranges from 500,000 to 2 million won, and various benefits and incentives. The wage system is different from those of businesses as the emphasis is placed on value rather than outcome. Kim Misook, an actress who is on the management board, says there are no conflicts on how the value should be determined, although she is not sure whether this means everyone is satisfied.

Living together in the village has naturally led to marriages among the members. Married couples are provided with separate living quarters for family life. Lee Seung-heon, an actor in his 40s who joined the troupe at the age of 26, married a young colleague in February last year. Lee says he has never regretted his choice of career, adding that he relies on this community for his family’s future as well as his own. Last spring, technical director Cho In-kon lost his wife and colleague Lee Yun-joo, who was a promising director and actress. Now, their 11-year-old daughter is growing up under the loving care of all of the troupe’s members. A calendar hanging on the office wall has the wedding date of another couple circled in red.

cradle of Korean theater of the Absurd Since settling down in Miryang, the troupe has further consolidated its reputation for 2 developing its own produc1 A rehearsal for “A Family on the tion methodologies. Based on Road” to be staged in March at the close teamwork, the memIbero-American Theater Festival in bers make most of their props Bogota, Colombia. Portraying the life and art of artist Lee Chung-sop, the and costumes to reduce proset uses some of the artist's favorite duction costs. Their aspiramotifs such as cows and butterflies. tions to challenge the market’s Second from right is Kim So-hee, the troupe’s leader. tendency to conformity and to 2 Uri Theatre Institute offers training bring fresh perspectives to the courses for actors. Anyone who hopes stage are growing ever strongto join the Street Theatre Troupe has to complete its basic course. er. Their work has manifested an intense interest in history, concern for the alienated, ritual elements, and imagination and creativity for dynamic, subversive and absurd plays. The group’s most impressive productions include “Rural Scholar Jo Nammyeong,” a portrayal of the high-principled 16th-century Confucian scholar Jo Sik, who challenged the power elite; “Deliberation,” the tragic life story of the 15th-century scientist Jang Yeong-sil, who rose from a lowly background; “Baek Seok’s Fable,” highlighting the legendKoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 17

ary poet who fell victim to the political systems of the two Koreas; and “A Man Wallowing on the Floor,” depicting the despair of a socially withdrawn individual. The audiences have responded with enthusiastic applause, while critics heaped praise on the group and bestowed prominent awards.

This spring, the Street Theatre Troupe presents two major works: “The Cherry Orchard” by Anton Chekhov (Nunbit Theater in Seoul, April 8–May 1) and “A Family on the Road” by Kim Eui-kyung (Bogota, Colombia, March 19–21). Portraying the life of artist Lee Chung-sop, “A Family on the Road” will be featured at the IberoAmerican Theater Festival in Bogota, home of the renowned artist Fernando Botero. It will be the third time for the troupe to perform at this festival. One of the actors, Claudia Osejo from Colombia (see Box), has been residing at the Miryang Theatre village thanks to a student scholarship given by the Colombian government. After watching the troupe’s performances in Bogota, she was strongly motivated to study theater in Korea. Nonetheless, she says it is still a challenge for her to participate in rehearsals that stretch late into the night.

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In Korea, Chekhov’s plays began to be staged in earnest in the 1990s, when a number of theater-makers returned from their study in Russia. Russian plays, especially those of Chekhov, were very popular then among university and professional theater companies alike. A number of works by this Russian playwright were introduced, often in the Stanislavski style that delved into the human mind’s lofty potential, or the vakhtangov style revealing the extreme behavior of characters. Recently, Chekhov’s plays have been brought back to the Korean stage by the Street Theatre Troupe, which has no direct connection with anything Russian. Beginning with last year’s “Uncle vanya” (directed by Lee Youn-taek) and “The Seagull” (directed by Kim So-hee), the company has staged seven plays and short stories by Chekhov, adapted and directed by four directors with their own individual styles. The highlight will be “The Cherry Orchard,” marking the troupe’s 30th anniversary.

Lee Youn-taek explains his directorial intent: “The Chekhov that we present is vulgar, crude, and noisy. In this adapted play, Mrs. Ranevskaya, the owner of the estate and the cherry orchard, is an aged woman with senile dementia; her brother Gayev is a libertine;

Lopakhin, a businessman and the son of peasants, is an extremely pragmatic man; and Pischik, the fallen nobleman in the neighborhood, is a Hamlet-like character. As in slapstick comedy, everything is exaggerated. In the place where the unity and balance of stale realism is shattered, in that violated and ruined cherry orchard, a revolutionary energy erupts all the more forcefully. Tchaikovsky’s ‘1812 Overture’ blasts out at that moment. This is Chekhov from 21st-century Korea.”

I agree with Ralph Waldo Emerson, who said, “Society never advances.” Society is a tide: As one end advances, the other lags behind. As technology prevails, human nature is sacrificed. As profits are gained, freedom is lost. Nevertheless, no matter what era we belong to, the theatrical instinct of humans will not retrogress; it will continue to excite us, enrage us, and at times console us. That is why we in 21stcentury Korea should take a fresh look at Chekhov. For the very same reason, we look forward to the performance of “A Family on the Road” in Bogota.

A scene from “Deliberation,” depicting the tragic life of the Joseon Dynasty scientist Jang Yeong-sil, who rose from a lowly background.

It was staged to celebrate the opening of the Andersen Theater for children and adolescents in November 2015, in Gijang County, Busan.

LEARNING ABOUT THEATER AND LIFE AT MIRYANG claudia Osejo Stage Actress

I first came across the Street Theatre Troupe in 2012 at the IberoAmerican Theater Festival held in my hometown Bogota, Colombia. I was deeply impressed by the exquisite melding of Western classical and traditional Korean arts in their version of “Hamlet.” I saw the group again two years later in 2014, also in Bogota, when they presented “Blood Wedding” (Bodas de sangre), written by Federico García Lorca. Again, I was amazed by how successfully they infused their tradition into the Spanish play.

I wanted to study theater with this group, so I participated in its workshop “Breathing in Acting.” But it wasn’t enough. My thirst for acting was only getting stronger. My wish to study theater in Korea was fulfilled when I was chosen as a recipient of a special grant for young artists provided by the Colombian government. At last I was able to come to Korea.

My first task as a member of the troupe was to photograph all the production procedures of a play, including rehearsals and performances. In the process I realized that the entire team was armed with professionalism and dedication; everyone worked with a wonderful sense of commitment to create great productions. Afterward, as I began to participate in the performances, by acting or taking charge of lighting, I learned how every action needed to be exact and rigorous. Each movement required controlled breathing and energy; music was indispensable; and voices expressed intentions and nuances not only in singing but in dialogue as well.

Imbuing audiences with historical awareness, the troupe’s biographical works about the lives and achievements of honorable Koreans from different historical periods have convinced me that remembrance is instrumental in conveying a message and thus makes the arts more meaningful. The troupe’s founder and art director Lee Youn-taek is especially efficient in guiding the actors to refine their expressive skills and become more powerful and profound.

Life with the Street Theatre Troupe involves more than producing and putting on plays. It revolves around a set of rules for managing and maintaining the community, including the theaters and living quarters.

For example, the actors humbly clean the theater where they perform.

As an actor myself, I regard cleaning the rehearsal room and the stage as part of my learning process to become a better person as well as a better theatrical artist.

My life in Korea as a student of theater is ongoing, and I have a long way ahead. It has been a priceless opportunity for me to learn not only about theater but about life as well. The Street Theatre Troupe is leaving a fascinating legacy for theater not just in Korea but in Asia and the world beyond.

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SpEcIAl FEAtuRE 4 Korean Theater Today: People and Trends

nEW lEADERS At tHE FOREFROnt OF KOREAn tHEAtER Kim So-yeon Theater Critic

the growing diversity of performance venues, well-established theater festivals in different regions across the country, and increasingly active international exchanges are all serving to inject greater vitality into the Korean theater scene. At the heart of this burgeoning dynamism is a new generation of directors who are avidly exploring contemporary subjects.

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ŠNational Theater company of Korea

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he Korean theater scene in the 2000s has been remarkably vibrant.

Theatrical artists of the younger generation have shown a steady commitment to a broader scope of creative activity, and the platform for producing and staging plays has grown substantially in terms of both scale and number.

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From ‘Who Am I?’ to the ‘Here and now’ It may be helpful to introduce three directors who have risen to prominence riding on the dynamism of Korean theater in recent years. But before telling their stories, we need to go a bit further back in time.

As in most other Asian countries, the introduction of Western drama marked the beginnings of modern theater in Korea. At that time, directors grappled with the issue of theatri-

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1 “The Orphan of Zhao” (2015), adapted and directed

by Koh Sun-woong. The classical Chinese tragedy was turned into a Korean-style musical.

2 “Killbeth” (2010) is an adaptation of Shakespeare’s “Macbeth,” directed by Koh Sun-woong. The interplay between tragic tension and comic relief amid the spectacular action creates an explosive theatrical energy.

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©Playfactory Mabangzen

Dynamic Source of Energy Theater festivals big and small are held throughout the year, not only in Daehangno, the “mecca of Korean theater,” but in other parts of Seoul and various other cities around the country as well. Though the larger theaters may be concentrated in Seoul, several big theater festivals have taken root in other parts of the country, such as the Miryang Summer Performing Arts Festival, the Chuncheon International Mime Festival, and the Geochang International Festival of Theatre.

The role of public theaters is also evolving. While they previously served mostly as favorable, and affordable, venues for private theatrical troupes, for the past decade or so public theaters have been actively mounting their own productions. In addition to venues operated by the arts and culture foundations affiliated with big business corporations, such as the LG Arts Center and the Doosan Art Center, publicly-funded theaters like the National Theater of Korea, the Myeongdong Theater, and the Namsan Arts Center are also presenting their own productions around the year.

Another emerging trend is the rise in

site-specific performances held outdoors in the streets and everyday spaces as well as the growing diversity of cultural spaces. In Seoul, there is Takeout Drawing in Hannam-dong, a venue for exhibitions and performing arts as well as a workshop and café, and the Indie Art Hall GONG, housed in a remodeled former factory building in the industrial district of Yeongdeungpo, western Seoul. Commercial facilities in older residential districts are also being repurposed into cultural spaces where young theatrical artists can launch their creative experiments.

At the same time, wide-ranging exchanges with other countries are helping to broaden the scale and content of Korean theater. The Asian Arts Theatre at the Asia Culture Center in Gwangju, which was opened in autumn 2015, has staged original works with Asia-related themes created by new and veteran artists who are active in Asia and Europe. More Korean plays are advancing into overseas markets, meeting audiences not only in Asia and Europe, but other regions like South America. The scope of international collaboration is also expanding, involving foreign directors working with Korean actors, Korean directors taking on projects overseas, and joint productions between Korean and foreign theater companies.

cal identity and the problem of integrating elements of modern Western drama with traditional Korean theater. Major works by 20th century masters, namely Kim Jung-ok, Heo Gyu, Son Jin-chaek, Oh Tae-seok, and Lee Youn-taek, delved into the identity of Korean theater based on the nation’s cultural traditions. They adapted Western classics, such as Greek tragedies and Shakespeare’s plays, into the language of traditional Korean theater, while recreating on stage the traditional rituals and entertainment which had originally been performed in outdoor spaces. Through these endeavors, they incorporated various elements of traditional Korean performing arts, such as gut (shaman rites), masked dance dramas, folk songs, and pansori (narrative song), into modern plays.

In the 2000s, however, playwrights and directors clearly departed from the approaches of their predecessors. Rather than identity, they were concerned more with the issue of contemporaneity. Instead of being burdened with the question of theatrical identity and concerns about producing plays in languages that might not be their own, they struggled with the validity of their works in the here and now, that is, whether they were dealing with the genuine issues of their own era.

Park Kun-hyung is a playwright and director at the forefront of the new generation of theatrical artists whose main focus is on contemporaneous themes. “Beautiful Youth” is the work that brought him fame. Belying its title, the play is about a young man struggling with a disintegrating family life, not accepted at school or in society. When it was first staged in 1999 at Hyehwa-dong No. 1, one of the smallest theaters in Daehangno with less than 100 seats, the black box stage was basically empty except for two long benches. It is literally a “destitute” play. Spread a blanket and set a table with soju and dried snacks, and the stage

©Namsan Documenta

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1 “Ghost Walk” from the play “Namsan Documenta: Practice–Theatre version” (2014), produced by Lee Kyung-sung and Creative vaQi. The audience and actors take an hour-long walk around Mt. Nam before the actual play, encountering each other along the way.

2 “Before After” (2015), directed by Lee Kyung-sung, deals with the Sewol ferry disaster of 2014.

Through the tragic and shocking incident, it delves into the sense of pain.

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is transformed into the room where the father and son reside; put up an ad poster on the wall, and it turns into a shabby bar.

Park candidly illuminates the story of those living on the outermost margins of society in an age of abundance. “Why build a huge house on the stage when our lives aren’t like that?” he says. At times, theatrical omission, distortion, and exaggeration stand out in his works, but these features come across as a hyper-realistic representation and frightening reminder of the harsh reality of the times we live in.

Many of Park’s works are about the family, which has ceased to function as a bulwark against today’s increasingly hostile world. They tell harrowing tales of dysfunctional families, crumbling family relationships, and people pushed to the periphery of society. But his plays do not stop at narrating the stories of impaired family ties; they portray the pain and suffering lurking in all corners of society through a tense interplay between cynicism and humanism.

Simple, yet Fluid Whereas Park probes the issue of the here and now, Koh Sun-woong’s works are mostly about theatricality. Also a playwright and director, Koh is adept at reinterpreting and adapting classical works in his own language and style.

Koh’s 2010 work “Killbeth,” an adaption of Shakespeare’s “Macbeth,” is set in an unknown time and place of endless fighting and killing. The title is a play on the name Macbeth, which sounds similar to the

Korean slang for “indiscriminate slashing.”

As the title suggests, the play starts with a violent confrontation of clashing swords and continues throughout with the vociferous sounds of people’s cries and swordplay, at times in hand-to-hand combat, filling the stage. It would be a mistake, though, to think that Koh has turned a Shakespearean tragedy into a spectacular sword fight that is nothing more than a feast for the eyes. It is true that the play highlights movements that accentuate the bodies of the actors — the sweat running down their bodies seems palpable. But just as striking is the rapid-fire dialogue that twists the conventional theatrical situation. It deliberately destroys the rhythm of everyday conversation or tragedy, creating a clear rhythm of its own. The words carried by the rhythm at times end in an incredible letdown after mounting tension, creating comedic relief, or a light-heartedness that contrasts with the serious drama, leading to a state of near hysteria. The brilliant interplay between tension and relaxation in the bodily movements and words, and their rhythmic interchange, exudes a theatrical energy that leaves the audience almost breathless.

Koh’s most recent work “The Orphan of Zhao” (2015), eloquently demonstrates just how his theatrical style brims with witty sensibility and can also pierce the heart of human suffering. Based on the classical Chinese play, “The Great Revenge of the Orphan of Zhao,” attributed to Ji Junxiang, the play depicts a tale of vengeance. All 300 members of the Zhao clan are slaughtered

©Doosan Art Center

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In the 2000s, however, playwrights and directors have clearly departed from the approaches of their predecessors. Instead of being burdened with the question of theatrical identity and concerns about producing plays in languages that might not be their own, they struggled with the validity of their works in the here and now, that is, whether they were dealing with the genuine issues of their own era.

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except for a newborn baby, and many people sacrifice their lives to save the orphan, who grows up to seek revenge against the enemy that exterminated his family. Koh uses sparse stage props, movement, and dialogue in this horrific odyssey of vengeance. A single red curtain encircles the empty stage. Events and actions are codified into simple movements and props. All the characters in the play choose death for the sake of the orphan’s revenge. Koh does not glorify their deaths as valiant deeds in the name of morality or justice. Nor does he hint at the futility of the vendetta. Instead, through simple yet fluid motion and dialogue, he portrays the characters’ attachment to life and fear of death as well as their fierce inner conflict, torment, and resolve, as they eventually come to accept their fate. It is human to shun involvement in such a tragedy; it is also human to make a resolute choice when faced with a moment of life or death.

the Ethics of Sensibility Although he is just over 30, the modifier “young” is no longer attached to director Lee Kyung-sung, who is acclaimed for his distinctive theatrical methodology. The theater group Creative vaQi, which he heads, first received attention for its site-specific plays staged in everyday spaces such as crosswalks or open squares.

But Lee is not just a young director recognized for his new approaches or creative experiments. “Namsan Documenta: Practice–Theatre version” (2014), produced by Lee and Creative vaQi, features the Namsan Arts Center as its principal character. When the theater first opened in 1962 as the Drama Center, it became a major venue for modern theater but thereafter faded into obscurity until its recent reopening. “Namsan Documenta” is based

©Golmokil Theater

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1, 2 Scenes from “Beautiful Youth,” which brought high acclaim to director Park Kun-hyung. Since its premiere in 1999, the play has been restaged many times with different casts. Belying its title, it portrays the harsh reality of today’s Korean society where young people no longer dream of the future.

on extensive research of public and private archives related to the history of the theater and its location at the foothills of Namsan, or Mt. Nam. The play includes edited versions of video archives that were discovered during research and a different take on a scene from the theater’s opening performance, “Hamlet.” Also included is a fictional interview that summons the theater and Namsan as witnesses to events in modern Korean history. Although a documentary play, as the title suggests, it is more than a mere compilation of historical records.

It ingeniously crosses the boundaries between presentation and reenactment, fact and fiction, focusing on intellectual and sensory exploration of the theatrical space and the essence of theatrical production in the here and now.

Lee’s more recent work, “Before After” (2015), displays a heightened level of maturity. The play deals with the Sewol ferry disaster of 2014. It is not just a reenactment of the tragic and shocking incident, nor does it attempt to search for answers as to why it happened or to trace its ongoing consequences. Rather, it asks about the pain surrounding this catastrophic disaster. People living in today’s high-tech society are frequently exposed to fatal incidents and natural disasters, and consume news of such events through the media thanks to technological developments. In times when the atrocities of war are broadcast live worldwide, tragic events are consumed through images. “Before After” seeks to put an end to such consumption of pain. The play centers on an actor coping with the death of her father, and sheds light on the personal pain of each individual through narrations and reenactments.

Real-time images of the play are projected to simultaneously show what is happening on stage from another angle. The play garnered considerable attention for its composed and meticulous rendering of the question of how much we can empathize with other people’s pain and sense it with our whole bodies.

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SpEcIAl FEAtuRE 5 Korean Theater Today: People and Trends

cHAnGGEuK EnJOyS A REnAISSAncE Kang Il-joong Theater Critic

the modernization of changgeuk is well under way. Its revival as “pansori opera� is powered in no small measure by a change in nomenclature that embraces, rather than diverges from, its origins. Moreover, through bold experiments that break away from the traditional content and form, pansori is being reborn amid enthusiastic response from audiences of all ages. At the center of this renaissance is the national changgeuk company of Korea.

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ansori is a traditional Korean vocal art, described as musical storytelling, that has been designated an Important Intangible Cultural Property by the Korean government and inscribed on the UNESCO Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. The staging of pansori is quite simple. It is performed by just two people: one singer, the sorikkun, who tells the story through song aided only by a fan held in one hand, and one drummer, the gosu, who provides accompaniment and cues changes in mood and rhythm by the beat of a double-headed barrel drum. The story is mainly sung, interspersed with narratives (aniri ), and enhanced by facial expressions and dramatic gestures (ballim).

There is another essential element without which pansori is not complete: loud interjections, called chuimsae, that punctuate the performance. These exclamations are shouted out at certain points in the narrative by the drummer or by members of the audience to accentuate the mood of a scene, applaud the singer’s skills, or comment on the story.

Because it is in essence a solo operatic performance, pansori is almost wholly dependent on the singer’s capability. In the past, pansori artists would practice under a waterfall. In the pansori world, it is said that if your singing cannot be heard over the thunderous roar of a waterfall then you have not “attained the sound.”

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Decline of pansori, Rise of changgeuk Pansori singing, a form of folk entertainment rooted in the ages-old ritual chanting of shamans, began to spread widely among the common people around the late 17th century in the mid-Joseon period. By the mid-19th century, it had reached its height in popularity not only among the masses but also the yangban elite

©National Theater of Korea

A scene from “Mr. Rabbit and the Dragon King” directed by Achim Freyer, a renowned German opera director. Standing tall in a skirt three meters high, the virtuoso pansori singer Ahn Sook-sun performs the role of narrator. The first outcome of the National Changgeuk Company's attempts to modernize the folk musical, changgeuk, it was staged in September 2011 at the National Theater of Korea.

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class, thanks to a cadre of virtuoso singers. Those who performed before the king were even bestowed with official titles.

As a result of various internal and external factors, pansori thereafter entered a period of decline. Instead of a small number of prominent singers, there were many mediocre performers who soon fell out of favor with audiences. With the introduction of novel forms of entertainment, such as “New School” Japanese theater (shinpa geki, or sinpageuk in Korean), Peking opera, and modern Western theater, as well as the construction of Western-style theaters by the turn of the 20th century, these trends became more evident.

The most remarkable development at that time was the emergence of a new genre of vocal performance which featured two or more singers. This was an advanced version of pansori, called changgeuk, which can be defined as musical theater. The first changgeuk performance, a work titled “The Silver World” (“Eunsegye”), was written by Yi In-jik and staged in 1908 at Wongaksa Theater in Seoul, which marked the beginning of modern Korean theater. The number of changgeuk performers gradually increased and as this new musical theater was performed in realistic settings at Western-style theaters, it quickly developed into a comprehensive performing art. Still, it failed to flourish due to a lack of creative materials, among other reasons.

Evolution of changgeuk Changgeuk languished in obscurity for a long time, but in the last few years some notable changes have taken place. While changgeuk had been considered an art genre that appealed mainly to middle-aged and elderly audiences, a new crop of younger fans, mostly opera and theater lovers, have recently been filling seats.

Changgeuk is enjoying a revival, thanks to a string of creative works featuring fresh interpretations and stylish stage settings. This renaissance, led by the National Changgeuk Company, a resident troupe of the National Theater of Korea, is occurring around three key initiatives.

First, pansori through new eyes: Of the 12 original pansori classics, the five that remain intact today — “Simcheong-ga” (“Song of Sim Cheong”), “Chunhyang-ga” (“Song of Chunhyang”), “Heungbuga” (“Song of Heungbu”), “Jeokbyeok-ga” (“Song of the Red Cliff”), and “Sugung-ga” (“Song of the Undersea Palace”) — are being reworked as changgeuk by prominent Korean and foreign directors who have no experience with the genre. Second, cross-cultural interaction: Foreign classical plays are being adapted into changgeuk.

These two approaches have succeeded in drawing attention from those Koreans who are more familiar with Western theater than their native traditional performing arts. Moreover, changgeuk reinterpreted through the eyes of foreign artists and Western classics shaped with the aesthetics of Korea’s traditional musical theater have made it easier for people of all backgrounds to enjoy this indigenous musical genre.

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Third, updating the classics: The seven pansori classics that are only partially handed down, such as “Byeon Gangsoe Taryeong” (“Song of Byeon Gangsoe”) and “Baebijang Taryeong” (“Song of Secretary Bae”), have been boldly reinterpreted and reconstructed in ways to reinforce the dramatic aspects of changgeuk.

The synergy realized through these three approaches is spearheading changgeuk’s revival and evolution into a contemporary and more universal art form. The enthusiastic response of contemporary audiences convinces us that changgeuk is no longer an oldfashioned form of entertainment. While maintaining the dignity of traditional performing arts, it keeps up with the times by communicating with today’s audiences.

three Groundbreaking Works This new-style changgeuk was launched with the performance of “Mr. Rabbit and the Dragon King” by the National Changgeuk Company, which, after much preparation, opened in September 2011 at the National Theater of Korea. It was the first outcome of the “Changgeuk of World Master’s Choice” program, under which eminent theater figures from overseas are invited to reinterpret changgeuk works in new ways. Achim Freyer, a renowned opera director from Germany, was the first guest artist invited to work on a story that he would later develop into a pansori opera.

Freyer’s interpretation and staging were totally new to local changgeuk audiences. The original story, “Song of the Undersea Palace” (“Sugung-ga”), is a well-known fable. The Dragon King of the sea is seriously ill. When he hears that a rabbit’s liver can cure him, he sends his loyal retainer, the turtle, to the land to lure a rabbit to his underwater palace. The unknowing rabbit arrives at the palace but soon realizes what’s happening and tricks the king into letting him return to the land, where he says he had left his 1 A scene from “Andrei Serban’s liver, and manages to escape.

Different Chunhyang,” directed by Romanian-born American opera and “Mr. Rabbit and the Dragon theater director Andrei Serban. This King” is a satire of the conflict performance, featuring rising young pansori artist Lee So-yeon, was held between predators and prey; it in November 2014 at the National portrays the turtle as a worldly Theater of Korea. character eager to curry the 2 A scene from “Medea,” a changgeuk version based on Euripides' classiking’s favor and thereby gain cal Greek tragedy of the same title, power, the rabbit as a nimbleperformed at the National Theater of witted hero who works hard to Korea in May 2013. Featuring Park Ae-ri of the National Changgeuk prevail over all kinds of hardCompany in the title role, the show ship, and the Dragon King as a was acclaimed for “conveying the esruler who will use all methods sence of Greek tragedy in Korean folk musical style.” and means to prolong his life.

3 A scene from “Madame Ong,” preOn stage, the undersea palace miered in 2014 as part of a project to had a ceiling covered in plastic restore seven pansori classics. The first pansori opera directed by Koh bottles, decrying the environSun-woong, it is to date the National mental pollution in the world Changgeuk Company’s biggest hit today. Freyer, also famed as with repeat runs scheduled this year.

The enthusiastic response of contemporary audiences convinces us that changgeuk is no longer an old-fashioned form of entertainment. While maintaining the dignity of traditional performing arts, it keeps up with the times by communicating with today’s audiences.

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ŠNational Theater of Korea

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on various forms as it turns or changes position, becoming a hill on which Cao Cao stands to command his troops in battle, the house of Zhuge Liang where Liu Bei visits three times to recruit him, a warship, or a bird. As the scenes unfold, ink wash painting images of bamboo, dots, lines, planes, and the mythical peach blossom land are projected onto the stage floor and the screen in the rear. Amidst these simple yet highly symbolic sets, master Song Soon-seop’s solos and the chorus of other singers emit a dynamic energy.

Other noteworthy Achievements Work is also under way to restore the seven pansori classics that have been handed down incomplete, including “Byeon Gangsoe Taryeong” (“Song of Byeon Gangsoe”), which has been reborn as “Madame Ong.” Directed by Koh Sun-woong and staged in June 2014, it shifted the focus away from Byeon Gangsoe, the man with the legendary libido, to highlight the inner world of his devoted wife Ongnyeo. “Madame Ong” became the first production in the Nation-

A scene from “Song of the Red Cliff,” directed by Lee Soyoung, performed in September 2015 at the National Theater of Korea. It was acclaimed for the synergic effect created by the simple yet highly symbolic sets and master pansori singer Song Soonseop's powerful solos.

©National Theater of Korea

an expressionist painter, designed all the backdrops, as well as the costumes and masks of the performers.

The satirical and humorous content, which has long been considered a defining characteristic of pansori, was reworked to appeal to contemporary audiences. For example, in the scene where the Dragon King orders the rabbit’s portrait to be painted, a parade of renowned artists, including Kim Hong-do, Ai Weiwei, Andy Warhol, Albrecht Dürer, and Pablo Picasso, appears. Changgeuk, a genre that might have come across as arcane to younger audiences, has been dressed in all-new clothes. This new form of performance has thus been re-branded as “pansori opera.”

“Andrei Serban’s Different Chunhyang,” another product of the “Changgeuk of World Master’s Choice” program, opened in November 2014 at the National Theater’s Small Hall Dal. As the title indicates, this pansori opera was directed by Andrei Serban, a Romanian-born American opera and theater director who is active in the United States and Europe. It is based on the pansori classic “Song of Chunhyang” about the love between Yi Mong-ryong, the son of a local magistrate, and Seong Chun-hyang, the daughter of a retired gisaeng (professional entertainer). Although this is basically a story about love across social classes, Serban depicted Chun-hyang as a heroine who is not afraid to risk death to remain true to her love. In contrast, Mong-ryong is not quite as pure of heart. As the son of a high-ranking official, he falls in love with Chun-hyang, who comes from a lower social class, but after weighing the losses and gains from such a relationship he chooses to forget her.

The staging was rather radical. On each side of the stage stands a cold metal spiral structure, colored black, while the floor is covered with sand and water is used to delineate a stream. video imagery was used to great effect, telling the traditional folktale with background images of the two lovers dressed in traditional costumes, while onstage Mong-ryong is a young man working on a laptop.

The third groundbreaking work is “Song of the Red Cliff,” directed by Lee So-young, a noted Korean opera director and artistic director of the Korean National Opera, which opened in September 2015 at the main hall of the National Theater. Based on the Battle of Red Cliffs episode from the ancient Chinese novel “Romance of the Three Kingdoms,” the story deals with the retreat of the great warlord Cao Cao along Huarong Trail. Lee turned the story into a political satire. The original pansori work features countless heroes and generals who show off their courage in battle, but Lee turned it upside down to emphasize the plight of the common people who die in war, nameless and unremembered.

The stage art was particularly striking. A drum rises up from the orchestra pit and supports the stage. On the stage, there is a single simple structure in the shape of a giant fan. The fan is old and the paper tattered, exposing the bare ribs. The screen at the back of the stage shows a traditional pansori singer, with a fan in hand, performing to the beat of the drum. The fan-shaped structure takes

al Changgeuk Company’s history to have a run of sold-out shows (totaling 23).

In November 2011, the classical Korean novel about two sisters “Janghwa Hongryeon-jeon” was adapted into a thriller titled “Janghwa Hongryeon,” directed by Han Tae-suk. The plot is based on a murder that takes place in a middle-class housing estate with a park and pond, chillingly depicting the egotism and apathy prevailing in today’s society.

In a different experiment, the classical Greek tragedy “Medea” was successfully converted into a changgeuk piece. It was directed

by Seo Jae-hyeong and opened in May 2013. In March 2014, the hit movie “Seopyeonje” was staged as a pansori opera of the same title, directed by Yun Ho-jin. Then in March 2015, at the request of the National Changgeuk Company, the Japanese-born Korean director Chong Wishing (Chong Ui-sin) adapted Bertolt Brecht’s “Caucasian Chalk Circle” into a pansori opera, which was hugely popular.

preservation vs Modernization The key figures behind these efforts to modernize changgeuk are Ahn Sang-ho, director of the National Theater of Korea, and Kim Sung-nyo, artistic director of the National Changgeuk Company. Kim believes that “pansori must be faithfully preserved as a traditional Korean vocal art, while changgeuk must be continuously revised and adapted to the times.” To this end, she plans to continue the project of commissioning illustrious directors to reinterpret the 12 original pansori classics from fresh perspectives.

With the rebirth of changgeuk as pansori opera, Korea’s indigenous musical theater is now being introduced to international audiences. “Mr. Rabbit and the Dragon King” earned high acclaim for its staging at the Wuppertal Opera Theater in Germany in December 2012. This April, “Madame Ong” will be performed in Paris at the invitation of the Theatre de la ville. Surely, the day is not far away when pansori opera can take its place, alongside Peking opera and Japanese kabuki, on the global stage.

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FOcuS

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©Bartek Sadowski_NIFC

“Amazingly, I was not nervous in the finals. My hands were playing of their own accord, and I was enjoying myself listening to the music I was playing.”

— Cho Seong-jin, in an interview after winning the 17th International Fryderyk Chopin Piano Competition

CHO SEONG-JIN’S TRIUMPH AT CHOPIN COMPETITION AND ITS MEANING FOR CLASSICAL MUSIC IN KOREA cho Seong-jin, a 21-year-old Korean pianist, garnered first prize at the 2015 International Fryderyk chopin piano competition, enticing many people back home who would otherwise pay little attention to classical music. the “cho Seong-jin syndrome” has sparked an unprecedented wave of interest in classical music among a broader range of people than ever before, with many now looking earnestly at the future of classical music in Korea. park yong-wan Former Editor, Gaeksuk (Monthly Music and Performing Arts); Public Relations Official, Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism

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ne autumn day last year, a picture of a young man dominated my Facebook timeline all day. My Facebook friends, mostly music fans or people in the culture industry, heaped praise upon him. Soon enough, the young man’s face decorated the main page of Korea’s biggest portal site. Typically, this kind of recognition is for a celebrity or sports figure. This time it was neither; in a highly unusual case for Korea, all eyes were on a pianist.

On October 21, 2015, the winner of the 17th International Fryderyk Chopin Piano Competition was announced. The world watched as a new star was born, five years after the 2010 winner, Yulianna Avdeeva from Russia, who had succeeded the 2005 winner, Rafal Blechacz from Poland. The first prize went to Cho Seong-jin, making him the first-ever Korean to win this prestigious competition. This news was immediately followed by an announcement by the classical music promotion agency, Credia, that it would present the Chopin Competition Gala Concert, featuring Cho and other winners, at the Seoul Arts Center on February 2, 2016. When ticket sales opened on October 29, 2015, the agency’s ticket reservation server crashed briefly due to an overload of inquiries, an unheard-of event for a classical music concert. In just one hour, the concert was completely sold out.

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Heroes of the chopin competition The world’s leading classical music competitions include the International Chopin Piano Competition, the International Tchaikovsky Competition, and the Queen Elisabeth Competition. These events are all dedicated solely, or mainly, to the piano, which testifies to the importance of pianists in the classical music world.

Moreover, the Chopin Piano Competition is devoted entirely to the works of a single composer. Under the spotlight’s glare, it has produced the most international stars and, ironically, the most contro-

versies as well.

The Chopin Competition dates back 89 years. Warsaw, Poland was tragically devastated by World War I, and the Polish took to sports rather than music to overcome their physical and emotional wounds. Jerzy Zurawlew, a professor at the Warsaw Conservatory and a Chopin specialist, was deeply concerned that Poland would end up losing its fame as a cultural powerhouse. After much thought, he came up with a solution — to stage a “musical Olympiad,” an excellent competition to draw the Polish people back to the concert halls.

The first Chopin Competition was held on January 23, 1927 at the Warsaw Philharmonic Concert Hall. The contestants were allowed to play only Chopin’s works, a requirement that has been maintained to the present day. The inaugural winner was Lev Oborin of Russia. The second and third competitions were held in 1932 and 1937, respectively, but amidst the turmoil of World War II, the competition was suspended temporarily. In 1949, after the war, the competition was resumed to mark the 100th anniversary of Chopin’s death. The fourth edition of the event produced the first Polish winner, Halina Czerny-Stefanska, who shared the honors with Bella Davidovich, a Soviet-born American pianist.

Held every five years since 1955, the Chopin Competition’s first “big star” emerged in 1960, who was none other than Maurizio Pollini. In 1965, the honors went to Martha Argerich. She was followed in 1970 by Garrick Ohlsson, the first American to win first prize, then in 1975 by the Polish pianist Krystian Zimerman. In 1980, Argerich turned Warsaw upside down once more at the 10th Chopin Competition. When Ivo Pogorelich failed to reach the finals, despite his “genius” performance, she resigned from the jury in protest. In any case, the eventual winner of the 1980 competition, Dang Thai Son, went on to become a Chopin specialist of global acclaim. After

1 Pianist Cho Seong-jin, front row center, poses with competition officials and other winners at the awards ceremony for the 17th International Fryderyk Chopin Piano Competition, held on October 21, 2015, at the Warsaw Philharmonic Concert Hall in Poland. To his left is second prize winner Charles Richard-Hamelin from Canada and to his right third prize winner Kate Liu from the United States.

2 Cho Seong-jin acknowledges the audience after his performance at the laureate concert of the 17th International Fryderyk Chopin Piano Competition.

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Stanislav Bunin won the 1985 competition, however, the first prize was not awarded again until 2000.

In the 21st century, a new genius was born. China’s Li Yundi rose to stardom in 2000 as the first person to be awarded the first prize in 15 years as well as the youngest such winner to date. The 15th competition, in 2005, is memorable as well. Thirty years after Zimerman’s win in 1975, another Polish pianist captured the first prize. That alone made news all over Poland. In addition, the competition produced no second prize or fifth prize winners. Four Asian pianists shared the third and fourth prizes: Korea’s Lim Dong-min and his brother Lim Dong-hyek tied for third place, and Japan’s Shohei Sekimoto and Takashi Yamamoto came in fourth place.

A Dream Bigger than Winning competitions We now return to Cho Seong-jin, the winner of the 2015 competition. Born in 1994, Cho graduated from Yewon School and Seoul Arts High School, which both specialize in the education of young

artists. Thereafter, he has been a student of Michel Beroff at the Paris Conservatoire since 2012. He arrived on the international scene in 2008 when he won first prize at the International Fryderyk Chopin Competition for Young Pianists, and again in 2009 he became the youngest person to win the Hamamatsu International Piano Competition in Japan. He continued to excel, winning third prize at the International Tchaikovsky Competition in Russia in 2011, and also at the Arthur Rubinstein International Piano Master Competition in Tel Aviv in 2014.

It was in December 2008 that I met Cho for the first time. He had returned to Korea after winning the Chopin Competition for Young Pianists in Moscow. The young boy in his school uniform entered the studio rather awkwardly for a photo shoot. His face was round and plump, but I remember that his eyes were bright and brimming with curiosity, so much so that they looked ice cold. He told me a story about the first competition he had entered in Korea, when he was in the second grade. Watching the other contestants KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 35

play, he was surprised and thought, “Wow, everyone plays like that.

I thought only real pianists played like that.” As for winning the Chopin Competition for Young Pianists, he commented, “The contestants I met in Russia were very confident and at home with their music. Compared to them, I felt small. I’m sure I’ll come across a lot more barriers and limitations studying Western music. I’ll have to work harder and be more prepared.”

In January 2009, Cho played Liszt’s “Dante Sonata” at the New Year’s Concert held at Kumho Art Hall. Could a mere boy his age express Liszt’s love, and Dante’s heaven and hell, just by following the notes and symbols on the music score? Cho’s performance put my worries to rest. If a young boy were to come and tell me the story of Liszt and Dante in words, would I be just as moved? Impossible! Only music has that kind of power. Through his music, the young boy delivered the message that music is great and playing music is a great thing.

I met Cho again in the winter of 2011 at Kumho Art Hall. This time he was scheduled to perform a duet with pianist Son Yeoleum, a close friend who was like a sister to him. During a lengthy conversation, Cho abruptly brought up an episode about Okinawa: “I was recently on tour in Okinawa, and I had taken the day off, the first time I had ever done that after an overseas performance. As I looked around, I noticed that people were really happy with little things. That’s when I began to think about what happiness is.” Why was the 17-year-old pianist talking about happiness on a warm southern island?

Another two years passed, and I met Cho again in 2013. While

studying in Paris, he returned to Korea a month before a concert here with the Munich Philharmonic Orchestra under Lorin Maazel. “I’m happy with my life in Paris, except the city is expensive and the language difficult,” he said. “Everything is new and exciting. I think my personality has changed. I’m less afraid now. I used to be shy, but I think it’s the other way around now. I feel more at ease, whereas the other person feels a bit uncomfortable.” The boy had grown into a man, and yet he still had the same cold sparkle in his eyes. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to humor me or provoke me, but I detected traces of both in his conversation. In his heart he seemed to have a little furnace burning an enigmatic mixture of passion and nonchalance.

My last question to him was, “Do you even want to be successful, after all?” He replied, “Some say I am a young philosopher. I do have ambitions, of course, but let me say it depends on what you call ambition.” He went on, “Is a musician successful if he makes a lot of money, or if he moves people with his brilliant music? A musician may feel that music is for himself only and keep to his room, playing for his own pleasure. Such a musician could also be called successful. Success cannot be easily defined. I have a really big dream. I want to play precious music. It’s not like, okay Cho Seongjin is playing now. I want to perform like Radu Lupu, Grigory Sokolov, or Murray Perahia. Their music is sacred. Some people may not call that success. But for me, it’s a huge dream, much bigger than winning a competition.”

What meaning do young musicians get out of a competition?

Pianist Son Yeol-eum, who had come in second place at the 2011

“Success cannot be easily defined.

I have a really big dream.

I want to play precious music.

I want to perform like Radu Lupu, Grigory Sokolov, or Murray Perahia.

Their music is sacred.

Some people may not call that success.

But for me, it’s a huge dream, much bigger than winning a competition.”

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International Tchaikovsky Competition where Cho placed third, said: “I went through a lot in previous competitions, and I became disillusioned. I remember what my teacher, Kim Dae-jin, said at the time. He told me I may think the competition is nonsense — and there may be some truth in that — but you will see there is nothing as fair as a competition once you’re out in the big wide world. I think he was right.” For young people the world over seeking to become professional musicians, a competition is the cruelest but the surest gateway to success. And yet, winning does little more than open doors.

Cho recently signed with Solea Management, a Paris-based music management company, which announced the news on its website on January 5. The company, which was founded by Romain Blondel in 2005, manages about 20 musicians, including pianist Menahem Pressler, violinist Daniel Hope, cellist Jean-Guihen Queyras, and flutist Emmanuel Pahud.

Impact of the ‘cho Seong-jin Syndrome’ There are various views about how Cho’s accolades at the Chopin Competition will influence Korea’s classical music market.

Around the time his live competition recording came out, new albums were also released by popular young Korean pianists Lim Dong-hyek and Kim Sun-wook. The three albums are all selling well, enjoying a positive synergy. But it remains to be seen how long and how far the Cho Seong-jin effect can continue. Fundamentally, the Korean classical music industry is quite small. There are no clear statistics on revenues by category or analyses of concert

audience demographics. Without proper data, it is difficult to devise realistic measures to energize the market. In the words of one young musician, “What frustrates me is that, in Korea, there are only musicians. Nothing else. There is virtually no market, no media that deals with music properly, no consumers, and no providers.”

The final outcome of the “Cho Seong-jin syndrome” lies in our own hands. Whatever path the industry takes, the young musician’s success is already impressive in that it has made people take a look at Korea’s classical music in a more serious manner.

In an interview with a Korean media outlet right after the Chopin Competition, the reporter asked Cho to say something to his fans in Korea ahead of his concert in Seoul. Cho said, “I don’t like being called a classical music idol. I want to remain a classical musician for a long time. Some people even call me a Chopin specialist, but even now, Chopin is one of the more difficult composers for me. Beethoven and Brahms composed lighter music toward their later years, and I think it’s because they let go of things, one by one.

I believe life is like that. By the same token, I think I’m at that stage in life where I need to gain a lot, so that I have a lot to let go of when I’m older.” The hubbub over Cho’s unprecedented achievement as a Upon the release of the live Korean pianist might die down too recording of Cho Seong-jin’s easily and too soon in this fast-paced performance in the 17th society of ours. We should cheer on International Fryderyk Chopin Piano Competition, presented the young musician — not for his globy Deutsche Grammophon, the rious results but for what is likely to album went to the top of the be a lonely road ahead. classical album charts in Korea.

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 37

IntERvIEW

pOp DIvA InSOOnI SEEKS tO GIvE pEOplE HOpE cho Sung-sik Reporter, The Dong-a Ilbo Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

Insooni is one of Korea’s most talented vocalists, whose repertoire ranges from soul to trot, rock and roll, and dance music. She rose to fame in the 80s as a dance diva, and with her incredible singing ability and insight into life that imbues her songs with depth and emotion, she has become a household name beloved throughout the country.

38 KoREANA spring 2016

’ll have to start by talking about “Mom.” Every weekend, people are all worked up because of Mom. It’s down to the two weekend Tv dramas, “All About My Mom” (KBS2) and “Mom” (MBC), featuring mothers who devote themselves to their families. As they watch the shows, viewers are busy wiping away their tears thinking of their own mothers. The popularity of “Mom” has a lot to do with the soundtrack. Beginning with the words, “Walking a long and winding path/Past the very heart of life,” this song is as sorrowful as the crisp sunlight that reaches between the winter trees, which was “once so beautiful.” That sweet yet clear and graceful tone, together with that lyrical yet passionate melody — I admit that I fell in love with this song the moment I heard the first bar. Emotions swelled up in me, like the wind filling the sails of an old boat, and I was transported to another time and place. In that moment I realized anew the immense strength of the singer Insooni.

Arriving at our meeting place, Insooni bursts with vitality. It’s hard to believe that she’s approaching sixty. She wears a turtleneck and cotton pants with trainers. Her silver hair creates an interesting harmony with the grey walls of the café. For her, what kind of person was her mother?

I

About Her Own Mom “She was a force to be reckoned with. She would never give in and was the kind to take everything in life head-on. If she got knocked down, she would get straight back up again,” she said.

Her mother passed away ten years ago. Insooni reminisces, “I think I was a good daughter in my own way, but now that she’s no longer here I keep thinking of things I wish I’d done for her.”

Insooni occupies a unique place in the history of Korean popular music. She was the first singer to overcome the cold shoulder and discrimination that people showed toward mixed-race Koreans and rise to the top of the music industry purely by means of her exceptional ability. Having made her debut in 1978 in the girl group the Hee Sisters, Insooni hit it big with the rock n’ roll song “At Night Every Night” in 1983, which vaulted her into the ranks of the most popular stars of the day. Failing to produce another hit song over the next ten years, however, she became a frequent fixture on the nightclub circuit. Then in 1996, with the song “Again,” she bounced back into the limelight. A string of hits followed, such as “Friend,” a duet with rapper JoPD in 2004, and the ballads “A Goose’s Dream” in 2007 and “Father” in 2009. To this day, Insooni is enjoying this

Pop singer Insooni says, “There is no such thing as ‘the best.’ I am still studying the art of singing.”

second heyday of her career, which so far has spanned a total of 19 albums including 14 full-length releases.

Soaring Beyond prejudice and Discrimination Insooni was born in 1957 to an American soldier and a Korean woman. When she was still very young, her father left Korea to go back to America and has never returned. That’s why “Father,” one of her best known songs, in which she sings, “We loved each other, at times hated each other/I miss you, who cared for me like no one else,” has a particular resonance. The song became even more famous when Insooni sang it in 2011 on the reality program “I Am a Singer” (MBC), in which members of the audience voted for the best performance of each episode. Then in 2014, on the program “Hidden Singer 3” (JTBC), where popular singers and their impersonators sang alongside each other in a blind contest, the episode that featured Insooni turned into a “party of tears” with all of the singers overcome with emotion when they sang the song.

“Father” also received a standing ovation at a concert to honor 107 veterans of the Korean War that was held at Carnegie Hall in New York in 2010. At that time, Insooni addressed the audience, “If by chance anyone here has a weight pressing down on your heart, thinking you might have left behind a child like me in Korea, you can let go of that worry now. Each and every one of us is doing our best to live our own lives, and every single one of you is like a father to me.” There was not a dry eye in the house.

“Father” combines poetic lyrics and a heartrending melody, but for me the song’s real highlight comes in the last line: “Yes, I loved you once.” As if reluctant for the song to end, Indooni sings “I— loved—you,” drawing out each note, and then before adding the “once” she lets out a short sigh, almost a sob. Surely, this is the hallmark of a true artist. That last line never fails to knock the wind out of me.

“I can’t sing that last part exactly the same each time. Just as we feel different depending on whether it’s rainy or sunny, it comes out differently depending on whether I sing it at night or in the daytime, and whether there are more men in the audience or more women. If I let my guard down for even a second, I end up crying.

But if I’m too much in control it doesn’t sound as good. So on some occasions, I really don’t want to sing it at all. Because I can’t control myself.”

A Goose’s Dream Insooni’s biggest hit is her cover of “A Goose’s Dream.” The original song of the same title was released in 1997 by Carnival, the collaboration project of Kim Dong-ryul and Lee Juck. Insooni’s powerful interpretation of the song brought it back into the spotlight ten years after its original release. Opening fire with, “Me, I once had a dream,” the song is known for its technical difficulty, going back and forth between extremes of low and high pitch.

“I cried so much every time I practiced it. It was because of my KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 39

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“Around the year 2000, I once wondered to myself, what kind of singer do I want to be remembered as?

I thought, I would love to be a singer who gives people hope, and strangely enough each and every song that came my way from then on was a song about hope. Or else about family.”

memories of hard times. Until then, I had never really given a second thought to having my own dream. I think I was just focused on having to work hard and earning a lot of money. Asking myself ‘What kind of life am I going to lead?’ I think that’s what having a dream means to me. I wanted to communicate that kind of dream as a talking point for young people, and I think I have managed it.

Thanks to that song, I made a lot of Tv appearances, and a lot of money too.” (Laughs) Many critics noted that Insooni’s life, rising to the top despite her personal hardships and then making a remarkable comeback, is reflected in this song’s message that urges you to carry on with confidence and never give up your dreams, even in the face of adversity.

“Around the year 2000, I once wondered to myself, what kind of singer do I want to be remembered as? I thought, I would love to be a singer who gives people hope, and strangely enough each and every song that came my way from then on was a song of hope. Or else about family. It’s not like I had said anything to the composers or lyricists, but I guess they could sense how I was changing as time went by,” she recalled.

Another song that she’s particularly fond of is “To My Daughter.”

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In 1994, Insooni married university professor Park Kyung-bae and the song is dedicated to their only daughter, Jasmine. The music video is like a panorama of Jasmine’s life, from the moment she was born to her growing up to become a young woman. In 2013, Insooni also published a book with the same title.

“You know, as you get older the relationship between mother and daughter becomes that of friends. Then, at some point the mother becomes more and more like a daughter. After I had my daughter, I finally began to understand my own mother. Each time I felt a certain emotion toward my daughter I would think, ‘Ah, mom must have felt like this about me too,’” she said.

caring for Multicultural youth Insooni always told her daughter “Just do what you love,” and also taught her that “If you’re not working, don’t expect any rewards.” These words emphasized the need to take responsibility for one’s own life and not rely on one’s parents.

“From an early age she got into the habit of being frugal, so even now my daughter doesn’t really buy expensive things,” she said.

“I’m the same. Going out on stage is my job so I think I need to look my best and I invest in that, but I don’t really spend money on things

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1 Insooni gives her all on stage at the "Sharing Concert," an event organized to raise money for Haemil School, an alternative school for young people from multicultural families. Insooni is chairman of Insooni and Good People, a nonprofit organization which operates the school.

2 The sign outside Haemil School is being painted by the school’s students.

for myself. If it’s for other people though, I’m happy to spend. It gives me joy to see someone feeling good because of the way I’ve used my money.”

Having volunteered at orphanages and nursing homes over the years, these days she is dedicated to supporting Haemil School, an alternative school for young people from multicultural families.

The Korean word haemil describes the clear sky that follows rain.

Established in 2013 in Hongcheon, Gangwon Province, the school has 15 students in the middle school program and produced its first graduates in December last year.

The school is operated by the nonprofit organization Insooni and Good People, of which Insooni serves as chairwoman. The operational costs are provided by around 200 donors. The students used to pay for their own school meals, but from this year the school’s policy is to provide completely free education, which requires additional donations. This summer, construction begins on a new school building on the site of a closed-down school which the organization has recently purchased.

The students at Haemil School have Korean fathers while their mothers are mainly from various countries in Southeast Asia. The children say that they struggle to communicate with their mothers.

This is because their fathers don’t want them to learn their mothers’ languages. Insooni laments this situation, saying, “In such circumstances, there is little a mother can do for her child.” I ask her to tell me one of the more notable background stories among the students, but she shakes her head.

“We’ve taken these kids in to help them grow up in positive surroundings. I don’t think it would be right to go around talking about their pain,” she said. “Sometimes I get asked by potential donors for a video telling the story of the kids’ family circumstances. Whenever that happens I resolve to work even harder myself and send them nothing. I don’t want to do anything to hurt those children.”

I ask her, in her own life, when did she feel the most disheartened? Was there a moment when she felt she had fallen to the very bottom? Her response stuns me.

“I’ve never felt that kind of thing. If I had thought of each difficulty as a hardship, I wouldn’t have been able to cope. In life, don’t we all get rained on and snowed on and trip over stones in our path from time to time? I don’t think there’s anyone who travels a completely smooth road.”

Then, she follows up with a confession that stabs at a corner of my heart.

“I still don’t have a single friend with whom I can talk completely openly. People are not really interested in me as an individual, and I’m not really that interested in other people. These days though, I think it might be nice to sit down for a meal with someone, but that’s about it. I’m not particularly close with the broadcast producers either. I’ve always had the notion that I shouldn’t go around chasing after people, but rather that I should make people want to come to me. Fortunately, there are people who recognize my ability, and that’s how I’ve got to where I am now.”

I ask if there is anything she particularly wants to do this year and she tells me two things. One is climbing to the top of Mount Paektu and the other is cleaning the 2,300 or so headstones at the UN Memorial Cemetery in Busan. The cemetery is the final resting place of foreign soldiers who fought in the Korean War. She tells me that last November she already went and tidied up the some 30 headstones of the soldiers from the Netherlands.

Just like Her Own Father “At the time of the Korean War they were all in their late teens.

My dad would have been around that age too when he was here,” she noted. “How would he have known any better? At that age, the whole world revolves around listening to the music you love and chasing after girls. Thinking about it that way, it’s not hard at all for me to understand my father. I’m grateful to all the foreign soldiers who gave their lives for our country. So, when I heard about the headstones I thought ‘This is something I have to do’ and started straight away.”

I feel a twinge at the tip of my nose.

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 41

ARt REvIEW

SIX PHOTOGRAPHERS INTERPRET Mok Soo-hyun Art Historian Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

©Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art

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TRADITIONAL ARCHITECTURE leeum, Samsung Museum of Art, recently hosted an exhibition titled “Wisdom of the Earth: A Homage to Korean Architecture.” It was the museum’s first exhibition that explored Korea’s indigenous architecture as an enchanting tradition of human engagement with nature. It offered insightful views of traditional architecture as a repository of Korean culture.

1 “Changdeok Palace” by Bae Bien-u shows a view of the rear garden of the palace from Yeonghwadang Pavilion.

2 A 1:200 scale model of Gyeongbok Palace and the Avenue of Six Ministries. visitors can compare the main palace of the Joseon Dynasty and the avenue in front with what the area looks like today. (Collection of the Korea National University of Cultural Heritage)

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pened in 2004, Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art, is an iconic complex of post-modern buildings created by world-renowned architects Mario Botta, Jean Nouvel, and Rem Koolhaas, which itself can be called a work of art. At its special exhibition gallery, the work of Rem Koolhaas, an exhibition on traditional Korean architecture was held from November 19, 2015 to March 27, 2016. The exhibition grew out of a project to publish a series of photographic books on Korean architecture to mark the 50th anniversary of the Samsung Culture Foundation. An executive committee selected ten representative architectural sites in Korea, which were then captured on film by six photographers for the publication of ten separate volumes. But it seemed a pity for these images, so painstakingly prepared, to only be seen in print, so the exhibition was also planned. Lee Joon, deputy director of Leeum and curator of the exhibition, explained, “This exhibition was organized to extend the meaningful publication project into the realm of edifying discourse.”

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Watchwords of Korean Architecture: Heaven, Earth and Humanity The exhibition was organized into three main parts. Based on the ways the actual architectural spaces were utilized, the photographic images were grouped into places for religious activities (heaven), places for imparting rule and order (earth), and places for everyday life (humanity). Thus, architecture served as a medium to explore the ways in which people communicated with the heavens, created order on the earthly realm, and lived in harmony with each other.

Part 1 was titled “Land of Silence and Majesty.” The spaces featured here were the Buddhist temples Haeinsa, Bulguksa, Tongdosa, and Seonamsa, as well as Jongmyo, the royal shrine of the Joseon Dynasty and embodiment of the Confucian spirit of the era.

Part 2, titled “Management of Sites and Construction of Order,” focused on Changdeok Palace, a major palace of Joseon, and Hwaseong Fortress in Suwon, the walled town created by King Jeongjo in the 18th century, both of which have been designated World Heritage sites. Part 3, titled “Spaces of Life and Social Activity,” highlighted Yangdong village, an aristocratic clan village near the ancient Silla capital of Gyeongju, that has been maintained intact since the 15th century; Dosan Seowon, an educational institution for the propagation of Neo-Confucianism, the ruling ideology of Joseon; and Soswaewon, a garden complex in Damyang, South Jeolla Province, which is recognized as the epitome of traditional 44 KoREANA spring 2016

Korean landscaping.

It is no easy matter to plan an exhibition for showcasing architectural spaces. The expansive scale of the architecture must be contracted into an indoor gallery, with spatial depth conveyed in twodimensional images, and most importantly, the people who built the structures and lived in them must also be brought to life. These elements were first shown through large-scale 1 photographs of the ten chosen sites that were arranged 1 “Yucheomdang,” a modern reinteron the walls in ways to draw pretation of the spatial composition visitors into the buildings so of the old clan home Mucheomdang that they could experience the (House of No Disgrace) in Yangdong village, features steel frame additions spaces without much explato the traditional wooden structure. nation. To give visitors a richer From the small veranda, images of viewing experience and a fuller the scenery of the historic village can be seen on a screen, giving an idea understanding, the exhibition of how the landscape was brought also included a variety of visuinto the building in traditional Korean al enhancements, such as 3D houses.

2 “Solemn Serenity,” a three-channel scanned images and 3D videos video montage by the documentary that showed how the buildfilmmaker Park Jong-woo. Sitting in the screening room shut off by ings were erected, along with black curtains, visitors get a virtual plans, models, paintings, and experience of Jongmyo Shrine — its other related artifacts. Also architecture and rites, ritual music, and the sound of rain. displayed was a textile installation that replicated a section of a hanok, traditional Korean house, titled “North Wall.” Created by Suh Do-ho, it was a contemporary interpretation of his memories and experiences of living in such a house.

Architecture Meets photography The six photographers who participated in this project were Joo Myung-duck, Bae Bien-u, Koo Bohn-chang, Kim Jae-kyeong, Suh Heun-kang, and Kim Do-kyun, whose photographic experiences and areas of specialty are diverse, ranging from documentary to landscapes and cultural heritage. In age, too, they covered a wide spectrum from the 40s to the 70s. And while their individual visions and perspectives may differ, the exhibition pulled their works together to present a unified theme.

The photographers sought to capture in their works the whole architecture as well as the scenery that is beheld from the architectural space. Janggyeong Panjeon, the depositories of the Tripitaka Koreana, the Buddhist canon carved onto 81,258 woodblocks, was presented through the eyes of Joo Myung-duck. The photographs

are so finely detailed that they seemed to show each individual snowflake falling on the rooftops of the temple halls at Haeinsa. As they viewed the slowly changing slides, turning their heads this way and that, visitors were taken on a leisurely virtual stroll through the temple grounds. The images featured the buildings as well as the day-to-day life of the monks as they go about their ascetic training, defining the temple as a religious space brimming with vitality.

The visitors’ footsteps would naturally come to a stop in front of Bae Bien-u’s photographs of Jongmyo, where they were drawn and transported into the sweeping views before their eyes: a stately panorama of framed images of the snow-covered main hall of the Joseon Dynasty’s royal shrine and its stone-covered ceremonial courtyard. The spatial sense of the royal ancestral shrine was enhanced by a three-channel video montage, titled “Solemn Serenity,” produced by the documentary filmmaker Park Jong-woo. The small screening room, dark and shut off by curtains, was filled with images of Jongmyo on three sides so that the five-minute virtual journey seemed like a piece of eternity. The sparse black-and-white scenes were a condensation of the monumentality and ritual for-

mality of spaces at the shrine, stimulating multiple sensual experiences through the architecture and the personages carrying out the rites, the imagery accentuated by the ritual music played to accompany the rites, and even the sounds of falling rain.

Suh Heun-kang’s images of Bulguksa conveyed the dignity of the state temple of Silla, one of the three kingdoms of ancient Korea, which was built in the 8th century. They captured views of Dabotap (Pagoda of Many Treasures), Cheongungyo (Blue Cloud Bridge) and Baegungyo (White Cloud Bridge), which are actually stairways rather than bridges, and the courtyard of Geungnakjeon (Hall of Extreme Bliss), as well as various details such as the temple’s original stone terrace and elaborate dancheong paintwork on the wooden structures.

Koo Bohn-chang took a different approach in photographing Tongdosa. Laid out along the side of a stream, the temple cannot be easily captured in a single frame; hence it was photographed from an overlook at the pine forest rising behind the Diamond Precept Altar, which forms the heart of the temple complex. Soswaewon, a garden built around a stream, embodies Korean forebears’ notions

Whereas China’s traditional architecture is characterized by monumental grandeur, Korea’s traditional architecture places less importance on scale or form than the way in which spaces relate to each other.

This is the traditional Korean view of architecture and its place in nature. ©Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art

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KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 45

of nature and architecture. Focusing on the natural vista that can be seen from within the pavilions sitting alongside the stream, Koo allows you to see not just the architectural structures but how the architecture has been integrated with nature. This was the same approach used for his photographs of Changdeok Palace, which is laid out to blend in with the terrain rather than imposing a strict pattern on the landscape.

All these photos demonstrate how Korean architecture seeks to complement the site and communicate with nature. Whereas China’s traditional architecture is characterized by monumental grandeur, Korea’s traditional architecture places less importance on scale or form than the way in which spaces relate to each other.

This is the traditional Korean view of architecture and its place in nature.

Old Art and Digital technology The juxtaposition of photographic works with old maps and paintings, punctuated by traditional craft works at crucial spots in the exhibition, served to expand and illuminate the architectural spaces, engaging visitors to take a closer look. “Sukcheon jeado” (“Illustrations of My Places of Work”) is a pictorial record produced by a Joseon scholar-official of the 19th century who painted all the offices where he served over his 42-year career. On loan from the Harvard Yenching Library, this work was shown to the Korean public for the first time. “view of Gyeonggi Provincial Office,” a 12-panel folding screen painted with panoramic views of the provincial government office located outside the west gate of the capital and its surroundings, is an exquisite depiction of 19th-century buildings and the goings-on of people in their everyday life. Digital magnifier technology enabled visitors to observe minute details of the architectural structures and the human figures depicted in the painting.

Digital technology was also utilized to create simulated images of a restored gilt-bronze Buddhist pagoda. Part of the collection of Leeum, the pagoda is a small structure standing 155 centimeters high. The pagoda consists of five stories in its present form, but research has suggested that it originally had nine stories; the presumed appearance of the original pagoda has been digitally recreated. Structural elements, such as the rooftop finial, roofs and railings are all clearly delineated, as well as finer details such as wind chimes under the eaves and sacred figures engraved on the pagoda walls.

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The exhibition made effective use of videos rather than textual annotations. Especially notable was the 3D video about the construction of Seokguram Grotto in the 8th century, which was also featured in the special exhibition “Silla: Korea’s Golden Kingdom,” held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York in 2013. It sheds light on the unique circumstances that facilitated the creation of such an elegantly structured cave shrine. There were also videos that showed the simulated building process of Paldalmun (Gate to All Directions), one of the main gates of Hwaseong Fortress, and Gwangpunggak (Pavilion of Wind and Light) in the woodland garden Soswaewon, from the clearing of the site to the hanging of the name board. As they followed the process of building a wooden structure with pillars positioned on stone foundations, beams secured across the pillars, and the roof laid on top, visitors gained an understanding of the structural aspects of Korea’s traditional wooden architecture.

Korean Architecture past and present In spite of space constraints, the exhibition also featured some life-size replicas of architectural elements. At the entrance was a full-size replica of entasis-style pillars of Muryangsujeon (Hall of Infinite Life), the main hall of Buseok Temple, complete 1 “North Wall” by Suh Do-ho is an with the elaborate bracket elaborate textile installation that recreates the façade of a traditional arms that bear the roof load Korean house with a tiled roof and beneath the eaves. It conveyed eaves, renovated with bricks, winthe warmth of wood as a builddows and doors.

2 “Roofs of the Storage of Sutra and ing material and showed the the Hall of Dharma Jewel” by Joo strength of the pillars as well Myung-duck. Under the roofs of as the softening visual effect of these two buildings, named Sudarajang and Beopbojeon, respectively, at the gradual curvature.

Haein Temple, the woodblocks of the An experiential space instalTripitaka Koreana have been stored for over 600 years. lation highlighted the final part of the exhibition: “Yucheomdang,” a life-size reinterpretation of Mucheomdang (“House of No Disgrace”), which is one of the most noteworthy old houses in Yangdong village.

It was the work of Kim Bongryol, architectural historian and president of Korea National University of Arts. Playing on the name of the house, he changed the first character mu , meaning “to not exist,” to yu, meaning “to exist.” The traditional wooden veranda was combined with a steel structure 1 manifesting modern simplicity,

2 ©Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art

signifying the integration of tradition and modernity. After removing their shoes, visitors could enter and experience the space. The wooden floor boards of the veranda imparted the look and feel of a traditional house; from within, projected images of the scenery of the village could be seen at eye level when one sat inside the room.

Through a window that looked out onto graceful natural scenery, the landscape came into the room like a framed painting to show how Koreans of old communed with nature.

Since its opening, Leeum has organized several special exhibitions every year, such as “The Court Painters of the Joseon Dynasty” and “Exquisite and Precious: The Splendor of Korean Art,” showcasing artifacts and paintings from its own collection, and exhibitions based on the works of such famous modern artists as Andy Warhol and Anish Kapoor. “Wisdom of the Earth: A Homage to Korean Architecture” was the art museum’s first exhibition on the subject of architecture. Lee Joon described it as “the first comprehensive exhibition to fuse past and present, art and architecture, technology and the humanities.”

More than 70 percent of Korean living space today is urban space. Not only foreign visitors but many young Koreans regard tra-

ditional Korean architecture not so much as a part of everyday life but something to visit on their travels. But, whether they are conscious of it or not, Koreans are still aware of the meaning of sites cozily embraced by mountains. They check to see whether a house is oriented toward the south, and prefer homes with windows that bring in outside air and look out onto the stars at night. They consider it natural to take off their shoes before going indoors, and have a nostalgic yearning for heated floors and the papered windows and doors that let in the light and sounds from outside.

If the visitors at Leeum experienced these fundamental characteristics of Korean architecture, which was what the curators and planners were hoping to attain, then the exhibition has been a success. There is always the risk that traditional Korean architecture might come across as static and obsolete. It would be nobody’s fault, perhaps, if visitors failed to realize a natural connection between the architecture of the past and Korea as it is today. Koreans may no longer live in houses built of wood and earth amidst nature, but experiencing traditional architecture is a good way for foreign visitors and young Koreans alike to understand the Koreans of earlier times who sought to live in harmony with nature.

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 47

GuARDIAn OF HERItAGE

chung Jae-suk Editorial Writer and Senior Culture Reporter, The JoongAng Ilbo Suh Heun-kang Photographer

Master craftsman Restores the Sounds of Heirloom Instruments Jongmyo Jeryeak, the royal ancestral ritual music of the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910), starts with the peals of bell chimes (pyeonjong) and ends with the tinkling of stone chimes (pyeongyeong). these unique percussion

instruments played a central role in the performance of court music throughout the five centuries of Joseon rule.

What remained of these instruments was lost during the Japanese colonial period in the first half of the 20th century, but Kim Hyun-kon, a master craftsman of musical instruments, has brought them back to life.

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n September 18, 2015, Jongmyo Jeryeak, Korea’s Important Intangible Cultural Property No.1 and UNESCO-designated Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, was staged at the Jean vilar Hall of the Chaillot National Theater in Paris. Opening “The Year of Korea–France Bilateral Exchange” to celebrate the 130th anniversary of diplomatic relations between the two countries, the entire program of this Korean royal court music and dance was performed for the first time outside the country. Among the noteworthy features of the orchestra were the four stately instruments standing in a row in the recessed space at the back of the stage. Called pyeonjong and pyeongyeong, these pitched percussion instruments that guided the flow of the music were positioned behind the orchestra and the dancers.

These instruments could be featured in the Paris performance thanks to the largely unseen efforts of the master craftsman Kim Hyun-kon, 81, holder of Important Intangible Cultural Property No. 42 since 2012. For the event in Paris, he worked through the night for several days, adjusting and tuning the instruments, which are vulnerable to even minor temperature changes all year round. As if tending to delicate creatures, his deft hands scrutinized every inch of the precious ritual instruments to ensure they would produce the right sounds.

As pitched percussions which can produce a range of notes, the pyeonjong and pyeongyeong are especially difficult to tune. Suspended from elaborately decorated wooden racks and struck with a mallet, the former consists of 16 metal bells, and the latter 16 L-shaped stone slabs. The pyeongyeong’s slabs are of identical size but vary in thickness so that a range of tones can be created. Therefore, fine-tuning the subtle differences in pitch is extremely difficult — even more so than tuning a piano — and the task requires absolute pitch and manual dexterity.

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learning about Western Instruments Kim grew up in a home where music was always being played, which he credits for his perfect sense of pitch. The phonograph that his family bought when he was four years old would play various kinds of music all day long — traditional Korean music as well as Western classical music. A fond memory of those times were the private recitals by pansori (narrative song) singers invited by his eldest brother, who was himself a talented singer and loved the pungmul band music played with traditional percussion instruments. chung Jae-suk You’ve never had any formal education in music.

What do you think is the source of your ability to handle all those instruments?

Kim Hyun-kon I’m from Sunchang, North Jeolla Province. After graduating from middle school in my hometown, I took an entrance exam for a prestigious high school in Seoul. But I failed because I wasn’t well prepared. After enrolling in an evening commercial

school, I worked at a music shop by day and went to school at night.

Music was always a constant part of everyday life for my family and neighbors, and that must have left its mark on me. In addition, the music shop where I worked played vinyls all day long; it was not so different from those music cafés which were popular in those days. chung So, your musical sensibilities cultivated in your family helped you teach yourself to repair instruments.

Kim You could say so. It was just after the Korean War, and there were many music shops in Chungmuro and Jongno 3-ga [in Seoul] carrying a wide array of instruments mostly from the U.S. Army bases. One of those music shops, Yeonaksa, was like a gathering place for musicians, most of whom were top-rung players in the country. Spending time with these people, I picked up some relevant knowledge, and I would take apart and reassemble the instruments to repair them in my own way. There were neither books to refer to, nor mentors to teach me. With a shortage of proper tools and materials, I just trusted my hands and ears.

As his skills in repairing instruments became widely known, he eventually opened his own shop, Yeonaksa, in Jongno 3-ga, adopting the name of the shop he had worked for. It was in the 1960s, when training instruments were in great demand. He produced xylophones, tambourines, and recorders that would be sold to schools, as well as other instruments for export. He built a factory and worked hard. Had it not been for a meeting that occurred serendipitously, he would likely have been satisfied being a small-business entrepreneur and there would be no Master Craftsman Kim Hyun-kon.

Restoring traditional Korean Instruments In 1983, one of Kim’s friends took him to a church, where he met Han Man-young (1938–2007), a music professor at Seoul National University who conducted the church choir. Han had heard about Kim’s excellent skills in making instruments, so when he was appointed as director of the National Gugak Center for traditional Korean music later that year, he suggested to Kim that they should jointly produce traditional instruments. chung I presume that you were not very familiar with traditional Korean instruments at that time. Didn’t you feel intimidated?

Kim They were all musical instruments, after all, and their manufacturKim Hyun-kon inspects a set ing processes were fairly similar, so I of pyeonjong that he made. didn’t expect them to be too difficult He has, in his words, “touched and disassembled all that to make. The first order that I received was considered a musical was for banghyang, iron chimes to be instrument” and mastered reproduced for Jeongakdan, the Court how to repair and make Western instruments before Music Orchestra, for a performance at he changed his career path to the opening ceremony of the Sejong the restoration of traditional Korean instruments.

Center for the Performing Arts. I went KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 49

“The process of cutting a piece of jade and polishing it smooth involves much labor, rubbing the surface almost three thousand times. It is such a delicate job that you should use your bare hands, with no gloves on. Moreover, it takes intuition as well as good hearing to recognize subtle differences in the pitch.” to Jongmyo Shrine and searched its storage room, where over 100 pieces of antique instruments from the Joseon period were left neglected, covered in dust. I wiped the dust off them one by one, and chose a set of banghyang that looked relatively intact. Based on those original samples, I produced a set of banghyang, which marked the beginning of my new job. chung It must have been a major turning point for you, from Western to traditional Korean instruments.

Kim Yes, and there was a mountain of work to do.

The Traditional Instruments Reform Committee was set up, and I worked for 15 years as a member, along with Han Man-young, Hwang Byung-ki, Kwon O-seong, Lee Seung-ryeol, and Lee Sang-gyu, all prominent figures on the traditional music scene. My phone was ringing off the hook; there was a constant stream of clients who consulted me about repairs.

A long Journey in Search of perfect Jade In 1989, he was asked to recreate the pyeonjong and pyeongyeong. The experienced craftsman, then in his fifties, was so confident of his ability that he would have accepted any order for making any kind of musical instrument. However, an unexpected hindrance awaited him. For pyeonjong, he could make the copper alloy for the bells based on historical references, but no such record was to be found for procuring the materials for pyeongyeong. Referring to the “Canon of Music” (Akhak gwebeom), he searched every possible place in Korea for the kind of jade that would make a metallic sound, but to no avail.

He decided to look abroad. To travel around China, with which Korea had no formal diplomatic relations 1

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at the time, he was accompanied by an ethnic Korean from Yanbian, in northeastern China. He eagerly traveled across the continent to look for the stones suitable for making musical instruments, but he had no luck.

He experimented with many different kinds of jade, but failed to find one that would make the desired sounds.

As the deadline promised to the client approached, he was at a loss for what to do because the essential material had not yet been found. chung You must have been at your wits’ end.

Kim Indeed I was. I traveled for two years from Yanbian through Inner Mongolia, Yunnan, Zhejiang, and Dunhuang, spending a billion won (about $830,000 in the current value) of my own money, all in vain. Thinking I would give up on traditional instruments, I was waiting for my return flight to Korea at the airport in Tianjin. Dispirited, I was browsing around a souvenir store, and something called “health balls” caught my eye. The jade beads were said to promote your health when squeezed and fondled in your hand. Convinced that they were made of the fine-grained jade commonly used for musical instruments, I brought one to Korea and sent it to the Korea Resources Corporation for substance assay. It turned out to be the type of jade that I had been so desperately searching for. I was so relieved that tears welled up in my eyes. Still, it took a lot of time to find out that this stone was quarried in Henan Province of China. And it was only lately that I discovered Namyang Jade in Yeoju, Gyeonggi Province, as is recorded in the “Annals of King Sejong” (Sejong sillok). chung Did things go well when you set out to make the instrument?

Kim It was never easy. The process of cutting a piece of jade and polishing it smooth involves much labor, rubbing the surface almost three thousand times.

It is such a delicate job that you should use your bare hands, with no gloves on. Moreover, it takes intuition as well as good hearing to recognize subtle differences in pitch. Struggling with a thickness of two or three millimeters, you often feel you’ve run out of your patience and wits. But you have to go beyond that limit to make good stone chimes.

1 For pyeonjong, the pitches are adjusted by filing the inside of each bell to calibrate its thickness.

2 A set of pyeongyeong made by Kim Hyun-kon. It consists of 16 L-shaped stone slabs faced with whetstones for tuning, hung from two tiers of a wooden rack decorated in colorful dancheong style. The instrument is played by striking the stones with a little ox-horn mallet.

A Museum of World Instruments Kim was recently awarded a patent for a modified version of the daegeum (large transverse bamboo flute). Attracted by its beautiful sound, many people want to play the instrument, but the fingering of the traditional version is so difficult that it can take years to master the technique.

Based on this understanding, he developed a daegeum made of plastic with a design that makes it easier to learn. He is now overseeing its production so that it can be distributed to schools by the coming summer.

Nowadays, Kim plans to build a museum to showcase the world’s musical instruments. Based on his comprehensive knowledge of both Eastern and Western instruments, he has drawn up a blueprint for a museum with exhibition halls that would display different categories of instruments, by continent of origin, and offering hands-on experiences of various instruments and welcoming visitors from all over the world. He also dreams of recounting the history of musical instruments that made their way along the Silk Road. In addition, he hopes to establish a training center to teach the making and repair of musical instruments.

Kim says, “In preparation for the unification of the two Koreas, I hope to build the museum and the training center by the Imjin River. I wish to locate them as close to the North as possible, but I’m not sure how things will turn out. If only I could start it this year . . . .”

Following in his footsteps are his son Kim Jongmin, 49, with over 20 years of experience, and his teenage grandson who is learning the craft. Kim is gratified by their decision to carry on with his life’s work. Although it is not a job that promises fame or wealth, he knows that they will feel a sense of reward serving as messengers of music.

Every year, Kim Hyun-kon produces a set of pyeonjong and pyeongyeong. Lately, he has filmed their entire production processes as a preliminary step to leaving a lasting record. No one can avoid getting old. Now, the knuckles in his left hand sometimes swell up and he feels exhausted while working. It makes him think that his days are dwindling. But the sounds of the ancient instruments that he has revived will tell the story of the master craftsman’s dedicated life for many generations to come.

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tAlES OF tWO KOREAS

DEFEctOR ARtIStS DREAM OF A BORDERlESS KOREA

Kim Hak-soon Journalist; visiting Professor, School of Media and Communication, Korea University

More than 28,000 north Korean defectors have settled in the South after fleeing their home country in a quest for freedom or escape from hunger. Among them are not a few people who had studied art or worked as artists in the north. As the conflict between the two Koreas shows no signs of abating, they express through their work their personal memories of their hometowns and yearning for reunification.

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t first glance, many of the works by defector artists from North Korea express overt propaganda messages, though the implications are never the same as would be the case if they were back in the North. In fact, Sun Mu, a painter in his mid-forties, had actually experienced the consequences of such a misinterpretation of his art. In 2007, he held the first exhibition of his artworks in South Korea at a gallery in Jongno District, central Seoul. One day, a police officer suddenly burst in and said, “Would you please come with me for some questioning?” He was then escorted to the police station. It turned out that local residents and gallery visitors had reported to the police that his exhibition included “paintings extolling North Korea” — a criminal violation of the country’s national security law. During the Busan Biennale in 2008, his works on display were removed because they depicted the face of Kim Il-sung.

Song Byeok, another defector artist from the North, has gone through a similar experience. His paintings, including works depicting Kim Jong-il and Kim Jongun, were kept at his studio in a shopping mall in Gangnam, southern Seoul. Some elderly men who had seen these works complained to the authorities, which led to a visit by a National Intelligence Service agent.

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no lines, no Borders Sun Mu slipped out of North Korea in 1998 and arrived in South Korea in 2002, after roaming around China, Thailand, and Laos. He is known as the first North Korean defector artist in the South. Unlike others, he did not flee the North because he disliked the regime. When young, he was a member of the Korean Youth Corps. He attended an art college for three years and served as a propaganda artist in the army. He fled the North by happenstance. He was temporarily working odd jobs for a living in China, when an election day in the North approached. It is mandatory for all citizens in the North to participate in every election. Anyone who fails to vote can be condemned as a political offender and sent to a concentration camp. But he realized it would be impossible for him to return to his home in Hwanghae Province, a region far from the North KoreaChina border, in time for the election. Then and there, he decided not to return to the North. In all likelihood, this idea might have been percolating in his mind; he had been impressed by the affluent lifestyle in the South, which he came to learn about in China.

After arriving in Seoul, he enrolled in the College of Fine Arts at Hongik University, where he went on to complete his graduate studies, and became a profes-

2 1 “Take Off Your Clothes and Play” by Sun Mu, 2015, oil on canvas, 130cm x 190cm 2 “Self-portrait” by Sun Mu, 2009, oil on canvas, 100cm x 40cm. A note scribbled on the painting says, “Now it’s about 10 years away from you. I wonder when your door will be opened.”

sional artist. He adopted the pseudonym Sun Mu (“No Line”) as an expression of his ardent hope that the border between the two Koreas would one day disappear. He never uses his real name or reveals his face in public for fear that his life here would cause harm to his family members in the North.

Sun Mu’s works are characterized by incisive criticism of the North Korean leadership and system. Bright and deceptively cheerful in a kind of pop art style that incorporates elements of North Korean propaganda art, his paintings are implicitly — and undoubtedly — subversive, as exemplified by “Kim Jong-il in Adidas” and “A Jesus in North Korea.”

His sardonic depictions of North Korean reality have caught the attention of international art communities, which has enabled him to stage several solo exhibitions abroad — two in New York, two in Berlin, and one each in Jerusalem, Oslo, and Melbourne. He plans to participate in a group exhibition in France this year. Western media have introduced him as a “faceless artist,” taking note of his works lampooning the leaders he was raised to worship as gods.

‘I Am Sun Mu’ In many of Sun Mu’s recent works, aspects of life in both Koreas, of people and things or events, are depicted side by side, as parallels. This reflects his fervent desire to help bring about peace, reconciliation, and coexistence. He takes a look at the peculiar circumstances of national division and the reality in the North through the lens of artistic inquiry, while keeping a distance from political propaganda. He doesn’t want to fall victim to ideology ever again, he says.

To fully understand Sun Mu’s works, one needs to get beyond simplistic interpretation. This is because he expresses his personal experiences and emotions on canvas while suffering from ideological confusion between two political systems that are poles apart. Although 14 years have passed since he first KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 53

“I wasn’t going to attend the opening anyway for security reasons. When my exhibition was called off, I was really afraid that I might be taken away, leaving my wife and two daughters behind,” he said.

In spite of many difficulties that he encounters as a marginal man, Sun Mu’s eyes are always looking out toward an open world. “When I visited New York for my exhibition, I realized that there are numerous different countries, including those in the Middle East, Africa, Latin America, and Europe, as well as the two Koreas, in the world. I want to create works about the lives of people in those lands,” he said.

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arrived in the South, he still finds it difficult to adapt to various aspects of his new homeland. Many a time, he still lives in the North in his dreams, only to awaken and find himself at a loss in his real-life circumstances in the South.

The documentary film “I Am Sun Mu,” which was shown as the opening work for the 7th DMZ International Documentary Film Festival, held in September 2015, offers a glimpse of the kind of person and artist that he is. The 87-minute documentary, produced by American filmmaker Adam Sjoberg, sheds light on his life and work, and what he wants to bring about through art.

The film shows scenes from his aborted exhibition that had been scheduled to be held at a gallery in suburban Beijing in 2014. On the opening day, the Chinese police blocked people from entering the gallery. His artworks, together with a large ad banner, were removed and confiscated, and are still stranded in Beijing. He had intended to convey the Korean people’s desire for national reunification through works rendered mainly in red, white, and blue — the colors of the national flags of the six member countries of the stalled negotiations for North Korea’s nuclear disarmament.

‘take Off your clothes’ Song Byeok is another artist whose works satirize the North Korean regime.

Like Sun Mu, Song hails from Hwanghae Province. He also uses an alias. But unlike Sun Mu, Song engages openly in public activities, making his face relatively well known.

One of Song’s best-known works is a parody of Kim Jong-il, whose face is superimposed on Marilyn Monroe’s body to replicate the iconic image of her standing over a subway vent, holding down her billowing skirt, in a scene from the 1955 American film “The Seven Year Itch.” Song titled his work “Take Off Your Clothes,” as a message to urge the North to open up.

Pigeons and butterflies often appear in Song’s works, symbolizing the “dreams for freedom hidden deep in the hearts of the North Korean people,” as he explains.

Song painted propaganda posters in North Korea for seven years before fleeing the country to escape from its widespread famine. His first attempt to escape ended in failure in August 2000, when his father drowned in the swift currents of the Tumen River, swollen by heavy rains. Song was apprehended by a border guard. He was sent to a concentration camp, where he lost the tip of the forefinger on his right hand, a vital asset for an artist. After his release, he made another attempt in 2001. He arrived in South Korea via China in 2002. He heard the news of his mother’s death in 2005. Two years later, he succeeded in helping his youngest sister escape the North.

After graduating from the Arts Education Department of Gongju National University in 2007, he enrolled in the graduate school of Hongik University, where he studied Oriental painting. He took on odd jobs for a living, once working for a moving company.

In 2011, he held his first solo exhibition, entitled “Everlasting Escape, Everlasting Freedom,” in Insa-dong, Seoul. He has presented three exhibitions in the United States. His exhibition in Washington, D.C. in 2012 was attended by a number of famous figures, such as Robert King, the U.S. special envoy for North Korean human rights issues, and Kathleen Stephens, former U.S. ambassador to Seoul. The exhibition was covered by major global media networks, like CNN, BBC, and NHK. He has been invited to deliver lectures at vari-

To fully understand Sun Mu’s works, one needs to get beyond simplistic interpretation. Although 14 years have passed since he first arrived in the South, he still finds it difficult to adapt to various aspects of his new homeland. Many a time, he still lives in the North in his dreams, only to awaken and find himself at a loss in his real-life circumstances in the South.

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ous universities across the United States.

Song also held an invitational exhibition in Frankfurt in October 2015, during an event to celebrate the 25th anniversary of German reunification, where “Kim Jongun and Marilyn Monroe” attracted media attention, among his other works. He plans to present another exhibition near the former East-West German border in September this year.

Song says he doesn’t merely want to be known as an artist specializing in North Korean themes. He hopes his art can help people around the world, including those in North Korea, who are suffering from hunger and oppression, to hold onto their dreams of peace and happiness. A handwritten note on his studio desk tells of his vision: “Don’t subjugate yourself to reality; don’t stop making challenges but go your own way, patiently and persistently.”

common Ground through the Arts Kang Jin-myung, the oldest among the North Korean artists who have settled in the South, was already in poor health when he arrived in Seoul 10 years after he fled the North in 1999. He had long painted propaganda posters for the North Korean regime. After escaping to Qingdao, he worked at an accessory plant operated by a South Korean businessman, by passing himself off as a Korean-Chinese. He was an accomplished artist who had graduated from an art college in Pyongyang

and worked as an artist at the Ministry of the People’s Armed Forces, and was a professor as well.

Kang held his first solo exhibition in Insa-dong, Seoul, in February 2010, featuring some 70 artworks that depicted natu2 ral landscapes of the two Kore1 “In the Square” by Sun Mu, 2015, oil on canvas, as. But he died of liver cancer 160cm x 130cm the following month, at the age 2 Song Byeok works in his studio. of 57. He had worked hard day 3 “Dreaming of Freedom” by Song Byeok, 2013, acrylic on thick rice paper, 82cm x 110cm and night to prepare for the exhibition, while undergoing treatment for cancer. He often lamented, “I want to dedicate myself to art until our nation is reunified, but my body is too weak to hold out.”

“Back in the North,” he said, “the economy was good during the 1970s and 80s when I began my career as an artist. I received a handsome pay and life wasn’t so tough. But there was no freedom. For an artist, having no creative freedom was tremendously painful.”

The theme of his first and last exhibition was “In Search of the Freedom I Dreamed Of.” His oil painting “Waves of Freedom” testifies to how desperately he craved freedom. He lived under an alias, Kang Ho, for quite a while to avoid retaliation by the North.

Kang’s words reflect his profound desire to see a reunified Korea: “Culture and arts are where the two Koreas can become one, transcending ideologies.

I believe we can achieve peaceful reunification a bit earlier if both sides try to approach each other by finding a common ground in the arts.”

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KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 55

In lOvE WItH KOREA

RyAn CAssIdy

A vOIcE RInGInG AcROSS cultuRES

Darcy paquet Freelance Writer Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

It must be unusual to see a tall caucasian man dressed in hanbok, performing the traditional vocal art of pansori.

But Ryan cassidy’s enthusiasm for the art form is more than just a demonstration of its universal appeal: it challenges the widespread perception of this indigenous Korean vocal music as an art that has been frozen in time.

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t’s never easy to step into an unfamiliar environment where you stand out from the crowd. Ryan Cassidy faced such a situation when he moved from Canada to Korea in 1997. “Back then I didn’t think I’d be staying in Korea for a long time, so I decided to learn something that I wouldn’t be able to do back at home,” he says.

After looking around, he enrolled in an ink wash painting class at the local district office. “When I arrived, I discovered that not only was I the only foreigner taking the class, but I was also the only man,” he says, laughing. In the same situation many people might have dropped out, but Cassidy stayed on and learned the basics of a new hobby. It was this sort of persistence, and a natural interest in the traditional arts, that would eventually lead him to pansori.

Sometimes described as “folk opera,” pansori is a form of musical storytelling performed by a solo vocalist (sorikkun) and a single drummer (gosu). Cassidy had been living in Korea for about a decade when he heard a live pansori performance for the first time. “I was amazed,” he says. “It looks so simple. It’s just a single voice, and a very basic-looking instrument. But the range of emotions that were expressed in that performance was astounding.”

The performer was So Ji-young who, like Cassidy, lives in the city of Chuncheon.

After hearing her perform a few more times, he met her in person and asked her about learning the drum (buk). “She told me that she didn’t really teach the drum, but that if I signed up for her vocal classes, I could pick up the basics of drumming as well,” he says. Cassidy had never previously given any thought to singing, and was the sort of person who avoided noraebang (karaoke rooms) when possible.

But the attraction of pansori pulled him in, and he has been studying under So ever since.

I Ryan Cassidy sings to the accompaniment of the drum played by his son, Cian. Influenced by his father's pastime, Cian has opened his eyes to the world of pansori, too, and is now taking lessons.

Setting Down Roots in Korea Before coming to Korea, Cassidy’s passion was cooking. In the 1990s, when he was living in the ski resort town of Whistler, Canada, his original plan was to save up some money and study for a chef’s certificate. But with limited prospects in Whistler, he was persuaded by a friend to come to Seoul to teach English.

“My first class the day after I arrived was with a group of seven-year olds. There was no teacher training, they just pushed me into a room and said, go! It was only six months later, when the institute held an ESL workshop, that I realized that I actually love teaching,” he recalls. Within a few years, he earned a CELTA certificate, and eventually an M.A. For a self-described “small town guy,” the city of Seoul was a bit of a culture shock. “In Canada, I had been living on a very small island, about 4km long, 2km wide, with a population of about 2,000 people in the offseason,” he says. After meeting his would-be wife, Kim Hyun-sook, and getting married a year later, he lived in Gangneung for a few years before relocating to Chuncheon in 2002. They now have two children: son Cian aged 11, and daughter Hannah, 8. Cassidy currently teaches at the College of International Studies, Hallym University, focusing on academic English skills like reading and critical thinking.

Early Steps as a pansori Enthusiast Meanwhile, pansori has become a passionate hobby. As might be expected, learning how to perform it required some persistence. “In pansori there is no music to read. You just listen to your teacher and repeat. You start with a small section and keep practicing until you get it right, and then you go to the next part,” he explains.

“Remembering the lyrics is especially hard. The language is all based on hanja [ChiKoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 57

“I wish there was more widespread familiarity, so that people could enjoy it naturally. You don’t have to be an expert to listen to pansori. You can enjoy it in the same way that people listen to Western classical music.” nese characters] and much of it has fallen completely out of use. I sometimes show my book to Korean speakers, and they don’t know what it means. So I’ve really had to struggle to memorize it.”

Cassidy has primarily been working on sections of “Simcheong-ga,” which is based on a folk tale about a filial daughter named Sim Cheong who, through her sacrifice, helps to restore her father’s sight. Although there were originally 12 complete works in the pansori repertoire, only five continue to be performed in the present day: “Simcheong-ga” (“Song of Sim Cheong”) “Chunhyang-ga” (“Song of Chunhyang”), “Heungbu-ga” (“Song of Heungbu”), “Jeokbyeok-ga” (“Song of the Red Cliff”) and “Sugung-ga” (“Song of the Undersea Palace”). A complete performance of any one of these works can take four to six hours, or even longer.

At first, pansori was merely a hobby that Cassidy pursued in his free time. But eventually he began performing in public, although his first experience on stage did not go well. “I was asked to participate in a special TV concert of foreign professors who

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do traditional Korean music, and I thought — Sure, why not? But I had no idea just how big this program, ‘Gugak Hanmadang,’ really is. It was my first time singing in front of an audience. I had never had stage fright in the past, either while teaching or doing Korean traditional fencing demonstrations.

But that day, I suddenly freaked out. It was a real disaster,” he recalls.

Nonetheless, he didn’t give up. He signed up for a contest run by the Pansori Preservation Society. His second stage experience was a big improvement on the first, and as he describes it, “I’ve just sort of carried on ever since.”

Finding a new community These days, it’s not uncommon to see Cassidy performing in Chuncheon, or at various concerts around the country. Apart from singing, he also often accompanies his teacher on the drum, partly because of the lack of trained drummers in their city.

For the most part, the Korean traditional music community has embraced him.

“People have been very accepting of me,” Cassidy says. “Despite my limited skills,

I haven’t had any bad reactions, at least to my face. It seems people are very surprised, and pleased for sure, that a nonKorean would feel the attraction of a Korean performance art.”

Indeed, he sometimes performs with other expats who, like him, have “discovered” traditional Korean music. “I did a few concerts with a Swiss woman, Hendrikje Lange, who does the folk percussion, samul nori. She gave up a career as a therapist and moved to Korea after seeing Kim Duk-soo perform. There’s a woman in Daejeon named Jocelyn Clark, who plays gayageum. And there’s a professor named Hilary Finchum-Sung at Seoul National University, who plays haegeum . I think they experience the same thing: people are amazed that a foreigner would find this music attractive, when not even most Koreans know it properly.”

But Cassidy’s enthusiasm for pansori comes across loud and clear in the way he describes it. On the difference between sori (the vocalizations made by a pansori singer) and ordinary songs, he says: “Song incorporates a pretty narrow range of sounds that for the most part are pleasing to our ears. But for sori, the range is much bigger, and includes both pleasant and notso-pleasant sounds. There are sounds from nature such as birds and thunder that the pansori singer has to mimic. There’s a scene in ‘Chunhyang-ga,’ when Chunhyang and Mong-ryong separate, where there’s a very sorrowful bird sound in the background, and if you hear my teacher do it, you would swear that there’s a bird in the room. It’s pretty amazing.”

Cassidy’s interest in pansori has been picked up by his children, who are now both taking lessons. “Everyone thinks that we force our kids to learn, but it’s not true! [laughs] My son would come to con-

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certs and he liked it, so I asked him, ‘Do you want to try?’ And it was the same with my daughter,” he says. The three of them recently performed at a fundraising concert for earthquake victims in Nepal. His son, Cian, has been particularly fast in picking it up.

thoughts about the Future of pansori “It’s a bit ironic,” Cassidy says. “People ask me, how can your kids study something that is so difficult? But quite often I see Korean kids the same age performing extremely difficult work on piano and violin.”

Cassidy argues that in today’s Korea, pansori is generally seen as an art form for experts. There are those who know it very

1 Ryan Cassidy lives in Chuncheon with his wife, Kim Hyun-sook, and their children Cian and Hannah. He teaches at the College of International Studies at Hallym University.

2 Ryan Cassidy sings the part of old man Sim opening his eyes from “Song of Sim Cheong” at Deoksu Palace in 2014.

well, while the vast majority know very little about it. Perhaps what Korea needs, he contends, is more people in the middle.

“I wish there was more widespread familiarity, so that people could enjoy pansori naturally. You don’t have to be an expert to listen to pansori. You can enjoy it in the same way that people listen to Western classical music,” he says. He praises the work of composers who are writing new pansori works. The singer Lee Jaram, for example, has written an innovative

work based on Bertolt Brecht’s “The Good Person of Szechwan” that has been highly acclaimed abroad.

“The original five stories are excellent, for sure, but these new works are a good step toward making more people aware of pansori,” says Cassidy. “Over its history, the reason pansori remained popular was because it adapted to its audience. Originally, pansori started out in markets, as lower-class entertainment, and then in the 19th century, the upper-class yangban took an interest and the form kept changing. But since the 20th century it’s been frozen. If we could find some way to help it continue to evolve and develop, I think that might go a long way toward making it more relevant to young people.”

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 59

On tHE ROAD

© Korea National Park Service / Jirisan National Park

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hamyang and sancheong

gwak Jae-gu Poet ahn hong-beom Photographer

Balmy Fragrances oF scholars’ InK and sPrIng mounTaIns Hamyang and Sancheong, both in South Gyeongsang province, are two of several counties in the three provinces spanned by the alpine region known as Mt. Jiri, which is a massive cluster of ridges and peaks that dominate Korea’s far southern landscape. connected by scenic roadways and extensive networks of hiking trails, this area is a snug and entrancing travel destination where the mountains beckon and the fields invite you to linger awhile. as you walk around, the gentle air of spring seems to carry the faint fragrance of scholars’ ink of the past.

Layers of ridges of Mt. Jiri viewed from Nogodan, one of the mountain’s many peaks. Mt. Jiri, which straddles North Jeolla, South Jeolla and South Gyeongsang provinces, was designated Korea’s first national park in 1967, in recognition of its outstanding natural scenery and wealth of historical, cultural and folk heritage sites. This photograph, “Azaleas on Nogodan Peak,” is by Kim Jae-young.

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 61

here are two smells I have always liked: That of my mother’s milk and the mountains in early spring.

To be honest, I have no real memory of the smell of my mother’s milk. More than 60 years have passed since those days, so the smell is only a vague notion to me. I suppose it comes from one of the most beautiful sights I have seen in my life, that of a mother with a baby at her breast. I’ve trekked the Himalayas on six occasions, but even more moving than the mystical panorama of the snowy mountains was the sight of women in the alpine villages feeding their babies at their breasts. Despite the gaze of an outsider, the women showed no embarrassment. When I met their eyes, they smiled cheerfully and greeted me: “Namaste!” It’s because they look upon outsiders with the eyes of a mother. My own mother is no longer here with me. She doesn’t even appear in my dreams.

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a trail of Memories All through the trip to Unbong from Namwon, crossing over Jeongnyeongchi Hill of Mt. Jiri, I drank in the smell of the mountains. I love the early spring aroma of the mountains coming in through the car window. It’s a bit like the smell of books on the shelves of an old library, or the lingering scent from the first draft of a poem written through the night. The smell of the mountains in spring — permeating the old wooden bench on the train platform, the whistle of the long-distance train, and the backs of travelers standing on the platform slurping instant noodles — hangs in the air serenely, an evanescent blessing. The mountain never says, read my dreams. It simply stands silently in the same place and waits for the next page in the scenery, which will soon appear. The smell not detected even on the body of a traveler who has been all over the world is found in the mountains in early spring. The car runs quietly through that fragrance.

A long time ago, I once went trekking on Mt. Jiri, passing through the valley of Baengmudong (“One Hundred Shamans’ Village”). I was not alone. In life, there are fateful moments that are hard to pass off simply as a matter of luck. That was one of such moments. Only the gods know why that person came trekking to Mt. Jiri with me.

On our way up the mountain we stopped for lunch at a small village. Our host brought out some kimchi that had a curious odor. It was totally new to me. I thought it might be jasmine or maybe lavender.

The host said it was prickly ash. I tasted that herb for the first time and found its totally new smell quite appealing. After watching me eat with relish, our host offered us some advice: “The weather may have turned warm, but it’s still cold at the top of the mountain. You should take this bundle of straw with you.”

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1 Daewonsa, one of the numerous old Buddhist temples on Mt. Jiri, sits on the eastern slope of the mountain in Sancheong County, South Gyeongsang Province. Passing through the pavilion gate, one enters the main courtyard of the temple. It is one of the country's major temples exclusively inhabited by female monks.

2 The terraced rice fields of Macheon village in Hamyang have been selected by CNN as one of the top 50 places in Korea to visit.

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Stored in the house were bundles of straw left over from the rice threshing in autumn. I took his advice.

Clumsily I loaded a bundle of straw onto my backpack (weighing more than 10 kilos I’m sure) and continued to climb up the mountain. When we reached the camping ground, I laid the straw on the ground, as we had been advised. When we lay down, it was soft beneath us. Lying on the straw with two blankets on top, the lamp lit, inside the tent it was warm and comfortable. When we woke up in the morning the tent was covered in a white layer of frost. That night inside the tent, we kissed for the first time, and when we came down from the mountain we got married and eventually had two children.

Bridge for everlasting love The car traces over my memories of Mt. Jiri toward Hamyang. This name is the same as that of the first capital of China (Xianyang in Chinese) when it was unified by Qin Shi Huang, or King Zheng of Qin, the first emperor of China. The meaning of the name is indicated in the Chinese characters: “For all people to live under the warm sunshine.” My footsteps then head for Sangnim.

Sangnim, or the Upper Forest, was planted 1,150 years ago by the scholar Choe Chi-won (857–?) during the reign of Queen Jinseong of Silla. It is the oldest man-made forest in Korea. Choe went to study in Tang China at the age of 11, passed the imperial civil service examinations at the age of 17, and returned to Silla at the age of 28. Requesting a regional posting, he served as governor of Hamyang County. It is KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 63

The smell of the mountains in spring — permeating the old wooden bench on the train platform, the whistle of the long-distance train, and the backs of travelers standing on the platform slurping instant noodles — hangs in the air serenely, an evanescent blessing. said that Choe, after seeing the devastation wrought by frequent floods, planted the forest to reinforce the banks of the river running through the middle of the county and thus prevent the damage caused by flooding.

At the entrance to the forest is a tree with entwined trunks, which is the subject of an enchanting legend. Trees with entwined trunks are called yeonlimok (“tree with joined bodies”) and those with entwined branches are called yeonliji (“joined branches”). In the olden days, the presence of such trees was considered to be an auspicious sign for the nation. The tree at the entrance of this forest consists of two species, a zelkova tree and a hornbeam tree, joined together at their trunks. Around the time Choe Chi-won created the forest, there was a young man living on the other side of the river who crossed over every night to see the woman he loved. When Choe heard about this, he placed stepping stones in the water. Though the stepping stones have disappeared with the passage of time, the local residents built a bridge over the river that was named Cheonnyeongyo (“Bridge of a Thousand Years”). They call this tree “the tree of love,” and according to local legend, any couple who passes under the tree together will be blessed with everlasting love. Covering an area of over 200,000 square meters, this man-made forest contains some 20,000 broadleaf trees of 120 species, and has been designated Natural Monument No. 154.

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1 The elevated veranda at the old house of Jeong Yeo-chang in Hamyang, South Gyeongsang Province. The front gate of the house can be seen over the classical railings.

2 Nongwoljeong pavilion in Hamyang.

The name of the pavilion, meaning "flirting with the moon," was inspired by the beautiful sight of the moon reflected on the water over the rocks.

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Pride in the upright scholarly spirit From the Joseon period, the people of Hamyang liked to say, “Andong on the left, Hamyang on the right.” This reflects the Hamyang people’s pride in their home region as the cradle of the “seonbi spirit,” or the spirit of the virtuous scholars. Hamyang to this day bears traces of the lives of scholars whose names are widely known among Koreans, including Choe Chi-won (pen name Goun), Kim Jong-jik (Jeompiljae, 1431–1492), Jeong Yeo-chang (Ildu, 1450–1504), and Park Ji-won (Yeonam, 1737–1805).

I make my way to the village of Gaepyeong, a neighborhood of traditional-style houses, or hanok. Crossing a small bridge and entering the village, I immediately notice the village rice mill standing at the foot of a hill covered with a grove of exquisite old pines. In old country villages, the state of the rice mill spoke for the state of the people’s lives. The more briskly the rice mill was operated the more comfortable 2 the livelihoods of the village households would have been.

Next, I go to see the old house of Jeong Yeo-chang. Jeong was a leading figure in the rustic sarim faction that in the mid-Joseon Dynasty was engaged in a power struggle against the political elites entrenched in the royal court. Many regionally-based scholars were exiled or executed; the dead were even dug up from their graves and mutilated during the literati purges of 1498 and 1504, carried out by Prince Yeonsan, the most despotic king in Korean history.

A cluster of 12 separate structures, the house was built by Jeong’s descendants after he was posthumously reinstated when King Jungjong succeeded to the throne as the result of a coup. A large plaque hanging at the entrance to the sarangchae , the men’s quarters of the house, bears an inscription: Baekse cheongpung. It’s an exhortation — Jeong’s ardent desire for his descendants to live as clean and honest officials generation after generation.

Anyone who is fond of drinking must try the home-brewed solsongju , rice wine infused with pine buds, the scent of which permeates the house. With a history and tradition of five hundred years, it was brewed by Jeong’s descendants to be offered to their ancestors in memorial rites, a gesture of utmost respect. I wanted to taste this wine made with the new buds of young pines gathered in spring and to experience the same poetic inspiration of the ancient scholars. But unfortunately, there was no one at the visitor center to help me sample it.

From the top of the hill at the end of the path, named Ildu Trail after Jeong’s pen name, which means “sole moth,” the whole village is spread out below. The old houses with tiled roofs seen through the branches of the pine trees look handsome and orderly. Lucky for me, I catch the sight of smoke rising from the houses along the brook where dinner is being cooked. In the past, when travelers were searching for a place to stay the night they would look for smoke coming from the chimneys. If the flowers were in bloom in the yards and the smoke from cooking could be seen around dinner time, the travelers would think, Yes, this is where I’ll have to stay tonight. I may not have been lucky enough to taste the “pine bud wine,” but as I fully savored the scent of the old pines and the smoke rising as rice was being KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 65

cooked, you could say I had enjoyed songyeonju, or “pine smoke wine.”

I turn the car toward Daewon Temple in Sancheong. In the vicinity of Gyeongho River, flowing at the foot of Mt. Jiri, are a handful of mountain villages with such lovely names as Sicheon (“Arrow Stream”), Chansaem (“Cold Spring”), and Deokgyo (“Bridge of Virtue”). The glowing lights of the villages blanketed in darkness create a graceful scene. The lights of a few houses up on top of the mountain look like fireflies. Among the numerous Buddhist temples nestled in Mt. Jiri, Daewonsa is well-known for the sound of the stream running through the deepest of valleys. The sound of the stream follows me the entire time I am driving up miles of the mountain road, all the while taking in the invigorating scents of the mountain. In the midst of it all, the stars are shining brightly and the sound of a metal drum can be heard signaling the start of evening service at the temple.

Walking through the temple grounds in the dark, I reach the main hall, Daeungjeon, when a nun greets me with her hands devoutly pressed together. I press my hands together and say, “It’s late, seunim. But I wanted to take a look around the temple at night.” Without a word, she leaves with quick steps.

I wanted to stay the night at the temple and listen to the sound of the water and smell the mountain all through the night, but alas this dream was not to be. Instead, I stay at a house in a small village below the temple where I dine on rice along with deliciously seasoned greens. The lights of the riverside villages resemble flowers.

glowing lights of Mountain villages In 1989, I traveled to the western regions of China with the novelist Lee Myeong-han, who grew up in a family of traditional medicine practitioners. We visited Dunhuang, Turpan and Urumqi, and Lee told me about a fantastic medicinal herb that grew in China’s western regions, called dongchung hacho, or “caterpillar fungus.” I was doubtful when he told me about this mystical herb that was a plant in the summer and a bug in the winter, but at a medicine shop in Liuyuan I saw it for myself. I can still remember the way the novelist cradled it in his hands as if it were something very precious. He told me that the most fundamental aspect of traditional Korean medicine was using the sense of smell for treatment.

The pleasant scents of mountain herbs were said to drive all negative things out of the body, which I believed was a whole different story from the dubious-looking caterpillar fungus.

Best Places to visit in hamyang / sancheong Seoul

280km Hamyang

gaepyeong Hanok village sangnim Forest Hamyang intercity Bus Terminal

Dongui Bogam village

sancheong intercity Bus Terminal

Daewon Temple Mt. jiri namsa Yedam village

66 KoREANA spring 2016

290km

Sancheong

Entwined trees stand at the entrance of Sangnim forest in Hamyang. According to legend, couples who pass under the trees together will have their love blessed.

In Sancheong, there is a theme village dedicated to the Dongui bogam (“Principles and Practice of Eastern Medicine”), which was built to commemorate the 400th anniversary of the ancient Korean medical text written by Heo Jun. The Oriental Medicine Museum there introduces the medicinal herbs that grow around the foothills of Mt. Jiri. A compendium of traditional Asian medicine, Dongui bogam has been published in China and Japan, and is also listed on the UNESCO Memory of the World Register.

Namsa Yedam Village is an archetypal scholars’ village of the Joseon period. The name means “a village with beautiful old walls.” At the entrance to the village, a signpost marks the road that Admiral Yi Sun-sin traveled on over five hundred years ago, on his way to the battlefield as a plain soldier after being stripped of his title and command. The road is lined with elegant ancient walls carefully built of stone and red earth. At the entrance to an alley leading to one of the old houses are two “scholar trees” with their branches joined overhead, as if greeting all visitors. More than 300 years old, these locust trees are so called because it is said the green energy that emanates from them enables scholars to clear their minds. In geomantic terms, the village is in the configuration of two dragons breathing fire.

The trees were planted to contain the flames.

The walls enclosing the houses, standing higher than the average person, may be a little bit puzzling to some travelers. It would seem more natural for the front yard to look out at the mountains and fields in the distance. A scholar with profound learning and lofty virtue would not have built the walls so high, I tell myself, but the faint smell of spring earth coming from the old walls is pleasant.

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 67

an orDinarY DaY

Banchan Store, a New Challenge on a Familiar Road a bowl of rice (bap) and a few banchan (side dishes). add to that a soup or stew, and it makes a satisfactory meal for most koreans. she is the “invisible hand” who helps her customers to prepare a hearty meal with a few additions to the leftover side dishes in their refrigerators. kim seo-ryung Writer; Representative, Old & Deep Story Lab ahn hong-beom Photographer

ark Nan-yee leaves her house in Gugidong, an old neighborhood in central Seoul, at 9:30 a.m. Just five minutes away is her store, a cozy, sunny place with a glass door. The first thing she does is open the window facing the road and play music stored in her laptop. The air is filled with energy for the day. Taking deep breaths, she cleans the store.

P

life’s simple Pleasures Park, 52, is the owner of a store that sells banchan, or the side dishes that accompany cooked rice in a typical Korean meal. The name of the store is Sosohan Banchan, which means “simple side dishes.” A few years ago she realized that what truly matters in life are not the big things but the trivial everyday things. Since then she has been seeking happiness in the little things. Hence the name of her store.

Her days are busy as she lays out pretty plates by the window and makes the banchan, pouring her heart into each and every dish. Her customers marvel at how good her side dishes taste. Although much busier, she is also much happier these days.

Park takes preorders for side dishes like jangjorim (beef braised in soy sauce), japchae (stirfried glass noodles with beef and vegetables) and assorted jeon (pan-fried foods coated in flour and egg batter). “What’s funny is that young mothers68 KoREANA spring 2016

in-law sometimes order these side dishes for their sons-in-law. They want to show off their cooking, but don’t feel confident enough to make it themselves.

When their son-in-law or daughter asks them to make the dish again, they can’t come clean and say they bought it, so they end up ordering the same side dishes again and again,” said Park.

Her store is also a place of emotional healing. Young mothers tell her about their relationship problems with their children or husbands. Having been through it all, often she can see a clear solution. She consoles them, telling them that it’s not really a big deal, that it will all pass and time will heal. Then she recommends stir-fried burdock or lotus root braised in soy sauce. For she knows root vegetables help to subdue anger and calm the mind.

Feeling the ingredients Each day, Park makes seven to eight types of side dishes and one or two kinds of soup. That’s in addition to the doenjang (soybean paste), cheonggukjang (dry-fermented soybeans), and different varieties of jeotgal (salted seafood) and kimchi that are always on offer.

After cleaning the store, Park prepares the ingredients until 11 a.m. It’s rough work. Basic preparations for Korean cooking involve peeling onions, carrots, and scallions; chopping potatoes, burdock, and radish; and peeling and mincing garlic and ginger. Depending on the ingredients, the methods of chopping, mincing or crushing differ, as well as the pressure applied. “You can’t run a banchan store if you don’t enjoy handling the assorted root and leafy vegetables, removing the dirt, appreciating the different colors, and feeling the various shapes and textures,” said Park. Once the ingredients are prepared, the rest is easy.

Park does most of the work herself. A helper comes only on Mondays and Wednesdays for half a day when she makes a new batch of kimchi. But she is still happy even when she is peeling potatoes by herself.

“If I hired someone, I would make more dishes. Then I’d be anxious and

Park Nan-yee, former copywriter turned banchan store owner, says she has come to appreciate the value of working not just using the head but the body as well.

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 69

“You can’t run a banchan store if you don’t enjoy handling the assorted root and leafy vegetables, removing the dirt, appreciating the different colors, and feeling the various shapes and textures.”

1

worried about selling it all. I prefer to make small amounts and sell it to the people who really like my food. From days of yore, Buddhists believed that making food and sharing it with others was the greatest form of alms-giving. My big brother is a Buddhist monk. He said that praying is not just about bowing in front of Buddha and reciting scriptures; making good food and sharing it with many people can also be a form of prayer.”

But is this small banchan store always such a peaceful place of self-cultivation? “There are times when I feel tied down to this place, since I’m not able to go out freely or travel. In the first month after opening the store, I often found myself crying for no reason while making the side dishes.”

Following her instincts Each day, her side dishes vary depending on the season, weather, and freshness of the ingredients that are delivered the day before. Park does not plan in advance, but simply goes with her instincts, since she knows the food turns out better that way.

Once the ingredients are prepared, she starts cooking: stir-frying, seasoning, braising, and broiling. Today, she is making eight different side dishes: parboiled and seasoned aster (chwinamul ); parboiled and seasoned bean sprouts (kongnamul) and sea grass (kkosiregi); vinegared seaweed; and panfried batter cakes with seasonal winter seaweed fulvescens (maesaengi-jeon); fresh spring cabbage kimchi; Chinese-style stir-fried eggplant with oyster sauce; smoked duck; and grilled mackerel sprin70 KoREANA spring 2016

kled with curry powder and lemon juice. There’s also the spicy yukgaejang made with Korean beef and ample amounts of bracken fiddleheads and mung bean sprouts. An assortment of standbys, such as salted pollack roe, salted small octopus, stir-fried dried anchovies, stir-fried dried shredded squid, and beef braised in soy sauce, which do not have to be sold the same day, are stored in the refrigerator. None of the freshly made side dishes are refrigerated. Except in the hot summer season, and aside from dishes that are served chilled, most of the dishes are placed on large plates with a lid and left on the table.

Rather than artificial flavor enhancers, Park uses toasted sesame seeds, perilla powder, and stock made with anchovies, kelp, and radish. This gives her side dishes a deeper flavor without being too salty. One pack is mostly priced at 5,000 won (just over $4), which is slightly more expensive than the regular markets but cheaper than department stores. The price for a single pack is about the same as that in department stores, but her portions are more generous.

Chance encounter with a Cooking teacher Park finishes all the cooking by around 2 p.m. That’s when she takes a break and has a late lunch. Sometimes, she looks over cookbooks to get new ideas.

With a natural flair for cooking, she has always loved to cook for others, not

2

3 1 Park says she converses with her ingredients when she cooks.

2 Park prepares seven to eight side dishes, places the food on large, round plates, and sets them on the table before her customers start coming in before dinnertime. Sometimes women make orders by phone and their husbands pick them up on their way home from work.

3 Salted seafood, pickled vegetables and braised dishes are stored in the refrigerator in small packs. Stickers bearing the name of her store in matching font with the store sign are attached to the packages.

even shying away from preparing meals for large groups of people.

When she was young, Park worked as a copywriter for a large advertising agency. As she got older, she switched to working part-time. But gradually she began to feel like she wasn’t getting anywhere. Desperately yearning to do something more of her own, she pondered what she could do for a living and also be happy. Friends suggested she put her cooking skills to use by opening a restaurant. After all, chefs are all the rage these days. It sounded appealing, but she didn’t know where to begin. “That’s when I met a special cooking teacher by chance in Insa-dong. But maybe there’s no such thing as a chance meeting,” said Park. “The teacher taught me how to make this side dish where you soak 1kg of perilla leaves in perilla oil, braise them slowly for a long time, and then add seasoning. I tried it at home and was amazed at the deep flavor. I thought if I could make and sell such food, I’d be truly happy.” So she went ahead and ordered her business card with a simple message: “Park Nan-yee, a woman who cooks.”

Customers start coming in at around 5 p.m. This used to be the time housewives would be busy preparing dinner for their families coming home after a long, hard day at work or school. But things have changed. Nowadays, one in four households in Korea is a single-person household. Even in larger families, people don’t eat at home as much as they used to, and there are ever-fewer full-time housewives who cook dinner on a daily basis. So it has become uneconomical to make side dishes at home.

“People with large families don’t come to the store. Neither do mothers with teenagers who tend to have voracious appetites. It would just cost too much.

Around half of my customers live by themselves. The other half are young mothers with preschool children. Young working moms don’t have time to cook.

It’s too time-consuming to make dishes like namul (parboiled and seasoned greens), and despite the time and effort invested, they will often go bad before you’ve finished them. So in this case, it would be more costly to make your own side dishes.”

In the evenings, Park’s younger son, a high school senior, comes by the store to eat dinner. She’s happy that her job allows her to prepare more wholesome meals for her son than before. Her older son is studying art in Dresden, Germany.

Dreams of a small late-night restaurant Living the second chapter of her life after successfully changing from a job dealing with ideas and words to one handling food, Park writes on her KakaoTalk profile: “Fresh encounter with an old road.” This refers to her new relationship with rice and side dishes, which have long been the basics of the Korean dinner table. Park inherits her cooking talent from her mother. Naturally equipped with a keen sense of taste and deft hands, she has come to appreciate the value of working not just using the head, but the body as well.

How is her store doing in financial terms? Apparently, quite well. “Daily sales average around 300,000 to 400,000 won (about $250 to $330). There are hardly any leftovers. I don’t make a ton of money, but I’m grateful, especially when times are harsh for small businesses,” Park said.

These days, she dreams of opening a small late-night restaurant, a place that offers warm meals for the lonely, weary souls who might be attracted by glowing lights still on late into the night, so as to comfort those eating a late dinner by themselves.

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 71

Charles la shure Professor, Department of Korean Language and Literature, Seoul National University Park seok-hwan Professor, Korea University of Media Arts

BooKs & More 72 KoREANA spring 2016

First English Translation of the Annals of a Joseon King “the annals of king t’aejo: Founder of korea’s Chosōn Dynasty” Translated and Annotated by Choi Byong-hyon, 1028 pages, $58.00, Cambridge: Harvard University Press (2014)

“The Annals of the Joseon Dynasty” are a valuable treasury of the history of Korea’s longest-ruling Confucian dynasty, indispensable to any student and scholar of Korea’s history.

Although much work has been done to bring them to the modern world in Korean, “The Annals of King T'aejo: Founder of Korea’s Chosōn Dynasty” is the first time any part of the annals has been translated into English.

King Taejo was originally Yi Seong-gye, a general of the Goryeo Dynasty who led a coup against the monarchy, ascended the throne, and founded a new dynasty in 1392. His reign lasted for only six-and-a-half years, but he played a vital role in establishing the Joseon Dynasty [Chosōn Dynasty by the McCune-Reischauer Romanization system] before abdicating the throne in 1398 in favor of his second son. Compilation of the official annals of his rule did not begin until 1410, two years after his death, because it was thought that it would be impossible to write an objective record while the former king still lived.

The annals are straightforward in terms of their structure. A general introduction that describes Taejo’s rise to power is followed by the records of his reign, arranged according to year. It is not light reading by any means, although the general introduction does read more as a narrative than the official annals, with history interspersed with tales of Yi Seong-gye’s bravery and martial prowess, particularly his skill with a bow. The annals themselves are necessarily more disjointed, consisting of separate entries for each day (sometimes skipping a day or so when nothing of import happened), but they contain a wealth of information. Memorials to the throne, generally the longest kinds of entries, comment on statecraft and proper leadership, offering insight into the political processes of the Joseon Dynasty.

The shorter entries can be fascinating as well, with accounts of meteorological phenomena such as rain, hail, thunder, wind, fog, and frost; astronomical phenomena such as the movement of planets and the moon in relation to the stars and constellations, solar halos, eclipses, and the appearance of meteors; and other natural phenomena such as the blooming of trees, insect damage to flora, and the appearance of certain portentous animals. Sometimes the interest in such phenomena is scientific, while at other times it is clear that they are accorded deeper significance.

There are also, of course, discussions of political, economic, diplomatic, religious, and military affairs, giving readers a fuller picture of life at the time, while entries that detail the actions and interactions of the king often provide a glimpse into Taejo’s personality beyond his official role as head of state.

In addition to the text itself, the book benefits from meticulous annotations, glossaries of terms, people, and places, and a thorough index. Within the text, specific terms are often followed by the original (Romanized) Korean terms in parentheses. This can slow down reading, but considering that this is a text for scholars as opposed to casual readers, such attention to detail is very welcome.

Finally, the translation reads quite naturally and easily, avoiding the awkwardness that can sometimes plague translations of academic texts.

This may not be an entry-level text for readers new to Korea and her history, but for scholars who may not have the full command of Korean required to read modern Korean translations it will be an invaluable resource. No serious scholar of Korean history will want to be without this book.

A New Approach to Probe Korea’s Intellectual History “an intellectual history of seonbi in korea — korean Cultural Dna”

By Han Young-woo, Translated by Cho Yoon-jung, 472 pages, $33.00, Seoul: Jisik-sanup Publishing Company (2014)

“An Intellectual History of Seonbi in Korea” provides a comprehensive look at the historical development of an important social and cultural concept in Korea, the “seonbi.” It is a translation of a Korean work, rather than a work written in English, and this does show — not in the quality of the translation itself, which is quite good, but in the fact that it was clearly written for a Korean audience already familiar with the concept.

The book does define the term at one point (“We commonly call Joseon Confucian scholars seonbi, and hence believe that the meaning of the word is limited to that.”), but this comes on page 216, nearly halfway through the book. And the author does not mention the fact that “seonbi,” especially in modern usage, doesn’t always have positive connotations. In fact, one definition for the term in a Korean dictionary reads: “A figurative term for someone who is gentle in character but limited in knowledge of the real world.”

Without this basic understanding of the term, the Englishspeaking reader may be left confused at first. It may appear that the

Websites Offer Korean Webtoons in English www.spottoon.com; www.webtoons.com; www.tapastic.com

While America has its superhero comics and Japan manga, Korea has “webtoons.” Webtoons are cartoons created to be uploaded onto websites mainly for mobile users. Cartoons were invented in the 20th century, and depending on the country concerned they can vary greatly in representative genres and styles, narrative development, and forms of publishing. Korean webtoons, which have grown into a full-fledged genre since 2000, broke from the past cartoon convention of horizontal presentation by adopting a vertical format. Mobile readers like this change, as vertical presentation immerses them in the content more easily.

At Korean webtoon sites, about 1,000 series are uploaded every week (webtoons are typically released in weekly installments), while leading webtoon sites attract an estimated 10 million visitors per day. Riding this wave, various cartoon community sites overseas introduce Korean webtoons to readers in translation, but often without permission. While Korean webtoon artists and compa-

author is merely using “seonbi” as a keyword to encompass all that is good in traditional Korean culture. In fact, while the author may not directly mention it, he is addressing the modern misunderstanding of “seonbi,” which has gone from referring to a respected figure to being used as a mildly derogatory term. The author maintains that seonbi, far from being ivory tower idealists with no grasp of the real world, were influential figures in Korean society. They were, in the author’s words, “the intellectuals who have shaped Korean history.”

The reader who keeps the above in mind will find a great deal of insight here into the minds that shaped Korea into what it is today.

In particular, the seventh chapter, which focuses on the Joseon Dynasty and comprises roughly half the book, shows how the preexisting seonbi culture fused with and expressed itself through the dominant ideology of Neo-Confucianism, as opposed to merely being a product of it. The seonbi examined here include not just scholars but kings, warriors, idealists, reformers, and religious leaders, illuminating a concept that has been an important part of Korean culture for centuries.

nies appreciate the keen interest of overseas readers, they find the unauthorized translation and distribution a matter of concern.

In response to this development, a number of webtoon artists formed an association and opened Spottoon (www.spottoon. com), a webtoon site in English, in July 2015. About 40 serialized works of cartoonists popular with both domestic and overseas readers — Yoon Tae-ho, Kang Do-ha, Ko Young-hun, and Im Kanghyuk, among others — are uploaded in English. Readers can view 10 episodes of a single work for free, and thereafter pay 99 cents per episode. Webtoons can also be read on smartphones. According to Spottoon’s management staff, since the English service was launched, readers from 170 countries have visited the site and the number of paying users is increasing steadily.

While Spottoon is operated by the contributing cartoonists, another English site, Webtoons (www.webtoons.com), is presented by the portal site Naver. Series already popular overseas, such as “Noblesse” by Son Jae-ho, “The God of High School” by Park Yongje, and “Girls of the Wild’s” by Hun and Zena, are available for free.

Tapastic (www.tapastic.com) welcomes anyone, whether professional or amateur, to upload their own webtoon works. This site is enjoying increasing popularity in North America as it features Korean as well as American cartoonists. For anyone who is curious about this new form of cartoon or is looking for something new to read, these sites are the places to go.

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 73

entertainMent

reality tv shows revive sense of Community hwang Jin-mee Pop Culture Critic

oday’s television programs are saturated with celebrities’ daily lives and views, from child rearing to dating, and securing a spot in the niche are programs that deal with the travails of non-celebrities. The latter’s popularity is steadily rising, with the TV serving as a peephole that offers a glimpse into the everyday goings-on of ordinary people. This is reminiscent of the ironic trend in food-related programs gaining popularity as ever fewer people actually share mealtime with their own family and solitary meals become the norm.

T

©sbs

who Deserves the Most sympathy?

“Annyeonghaseyo” (“Hello Counselor”), which has aired on KBS 2TV for the past five years, is a reality show that revolves around the stories of ordinary people. The production staff selects three stories out of the numerous postcards that are sent in by viewers every week, and invites the selected individuals to appear on the show. In front of the cameras, they pour their hearts out.

The stories of this tell-all genre reveal the emotional pain felt by the teller, inflicted knowingly or unknowingly by someone close, or suffered in silence amidst an oblivious society. The source of hardship can run the gamut of causes, from a family member’s hurtful ways or deviant behavior to a yearning to escape from prejudice due to one’s appearance. The four voluble hosts will sympathize with the guest or throw out pointed questions, creating additional dimensions and perspectives to the story. Family members, friends, and others who may have caused the emotional pain are also invited to tell their side of the story, leading the audience to support the aggrieved guest more strongly or to change their mind altogether. The invited guests share their views about the seriousness of the complainant’s situation, and the studio audience votes on whose story is the most lamentable (and therefore most deserving of sympathy). This person is awarded prize money.

The show uses a straightforward format in which everyday people talk about their personal problems that are presented in an entertaining manner; it does not necessarily offer solutions to these problems. Discussing one’s vexing experiences in public and hearing other people’s comments seem to lighten the emotional burden, and the process involving elements of mediation often leads to a natural resolution of the situation. The show’s hosts endeavor to keep the program from becoming overly serious and heavy-handed by offering appropriate

1

1 “Dongsangimong” (“Same Bed, Different Dreams — It’s OK”) is a reality program on SBS that attempts to solve problems between parents and their children. Observation cameras capture family conflicts in documentary fashion, showing all to the television audience.

2, 3 Scenes from “Annyeonghaseyo” (“Hello Counselor”) on KBS 2TV, in which contestants present their problems to the audience and vie with each other to see who deserves the most sympathy.

2

©kbs

a talk show that mixes elements of entertainment and documentary recounts stories of 3

ordinary folks and the problems that vex them, and invites those willing to share their stories to talk, laugh, and cry together on national television. watching strangers fight and make up with family members on camera, viewers put themselves in their shoes and post helpful

suggestions and comments on an online bulletin board. solidarity among neighbors, thought long gone along with traditional neighborhoods, has come back to life through the tv medium.

words of consolation, but these efforts cannot prevent heated online debate the next day if the topic lends itself to public controversy.

Both sides of the story on hidden Cameras In April last year, SBS began airing a reality show titled “Dongsangimong” (“Same Bed, Different Dreams — It’s OK”), which sheds light on parent-child conflicts and seeks practicable solutions. Each episode deals with one family’s issues, which in contrast to a typical talk show format records the family’s conflicts with the use of “hidden” cameras. The mother who is constantly on her daughter’s tail and the daughter who wanders around the neighborhood until late at night, refusing to come home, are filmed in a documentary style. If deemed necessary, professional advice is sought through a psychological consultation.

What stands out in this program is its vivid depiction of both sides of the story. To start with, the story and video reveal the protagonist’s perspective, on which the discussions of the panelists in the studio are focused. Thereafter, the narrative is told from the other side’s standpoint. The change in perspective sheds new light on the conflict and the viewers are able to acquire a more balanced understanding. Watching themselves recorded on the camera, the family members who appear on the show are sometimes stunned to find yet another side of the situation that they didn’t realize before. As the title “Same Bed, Different Dreams” suggests, although the parents and children live under one roof, they may think differently and are unable to understand one another, when communication is entirely severed.

Compared to “Annyeonghaseyo,” “Dongsangimong” is less of a reality show and more of an earnest mediation program. The conflicts dealt with on the show are often quite serious and the levels of the staff’s intervention are higher. The panelists in the studio listen to both parties, like a panel of jurors, and provide concrete advice and criticism. For example, the parents of a teenage daughter who would always stay out late were advised to adjust her curfew to 11:00 p.m. and get the daughter’s commitment to abide by the deadline. The panelists also advised parents whose daughter does not have a room of her own to find a way to provide her with personal space.

This kind of brief summary does not do the program justice. It may sound like a simple mediation process, but in fact this program

allows the viewers to reflect on their own family relations and patterns of communication by watching the featured family go through the stages of conflict, agreement, and reconciliation.

In the past, when most people lived in rural communities or even in urban communities where there was active interaction among neighbors, it was not uncommon to hear about other families’ problems. There were few secrets in the village and villagers often offered advice and intervened in the affairs of other families.

However, amid the widespread urban renewal since the late 1980s, more and more people have come to live in apartment complexes.

And the financial crisis of the late 1990s ushered in a neoliberal economic era that heightened competition and individualism. Traditional ties with neighbors were effectively severed, and people became isolated; they could no longer share their personal issues or problems with their relatives, friends, or neighbors. According to the latest report that assesses the well-being of people in OECD member countries, “How’s Life? 2015,” Korea tallied the lowest score when respondents indicated whether they had relatives or friends they could count on for help when in trouble.

Pursuit of Community and sympathy It doesn’t mean that, just because there is nobody to talk to, people no longer feel the need to talk to others and share their problems. They now go instead to an anonymous Internet bulletin board or social networking site where they can read postings by others, and click “like” or offer suggestions.

Television takes the place of friends and neighbors by lending a sympathetic ear to personal problems of everyday people, while viewers satisfy their curiosity about other people’s lives by watching these programs. They take comfort in the fact that others’ lives are not much different from their own and that they are not alone in struggling to cope with problems. The more fragmented people’s real-life relationships become, the more popular these TV programs will grow. Viewers nationwide will tend to become nosy and meddle in everyone’s affairs as if they were next-door neighbors.

Ironically enough, although we live isolated lives in a society where one might not notice that an entire family right next door has committed suicide, we want to hold on to this fantasy that a sense of community can be maintained when people are able to share their everyday problems.

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 75

essential ingreDients

GARLIC MANY WAYS harbinger of spring and Potent Flavor enhancer

kim Jin-young Chairperson, Traveler’s Kitchen shim Byung-woo Photographer

garlic is a root vegetable, originally from Central asia, that is cultivated all over the world — from korea and China in east asia, india and west asia, to southern europe, in particular spain and italy, and all the way to the americas. in korean cuisine, garlic is a key ingredient for the flavoring of seemingly every dish, but it can also be served raw on the dinner table along with other vegetables.

76 KoREANA spring 2016

o the Korean people, garlic, or maneul, has such a lengthy history as a foodstuff that it is even featured in the nation’s foundation myth. It is said that a tiger and a bear once entreated Hwanung (the son of Hwanin, the Emperor of Heaven) to help them become human. They are told to stay in a cave for one hundred days without seeing sunlight and to eat only garlic and mugwort. The tiger runs out of the cave as it is unable to endure the confinement, but the bear withstands it for one hundred days and is then transformed into a woman, who marries Hwanung and gives birth to a son. It is this son, Dangun, according to legend, who founded Old Joseon (Gojoseon, the first Korean kingdom) and came to be regarded as the progenitor of the Korean nation.

Garlic, as described in traditional Korean medicine, “helps build up the body’s heat and stamina and thus wards off chills and gets rid of cold energy, while repelling and expelling bad energy or other harmful matter from the body.” Ancient records note that when people heard about a contagious illness going around they would eat more garlic as a preventive measure. In modern medicine, various studies have found garlic to be a superfood that can aid blood circulation, provide antibacterial properties, and help to strengthen the immune system. Garlic is one of the superfoods with the potential to help protect against or inhibit certain kinds of cancer, according to information found on the website of the American Institute for Cancer Research.

T

universal Flavor Booster In almost any country, garlic is used as a basic ingredient or additive. The Chinese stir-fry sliced garlic with chili or spring onions as the first step when preparing a variety of dishes, the Italians pan-fry sliced garlic in olive oil to flavor pasta, and the Japanese fry sliced or crushed garlic in hemp seed oil to make a soup base for ramen (garlic powder is sometimes substituted for a milder flavor). These are just a few examples of how garlic is universally used in all kinds of cuisine.

For Koreans as well, garlic is first and foremost used to enhance the flavor of food, but rather than being sliced, it is more often mashed or crushed. It would not be an exaggeration to say that crushed garlic is used in the marinade or flavoring of every savory dish that finds its way to the dinner table in Korea.

Similar to the use of various herbs in a bouquet garni for French cooking — to add aroma to cooking stock, get rid of unsavory odors of the main ingredients, and enhance flavor — in Korea as well, lashings of garlic are added when preparing meat or fish dishes, including samgyetang (ginseng chicken soup), galbijjim (braised beef or pork ribs), spicy braised chicken, and seafood stew, in particular. Gyerim Garlic Chicken, a braised chicken restaurant located at Jongno 3-ga in central Seoul, which has been open for generations, is famed for serving up pots of braised chicken stew topped with a generous ladleful of crushed garlic. When the dish gets a final boil at the table, the towering heap of garlic melts into the rich broth and helps to get rid of the greasiness of the chicken’s fat and also adds a subtle sweetness with far more depth than sugar or other sweetener.

Punchy raw or savory grilled Garlic is also sliced and served raw on the dinner table, along with assorted greens, to make bite-size food wraps. When eating barbecued meats, such as beef rib or pork belly, a piece of grilled meat is placed atop a lettuce or perilla leaf and made into a mouth-size wrap, together with sliced garlic and ssamjang paste. Those who are reluctant to eat raw garlic can grill garlic cloves or slices on the side of the grilling meat, or cook the garlic with sesame oil in a small bowl placed on the grill top. This is a good way to avoid the burning sensation that might result from chewing raw garlic, and prevent “garlic breath” — perhaps the only downside to garlic consumption.

One of the most basic and well-loved side dishes in Korean cuisine is pickled garlic. It is made

In times past, each family would buy a large amount of well-dried garlic when it was in season and hang it in bunches by the stalks in a shady spot with a breeze, then break off a few bulbs at a time for use in the kitchen. These days, supermarkets sell conveniently prepared bags of peeled garlic or tubs of crushed garlic in small portions for home use.

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 77

by combining peeled cloves or whole bulbs of garlic (with the outer skin layers and roots removed) with soy sauce which has been boiled and cooled, and then leaving the mixture to ferment for a few months.

The flavor of the soy sauce, which varies with each family’s recipe, permeates the garlic as it develops a mellow accent over time, resulting in a unique and exceptional kind of preserved food.

One food made using garlic, which is perhaps the easiest to prepare and can be found almost anywhere in the world, is garlic bread. All you have to do is make a paste with crushed garlic, melted butter, and sugar, and then spread it onto diagonally-cut slices of a baguette, sprinkle with dried parsley, and brown it lightly in the oven. As the garlic bread bakes, an enticing aroma will fill the kitchen, and when you dig in you can enjoy how the rich taste of the butter has become even more rounded and flavorful.

2

tender scapes and garlic greens Koreans’ love of garlic is not limited to its aromatic bulbs. The tender green stems of garlic flowers (called scapes), which have a subtle flavor of its own, are also a tasty ingredient for side dishes. In March, when the flowers bloom, garlic stems are harvested to allow the bulbs to fully form, starting at Korea’s tourist hotspot in the far south, Jeju Island. Bunches of the green stems, a little thinner than asparagus shoots, make their way to the marketplace to herald the start of spring. Fried in oil with dried shrimp or preserved in soy sauce like the bulbs, garlic stems make another favorite side dish for the Korean dinner table. They are also a nice substitute for garlic when making aglio e olio, which is traditionally made with garlic and olive oil. When

1

Garlic, as described in traditional Korean medicine, “helps build up the body’s heat and stamina and thus wards off chills and gets rid of cold energy, while repelling and expelling bad energy or other harmful matter from the body.” In modern medicine, various studies have found garlic to be a superfood that can aid blood circulation, provide antibacterial properties, and help to strengthen the immune system.

78 KoREANA spring 2016

cooked, the stems still retain their crunch, while the pungent spiciness is moderated.

In the springtime, garlic tops can be found among the various vegetable garnishes for grilled meat, such as lettuce and green chilies. You can also use garlic greens to prepare a flavorpacked side dish that is guaranteed to reawaken your taste buds to the coming of spring. Just cut the garlic tops into desired lengths and stir-fry with oil in a pre-heated frying pan. Once the greens begin to soften, add sliced squid, chili paste, sugar, splash of vinegar, chili bean sauce, and oyster sauce. Just the aroma arising from the pan will be enough to tickle your nose and make your mouth water.

shallots: garlic’s sweet Cousin If you are not all that familiar with Korea’s garlic-laden cuisine, you can conjure up a similar taste and aroma by thinking of shallots. Shallots and garlic are members of the same lily family of plants, but shallots combine the pungency of garlic with a sweetness that is stronger than that of onions. They are used widely in salads and sauces, especially in France and Southeast Asia. Shallots make up the base ingredient of many sauces and are used to flavor or garnish meat and fish dishes. They can be served after being lightly roasted in oil; when the tops are still green, it is also used to add flavor similar to the ways that Koreans like to grill garlic in oil and use garlic stems as an ingredient in numerous dishes.

When you visit a new place, it is impossible to not encounter unfamiliar foods. Turning this encounter into a joyful experience makes any holiday much more meaningful and memorable.

This is exactly the reason why I, as a specialist in culinary produce, have created the group called Traveler’s Kitchen in collaboration with a number of like-minded travel writers. Above all, we encourage people to try out seasonal and local produce as they travel around Korea, rather than just searching for the most well-known restaurants. We also try to motivate Koreans traveling abroad to discover unfamiliar culinary delights, rather than heading for a Korean restaurant.

Likewise, I would like to encourage visitors to Korea who are not yet big fans of garlic: while you are here, take the opportunity to make friends with this zesty, aromatic ingredient.

1 Pickled garlic, made by boiling together sugar (and vinegar if desired) with soy sauce, then allowing the mixture to cool before pouring it over the garlic. The end result is always unique because the flavor of the soy sauce varies from family to family.

2 Pickled garlic stems, made by cutting the stems into bite size lengths, boiling together sugar (and vinegar if desired) with soy sauce, then combining everything together, and storing in a sealed container to allow the flavor to develop.

3 Crushed and whole cloves of garlic are an essential flavor enhancer in various meat dishes including the classic chicken soup, samgyetang.

3

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 79

liFestYle

FOOD DELIVERY GETS ITS APPS Jeon Sung-won Chief Editor, Quarterly Hwanghae Review (Yellow Sea Culture) shim Byung-woo Photographer

when planning what to have for lunch or dinner, korean households have three options to choose from: sit down for a home-cooked meal, eat out at a restaurant, or have food delivered. an endless variety of foods can be delivered to your door at any hour, any day of the week, with the choices ranging from western-style fast food to traditional korean soups and stews. Food delivery apps are growing popular, as they offer seamless online services that help users make menu choices, compare prices, order food (often at discounted prices), and make payments.

80 KoREANA spring 2016

F

oreigners who have lived in Korea for any length of time have almost certainly ordered food delivered to their homes, and some quite often. Food delivery service is not at all unique to Korea. But there surely are distinctive aspects that make Korean-style food delivery services quite special.

all Manner of Meals to Your Door 24/7 First of all, there is no extra delivery charge. And you don’t have to tip the delivery person either, as might be expected in other countries. You can order delivery of a stunning variety of foods and pay only the regular menu price. Moreover, your orders are delivered very quickly, even late at night, and in many cases 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Many neighborhood delivery restaurants are open even on holidays. Chinese or Korean foods arrive not lukewarm in disposable containers, but piping hot in regular dishes; deliverymen return later to collect the used dishes that are left outside your door.

Food delivery flyers with discount coupons attached are regularly stuffed into mailboxes on the first floor of apartment buildings. Even the smallest neighborhood delivery restaurant operates a helpful website. You don’t even have to make a phone call to order food these days. You can choose your food, place an order, and pay with just a few clicks on a delivery app on your smartphone. early history of Food Delivery Korea’s earliest known record on commercial food delivery service is one about hyojonggaeng , meaning “soup eaten to chase away a hangover at daybreak when the bell announces the lifting of curfew.” In the book Haedong jukji (“Bamboo Branch Lyrics of Korea”) published in 1925, Choe Yeongneon, a scholar and calligrapher during the later years of the Joseon Dynasty, wrote about this hearty soup: “People in Gwangju (a county south of Seoul, in Gyeonggi Province) are known to be good at cooking hyojonggaeng. They put cabbage hearts, bean sprouts, pine mushrooms, shiitake mushrooms, beef ribs, sea cucumbers, and abalones into water mixed with thick soybean paste, and boil them all day.

At night they wrap up the soup pots in padded blankets so they could be transported to Seoul. There the soup pots are delivered to the residences of senior government officials around the time when the morning bell rings. Pots would still be warm and the soup was highly prized as a hangover cure.”

This shows how urban capitalism had already started to seep slowly into Joseon society, considering that food delivery was a basic service enterprise that emerged early in urban commercial culture.

In 1910, Joseon was forcibly annexed by Japan, which had adopted modern Western technology, commerce, and culture earlier than its neighbors. Thereafter, Korea moved toward modernization under Japanese rule. People migrated in masses from rural to urban areas in search of work, which triggered changes in the urban lifestyles.

After Incheon opened its port to foreign ships, it became a melting pot with the droves of newcomers arriving from the Pyongan, Hwanghae, and Chungcheong provinces, who joined the fast-growing Japanese and Chinese communities there. Naturally, the area’s food culture was shaped by this intersection of influences. Among the most popular dishes to emerge at that time were jajangmyeon, a Koreanstyle Chinese noodle dish, and naengmyeon, or buckwheat noodles in chilled broth, which was typically enjoyed in the northern part of Korea. When ice plants began to distribute ice blocks to consumers, ordinary people began enjoying naengmyeon year-round. Incheon became a major source of ice because ice plants were built there from early on to provide ice blocks for ocean-going ships.

Kim Suk-bae, a photographer born in 1925, recalls that his family ordered naengmyeon by phone from Incheon to their house in Eulji-ro, a downtown area in Seoul, in 1938. At that time, there were naengmyeon restaurants on the nearby Jongno 3-ga and Cheongjin-dong streets. But his family wanted to enjoy the specialty made in the faraway town of Incheon. The early food delivery culture disappeared toward the end of World War II, when food was rationed and restaurants shut down.

Ppali! Ppali!

Food delivery became embedded in Korea due largely to the ppali, ppali (quickly, quickly) mindset that became part of the nation’s rapid modernization process. Right after its liberation from Japanese KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 81

colonial rule in 1945, Korea experienced national division and a tragic internecine war. But within a short period of time, the Korean economy quickly grew to vault the country into the ranks of the world’s top 10 trading nations. In this process, the ppali, ppali approach played a key role in achieving rapid economic growth from the 1960s as well as modernization through the 1980s with full democratization thereafter. A great many Koreans had to work hard and long hours to attain the goal of high growth, shortening their lunch and dinner breaks.

Food delivery services were also boosted by the country’s favorable market conditions. Food delivery was able to firmly take root thanks to the existence of many densely populated urbanized areas and the age-old custom of enjoying late-night snacks, industry experts point out. Delivery service is feasible only when there is sufficient demand within easily accessible areas. A massive inflow of workers into the restaurant industry in recent years, a result of increased unemployment due to the economic slowdown and the early retirement of baby boomers, has also expanded food delivery services. At a time when growth of the restaurant industry has stagnated, food delivery service has stepped in as a means to survive in a fiercely competitive market environment.

there’s an app for that In 2010, amidst intensifying competition in the food delivery market, app services were introduced to provide users with up-to-date information on delivery restaurants based on the location of customers. Thanks to the ubiquity of smartphone users, these services have strengthened the apps’ real-time connectivity with consumers; hence food delivery apps took off in earnest. These apps now offer various complementary services, like providing user feedback, along with payment functions and offers of special discounts. As befits the IT powerhouse that Korea has become, large numbers of smartphone users are comfortable with using new app services.

In a survey of dining trends conducted by the Korea Foodservice Industry Research Institute in 2013,

1

82 KoREANA spring 2016

In a 2013 survey of dining trends, 84.2 percent of respondents said their dining habits had changed due to the proliferation of mobile devices and services. Some 53.5 percent said they gathered information on restaurants with their mobile devices and 25.3 percent indicated that they had downloaded apps to check out information on new restaurants and their menus.

84.2 percent of respondents said their dining habits had changed due to the proliferation of mobile devices and services. Some 53.5 percent said they gathered information on restaurants with their mobile devices and 25.3 percent indicated they had downloaded apps to check out information on new restaurants and their menus. In a similar survey in 2014, in which a new question on delivery apps was added, 18.2 percent of respondents said they used delivery apps. Most of the delivery app users were in their 20s and 30s.

Currently, 30 to 40 delivery apps are engaged in fierce competition. The combined number of downloads of the top three delivery apps — Baedal Minjok, Yogiyo, and Baedaltong — has reportedly exceeded 40 million. To stay ahead of the pack, the Baedal Minjok app allows customers to use its “all-in-one” location-based services, skipping the process of entering user information. This cutting-edge technology is akin to the emerging mobile interaction with the Internet of Things.

Buoyed by their success in the domestic market, food delivery app businesses are now advancing into overseas markets. Therefore, it now seems necessary to think about ways to add new value to the Korean food delivery culture so that it can benefit more people and contribute to the public good, beyond immediate gratification of one’s desire for food. After all, when having late-night snacks or meals delivered to your home or office, isn’t it more satisfying to share them with your family and colleagues?

1 A growing number of people enjoy food delivered at home or outdoors, conveniently searchable and payable with just a few clicks on a delivery app on their smartphone.

2 Deliverymen on motorcycles speed along on the road, carrying warm food. The number of food delivery service firms is also on the rise.

2

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 83

JourneYs in korean literature

CRITIQUE

A WANDERER’S SURREALISTIC SONG “My fiction has been deeply influenced by paintings . . . i am more interested in individuals’ unconscious worlds, their dreams and nightmares, than in their external social awareness. these realms can only be revealed naturally with a surrealistic approach since they cannot be elucidated by rational thought. My novels are centered on images, not stories, for that reason, and by maintaining a certain level of tension with my readers i hope to leave more room for their imagination.”

Cho Yong-ho Novelist; Literature Reporter, The Segye Times

n 1984, Korea’s division into South and North continued unresolved. Extreme tension persisted between the two Koreas while the so-called new military regime was ruling in no less a repressive manner than its predecessor. Under these circumstances, literature became a primary force resisting tyranny, with a general trend toward so-called minjung (people’s) literature, which offered some comfort to the most vulnerable at the bottom rungs of society, social realism taking center stage.

In that year, the novelist Lee Ze-ha published his short story “The Wayfarer Never Rests on the Road,” which received the Yi Sang Literary Award the following year. Lee Ze-ha was something of an outsider, who chose his own path rather than follow the trends among his contemporaries in literary circles. Born in 1937, Lee had majored in Western painting at Hongik University, a leading art school. He has written about how, after leaving his rural home and

I

84 KoREANA spring 2016

coming to Seoul, he was impacted by his discovery of Expressionism and Surrealism through art books. As he set about expressing the unconscious through his fiction, he made active use of various techniques stressing or unmolding such tendencies. The resulting works, such as “Herbivore” or “A Short Biography of Yuja,” were found to be largely abstruse, but “The Wayfarer Never Rests on the Road” told its story in a way that was far easier to follow for general readers. And, indeed, the story was powerful enough not only to grab a prestigious literary award but also to be made into a movie by the popular director Lee Jang-ho. Yet it is not at all an easy read, to the very end.

The most noteworthy characteristic of this story is the way it refuses to explain things to the reader. As the story unfolds, it leaves the reader constantly disoriented due to a lack of what would normally be expected to tip one off about what is happening and why.

So when the solitary man who, at the start, disembarks from the bus after the other passengers, turns and heads for the sea, we are not given any clue as to why he does so.

The sudden challenge from an armed sentry, who stops him in his tracks, is also mystifying, especially to a non-Korean reader unfamiliar with the fact that the East Sea beaches at that time were not open to the public. The coastal areas were fortified and guarded to thwart any infiltration by North Korea. Mystification is the name of the game that the writer plays throughout the narrative. At a restaurant, the mysterious motivation of the man is contrasted with the familiar scene of a group of merry-making hikers from the same bus who meet up with young women who have obviously been hired to entertain them that night. Once they depart and he is left alone, he is shown a seriously ill old man with a nurse. The restaurant owner asks him to accompany them to an undefined destination up in the mountains near the DMZ, in return for payment. He refuses, and instead follows the group of hikers.

He joins the group at an inn, where the night passes with gambling and brief hints of sex. When he joins a girl in his room, he refuses her services. Later, he is roused from sleep and told of an accident: one of the girls had suddenly collapsed and died. One of the men in the group urges him to disappear before the police arrive, which he does. But thinking that he should have introduced himself properly, he returns to the roadside restaurant, where he finds the old man and the nurse already gone.

He wonders where to go and finally ends up at a raw-fish restaurant in Gangneung, further south along the coast. Only now

does the narrative turn to his dead wife, his delay in disposing of her ashes, and his uncertainty about her origins. This is where they spent their honeymoon. The reader now learns that the powder in the plastic bag the man is carrying is his wife’s ashes and that his journey is aimed at finding a place to scatter them. The hours that follow are highly surrealistic. Instead of a solemn ceremony, he simply scatters the ashes into the wind from the restaurant’s upstairs window. Having decided to spend the night at the restaurant, he is joined by a woman for a brief session of paid sex. Early in the morning, readers find themselves amidst a series of hallucinatory scenes, a waking dream culminating with a woman running into the path of an approaching car. Here we join the man’s actual memories of his wife’s death, though still indirectly.

The man now returns to his pursuit of the old man and the nurse. With a blizzard looming, he takes a taxi up into the hills, where he encounters two men engaged in the same pursuit that leads them to the two fugitives. The old man, a wealthy entrepreneur, had wanted to meet his death somewhere close to his original hometown beyond the line of division between North and South Korea. But he suffered a stroke and his son had hired the nurse to care for him; now they pay her off, take the old man away, and berate the man when they understand he wants to stay behind with the nurse.

The evening they spend together is full of unspoken emotions and tensions. The nurse tells him about a fortune-teller’s prophecy of a place where she would meet a man who had been her husband in a previous existence. The next morning, beside the lake where a shaman is conducting a ritual for the soul of a dead child, the nurse becomes possessed by a spirit. The shaman sees in the nurse her long-lost daughter, returned from the dead, while the man seems to see in her a reincarnation of his dead wife as he hears her voice calling out to him.

The attraction of this story lies in its rejection of the typical “realistic” story-telling techniques. When the story ends abruptly, at yet another unexpected turn of events, it is left incomplete; we have no way of knowing what might happen next, whether the man and woman will meet again or whether they will stay together. Instead, the novel turns to shamanism and the links between the living and the departed. At a time when most writers were immersed in themes of territorial division and social realism, this short story explored the depths of magical fantasy and surrealism. The wayfarer’s path ahead remains as mystifying as it had been at the start.

KoREAN CuLTuRE & ARTS 85

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LTI Korea Translation

Call for Applications to the LTI Korea Translation Academy Regular Course

Academy

LTI Korea Translation Academy Fellowship The LTI Translation Academy Fellowship is open to native speakers of any of the following languages: English, French, German, Russian and Spanish. The fellowship is designed to allow foreign students to devote themselves fully to their study of literary translation during their stay in Korea.

The fellowship includes: Round-trip airfare, monthly stipend of 1.6 million KRW, visa sponsorship, health insurance, and tuition waiver

About the Program

English, French, German, Russian, Spanish • Languages • Foreigners interested in translating Korean literature • Eligibility •

※※ Fellowship recipients are ineligible to apply for scholarships offered by other organizations while studying at the Academy. ※※ A certificate of completion is issued at the end of each year. of Fellowships 3–4 for each language • Number • Translation of Korean Literary Texts, Study of Translation Styles, Korean • Curriculum • Literature, Korean Culture, Korean Language - The program also offers activities such as meetings with Korean writers and cultural excursions.

Professors of literature, translation, and Korean language and culture • Faculty • September 2016–June 2018 • Duration • - 1st Year: September 2016–June 2017 - 2nd Year: September 2017–June 2018 (Fall Semester: September–December | Spring Semester: March–June)

How to Apply

Documents • Application •

Application form, personal statement written in Korean, a letter of recommendation, sample translation of a literary work, and a certificate of Bachelor's degree - The application and personal statement forms, and the letter of recommendation form can be downloaded from the LTI Korea website. (ltikorea.org) - Foreign applicants may submit a certificate of registration and academic transcripts in place of a bachelor's degree certificate.

- Text to be translated: 「왼손잡이 「왼손잡이 여인」, 김숨, 『2015 제39회 이상문학상 작품집』, 문학사상사 여인」, 김숨, 『2015 제39회 이상문학상 작품집』, 문학사상사 , 2015, pp. 62–69(until the 8th line from the top of the page)

Criteria • Selection •

Application review, sample translation review and telephone interview - Applications can be made online (academy.klti.or.kr) or by email (academy@klti.or.kr).

The applications should be received no later than 24:00(Korean standard time) April 30, 2016.

Selection process

Period April 1–30, 2016 • Application • of Candidates for Telephone Interview • Announcement • Interview May 23–27, 2016 • Telephone • • Final • Result Announcement June 8, 2016

May 18, 2016

Contact: Ms. Lee, Min A (Tel: +82-2-6919-7752 | E-mail: academy@klti.or.kr)

The LTI Korea Translation Academy offers several courses for aspiring translators of Korean literature from all around the world. Designed for people who are deeply interested in translating Korean literature, the Regular Course was earlier offered as a one-year program. With the vision of transforming the Academy into a graduate school of translation, we expanded it into a two-year program in 2015. We are looking for talented applicants who will rise to the challenge of translating Korean literature, thereby contributing to the growth of its global readership.

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