Koreana Autumn 1994 (English) by The Korea Foundation

lotte, The VIP's Choice

"The service mainly. It's impeccable?'

Earl S. ll(loore, Jr.-President of Asia Pacific Marketing

We're pleased that a good and growing number of our guests come back to stay with us. Why? As Mr. Moore of Asia Pacific Marketing, explains, it's the "impeccable service" they appreciate most. "Discrete and unobtrusive," in Mr. Moore's words. While the reasons vary from one return guest to the next, they all share an uncompromising taste for excellence. And at Lotte they find excellence in service and facilities. Shouldn't the Lotte be your hotel in Seoul?

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HOTEL LOTTE SEOUl KOREA

Member in Seoul, Korea

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For Reservations: New York : (201) 944-1117, Toll Free 800-22 LOTTE, LA: (310) 540-7010, Toll Free 800-24 LOTTE , Hotel Lotte: C. P.O. Box 3500 Seoul , Tel: (02) 771-1000, Telex: LOTTEHO K23533/4, Fax: (02) 752-3758, Cable: HOTELOTTE

A two-stringed ve1tical fiddle without a fmgerboard, d1e haegum sings wim a distinct nasal tone, contributing to the unique sound of Korean court and folk ensemble music. The cover shows a young musidan peifonning at the annuaJ royal ancestral ritual held at Seoul's Chongmyo Shrine. The ritual is a carefully preserved Confucian ceremony honoring d1e spilits of the Chason monarchy and promating the time-honored ideals of filial piety and loyalty, as well as carrying on Korea's rich tradition of cowt music and dance. COVER :

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TRADITIONAL MUSIC Echoes Frolll the PastÂ·

6 E

WHAT MAKES KOREAN MUSIC DIFFERENT? A Study of Its Roots and Branches by Han Myong-hee

10 MUSIC IN NORTH & SOUTH KOREA

by Hwang Byung-ki

WHAT KIND OF PEOPLE BECOME TRADITIONAL MUSICIANS? by Choi Chong-min

19 KOREAN FOLK SONGS & FOLK BANDS by Keith Howard

24 SAMULNORI Taking Korean Rhythms to the World by Ku Hee-seo

28 MUSIC: EAST MEETS WEST Foreigners Find Fult'"tllmertt in Korea's Traditional Music by Song Hye-jin

35 ON THE ROAD

NAMWON & KOCH'ANG Carrying on the P'ansori Tradition

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by Kim j oo-young

Korea Foundation ~.i!-PI'

CHANG GO

The changgo, or hourglass drum, is a staple of Korea's traditional music. Rarely does one find a musical performance-be it the elegant ch6ng-ak, the music of the ruling class, or the vibrant nong-ak, farmers' band music-that doesn't feature the changgo. Made from a solid piece of paulownia wood, the changgo produces a soft, low sound when the thick leather of the left head is struck with the palm and a crisp, hard sound when the thinner right head is struck with a bamboo dmmstick. The dmm is tuned by adjusting the cords attached to d1e two heads. In the dazzling changgo dance and some farmers' band music, d1e performers wear the drum slung across their chests, beating it with two bamboo sticks as they whirl across d1e stage, but in modem stage performances, the performers are seated with d1eir dmms on d1e ground in front of d1em. +

YS IN KOREAN UIERNIJRE JouRNE chong-hui

1he 'fictional world of 0 by Bruce Fulton

A Short St?ry by

o chong-hui

• •

•• •

Vol. 8. No. 3. Autumn 1994

KOREAN A Published quarterly by The Korea Foundation 526 Namdaemunno 5-ga, Chung-gu, Seoul 100-095, Korea PUBLISHER·EDITOR

SON Chu-Whan EDITOR·IN·CHIEF

Hong Soon-il ART DIRECTOR

Park Seung-u

40 SEOUL 600

SEOUL AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF MERCANTILISM by Chong Sung-mo

44 GATES, POSTS AND BEAMS Signs of Class and Changing Times by ]oo Nam-chull

50 KOREAN ARTISTS ABROAD

TAl SOO KIM by Kim Sang-ki

55 KOREAN ARTEFACTS ABROAD

A TROVE OF KOREAN MASTERPIECES Osaka Museum of Oriental Ceramics by Yun Yong-i

58 DISCOVERING KOREA

KUDOS FOR CHICKEN by Kim Kwang-on

78 CURRENTS

HYONP'AN by Yi Chong-sop

THE 1RIPITAKA ENIERS THE COMPUTER AGE by Lee Kyong-hee

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© The Korea Foundation 1994 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without the prior permission of The Korea Foundation The opinions expressed by the authors do not necessarily represent those of the editors of KOREAN A or The Korea Foundation. KOREAN A, registered as a quarterly magazine with the Ministry of Information (Registration No. Ba-1033, dated Aug. 8, 1987), is also published in Japanese, Chinese and Spanish. Printed in September 1994 by Samsung Moonwha Printing Co. 167-29, Hwayang-dong, Songdong-gu, Seoul Tel: (02)468-0361!5

At the core of Korean music have always been indigenous musical styles that sound different to the ear of those with preconceived notions of what East Asian music sounds like.

It may be said that the concept of tempo in Korean music is based on the rhythm of man 's breathing whereas in Western music it is based on the rhythm of the heartbeat.

cal environment. Buddhist music became increasingly popular as Buddhism became wid~Â ly accepted. At the same time, however, hyang-ak remained a strong folk tradition. Located on the periphery of Chinese culture, Korea adopted numerous Chinese traditions, many of which survive today. Their survival is of particular importance because they have long since disappeared from China. In the Shilla period, for example, court music was divided mainly into hyang-ak from Korea and tang-ak from Tang China. The unification of the Korean Peninsula by Shilla under a military alliance with Tang in the eighth century, stimulated a rapid inflow of Chinese culture, including music, into the peninsula. Chinese folk music of later years continued to be called tang-ak in Korea in spite of dynastic transitions in China. During the reign of Kory6's King Yejong (r. 1105-1122), Confucian ritual music, taes6ngak, was introduced from Song China. Taizu, the founder of the Ming Dynasty, also presented Confucian ceremonial music to the court of King Kongmin of Kory6. The music, called aak, became increasingly popular as Confucianism replaced Buddhism as the guiding principle of state administration and public ethics with the advent of the Chason Kingdom (1392-1910). A widespread respect for China and its culture among Korea's elite ruling class during the subsequent centuries resulted in the nation's two-layer music structure. Chinese music was generally considered to be of a higher class than Korean native music. Nevertheless, it should be noted that Korean musicians in general maintained a balance between native and Chinese traditions and often performed Chinese tunes in Korean style. For example, a favorite Chinese piece, Loyangchun, Nagyangch'un (Spring in Loyang) in Korean, which is still frequently performed, came to reflect a Korean style and mood. It is also of special note that many banquet music pieces display more Central Asian influences than Chinese. The later Chos6n period saw a remarkable popularization of native music handed down among the general populace and a gradual decline of court music. Vocal music based on lyrics composed by such famous poets as Kim Ch'6n-t'aek and Kim Su-jang grew no-

tably popular among the learned upper classes, and p'ansori (epic storytelling through song), which derived from folk oral traditions, was increasingly performed. Instrumental pieces such as Y6ngsan Hoesang, inspired by the Historic Buddha's sermon at Gridhrakuta, or Mt. Yongch'wisan as it is known in Korea, well display the romantic spirit of this period. Korean music of the Chason period may be divided into two major categories: ch6ngak, the music of the ruling class, and sogak, the music of the ,populace. The terms ch6ngak and a-ak may be used interchangeably in their broadest sense, though in its narrowest sense the latter refers to Confucian ceremonial music, the only extant example of which is the music played at Munmyo, the Temple of Confucius, in Seoul. Ch6ng-ak includes tang-ak, hyang-ak and Confucian ritual music. Tang-ak refers to secular music of both the Chinese Tang and Song dynasties, which was altered to become court music after its introduction to Korea. Hyangak simply means native Korean music. A famous example of hyang-ak is Sujech'on (Long Life as Endless as the Sky), an instrumental piece which was often performed at court banquets. Vocal music is also divided into two categories: ch6ng-ak, which is relatively elegant and stylized, and sogak, which is freer in style. The former includes kagok (long cyclical songs), shijo (singing of 3-line poems called shijo) <tnd kasa (long narrative songs). Representative of vocal music in the sogak category, or minsogak as it is often called, are the p'ansori songs presenting popular folk tales, as well as shaman music, Buddhist music, and folk songs (minyo or chapka).

Why Is Korean Music Slow? Tempo is vital to music, which is an art of timing. A tune can sound very different when it is played in different tempos. The perception of tempo may differ with the cultural and ethnic background of the listener. For example, the concept of moderato, moderate tempo, can differ from one individual to another or from one nation to another. Naturally, Koreans may have a very different notion of moderate tempo from Westerners. Generally speaking, Korean traditional mu-

sic is slower than Western classical music. It is so slow that measuring time with a metronome is sometimes impossible. An outstanding example is Isaktaeyop, an ancient ballad composed of 45 syllables, which takes over 10 minutes to sing. It may be said that the concept of tempo in Korean music is based on the rhythm of man's breathing whereas in Western music it is based on the rhythm of the heartbeat. Moderato in Western classical music refers to time similar to the frequency of heartbeats. As can be seen in Yongsan Hoesang and Isaktaeyop, moderato in Korean traditional music resembles man's breathing rate per minute, which is about three times slower than the moderato of Westem classical music.

space called yobaek, Korean traditional music played with string instruments, such as komungo or kayagl\m, has significant spaces of silence, or sonic rest, between notes. lbis is in great contrast with Western music, partie-

and infinite possibility for artistic imagination. 1bis attitude may be related to the concept of

void, or nothingness, in Oriental philosophy. An ancient sage made a shrewd point when he said, "The fmest music rests in soundlessness and the finest literature lies beyond letters."

An Art of Ecstasy It is often said that Koreans are generally more emotional than Westerners. With its roots in primitive shaman rituals featuring ecstatic performances by shamans in mysterious communion with the supernatural, Korean native music is generally free and spontaneous in style and places great importance on improvisation by individual artists. In the popular sanjo (scattered melodies for solo instrument and drum accompaniment), for example, the player can freely decide the length of his performance according The Meaning of Silence to his mood or situation. String instruments When they are in the are divided into two mood , p'a nsori singers general types: bowed may perform for hours in instruments, or fiddles, an exciting coordination and plucked instruwith their drummer acments, or zithers. The companists. However, if former is represented Sonic rest is an important element in Korean music. they are not in the mood, by the violin in the they may perform for only West and by the Musicians have long relished half an hour. haegiim (2-string fidIn this sense, Korean dle) in Korea. The the silence between notes, its mysterious feeling music radically differs harp is typical of zithers from Western classical muused in Western music and infinite possibility for artistic imagination. sic which is based on raand the kayagl\m and tional structuralism and komun-go are typical the beauty of balance and of zithers used in Korecontrol. The grafting of an music. Korean traditional music Traditionally, the zither has been a major instrument in Korean ularly Baroque music which features rich orna- and Western music should be sought in the context of harmonizing two different cultures, music. The age-old preference for plucked in- mental notes permitting little rest. Sonic rest is an important element in Kore- one rational and one emotional, rather than in struments is characteristic of Korean traditional an music. Musicians have long relished the si- harmonizing different musical styles or instrumusic. ments. + Just as Korean paintings use negative lence between notes, its mysterious feeling

Minju Chason (The Democratic Korea) printed very similar reports, if not critiques, on the performance by the Seoul Traditional Music Troupe at P'yongyang Two-Eight Cultural Center on October 19, 1990. The following are excerpts from the two papers: "The Seoul Traditional Music Troupe gave a performance at the Two-Eight Cultural Center. The 6,000-seat concert hall was filled with the joy and happiness that the audience felt for their southern brethren. The fervor for reunification was heightened because the concert took place right after the soccer match between the North and South Korean teams. "Among the audience were Mr. Yun 1sang, chairman of the preparation committee for the Pan-Korean Reunification Concert, members of a wide range of overseas Korean musical groups participating in the concert and many compatriots from abroad. After receiving a warm applause from the audience, the Seoul Traditional Music Troupe began to perform mostly new versions of Korean classical music from the period prior to our country's division. "The performers sang soda folk songs about the wonderful scenery of the Taedonggang River with its crystal clear water and banks lined with weeping willows. They also performed classic folk songs from the P'yongan-do, Hwanghae-do and Cholla-do provinces with the traditional instruments our forefathers used to play. Listening to 'Korea Is One,' a newly-composed song, the crowd was overcome with an overwhelming sense of one nation, one brotherhood, and one heritage that have bound us for thousands of years, and they resolved to bring about reunification no matter what. When the performance was over, the audience gave a big applause to the Seoul Traditional Music Troupe amidst the heightened fervor for reunification which warmed everyone's heart." There was also a 1990 Seoul Reunification Concert in which both North and South Korean musicians performed together. The difficulty here was not so much the dissimilarity of the music but that both sides had a different view about music. The South Korean musicians believe music has to rise above politics and reach a level of purity where 12

there is no message or propaganda. The North Korean musicians agree music has to transcend politics, but for a different purpose: to be a means by which both Koreas can intensify people's desire for reunification. Consequently, even though both Koreas believe music must transcend politics, they differ as to the purpose and the method. At the request of the North Koreans, everyone sang, "We Long for Unification,'' at the end of the first performance of the yearend concert in Seoul. After the singing, the North Koreans shouted, "Unification of the Fatherland!" as though it was the most natural thing to do. When one objectively reflects on this, it was no big deal to shout a slogan at the concert hall after the joint performance; after all, the "Unification of the Fatherland" is an apolitical wish of everyone. However, to the South Korean musicians who advocate ideologically free music, the shouts came as a shock. One music critic wrote in a daily newspaper that he was horrified when he heard them shout the slogan. At the second performance of the concert, the North Koreans again asked to sing the same song, but the South Koreans insisted on singing "Arirang" instead. Even though it would have made very little difference what song they sang, they had to argue for several hours before the North Koreans gave in and "Arirang" was sung. To understand and appreciate music, it is important to know the music itself, but it is also crucial to know that many external factors affect how we perceive it. There is little doubt that many factors greatly affect the listener's appreciation and understanding, such as the motive and the purpose of the music, as well as the social and cultural backgrounds of the musicians and audience. By participating in the musical events that took place in Seoul and P'yongyang in 1990. I learned that the dissimilarity between North and South Korea lies not in the music itself, but in the disparity between the historical and social contexts of the two Koreas. Both parties must strive to overcome this disparity in order to bring about a smooth cultural exchange and harmony, as well as the reunification of the country, the ardent wish of both North and South Korea.

'National Music' of North Korea In North Korea, the word kuk-ak (traditional music) does not exist, and the term chOnt'ong umak (indigenous music) is hardly ever used. The term that comes closest to these is what they call minjok umak, meaning "national music." This is not simply a question of terminology. Korean music as we know it in the South, such as court music, p'ansori (epic storytelling through song), sanjo (scattered melodies for solo instrument and drum accompaniment) and folk music, is not performed for the public in North Korea. Of this traditional music, minyo (folk songs) are the only genre of indigenous music performed in North Korea. However, they are not sung in a traditional style, but in a modified style and usually with the accompaniment of a mixed arrangement of both Western and revised traditional instruments. All but the percussion instruments have been reconstructed. "In order to modernize our national music, we must consider modifying the existing instruments. It is not possible to modernize our national music with the Korean instruments of ancient times, or adequately express the ethos of the workers of our country." (From Selected Works of Kim Ilsung, Volume 4, Page 154) This is how the national instruments were modified in North Korea. First, all instruments were adjusted to the tempered scale of the West, and the seven-note scale was modified to make it easy to play. Second, because the North .Koreans perceive the "rough" sound of the traditional instruments as "a muddy sound," they made the tone "clear" and "lucid." Third, they broadened the musical range and diversified the instruments so that the same instrument can perform a broad range of music. Fourth, in order to play swift passages and smoother transitions, they modified the instruments; for example, the haeg!im (2-string fidclle) was given four strings like the cello; the bamboo pipes of wind instruments were replaced with hardwood pipes and a key was added; the yanggum (dulcimer) was tuned to the chromatic scale and a soft pedal was added; and the okryugum (harp) was tuned to the diatonic scale like the Western harp and a pedal was attached to it in order to shift it to a sernitone. The North Koreans have done much to

North HJeets South at the Pan-National Concert for UniBcation at Seoul Arts Center, 1990

modify traditional instruments and have developed a diverse performance style. They call orchestral music, which combines Western instruments and their national instruments, "a harmonious orchestral composition." The most notable of the modified instruments is the okiyugiim. Unlike most North Korean instruments, which bear a great resemblance to the modified Chinese instruments, the okiyugiim is a truly unique instrument. It is a modified version of the konghu (horizontal harp), a traditional Korean instrument. It has been given the shape of the kayagiim (long 12-string zither) and the pedal structure of the Western harp. Because the komun-go (long 6string zither) is impossible to change, it is almost never used by the North Koreans. The paragon of art in North Korea is "social realism." Consequently, no music, be it Westem or Korean, can be abstract. As a result, all instrumental music has been composed or arranged on the theme of folk songs and inmin

Korean music as we know it in the South. is not performed in North Korea. The North Koreans have done much to modify traditional instruments and have developed a diverse performance style.

kayo (people's songs). Even the pieces performed by the national symphony orchestra have titles like, The Sea of Blood, a symphony, Korea Is ~ne , a piano concerto, and My Loyalty Is Forever, a violin concerto. This is because all orchestral music has been based on songs. Accordingly, their national instrumental music, including solo, duet, concerto, wind and other instrument ensembles have been written based on traditional folk music, songs, shin minyo (new folk songs), people's songs or operas about their revolution. "The Dear Leader [Kim Jong-il] has dictated to us a principle of creativity that our [North Korean] orchestral music must be improvised in relation to the fme music and songs of our time that are popular among the workers," according to Volume 8 of the Anthology of Korean Music published in 1991 by the Munye Publishing Company of North Korea. In other words, in North Korea there is no "pure music" as we know it in South Korea. + 13

they hailed, and some were even awarded honorary official positions when they gave outstanding performances at court. It was for descendants of shamans. this reason that shamans who wished to become accomplished folk musicians placed top In fact, so many priority on learning p'ansori and every aspiring musician diligently studied p'ansori. traditional musicians come However, one has to be born with the right kind of voice for p'ansori. Not everyone can from a shaman background become a virtuoso solely by trying. Shaman musicians, therefore, taught their children to it is impossible to name play musical instruments when it was determined a child had no talent for p'ansori. A them all. child judged to have no skill in musical instruments was then taught other skills, such as tight-rope walking and acrobatics. Through such efforts, the shaman groups fostered folk music and the traditional performing arts, and shamans and folk musicians became closely linked. f. Most of today's folk musicians still share such ties. In the past, shaman musicians met at exorcisms and other shaman rituals and lived from the proceeds d1ey earned for performing at rituals, while today folk musicians meet at musical performances and earn a living from their performances. Many famed folk musicians are descendants of shamans. In fact, so many traditional musicians come from a shaman background it is impossible to name them all. TI1e only difference is when they turned from being a professional shaman to being a professional musician. Chong Hoe-ch'on, a professor at Chonbuk :o National University and a kayagum (long 12:;; string zither) player, comes from a long line of ~ musicians. His father, ChOng KwOn-jin (19271986), was a Human Cultural Treasure for Cho Sang-hyon, above lett, one of:many p'ansori, and his grandfather, Chong Ung-min, traditional musicians W"ho have was a renowned p'ansori singer and the mencome from a long line of tor of the outstanding musicians Song U-hyang artists, :many W"ith roots in folk and Cho ~ang-hyo . His grandfather's uncle, music and shamanism. Chong Chae-gun, learned p'ansori from the At center, a performance of master of the sop'yonje style, Pak Yu-jon, and classical court music borne of became a celebrated singer, highly regarded the Confucian tradition. by the Taewon-gun, the Prince Regent and father of King Kojong (r. 1863-1907) of the Choson Kingdom. Prof. Chong's brothers, Chong Hoe-hyon and Chong Hoe-sok, are also musicians. Chong Hoe-hyon plays the taeglim, and Chong Hoe-sok plays the taeglim and sings p'ansori.

Many famed folk musicians are

Kim Chuk-pa (1911-1989), who was a Human Cultural Treasure of kayagum sanjo, also came from a family of musicians. His grandfather was Kim Ch'ang-jo (1865-1929), the creator of kayaglim sanjo. The famed singer Song Man-gap is from another family of musicians. He is the son of Song Hung-rok, the founder of the tongp'yonje style of p'ansori. Song Hung-rok's brother, Song Kwang-rok, and his nephew, Song U-ryong, were all great singers who dominated the music scene in their time. Interestingly, Song Man-gap's wife was a shaman who used to perform exorcisms in Kurye in

Chollanam-do Province. It is clear from these few examples that many of today's traditional musicians come from a long line of musicians, many of whom were also shamans. One can surmise that there is a deep relationship between folk music and shaman music. Actually, it is hardly an exaggeration to say that the roots of folk music lie in shaman music. That is why it is so often said, "It is difficult for someone wid1 no experience in being a shaman to properly convey the true essence of folk music." The instrumental accompaniment for shaman rituals is called shinawi when it is per-

fanned on stage. This music, generally impromptu, has no musical scores to speak of and certainly no composers. Every single element of the music depends on d1e talents of the individual players. Because its musical characteristics are the same in shaman rituals as they are on stage, this music must be perfanned by a musician well-versed in folk or shaman music. This is also true for sanjo and p'ansori. Hence, it is only possible for those from a family of shamans to rise to a certain level of musical accomplishment. This is because many musical techniques are d1e direct result

genre what being from a military academy is for the anny. It was said that a shaman could transmit the true essence of folk music while a pigabi could not. The music perfonned by d1e latter, therefore, was described as "superficial and lacking depth." The pigabi were dms at a disadvantage. In addition to such prejudice, they had d1e disadvantage of not having been exposed to the music of their choosing from birth-an essential factor in becoming an accomplished musician. Today, there are many who have become professional musicians by studying traditional music starting in middle school, high school, or college. However, the custom of passing down music from generation to generation is still very much alive. Many children of today's folk musicians have attended the Traditional Music and Art School established by d1eir parents, and a great number of d1em have gone on to become professional folk musicians.

and grandfather were both court musicians specializing in p'iri (double reed oboe), and his brother, Yi Su-ok, was also a p'iri player. His son Yi Pyong-song was a musician, and his grandsons Yi Tong-gyu and Yi Chong-gyu are practicing musicians. Yi Pyong-song (1909-1960), studied both p'iri and kagok and was considered an exceptional kagok singer during his time. He had a rich and beautiful voice and was greatly admired by lovers of kagok. Unfortunately he died an early death, much to tl1e grief and sor. row of many. His sons Yi Tong-gyu and Yi Chong-gyu, however, have followed in his

The selection and management of court musicians underwent

~ ~

of d1e skills d1at have been accumulated and passed down through many generations and such skills are, in turn, directly linked with those of folk music. In the past, d1ere was a type of musiciancum-actor from d1e yangban (d1e ruling literati class), called pigabi. However, as has already been mentioned, it was very difficult for someone not from d1e shaman class to become a true musician. It was not only difficult for the pigabi to develop outstanding musical skills but they were also ostracized by d1e shamans who held their music in contempt. Being from a shaman family was for d1e folk music

Court Musicians We can also see numerous examples of tl1e passing on of accumulated skills and knowledge in the families of court musicians who have dominated and led the classical music sector in Korea. The selection and management of court musicians underwent many changes during d1e Chason period, but most famed musicians came from professional families. For example, Ham Hwa-jin and Yi Sugyong were from long lines of renowned musicians. The long tradition of Ham's family, which also gave us Ham Cl1e-hong and Ham Chae-yong, has been severed, however, since it has no one specializing in music today. But Yi Su-gyong's family continues its musical tradition. Yi Su-gyong (1882-1955), an acclaimed komun-go (long 6-string zither) player and a talented ch6ngjae (court dance) pefonner, had a great influence on modem Korean traditional music. Even during d1e Japanese colonial period, he taught komun-go and chongjae to his pupils, who included Song Kyong-rin and Chang Sa-hun. He contributed greatly to preserving and passing down komun-go music and chongjae dance which had traditionally been passed down by word of mouth and were on d1e verge of disappearing. His father

many changes during the Choson period, but most famed musicians came from professional families.

footsteps. They are not only carrying on the family tradition but also leading the same musical genre their forebears had dominated. Yi Tong-gyu, the fifth generation of his family to pursue court music, works at the National Classical Music Institute and is an active perfonner. As did his father, grandfather and great-grandfad1er before him, he began studying the p'iri as a child and, like his father, studied kagok as well. Yi Pyong-u, a distant uncle of Yi Tong-gyu, studied both p'iri and kagok in keeping with d1e family tradition, but he also studied Westem music and musical instruments and played 17

oboe in a Western orchestra. He was lauded as a genius of wind instruments, both Korean and Western.

Education Of course, one cannot become a musician without any music education. In traditional society, music education was carried out through an apprentice system. Whereas court musicians learned their music through a system established by and in the court, folk musicians polished their skills by following their teachers around the country and observing them perform. With the development of a formal educational system, however, most of today's traditional musicians are receiving a formal education in traditional music at school. There are middle and high schools specializing in traditional music, as well as colleges and universities that have traditional music departments. Here, the students receive traditional music lessons patterned after the Western music system. They are taught various music subjects and receive individual tutoring once a week. Students learn music theory as well as actual performing techniques, and many other subjects besides music. Unlike in the past, there are musical scores. There are pros and cons to such an educational system. Many problems inherent in today's traditional music derive from teaching traditional Korean music in a classroom instead of on-the-spot as it was done in the past. As such, today's musicians' skills to compose and perform impromptu are not as developed as musicians of old. Therefore, many music students not only attend music school, but also study under a teacher who has been designated a cultural treasure and teaches in the traditional style.

i ~

Traditional musicians who have become musicians in this way can be largely divided into two groups: graduates of the Traditional Music Training Center, the school for court musicians, and the Traditional Music High School which developed from it, and graduates of the Korean Traditional Music and Art School which was established by folk musicians.

Among the graduates of the Traditional Music Training Center are kayagum player Ch'oe Ch'ung-ung, p'iri player Chong Chaeguk, tanso (small vertical flute) player Kim Chung-sop, kagok singer Yi Tong-gyu , komun-go player Yi Chae-hwa, kayaglim player Kim Hae-suk, and taeglim player and director of the Hansori Traditional Music Institute Cho Song-rae, all of whom work at the National Classical Music Institute and teach at various universities. Among the professional musicians from the Korean Traditional Music and Art School, mostly engaged in folk music, are haegum and komun-go player Kim Yong-rae, p'iri player, composer and conductor Pak Porn-hun, haegum player Ch'oe T'ae-hyon, p'iri player Kim Kwang-bok, kayaglim player Chong Hoech'on, taeglim player Ch'oe Sang-hwa, percussionist Kim Tok-su, minyo singer Kim Yongim, p'ansori singer 0 Chong-hae, and p'ansori singer Wang Ki-ch'ol. Many of .them are teaching at universities or actively performing on TV and in films. Fundamental to the shaping of traditional musicians has been the tradition of passing down musical skills and knowledge from generation to generation. The only difference between the past and the present is that, unlike today, birth was a deciding factor in one's becoming a musician in the past. However, the offspring of many of the traditional musicians active today are following the same path as their parents, thereby keeping the tradition of inheritll;lg and passing on musical skills alive. Of course, there are classical and folk performers who have not come from long lines of musicians but we can safely conclude that those who have come from families with generations of musicians are the mainstream of today's traditional musicians. +

In traditional society, music education was carried out through an apprentice system. Whereas court musicians learned their music through a system established by and in the court, folk musicians polished their skills by following their teachers around the country and observing them perform. 18

Nong-ak, in its local context at least, prescribes percussion bands playing music transmitted without composers or teachers. The ascendant minjung populism argues the merits of such rural traditions, but this second canon is dying in the countryside as Korea becomes a modem, industrial, and Western-looking nation. My dilemma lies in the distinction between high and low. Confucian scholars once marked the latter with the slightly derogatory term t'osok, and today its survival relies on the reinvention and reconstruction of tradition. Minyo was a term brought to Korea from Japan as commercial gramophone recordings began to appear. Recordings featured entertainment songs with widespread provenance. They were sung by professionals, and created a style-shin minyo-that many local singers have since felt they should emulate. Wellknown examples include Hanobaengny6n, Namhansansong, and many T'a1y6ng. These popular "songs for the people" (yuhaeng minyo and t'ongsok minyo are typical scholarly terms) abandoned improvisation and fixed their texts, sometimes combining words from different regions. Roots for the style can be traced back to chapka (vulgar songs), and Sonsori t'aryong or ipch'ang (standing songs), many of which were developed by itinerant travelling troupes, such as Namsadang. Arirang, now Korea's "national" folk song, is probably the best popular example. Arirang catapulted to fame tl1rough a silent film produced by Na Un-gyu in 1926. It became a symbol of the independence stmggle. But local versions can still be found tl1roughout the peninsula, from the archetypal Ch6ngs6n anrang to the common Chindo arirang and Milyang arirang. There are legends which recount 'the song's invention in each dist:Iict, but tl1e real ancestry is unknown. How old is Anrang, given that the first transcription-in a missionary journal--dates only from the 1890s? Could tl1e refrain derive from the Kory6 period (918-1392) Ch6ngsan pyolgok? And why does its curious phrase structure suggest midChos6n poetry? Regional Folk Songs

A number of local folk song areas are still distinguished, roughly congruent witl1 dialect areas. Namdo minyo come from tl1e south20

western Ch6lla-do provinces (the Honam region). Singers use a tight tl1foat and considerable chest resonance. Emotion comes from the vocal character- aewan ch '6ng (sad voice)-and a characteristic tritonic pitch scheme in which a deep and vibrating dominant (ttonun mok) is separated from a high falling appoggiatura known as tl1e "breaking tone" (kkongnun mok) by a plain and barely vibrated tonic. The characteristic song is Yukchabaegi, given in a slow and flexible 6beat chinyangjo rhythmic cycle (18/8). Soda minyo, from the P'y6ng-an-do and Hwanghae-do provinces now in North Korea, contain comparable, sometimes tearful, emotion. Songs move gradually from a low pitch, register to a high climax, then conclude in a series of descending portamento. Nasal resonance is used, coupled to a low sonorous vibrato. The characteristic song is the freerhytl1fn Sushimga. Excerpts of Sushimga often conclude other songs. TI1ere are tl1fee common more regular rhythmic cycles, toduri (6/4), semach'i (9/8) and kutkori (12/8). S6do minyo are preserved by migrants around Seoul as the Republic of Korea's Intangible Cultural Asset (Muhy6ng munhwajae) No. 29. Folk singing in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea is ostensibly based on S6do minyo, but witl1 less vibrato and no nasal resonance. Ky6nggi minyo typify what we would expect to fmd near the capital city: Ky6nggi-do Province surrounds Seoul. Songs tend to be joyful, lyrical and bright, using a relaxed tl1foat and less nasal resonance. Regular rhythmic cycles such as chungmori (12/4) and kutk61i (12/8) feature. Nilliria and Norae karak are representative songs. To the east, beyond the T'aebaek mountain range, much of the tl1ree styles continue, but a distinct and unified pentatonic mode desctibed as mena1ijo or sanyuhwaje can be discerned. In tl1e soutl1eastern Ky6ngsang-do provinces (the Y6ngnam region), the irregular and unaccompanied Menari sari is tl1e characteristic song. In central Kangw6n-do Province, versions of Arasong, notably Kangwondo alirang and Ch6ngs6n arirang, are faster and more regular. Once typical throughout the region, Orang t'aryong (Shin Kosan t'a1y6ng) favors a consistently high pitch range but is lighter and less emotional tl1an Sushimga. A fmal region, based on tl1e southern island

of Chejudo, is also distinguished. Farming songs favor free and expansive rhytlunic textures and florid, highly ornamented melodies. Tl1reshing songs and lullabies are built from short, repetitive plu-ases. Songs reminiscent of Ky6nggi-do are still sung around tl1e old administrative center of S6ngi:ip. How "authentic" are any of tl1ese songs today? Namdo tul norae, rice farming songs from Cl1indo, Ch6llanam-do Province, have since 1973 been preserved as Intangible Cultural Asset No. 51. The agricultural year is now telescoped into eight songs, each lasting about 25 minutes-slow and fast seeding (Mottlin son), slow and fast transplanting (Mot sari or Sangsa son), slow, medium and fast weeding ( Ch611o so1i, p'ungjang son), and a processional (Kukkonaeg!). TI1ese songs were once sung during times of communal labor, but they ceased to be used in rice fields during tl1e 1950s. Restructured and presented at the 1971 National Folk Arts Contest (Ch6n-guk minsok yesul ky6ngy6n taehoe), plastic rice shoots were introduced for atmosphere. Percussion interludes were inserted to join songs from different parts of tl1e agricultural cycle, words were pared down and improvisation removed, an ox was added for variety, and clothes were made suitably uniform. Singers argue that each new element is a positive and necessary addition, and that tl1e songs remain anchored in tradition. "I only sing as in the old days; I wouldn't dare change one jot," said tl1e now decea:;ed senior singer, Sol Chae-ch'6n. Preservation

The preservation system has also recognized farming songs from Kos6ng and Yech'6n in the Ky6ngsang-do provinces as Intangible Cultural Asset No. 84. TI1is partly reflects the work of Yi So-ra, whose field research for the Office for Cultural Properties (Munhwajae Kwalliguk) has resulted in four volumes of song notations (Han-guk ui nangyo 1-4). But Yi was late; many old singers have died, and few scholars followed tl1e example of the folklorist Im Dong-kwon to study folk songs. Im's landmark collection was assembled over many years of regular fieldwork and has now been published in some 13,000 texts_ (Han-guk minyojip Vol. 1-7). He, witl1 otl1ers,

has advised the_ government about what genres to preserve, but is aware of differing agendas: as many such as Lauri Honko, Bert Feintuch and Henry Loomis have noted elsewhere, scholars may argue the merits of "authenticity" and "originality," but government agencies and musicians are more concerned with promotion and presentation. Back in the 1920s, the cultural nationalists Ch'oe Nam-s6n (1890-1957), Yi Nung-hwa (1865-1945) and Song S6k-ha 0904-1948) argued against Japanese cultural assimilation by promoting the indigenous heritage. Most Koreans only woke up to the passing of the old in the 1980s, as economic success created room for nostalgia. Publications on folklore such as Madang and Ch'ont'ong munhwa grew in popularity. Regular folk perfonnances at Seoul's National Theater and at the Seoul Nori Madang began. Many a university campus gained folk song and folk band societies. Suddenly, and despite different political colors, the preservation system for performance arts initiated by the government back in the 1960s could combine with student appeals for local folk culture. Yet scholars remained tardy, reluctant to embrace local folk music. A massive project at the Academy of Korean Studies (Han-guk ch6ngshin munhwa yon-guwon) had succeeded in publishing much oral literature (in the series Han-guk kubi munhak taegye) , but music notations lagged far behind. And few recordings were released before MBC began d1eir folk song series: 10 CDs of Cheju minyo in 1992 were followed by 20 CDs of Ch611anam-do minyo in 1993. These, unlike Korea Britannica's lavish 10 LP set (Han-guk ui p'alto son) from 1984, were not commercial recordings. It is clear d1at rhythm is well developed in Korea. Sanjo, in perfonnances lasting up to an hour, passes through a series of movements from a slow and concentrated opening chinyangjo (18/8) to a fast quadruple hwinlori or tumach'i (12/8 or 4/4) resolution. P'ansori uses seven basic rhyfumic cycles to underpin songs: slow chinyangjo, walking-paced chungmoJj (12/8), "rushing" hwinlori (12/8) and d1e irregular onmori and otchungmori. Nong-ak provides an even better example, for here, unlike the Western canon, rhythm often exists in isolation from melody.

The lively music of rural bands throbs with the pulse of a hearty people.

Varieties of Nong-ak Nong-ak is deeply rooted in Korean history. Today's bands mix village rites with military drills, work support and pure entertainment, all overlaid with either the world of travelling troupes or isolated farming village groups. Some trace the genre back to events recorded in Chen Suo's third century Sanguo zhi; others note records about similar activities dotted around the shillok (veritable records) of Choson kings. Nong-ak is an all-embracing term, but local terms suggest a multiplicity of uses: Kut indicates a general performance, sometimes with ritual overlays. Maegut, a term which abbreviates characters for "stamping on the spirits," prescribes a village rite typically given at New Year. Kollip indicates fund raising activities while kun-ak and kofgung suggest military processions and palace links. P'ungmuf, p'ungjang and ture are associated with communal work teams in farming, and occasionally fishing, and rites to ensure a good harvest. P'an-gut implies an entertainment event in an open space. The music of rural bands divides into three basic styles: Kyonggi, chwado and udo. AB with Kyonggi minyo, the first is a repertory geared to an urban fringe. Chwado and udo are applied as if looking southward from Seoul, so that udo (right) specifies the western rice plain and chwado (left) the central and eastern hills. It is said that udo bands favor slow rhythms, and performers keep toged1er in a spirit of egalitarianism. Chwado bands are said to feature solo segments and to emphasize superior playing techniques and virtuosity in a series of fast patterns. Both styles use a set of rhythmic patterns identified by ching (large gong) strikes as their building blocks. These are known as shibi ch 'a or shibi ch'ae. Some are simple-if ch 'ae (one strike) comprises just a single beat repeated over and over-while others such as ch'if ch'ae (seven strikes) and shibi ch'ae (twelve strikes) accompany specific dances. Some are complex: the processional o ch'ae chil kut (five strikes processional) in Chollabuk-do presents a sequence of 10+14+10+9+6 beats. Others such as sam ch'ae (three strikes) recur in many guises. In addition, there are patterns named after their use . Yongnam nong-ak, an arrange22

ment of southeastern patterns common among professional teams, has the following sequence: kif kun-ak (a processional), pan kif kun-ak (half processional), ppariin pan kif kun-ak (fast half processional), maeniin karak (weeding rhythm), pyoftaf kori (bright moon scene), toppegi (also known as toppaegi or toppoegi, a rhythm common in mask dramas), popku nori (a form of the dance, yongsan tadiiregi, also known as shibi ch'ae), ssangjin p'uri (basically, a pattern in which the hourglass drum crosses its mallet like beater from one drumhead to the other), and a hint of sam ch 'ae (three beats) before a maeniin karak cadence. The four basic nong-ak instruments are the lead kkwaenggwari (small gong), the pulse-

keeping ching, and two drums: the changgo, a double-headed hourglass drum, is used to imitate both large and small gongs, while the puk, a squashed barrel drum, adds a solid bass. Dancers use sago, small hand-held drums. A simple and straight nabaf trumpet often announces the band while a soenap shawm may improvise a melody. Local performances can last several days, an indication of d1e important symbolic support for activities beyond the music. They will include sections at village shrines (tiif tangsan), wells (saem kut), village offices and houses (chip kut), with sections for marching (kif kut or chil kut), for knocking at a gate (mun kut) and for walking around a courtyard wall (h6fssa kut, h6h6 kut, etc).

A nong-ak band at work,

Nrunsadang nori, SrunulNori (clockwise from left).

i ~

But bands are part of a disappearing lifestyle. Decline would be near terminal, except for three factors: Local governments support teams who perform at festivals such as the annual National Folk Arts Contest; the central government has since 1966 sponsored nong-ak as Intangible Cultural Asset No. 11; and student groups, often playing day and night under the gloss p'ungmul, preserve simple and repetitive patterns, as foreigners kept awake in university guest houses by the seemingly interminable noise know well. Samul Nori: An Urban Music Itinerant troupes, Sadang p'ae, Namsadang p'ae and K6sa p'ae, were active until the 1960s. The rump of a group who now pre-

serve Namsadang in Seoul claim they travelled north in summer and south in winter, performing music, dance, acrobatics and juggling. They represented the professional side of nong-ak, and there are a number of historical accounts-including one in theÂˇ p'ansori story of Hiingbuga-that recount how they performed in village markets and gathering places, the p'an, for money or rice. This tradition now has a sure future. In 1978 four professionals led by Kim Duk-soo (b. 1952) performed for the first time under the name "SamulNori." The name was devised by the musical aficionado and impresario Pak H6n-b6ng. Samu!Nori have given their name to a genre, and today Seoul boasts some 25 professional teams.

The basic samul nori repertory comprises pinari (a prayer for blessing), p'an-gut, a drum ensemble Samdo sol changgo and pieces representing each nong-ak style: Honam nong-ak from the Ch6ngup area in Ch6llabuk-do, Y6ngnam nong-ak from Samch'6np'6 in Ky6ngsangnam-do, and Uttari p'ungmul from the central Ch'ungch'6ng-do provinces. Samul nori is urban music, distinct from both amateur nong-ak and the music of itinerant troupes. Local bands stood and danced, . but samul nori bands sit, concentrating on rhythmic development. Rituals and work allowed the endless repetition of simple patterns by local bands, but the concert stage on which samul nori bands function requires rigid successions of rhythms framed in a pre-timed program. Local bands kept close to model rhythmic patterns given by the kkwaenggwari, deviating only slightly in a vertical frame, and never losing touch with the model. Samul nori bands, in contrast, use horizontal, linear development, moving far away from the model, and almost losing the basic pattern under the weight of disguise. Samul nori bands have not discarded the past. Links remain clear, and the performers insist they play old music from an indigenous tradition. The original SamulNori team emphasizes their heritage; each played witl1 local bands, and their teachers read like a catalogue of stars from the past. Yet SamulNori have provided a new momentum for Korean folk music. They have tried to break free from the dying andÂˇ "outmoded" to appeal to an increasingly internationalized, primarily middle-class urban audience. This has brought a new vitality to the folk heritage, even though some of the new directions they have followed remain the subject of much debate. Professionalism requires increasing specialism, as the sociologist Max Weber argued. Consequently, Samu!Nori have experimented. They have combined with traditional orchestras in compositions like Pak Porn-hun's Shin modiim (1988; recorded on Oasis ORC-1225), with jazz musicians such as Bill Lazwell and Shankar (e.g., SXL Live in japan [CBS/Sony, Tokyo, 32DH824, 1987] and Red Sun/SamulNori [Amadeo, Vienna, 841 222 1, 1989D, and they have backed pop musicians such as Cho Yong-Pil and the king of Korean rap, Seo Taiji. +

SamulNori

Taking Korean Rhythms to the World KuHee-seo Freelance Writer amulNori is a traditional Korean percussion group organized in 1978 to give nightly performances of traditional music at the Space Theater, a small theater in Seoul. From the very outset, SamulNori created a big sensation, well justified by a long series of fantastic successes in subsequent performances at home and abroad. Today, the term "samul nori" has come to mean a great deal more than the name of one music group. It has become a generic term for the musical genre currently performed by a number of groups. The group's performances and activities are an important part of the history of traditional Korean music.

1he flrst perfonnance ofSa.mulNori. 1978

Samu!Nori's music activities, and performances have had a far-reaching influence on stage arts at home and abroad. Deeply rooted in traditional Korean music, SamulNori has won tremendous applause from contemporary musicians. It has invoked musical sympathy worldwide for its unique Korean sound. What is behind SamulNori's remarkable success? This question deserves serious deliberation, particularly now, the fifteenth anniversary of Samu!Nori's inauguration. It all began with the meeting of four outstanding musicians, each of whom had trained long and exhaustively. Availing tl1emselves of that rare and significant encounter, they set

ambitious goals for iliemselves and made a fresh new start toward achieving them. The group was first organized in February 1978 on the occasion of the ftrst Evening of Korean Traditional Art Performances at the Space Theater. During these performances, the four musicians, Kim Yong-bae on kkwaenggwari (small gong), Kim Duk-soo on changgo (double-headed hourglass drum), Lee Kwang-soo on puk (squashed barrel drum) and Choi Jong-sil on ching (large gong), opened a new era in Korean traditional percussion performances. In a nutshell, ilie performers derived a truly extraordinary sound with very ordinary traditional music. The

splash was soon followed by another performance at the Space Theater in April that same year, after which the group was formally inaugurated as SamulNori. The name Samu!Nori, which means "the playing of four things," was jointly devised by those who planned the event as well as by the traditional music lovers who gave the group unreserved applause. The rhythm it created was by no means new. The delightful rhythm was all too familiar with the public who often heard it during performances of nong-ak, farmer's music and dance. In fact, it was one of the most popular genres played byÂˇinstrumental music groups in the 1970s. Yet Samu!Nori is significantly different from its predecessors. The traditional groups tended to concentrate on dance and movement at the expense of musical aspects. Presented as part of dance programs, the traditional nongak performances were very popular at international events in Korea and abroad. SamulNori performed the same nong-ak, though in well-organized musical formats. The flrst of their repertoire was Uttari p'ungmul, nong-ak music from the central Ch'ungch'6ng-do provinces. The rhythms were well-arranged and performed with the highest skills. Another factor adding to SamulNori's musical quality is that Samu!Nori performs seated, unlike tl1e traditional performers who move all the time tl1ey are playing. Understandably, the traditional performances are full of fun, like a circus, whereas SamulNori's performances are like a concert. The four players have not forgotten that their art is derived from sadang, the wandering bands of old. At tl1e same time, they are well aware they should move ahead instead of being enshrined in the old. They have made sustained efforts to collect the unique percussion music of various provinces and rearrange tl1em in tl1eir own formats, and they have diligently practiced their skills all this while. In short, for the past 15 years they have been endeavoring to create tomorrow, standing on the shoulders of yesterday. At every performance, they stand up, move and run to perform the last repertoire of the day. This is yet another sign of their efforts not to leave their musical roots in oblivion. In 1982, SamulNori made its flrst official trip

The changgo (hourglass dru:m), kkwaenggwari (s:mall gong),

ching (large gong), and puk (squashed barrel dru:m) :make up the four-instru:ment ense:mble.

abroad. Making inroads into the international -Âˇ music scene was, in fact, one of the goals they ~ set at the time of their inauguration. Their flrst overseas performance was in Japan. Held from June through July 1982 in Tokyo, the event was jointly sponsored by the Korean Information Service in Japan and the KoreaJapan Friendship Association and staged concurrently with international conferences marking the tenth anniversary of the July 4 SouthNorth Korea Joint Declaration. The group .gave four performances and lectures. This was followed by SamulNori's debut in tl1e United ÂˇStates in October-November 1982. They perfonned along with art groups from 23 countries in the EPCOT Festival at Disney World in Orlando. They also took part in an international percussion concert in Dallas. Pak Tong-uk, a Korean musician specializing in Western percussion music, also participated in the concert. Samu!Nori took advantage of tl1e event to demonstrate the essence of Korea's traditional percussion music as well as to display the best of percussion music. The event also set a stage for rare encounters between SamulNori and world-renowned artists like Steve Reich, Steve Gadd, and Nexus and facilitated SamulNori's advance onto the world stage. TI1e participants in the contest were so impressed with SamulNori's music tlut they invited SamulNori to perform in tl1eir countiies and thus paved tl1e way for their global activities. TI1ese developments were no accident. As pointed out earlier, the internationalization of Samu!Noii was one of tl1e major goals set fortl1 at the founding of tl1e group. Introduced to tl1e world of nong-ak at the age of six or seven, tl1e four musicians had a profound belief in tl1e meiits of traditional music as well as in tl1eir skills and had always dreamed of taking their music to the world. They were not inexperienced in performing overseas and were thus quite realistic in pursuing their goal. In particular, Kim Duksoo and Choi Jong-sil, former members of the Little Angels, knew what to expect from foreign audiences. At the initial stage in 1982 and 1983, they focused not on the general public but on professional musicians and leading figures in cultural and artistic circles. Since then, they have been very particular about invitations from abroad. Of the myiiad invita25

tions showered on them, they chose only significant programs such as world-renowned festivals and extensive concert tours. Maintaining such a policy was much easier said than done because at the time, their incomes were below the basic living standard. More often than not, the performances brought little income. This meant they often had to pursue their artistic goals at the sacrifice of personal comfort. At the time, the four deserved the name of "cultural crusaders." Their practice sessions were ridden with heated arguments over repertoires. Nonetheless, they worked out the famed pieces, Samdo nong-ak karak (nong-ak rhythms of three provinces) and Samdo s61changgogarak (hourglass drumming of three provinces). It was then that the four musicians began to be lauded as maestros. SamulNori's activities worldwide brought them encounters with Western music as well as with other artistic genres. They diversified their activities to include solos, joint concerts, lectures and workshops and broadened their tours to cover Japan, the United States, Europe, Africa and the rest of the world. Today,

SamulNori is in the limelight at many international events, thus enhancing the status of Korean percussion music. Critics have lavished praise on SamulNori. For instance, Morris Lang of the New York

their recording sessions at None-Such Records of Warner Brothers. World musicians are, as a rule, struck first by the volume and scope of SamulNori's music, then by its novelty and familiarity. This is perhaps the reason so many foreign musicians are enthusiastic about performing with SamulNori, going beyond the limits of artistic genres. The members of SamulNori have never learned Western scores. However, they have had no difficulty playing with orchestras and classical and jazz pianists as well as with folk bands and percussion groups of various countries. They have also diligently taught Korean percussion music to foreign music students. During the last 15 years, SamulNori has had more than 1,500 concerts at home and abroad. ~ Since 1982, not a year has passed that SamultJJ "'~ Nori has not had an overseas performance. In fact, they have spent more than half of each year abroad. Philharmonic once said he always found himThose years have not left SamulNori unself immersed in SamulNori's music and decided to learn more about Korean culture. Lang changed. In 1985, Kim Yong-bae left the first met SamulNori at the Dallas international group to lead anotl1er troupe organized in afpercussion music concert in 1982 and offered filiation with the National Classical Music Instithem unreserved technical assistance during tute. The following year, Kim committed sui-

Moven1ent and soWJd resonate through a Sa=ulNori performance.

cide, leaving an irrevocable trauma in the heart of other members. Kang Min-suk, a newly recruited member, replaced Kim on ching. In addition , Lee Kwang-soo switched to kkwaenggari and Choi Jong-sil took over puk, adding a new aspect to SamulNori. Kim Yong-bae's departure and subsequent death broke the heart of other members, but not the beautiful harmony of SamulNori. In 1993, Choi Jong-silleft Samu!Nori to belatedly attend university, and Lee Kwang-soo left to lead a new group. These developments brought an end to a legendary era in which the four maestros created a heavenly harmony not to be imitated by anyone else and ushered in a new era in which SamulNori expanded to become the Hanulim Art Corporation with a number of artists under its umbrella and backed up by expert education and systematic training. In a nutshell, SamulNori, which originally meant the playing of four things by four performers , turned into Hanulim, "a great resonance of sound." Hanulim approaches overseas concerts from a different perspective. At the initial stage, SamulNori presented its music in formats familiar to Westerners. Of course, there were some uniquely Korean rites such as drum beating signaling the appearance of artists and prayers for blessings, but its concerts basically took the form of seated performances. However, SamulNori never completely disregarded the moving performance. Moving and dancing while performing, no doubt, is d1e very essence of Korea's traditional percussion music. Rhyd1m and movement are closely related. Incessant movement from head to toe and breathing that goes wid1 the movement are the music itself, a resonance, a breathing. It is understandable that Samu!Nori started with formats familiar to Westerners and readily understood by modem-day audiences. TI1ey feel, however, it is time to return to traditional modes in search of d1ings uniquely Korean. Critics also approach SamulNori's art from a

Over the years SamulNori has joined with jazz perfonners and organized .music can1ps to introduce the Korean sound to new generations at ho.me and abroad.

new and wider perspective. While Kim Yongbae was a member of SamulNori, critics focused on its sound and skills. They were impressed by d1e magnitude of the sound and the strong feelings it created. Their music was dubbed "the sound of heartbeats," "the sound of Korea, the sound of the world," and "the sound of remote ages and the sound of the contemporary world." Recently, critics have begun to pay closer attention to the players' movements. Thomas O'Connors' critique of SamulNori's August 1992 New York performance is a good example. In an article tided "Drums of Fire" carried in the Village Voice, he writes, "Musicians who can dance are indeed a mystery." He further notes, "The four musicians of Samu!Nori create w magnified resonant sounds in their move~-- ments. In the eyes of Westerners, they were ~ fascinating and the harmonious art performance by Kim Duk-soo, Lee Kwang-soo, Kang Min-suk and Pak Pyong-jun provided Âˇan opportunity to experience the mysterious pleasures of simple appreciation and profound understanding." With their music and movements, SamulNori is winning international interest and applause. By doing so, Samu!Nori is opening up a new world of understanding and sharing, linking the sound of Korea and the heartbeats of Koreans to the heartbeats of the world. However, this is not as simple as it sounds. When we think about which individuals, which groups have accomplished such an enormous task, the answer is all too simple. Sometimes they may receive support from their goverments, sometimes they may receive support from corporations but basically they have to overcome the difficulties based on their own strength and their own obsession. The Ministry of Education is establishing a school for percussionists. This educational center, to be built near Puyo, in Ch'ungch'ongnam-do will teach Korea's traditional rhyd1ffi and dance to future generations. Our SamulNori, the world's SamulNori are now dancing with this dream. +

MUSIC: East Meets West Foreigners Find Fulftllment in Korea's Traditional Music Song Hye-jin Music Critic eople who have a deep understanding of and love for culture and the arts share a common trait: They value a culture or its art for itself and accept it as a part of their lives, instead of distinguishing it as theirs or other's. This can be clearly discerned by looking at several foreigners whose lives have been drastically altered by their fascination with and love of Korean music. Jocelyn Clark is a 25-year-old professional stringed instrument player from Alaska who has ventured into the world of Korea's kayagiim Oong 12-string zither) in the process of learning Japan's koto and China's zheng. She has been irrevocably bound to Asian music ever since she began to study ethnic music at Wesleyan University in Connecticut. She has become more and more engrossed in Asian music as she stayed in different countries to study both their language

Jocelyn Clark

Clark's approach to Korean music is helping to destroy the myth and prejudice that "a foreigner cannot possibly understand and properly express our music."

and their music. She first visited Korea in 1992 with the aim of mastering Korea's kayagi:\m to become an expert in the stringed instruments of China, Japan and Korea. Her initial plan had been to stay in Korea for three or four months during which time she hoped to develop at least a passable command of kayagum. However, she realized how unrealistic her plan was as she began to learn kayagum from such renowned performers as Yi Chi-y6ng and Chi Ae-ri under the sponsorship of the National Classical Music Institute. She finally realized that it took several decades to learn to play kayagum well, for the left hand movement alone produces thousands of different expressions. Clark has extended her period of stay in Korea several times already with the dream of learning at least one kayagi:\m sanjo Oong instrumental piece), if not to fully com-

prehend the musical world of kayaglim. Currently she is deeply immersed in the world of kayaglim sanjo performed by Song Kum-ryon and other accomplished musicians. She is staying in the home of a well-known kayaglim player and learning other aspects of Korean culture. She is now quite fluent in the Korean language which she began to learn before she came to Korea, and her skill in calligraphy, which she began to learn upon anival in Korea, is also outstanding. Clark's approach to Korean music is helping to destroy the myth and prejudice that "a foreigner cannot understand and properly express our music." She won an award in Korea's Traditional Music Contest for Foreigners last year, and has given kayagum performances in several American universities; including her alma mater, Wesleyan-all of which is the result of her endless practice and her overall approach to Korean culture. Clark, who likes to joke that she "must have

been a Korean kisaeng (female entertainer similar to Japan's geisha) in her previous life," is planning many events based on her experience in Asian music. It is her goal to organize a performance by an ensemble of composers and stringed instrument players from China, Japan and Korea-an event that has proved difficult due to language and cultural barriers. The plan is based on her firm conviction that such a performance would contribute gready to the formation of a common Asian culture and to mutual understanding as well as enrich the musical language of modem man. Clark will return to the United States to begin a doctoral program at Harvard University from next semester. Music in Original Forms

Martin Eberlein had his first contact with Korean culture when he befriended Korean students preparing to enter German universities while he was a student at the graduate

school of Miinchen Music University. A tape of samul nori (percussion quartet) music he received as a gift from one of the Korean students evoked in him a great curiosity in Korean music. It was a totally new and alien music which he had never encountered before, and the strong energy and exciting rhythms he felt and heard from the tape enlarged the realm of his musical thinking. Eberlein sought ways to direcdy encounter Korean music, and first came to Korea in September 1992 upon the receipt of a grant for "music studies and training of younger generations" from the Ministry of Culture and Education in Bayem. (The grant given was "to adapt the knowledge and experience gained from the study of Korean music to his music later.") Eberlein came to Korea just in time to see the eleventh Traditional Music Contest of Korea. That particular festival was of unprecedented scale. During the day, five different kinds of shaman music were performed in

Foreign students studying traditional znusic at the National Classical Music Institute's Korean Traditional Perfonning Arts Center

ing of Korean musical instruments by working with various performers of the National Classical Music Institute, all the while studying Korean at Seoul National University. He came back to Korea in May of this year to begin his study of Korean music in earnest and plans to stay for about six months. He is taking a six-week course in the Traditional Music Course for For.eigners at the National Classical Music Institute, and is receiving lessons on Korean traditional music theory, changgo (hourglass drum), tanga (song with short quick notes), kagok (long cyclical song), and traditional musical ensembles. He plans to have his first performance this year upon completion of a musical piece commissioned by the National Classical Music Institute. Eberlein thinks that, due to Korea's tragic history of the twentieth century, it has not had enough opportunity to promote its outstanding culture. He also thinks that the sphere of activities for traditional musicians is very limited with many obstacles blocking their freedom of ~ artistic expression. Eberlein hopes to con"' tribute to the development of Korean music by ~ composing pieces for a combination of Korean and Western musical instruments and pieces Martin Eberlein exclusively for Korean musical instruments, their original forms, and in the evening, wellmusical world of court musicians , passed and to promote Korean culture by giving muknown composers introduced new pieces down from the National Classical Music Insti- sical performances throughout the world. based on the five kinds of shaman music. It tute. goes without saying that the festival left a deep During his first month-long sojourn in Ko- First Western Specialist To the best of my knowledge, Alan Heyimpression on Eberlein since it provided him rea, Eberlein realized that he needed to learn with the opportunity to observe the prototypes the Korean language in order to better under- man, an American, is the first Westerner to music in earnest. During his alof the most uniquely Korean music and the stand Korea's music, psyche and culture and study ~orean most 40 years in Korea, he has experienced creation of musical pieces inspired by them. to gain a thorough understanding of Korean Not only that, but Eberlein experienced firstmusical instruments to enlarge his own musi- and lived in step with the development of Kohand the high standard of artistry and the great cal world. He returned to Korea to stay from rea's modem musical history. Most of the muvariety of Korean music by encountering both March to August of 1993 after a year-long sicians who inspired him during his early years have passed away and their pupils have bethe musical world, passed down from generapreparation under the sponsorship of The Kocome the leaders of the musical community. tion to generation of folk musicians, and the rea Foundation. He increased his understandIf Korea's Human Cultural Treasures system could be applied to foreigners, Heyman cerEberlein hopes to contribute to the development of Korean music by tainly would have become one by now. It was during the Korean War that Heyman composing pieces for a combination of Korean and Western first became fascinated with Asian music. A medic stationed in Kangwon-do Province at musical instruments and pieces exclusively for Korean musical the time, he was attracted to the wake-up music played by the Chinese Army across the instruments, and to promote Korean culture by giving musical front line. The sound was so loud it was impossible for him to sleep, but he found the performances throughout the world. clear and high tones strangely alluring. Later he was to discover that the musical instrument 30

was the Chinese shawm (sana), or t'aep'yongso as we call it in Korea. Heyman returned to the United States with lingering memories of the "Asian sound" he had come to know during the Korean War. He encountered a new turning point when he met a Korean student studying at Columbia University. Revealing his deep fascination with the Chinese shawm, Heyman asked if Korea had such a unique music and said he wished to learn it if it existed. The Korean student replied, "Of course. We have a very long and rich musical tradition. If you wish to learn Korean music, I urge you to return to Korea as soon as possible. You can study Western music at any time; however, you never know when North Korea might invade again, and there is no guarantee that our musical heritage would be properly passed down. " Those words turned Heyman's life course toward Korean music. Upon graduation in 1959, Heyman headed for Korea, leaving behind friends who shook their heads and muttered that he'd "gone nuts." As soon as he came to Korea, he began to establish close contacts with Chi Y6ng-hui, Han 11-sop, Shin K'wae-dong, Kim So-hui, Pak Ch'o-wol and Kim Kwang-shik at the Seoul Traditional Music and Art School where many famed musicians were teaching at that time. Even though he had no knowledge of the Korean language and encountered many cultural barriers in daily life, he still cannot forget this period in which he studied and really felt the musical soul of those highly accomplished singers and musicians. In particular, a performance by the renowned p'ansori (epic storytelling through song) singer Im Pang-ul opened his eyes to the beauty of Korean traditional music. Heyman began to learn t'aep'y6ngso from Han 11-sop and Ch'oi In-so, tanga and p'ansori from Kim Ky6ng-hui (a sister of the famed singer Kim So-hui), changgo and puk (squashed barrel drum) from Chi Y6ng-hui, and court music, kayaglim and shijo (singing of shijo poems) from Hong W6n-gi during the 1960s and 1970s. He also learned Buddhist music and dance from well-known dancers. Reminiscing about this period, Heyman is unable to forget his 1961 Ch6nju performance with the many famous singers and musicians previously mentioned. He was the ftrst for-

Alan HeyHJan

eigner to demonstrate t'aep'yongso shinawi which he learned from Han 11-sop and others, a solo kayagum chant, shijo songs and the Mango Kangsan tanga. The performance not only astonished the audience, but was more than enough to tum him into a celebrity. It was a time when a foreigner studying Korean music was a sensation, but more than that, the polished skills he learned from so many renowned musicians were outstanding. Immediately following the performance, he was asked to go on a two-month tour of the south coast. It gave him the chance to better

understand the lives of folk musicians and the environment that had produced and nurtured them. Since then, Heyman has enlarged his musical world to include an understanding of Buddhist and shaman music, and has actively introduced Korean music to the Western world. The sphere of his activities is as various as his musical experience since it includes translation, writing and publication, not to mention overseas tours and lectures on Korean music and dance. In 1973, he performed with Kim So-hili,

If Korea's Human Cultural Treasures system

could be applied to foreigners, Heyman certainly would have become one by now.

Chi Yong-hui, Song Kum-ryon and Kim Yundok at Carnegie Hall and twenty-seven American universities at the invitation of the Asian Society. He toured Iran, France, West Germany and Switzerland for four months with the National Classical Music Institute's performing band and, in 1982, he gave a two-week performance of shaman music with the shaman Kim Kum-hwa, a Human Cultural Treasure, at the Smithsonian Memorial Hall in Washington, on the occasion of the centennial of Korean-American diplomatic relations. In 1991, he gave lectures on and performances of Buddhist ritual music and dance at the invitation of the Asian Society and published The Three-Thousand-League Land, An Introduction to Korean Dance, an English in~ traduction to Korean dance, with a grant from the Rockfeller Foundation. This year he published another English-language introduction to Korean traditional music, The Traditional Music and Dance of Korea, which he wrote at the request of the National Classical Music Institute. He keeps writing about Korean music and dance and is giving lectures at the Korean Traditional Music Program for Foreigners, which was established last year under the auspices of the National Classical Music Institute. When asked which element of Korean music has captivated him the most, he briefly replied, "the unique and delightful flavors or mot found in Korean music." This short reply, however, is more than enough to convey the depth of his devotion to Korean music. Feeling the mot of Korean music is surely the first and last quality in understanding Korean music. Thanks to the efforts of the National Classical Music Institute, which has established prog;ams to systemically teach Korean music to professional musicians from abroad, there is an increasing number of foreigners who, like Clark, Eberlein and Heyman, are specializing in Korea's traditional music and are becoming "world musicians of Korean traditional music." Without a doubt, they will be a positive force in the proper passing down of our music and the globalization of Korean culture. +

Traditional Korean Music and Its Place in the Emerging World Music Canon Dr. Jonathan C. Kramer Assistant Director of Music, North Carolina State University As American society attempts to bring more of its citizens into the educational and professional mainstream, the centrality of white, male, European culture in the liberal arts curricula has been questioned and destabilized. Increasingly, course offerings are being diversified to include perspectives of African-Americans, women, and non-European cultures. Music departments are responding to the move toward a multicultural and global curriculum by offering surveys of world music or non-Western music for both majors and general students to supplement the usual Western music history, theory, and appreciation courses. Given the vast and complex array of music cultures in the world, a process of inclusion and exclusion has inevitably taken place, and a canon has been emerging in world music over the past 25 years. Inclusion seems to be based primarily on which music cultures were studied by important ethnomusicologists during the first twothirds of this century, thus insuring adequate source materials for instructors. For example, many early ethnomusicologists did field work in Indonesia; therefore Javanese and Balinese gamalans have become ubiquitous in the West. India, Iran, sub-Saharan Africa and Japan, similarly, are strongly represented in textbooks and anthologies. However, American scholarship in Korean music is still in its infancy. In the world music canon, if Korea is mentioned at all, it is as a "cultural bridge" between China and Japan. In an attempt to rectify exclusion or misrepresentation, to encourage scholarship, and to increase awareness of and appreciation for Korean culture, the Korean Performing Arts Institute, a summer program for visiting Western scholars, was initiated in the summer of 1993. In its inaugural year, nine American performers and academics spent six weeks at the Korean Traditional Performing Arts Center of the National Classical Music Institute in Seoul, studying intensively under its distinguished faculty and visiting experts. The curriculum was divided between theo-

retical and performative components. Lectures were presented in Korean music history, theory, and aesthetics. Participants attended group classes in courtly and folk percussion and vocal repertoires; and 6 hours of private lessons per week on a variety of traditional instruments. Now in its second year, the institute has expanded its offerings to include a dance program and is attended by twenty-two participants. Following my participation in the introductory intensive program during the summer of 1993, I was able successfully to incorporate Korean traditional music into my World Music syllabus at North Carolina State University, and I found this musical culture made a rich and unique addition to the curriculum. Music has historically played and continues to play a vital role in Korean society and provides a rich vein of material both as a dynamic musical culture and as a case study for examining general questions about the nature of music in its sO: cia! context. Korean music has a well-documented history that spans millennia. It is a history that reflects an active engagement with surrounding cultr~s as well as indigenous creativity and innovation. The traditional classification of genres reflects an ordered society, each stratum of which-court, gentry, monastic, and folk-enjoyed distinctive musical forms and expressions. Korea is heir to one of the world's oldest repertoires of notated music. Within the royal court of the Choson Dynasty, music was carefully preserved by members of the Royal Music Academy (Chang-akwon) as sonic icon of the pure Confucian ethic which governed the lives of the aristocracy. The landed gentry, the literati, cultivated refmed traditions of sung poetry (shijo and kagok) as well as painting, calligraphy, and the playing of stringed instruments-the kayagilm and komun-gO. During the past several hundred years, virtuosic instrumental genres based upon the music of shaman rituals and agricultural ceremonies, sanjo and shinawi, developed into

highly sophisticated art forms, as have folk song (minyo) and dramatic narrative (p'anson). In 1978 samul nori, a form of chamber music for four percussion instruments based upon ancient farmer's band (nong-ak) rhythmic patterns was introduced and has since enjoyed a worldwide following. Korean traditional instruments have ancestral roots in China, Mongolia and the Near East, reflecting a commodious ancient world where ideas and artifacts traveled widely across the Asian continent. Each instrument has been remade according to a distinctively Korean aesthetic to produce the characteristic sounds and nuances. During the summer of 1993 and again during the intermediate session in 1994, I studied the haegum (2string bowed fiddle) with Byun Jong-hyuk, one of Korea's leading virtuosi of the instrument, and acquired sufficient competence to demonstrate to my class rudimentary playing techniques. As a cellist, I was able to contrast such sonic attributes as vibrato, intonation, and phrasing cross-culturally , demonstrating how each instrument is suited for the particular aesthetic preferences of its place of origin. The resurgence of interest in traditional music in Korea following three-quarters of a century of cultural devastation through colonialization, war and rapid industrialization is nothing short of miraculous; the study of this renewed interest provides a revealing history in itself. During the Japanese occupation from 1910 to 1945, traditional Korean music was actively suppressed because it represented the nationalistic aspirations of the colonized. Between the years 1911 and 1917, membership in the Chang-akwon dropped from 270 to 57. By

the end of World War II, only sixteen members had survived. From this decimated condition, the traditional performing arts of Korea have undergone a renaissance. In 1951, the Korean government founded the National Classical Music Institute, absorbing the Chang-akwon into a government-funded agency. During the 1960s, the living Cultural Treasures and Intangible Cultural Assets pro-

grams were initiated to preserve the cultural heritage. Educational programs now encourage the teaching of Korean music along with Western music to grade school children. In fact, the Korean Performing Arts Institute itself is a milestone in Korean music history. It is one of the largest cultural exchange programs of its kind in Asia and is a model for the promotion of East-West dialogue and artistic and

scholarly exchange. In world music courses, the modes of inquiry into music traditions are varied. Instruments, genres, aesthetic ideals and theoretical principles of the music in question are examined, as well as historical perspectives and social contexts. The students explore the ways in which music contributes to the development of national and ethnic identity, how it mirrors culturally-held beliefs, norms and values, and at the same time operates to both sustain and destabilize social roles and institutions. Traditional "pure" musical expressions as well as contemporary adaptations to the internationalized contemporary world are examined. This mode of inquiry provides students with insights into the nature of culture and the ways in which art forms and traditions develop, change and adapt to ever-changing circumstances; and how they serve to enhance life and express deeplyheld collective ideals. Students are asked to question their own assumptions of what is meaningful, beautiful, valuable and true; and to broaden their perspectives to be more inclusive, more expansive, more tolerant of difference and more aware of the world around them. Korean music offers American students Jonathan C. Krruner a fascinating window onto a venerable, rich, beautiful culture on the other side of their world, and lends itself to many interesting approaches and perspectives, such as those suggested above. The Korean Traditional Performing Arts Center is providing an invaluable service by making it possible for this important and unique musical culture to fmd its place in the emerging canon, thus making this treasure trove available to the West. + 33

own music and culture. This summer's program coinddes with the 1994 designation of the Year of Korean Traditional Music. The KIPAC should be applauded for the success of its program through excellent Chae Hyun-kyung teaching and careful planning. Unfortunately, Instructor of Music however, its success has been constantly eroded University of Michigan by the narrow-minded and immature attitude of the Korean media that approach the program After so many years, it is finally acceptable for mances of diverse traditional music genres perwith preconceived headlines such as 'The Blueme to come back to Korea to study Korean tradiformed by renowned performers, including Naeyed 'Korean' Traditional Musidans." After all, tional music. My musical training was, as with tional Cultural Treasures. On the second floor of the KIPAC has invited Korean students from the many other music students in Korea, geared tothe KIPAC, where the practice rooms are locatUnited States along with foreigners, and the ward European art music. In fact, I grew up ed, one constantly hears the joyful noise of teachers at the center are equally enthusiastic with prejudice against Korean traditional music changgo (hourglass drum) and piri (double-reed about teaching Koreans as well as foreign stuand performers. The decade I spent in America oboe) and singing. dents. Why then is it considered newsworthy for involved only the study and teaching of Western The introductory program has exceeded my Americans to study Korean traditional music, but music hist01y and theory, historical musicology, expectations. The strength of the six-week innot for Koreans? and organ performance. tensive training, first of all, lies in the approach of Korean traditional arts are a source of pride, a The responsibility for understanding Korean combining theory and practice: group and prirepository of our national history and heritage. music as a Korean had never occurred to me unvate lessons on instruments and singing along We must therefore also tum the camera lens intil Prof. John Ward, who was teaching a graduate with lectures on historical and theoretical aspects ward, so to speak, toward ourselves and our course in musicology at Harvard University, of different types of court, folk, and religious muown vigorous efforts to re-claim the greatness of asked me a poignant question-why study sic. The daily interaction among the partidpants, our past achievements, and to build a future upsomeone else's music while having only limited who share a common passion for Korean music, on the foundation they provide. Pride must knowledge of my own music? His words inprovides a most exdting learning environment. come not from seeing ourselves through the spired me to look at my own culture from a new This environment in which twenty-two graduate eyes of entranced visitors. Pride must come perspective. While searching for my own identistudents and professional ethnomusicologists, from within--pride in our artists, teachers and ty in a foreign land, my interest in my own culcomposers, performers, and dancers/ choreograstudents who have labored so many years withture and music has grown. I have gradually phers spend six weeks absotbed in Korean muout recognition to preserve our traditional art gained a great sense of pride in studying Korean sic and culture is unprecedented. The interacforms. The prejudices I grew up with, which inmusic and have dedded to devote my profestion with other partidpants constantly challenges stilled in me a disdain for my own heritage, must sional life to this study. Ironically, I owe the me to think about the music end. courage to return to my own culture to my menand culture of my native land. Very soon I will return to tor at the University of Michigan, Judith Becker. The most rewarding part the United States to teach She showed me how to give myself the freedom has been the hours spent with about Korean music, though to berne. the masters. Despite the lan10 years ago I went there to Unlike studies on the music of Japan and guage and cultural differences, learn about Western music. China which have been undertaken in Western the masters' willingness to This journey alone shows how sodeties for many years, there have not been t:ratlsmit their knowledge and much can change in a decade. many publications on Korean music produced in the partidpants' sincere desire As different cultural studies dethe world community of ethnomusicology. It is to learn create the most idealisvelop in America, there will be time to encourage the understanding of Korean tic and wonderful learning exa greater demand for profesmusic in the world. In America, there is increasperiences: there is so much re- ~ sors and masters of Korean ing emphasis on multicultural education. Korespect and caring developed in Âˇ arts. Whether these professors an literature, economics and music are beginning and out of the classroom. @, and masters are Korean or not to be taught in major universities. From the dignified yet humble is not the audal criteria. But I came to Korea this summer to partidpate in conduct of our teachers, we surely, the fostering of others' Chae Hyun-kyung the introductory music program at the Korean learn something beyond siminterest in our culture cannot Traditional Performing Arts Center (KIPAC) with ply the technique of playing or come before the education singing Korean traditional mu- Why is it newsworthy and development of our chiltwo specific missions in mind: to prepare for a course in Korean music I will be teaching at the sic. The participants, mostly dren, our artists. We as a KoUniversity of Michigan this fall and, more imporAmericans, get a rare glimpse for an American to rean people must prepare our tantly, to meet Korean music spedalists to learn of the true nature and ethos of own people--whether they be more about the current state of Korean music Korean music and culture. study Korean tradiKoreans living in Korea, Korestudies. Their engaging presence, an Americans or Korean RusThe variety of programs, wonderful perforwarm personality and serious sians--to nurture and develop mances, and educational opportunities offered interest in Korean arts have tiona] music, but not our cultural legacy if we are to by the center is impressive. Espedally noteworbeen a spedal occasion for me invite others to share its richthy have been the weekly Saturday perforto feel enormous pride in my for Koreans? ness. +

Why Study Someone Else's Music?

Â·

ONTHEROAD

CARRYING ON1HE PANSORI 1RADIDON Kim.Joo-young Novelist

In the Chason era, p 'ansori singers had to be able to express the anguish of the lower classes and at the same time be sure they didn 't offend the sensibilities of the ruling elite. 35

very Korean knows that Namwon, in Ch6llabuk-<io Province, is the home of p'ansori, a vibrant "mono-opera" performed to the beat of a drum. The area has produced some of Korea's fmest p'ansori performers, myongch'ang like Song Hung-nok, a renowned master from the early eighteenth century, his grandson, Song Man-gap, and Yi Hwajungson, a female singer during the Japanese colonial period 0910-1945). It is also the backdrop for The Tale of Ch'unhyang, a heartbreaking story of chastity and marital fidelity. At the center of town, we fmd the historic Kwanghallu, the pavilion where Ch'unhyang, a young woman struggling against the unwelcome attentions of a powerful magistrate, and her beloved met. Directly to the east of Kwanghallu stands Ch'unhyangsa, a shrine erected in 1931 to honor the spirit of Ch'unhyang. On the first day of April, what is believed to be Ch'unhyang's birthday, the Ch'unhyang Festival attracts thousands of p'ansori aficionados to the shrine to listen to and participate in singing contests, including the Miss Ch'unhyang Pageant, which selects a young singer to represent the spirit of Ch'unhyang. P'ansori can be performed anywhere; it

Shin Che-hyo's childhood hon1e in Koch'ang, thep'ansoriniecca;

local perfonners; tb.e Tongni Institute of Traditional Music; and a Hientorial to Shin Che-hyo

(counterclockwise froHI top).

What makes p 'ansori truly remarkable is one singer portrays the full range of emotions with nothing more than a skilled pair of lungs and a fan.

doesn't require an elaborate stage. Traditionally, p'ansori singers travelled around the country performing where and when they could. Their stage could be an empty lot in a seaside village during fishing season, a country market around harvest time, the home of a wealthy scholar-official celebrating his son's success on the prestigious civil service examination. Sometimes they were even invited to perform before the king. Since their audiences were so varied, the p'ansori performers were prepared for any occasion. They had to be able to express the anguish and grievances of the lower classes and at the same time be sure they didn't offend the sensibilities of the ruling elite. They could do this because they were uniquely skilled performers who could express a variety of emotions. In the old days many p'ansori singers were born to a life of entertaining. They were often kisaeng, female entertainers, similar to the Japanese geisha. In 1921, the Kwonbon, a kisaeng organization which operated duripg the Japanese colonial period, established a school inside the Kwanghallu in Namwon. There, kisaeng were taught kayagilm (long 12-string zither), p'ansori, tanso (small vertical bamboo flute), and other traditional musical skills. The school was soon driven from Kwanghallu by the Japanese colonial police, and a new school was set up in a private home. In 1977, the traditional music institute now operating across the street Âˇ from Kwanghallu was founded.

..........~=-"'.

~ ...... ~

Rigorous Training The word p'ansori literally means "vocal music (son) performed at a place where people are enjoying themselves (p'an)." It is called sari because in it, music and literature are fused in a single performing genre. That is to say, p'ansori combines music and drama. P'ansori is also known as ch'ang-ak (literally "vocal music"), kiikka ("dramatic song") or ch'anggi'ik. ("dramatic vocal music") in Chinese characters. P'ansori is performed to the beat of a single drum which sets the rhythm of the piece. The singer and drummer work in tandem, the drummer setting the tone--sometimes solemn, sometimes cheerful, sometimes playful. This changing rhythm reflects the development of the narrative and gives p'ansori a variety rarely found in other traditional vocal music. P'ansori's unique sound is borne of a long

and rigorous training process. The performer, 37

traditionally known as a kwangdae, the term used for itinerant entertainers who wore masks as they performed, studies under a teacher, painstakingly imitating each passage, then spends years practicing. It is not uncommon for a dedicated singer to practice for days beneath a thundering waterfall, for it is by developing a voice that projects clearly through any audience that one becomes a true virtuoso. Unlike simple folk songs or shijo, which almost anyone can perform with a little practice, p'ansori requires extended and sophisticated training. P'ansori plots are generally tragic. The Tale of Hilngbu tells the story of the impoverished Hungbu, plagued by a rich but greedy older brother. The Tale of Ch'unhyang, based on a theme of marital fidelity and female chastity, portrays the trials and tribulations of Ch'unhyang, daughter of a lowly female entertainer, who struggles to protect her virtue from a lecherous government official. The Tale of Shimch'6ng depicts the tearful story of Shirnch'ong, a filial daughter who sacrifices herself to the Dragon King of the Sea so her blind father can see again. A broad variety of characters and situations are portrayed in each narrative, but audiences can be sure that good will always battle evil and beauty will always be tormented by a hideous foe. What makes p'ansori truly remarkable is one singer portrays all these emotions with nothing more than a skilled pair of lungs and a fan. This is the challenge and the joy of p'ansori. A single singer must portray distinct characters, as well as a rich narrative, through careful vocal modulation and a skilled command of rhythms. At one moment, the singer may be a sprightly fairy, the next a horrible goblin. At times, the singer must exude the stem majesty of the Dragon King, and moments later the desperation of a filial daughter stumbling toward her death. Voice, Drum and Fan The fan is a versatile tool. When folded, it is a sword, a walking staff, even a person. Open it and it symbolizes the power and prestige of the ruling yangban, the bashfulness or chastity of a young woman. Here lies the charm of p'ansori--the ultimate in minimalist drama-epic tales told with a fan, a voice and a drum. When the beat of the drum slows, the audience senses the sorrow of the story; when it speeds up, they are drawn into the excitement of the tale. Each rhythm has its own name 38

-chinyang, chungmori, chungjungmori, chajinmori, hwimori-and is used to weave an intricate fabric of human pain, forgiveness and reconciliation. While these tales can be tragic, they are also full of boisterous humor and nearly always have a happy ending. In this way, p'ansori provides us the wisdom to overcome life's tragedies, to persevere in the face of its challenges, and always with a smile. In The Tale of Hiingbu, Hungbu responds to his brother's avarice and maltreatment with seemingly defenseless kindness, but in the end he becomes far richer than his brother ever was. In The Tale of Ch'unhyang, the stoic Ch'unhyang endures the lascivious advances of the despicable local magistrate, Pyon Hak-do, to be rescued by her dashing lover. In The Tale of Shimch'6ng, Shimch'ong's filial piety wins over the gods, while the secondary characters spar for laughs. These tales are so long and involved, they are generally performed in parts. That is, a singer will perform only a scene or two. P'ansori is constructed in such a manner that the story can be divided and the parts performed separately. Often, a singer will specialize in a particular scene, for example, the scene when Shimch'ong throws herself into the sea or when Ch'unhyang goes to jail for refusing Pyon Hak-do's advances. On the other hand, a few determined performers like Pak Tong-jin have been known to perform the full 5-hour Tale of Hilngbo or 8 hour Tale ofCh'unhyangwithout stopping to rest. Shin Che-hyo: A Pioneer P'ansori is a form of popular literature dating back to the latter part of the Choson period. According to Prof. Cho Tong-il (Seoul National University, Korean Language and Literature), "the central ideology behind p'ansori is the condemnation of the inconsistencies in the rigid conceptual outlook of the ruling yangban elite and the inequalities of the existing society through the expression of the experiences of the common people. Nevertheless, p'ansori was enjoyed by all levels of society, from the king down to the lowliest vagabond. This popularity suggests the breadth of p'ansori's social base, and at the same time reveals a fluidity aimed at overcoming Chos6n's rigid social structure." Scholars generally agree that p'ansori developed in the early eighteenth century, although there are no detailed records of its evolution.

Any discussion of its history would be incomplete without mentioning Shin Che-hyo (18121884), p'ansori's foremost patron. Shin was born to a well-known and relatively affluent family in Koch'ang, Chollabuk-do. Shin served as a low-ranking official in his home county until the age of forty when he gathered a group of p'ansori devotees and began the long, painstaking process of compiling the lyrics and scores of the extant p'ansori works. Shin made a crucial contribution to the systematic arrangement and transformation of a previously chaotic genre into an advanced musical form enjoyed by the highest levels of Chos6n society. As a member of a mid-level class--neither a yangban nor a man of humble origins-Shin was acutely aware of the contradictions and conflicts of his society. Indeed, he had experienced both the demands of the common man and the avarice of the ruling elite in his work, and we can fmd hints of his own concerns in the scores he compiled; on the one han~ , in a compassion for the lower classes, and on the other, in his portrayal of man's determination to improve his own social status. P'ansori owes its continued popularity to Shin Che-hyo's careful compilation. Before Shin embarked on this project, there had been no effort to study or understand the lyrics of the various p'ansori pieces, not even among the singers themselves. Shin realized this, as well as the importance of maintaining consistency in lyrical content. He edited out discrepancies in content and form and replaced extremely crude expressions that might offend audiences with more elegant language. Shin's well-written lyrics fortified the oral p'ansori tradition and have become famous for their burlesque flavor and realistic portrayals of life in Chos6n society. Shin's childhood home still stands beside the entrance of Moyangsong Fortress in Koch'ang. Every October the Koch'ang Cultural Institute hosts the Moyangsong Festival, featuring a p'ansori contest in which Korea's fmest singers participate, but the rest of the year Shin's home is quiet, the grove of trees behind the house, apparently planted during Shin's time, whispering softly in the wind. The Tongni Institute of Traditional Music, built in 1990 to carry on the rich tradition Shin did so much to promote, is located next to his house. This school and the one established in Namwon in 1977 form the hub for the transrnis-

sion and preservation of Tongp 'y6nje, the "Eastern" school of p'ansori. Two Stylistic Schools

Lineage is extremely important in p'ansori. Technique has always been handed down from singer to singer, and over time, distinct styles have developed, as is apparent in the broad schools ofTongp'yonje and S6p'y6nje, the 'Western" school. At frrst, these stylistic schools developed within a single region, but as time passed, a system of actual lineages developed. Thus, p'ansori originating in Unbong, Kurye, Sunch'ang, Namwon and other areas of eastern Cholla-do are generally included in the Tongp'yonje school, while that from Kwangju, Naju, Pos6ng and other counties along the southern coast are called S6p'y6nje. Tongp'yonje, which originated in the eastern Ch6lla-do region and later spread to the Ch6ng6p and Koch'ang areas, is known for its free and open style. It often starts in a reserved and dignified manner and ends quite abruptly, while S6p'y6nje, which developed in the westem Ch6lla-do region and later spread south to Pos6ng on the southern coast, is very elaborate, usually starting out softly and ending in a linger-

ingmannef. Some say these two musical styles may be related to the geographical characteristics of each region. Eastern Cholla-do is famous for its rough terrain and towering mountains, while western

Sop'yonje, which

developed in the western Ch61la-do region, is ve.ry elaborate, usually starting out softly and ending in a lingering manner.

Cholla-do is relatively flat. P'ansori performers learn their music from nature, so there may be some truth to this theory. It's not easy "acquiring" a voice. (One of the many intriguing terms used among p'ansori per-

formers is tiiks6ng, literally the "acquisition of voice.") It can take 10 or 20 years for a singer to cultivate their vocal cords and learn all the lyrics to the various pieces. As mentioned above, singers often sing for hours beneath waterfalls, inside caves, on ocean beaches. At frrst, nature swallows the voice, but the singer persists, and after days, months, even years of practice, they conquer nature's voice with their own. The next order of business is developing their range so they can move freely between the bass notes and the soprano. It is not uncommon for a singer to go hoarse from all this practice. This is a sign that they are approaching their goal. Only by pushing their vocal chords to the limit, by challenging the forces of nature, can they fmally achieve the resonant sound unique to p'ansori. Indeed, it is in this challenge and reconciliation with nature that a singer learns to express the fury of a billowing wind, the melancholy of a sunset, the brightness of a spring day, the darkness of the sea at. night. Nature's unparalleled diversity gathers in the voice, and the lessons in patience and pain are over. The singer is fmally ready to stand before an audience. +

Kwanghallu, the Naznwon pavilion where Ch'unhyang met her lover

SEOUL 600

Seoul and the Development of Mercantilism Chong Sung-mo Researcher, National Folk Museum Seoul has been a commercial hub since its establishment as the capital of the Choson Kingdom (13921910). In keeping with the ancient Oriental city construction prescription of "the court ftrst, the market second," the Choson administrators set up the administrative offices first and permanent marketplaces next when they developed Seoul into their new capital in the late fourteenth century. The population of Seoul increased radically following its designation as capital of Choson and, prior to the government's installation of public shops, street markets sprouted spontaneously across the city. Gradually, they became well-established and specialized in different commodities. One such market in Changt'ongbang, today's Kwanch'ol-dongChanggyo area, grew into a large commercial district.

licensed Stores A licensed market (shij6n) was set up in Seoul in 1399. The government built the shijon, which covered an area of about 800 kan (a traditional unit of measure referring to the space between two columns), on both sides of the thoroughfare from Hyejonggyo Bridge, which stood near today's Kwanghwamun Post Office, to near Ch'angdokkung Palace, and leased its 40

The 1910 records of a Seoul n1ercha.nt (above) and a ChosiJn era cash box (below)

stalls to merchants. Licensed shops were granted the monopolistic privilege of dealing in designated items. In exchange, they paid a tax in the form of delivery on demand of items required by the government. Taxes were levied on shops based on their proftts: The larger the proftt, the greater the tax. Some shops were exempt from taxation. From the reign of King Sonjo (1567-1608), the six largest tax-payers began to be called the "six licensed stores" (yugiiij6n). In return for paying high taxes, they enjoyed greater privileges and benefttS. Some licensed stores, such as purveyors of silk and cotton cloth, came to equip themselves with production facilities. This combining of manufacturing and selling that emerged in the eighteenth century sprouted capitalism. The Six Licensed Stores had a guild called tojung. The head of the guild came from among the owners of the member stores and had a number of administrative officers under him. The guild had quaint initiation rites which included painting the face of a new member black and tying his hat with a straw rope. This did not happen often, however, because the guild rarely accepted new members-membership being inherited instead of granted. Persons over age fifty were not accepted no matter how much they offered in the way of membership fees, and candidates under twenty-four required the unanimous agreement of the general assembly. Foreigners who visited Korea toward the end of the Choson period noted some interesting customs of the shijon merchants. The merchants worshiped Kuan Yu, a famous Chinese warrior, as the god of wealth and, every tenth lunar month, held a memorial rite at a shrine dedicated to him, which stood near Poshin-gak Bell Tower at Chongno. The earth at the intersection of Chongno, being much trodden by people with money, was considered propitious and, on the eve of the First Full Moon, townspeople dug it up from all four comers of the intersection and scattered it over their houses, all the time praying for good fortune in the coming year. Private Commerce

Private commercial activities in cities were carried out by vendors doing small-scale sales at ftxed locations and undertaking transactions

at marketplaces for a few hours in the morning or in the afternoon. Street vendors did not have stores; they displayed their goods under the eaves or gateways of houses. In Seoul, merchants gathered at established marketplaces every morning and evening to purchase and sell goods. Around the fifteenth century, cabbages and radishes were farmed extensively in the Wangshimni area outside the East Gate (Tongdaemun) and near the Ch'6ngp'a and Nowon stations. After the Japanese (Hideyoshi) invasions of 1592-1598, marketing was summed up by an often quoted phrase, ''Tongbu ch 'ae, Ch'ilp'ae 6" (Vegetables in the east, fish in Ch'ilp'ae), meaning there was an abundant supply of vegetables in the eastern part of Seoul around Naksan and Y6n-g6n-dong and an abundant supply of fish in the western part around Pongnae-dong. It can be inferred from the saying that unlicensed merchants also did business inside the city. Having no official sanction, these nanjon were subject to government restriction. The eighteenth century saw the emergence and growth of private merchants and their nanj6n. With the development of currency as a medium of exchange, private commercialism grew rapidly and threatened to overtake the government-patronized shij6n system. When the law against nanj6n, which had guaranteed the shij6n's monopoly by banning private merchants from encroaching on their privileges, was fmally abolished near the end of the eighteenth century, the shij6n lost many of the privileges they had long enjoyed. 1n 1791, upon the advice of his prime minister Ch'ae Chae-gong, King Ch6ngjo (r. 17761800) officially revoked the privileges of the shij6n merchants. The new enactment, called "commercial equalization," allowed nanj6n merchants to conduct business for which they had to pay a business tax. The enactment, however, required the nanj6n to pay their taxes to the shij6n instead of directly to the government, thereby protecting somewhat the vested rights of the shij6n and guaranteeing the privileges of the Six Licensed Stores. Songp'a Market These changes in Seoul's market system were initiated in the outer periphery of the capital. Songp'a and Samj6ndo, southeast of Seoul across the Han-gang River, were the major gate-

A banner used in ritÂŁs held by lfabr1c dealen>

in Seoul (above); Imch'ip'yo, used by

merchants as receipts for money or goods (above right); and Songp'a sandae

nori, a mask dance performed at the Songp'a market(below).

ways to the capital for produce both from the northeast region including Kangwon-do Province and the southern region including the Ch'ungch'6ng-do, Ch6lla-do and Ky6ngsang-do provinces. The Songp'a Market, centered around the Songp'ajin Ferry, grew into the most prosperous nanj6n market around Seoul. Songp'a was the starting point of a waterway to Kangwon-do and also a terminal for peddlers who carried their goods on horseback. Merchants and peddlers from across the nation converged on Songp'a. Originally a village that existed by supplying tobacco and firewood to Seoul, Songp'a became a major satellite town of the capital with an increasing number of its residents making their livelihood from market-related work. The famous mask dance called Songp'a sandae nori was a by-product of the prosperous Songp'a market. To activate their market, merchants organized a large festival that lasted a week to ten days starting on the Seventh Full Moon and invited famous actors and performers across the nation to stage exuberant mask dance performances. Whenever business was slack, the merchants would put together a fund to sponsor mask dance performances to invigo-

The famous mask dance called Songp'a sandae nori was a by-product of the prosperous Songp'a market. 41

rate their business. In its time, Songp'a had more than 270 wholesale merchants called kaekchu (market brokers) who made it their permanent base of operations. The kaekchu houses would burst at the seams on market day with horseback and sailing traders from all over the country. Even though the market opened officially on every fifth day, Songp'a was virtually a permanent marketplace teeming with people loading and unloading cargo before and after the market day. Records show that the government disapproved of Songp'a stores which "stockpile goods in the village and do business every day even though they claim they open only six days a month." Officials complained that "vile people from Seoul ganged up with Songp'a vagrants to hoard merchandise and manipulate the market. They coerce merchants from the country and manipulate the market at will." Numerous complaints were registered with the government about the Songp'a gangs. Rice, charcoal, tobacco, cattle, vegetables and various other products from the countryside all had to cross the river via the Songp'a Ferry to reach Seoul and were susceptible to manipulation by the Songp'a merchants.

Cattle Markets There was no cattle market in the capital. Cattle were purchased at Uijongbu, P'aju, Tokso, Songp'a and other nearby towns and brought to Seoul to be slaughtered. Because these towns opened their markets on different days, Seoul could get cattle daily. Cattle markets prospered so much that one kaekchu in P'aju had a cattle shed capable of holding 300 head. When the subuman cattle markets began to dwincl1e in modem times, the one in the already waning Songp'a market was the ftrst to go. It was virtually swept away, together with some 270 houses, by a flood in 1925. After the flood, the kaekchu moved their base of operations from Songp'a to Sung-in-dong near Tongdaemun, which was the beginning of Seoul's Majang-dong livestock market. YOgak and Riverside Markets The part of the Han-gang River that skirted the southern part of the capital from the Kwangjin Ferry to the Yanghwado Crossing 42

was called Kyonggang, meaning "the capital's river." Because many of the supplies needed by the government and the daily necessities of the citizenry was transported to Seoul by boat, commercial bases prospered around the shipping villages along the Kyonggang shores. At the center of the commercial activities along the Kyonggang were wholesale merchants called yogak (trade brokers), whose trade volume was bigger than that of kaekchu. Yogak provided all kinds of services to itinerant peddlers, including inn keeping in addition to the kaekchu's primary function of wholesaling and warehousing. They handled consignment sales of timber and firewood transported on boats and rafts from the upper reaches of the river and provided daily necessities to their regular upper-class customers in the capital. Commodities handled by yogak were quite specialized. In the Map'o area, they dealt in salt and fish, in the Sogang-Yongsan area, grain, and in the Ttuksom area, timber. In Taehungdong and Yomni-dong near Map'o were large salt storehouses, and a whole village, Tongmak,

Wooden shoe vendors (above), and a painting ofSongp'a rendered by the 18th century' painter

ChOng SOn (below). Firewood

dealers brought their Joads to market by OX and donkey(right).

was engaged in producing pottery to store salted ftsh. That is why many people still remember Map'o as the base of saeuj6t (salted shrimp) dealers.

Japanese Rule and After The shijon system and its Six Licensed Stores disappeared with the fall of the Choson Kingdom, and private stores flourished in their place. Marketplaces also suffered changes under Japanese colonial rule (1910-1945). The Japanese enforced a new marketing law in 1914 to control the commercial rights of all markets in Seoul, but Namdaemun Market, then called Narnmunan-jang or Shinch'ang-an-jang, and Tongdaemun Market, called Paeogae-jang, were left in the control of Korean merchants. Tongdaemun Market was also called Kwangjang Market because the Korean merchants registered it in the name of the Kwangjang Company, Ltd. The March First Independence .Movement in 1919 forced Japan to adopt what was called "an enlightened administration" to assuage the

Korean people's resistance to colonial rule. One change of policy concerning Korean commerce was the 1920 abolition of the Korean Company Law which the Japanese had enforced to prevent the development of Korean native capital by regulating all business companies. With the abolition of the law, Korean merchants were able to build up enough capital to open large stores. Department stores such as Kim Yun-pae's Kim Yun Paekhwaj6m, Yu Chae-s6n's Kyerim Sanghoe, Yi Min-iii's Kory6 Yanghaeng, and Ch'oe Nam's Tong-a Puin Sanghoe opened one after another along Chongno Street. Koreans also opened the Kiimgang Sanghoe and Hwayang Chaphwaj6m stores on Namdaemun Street. With the increase of Korean stores, Seoul's commercial communities became roughly divided into the Japanese-dominated "Namch'on" (Southern Viliage) are~ that stretched from Chin-gogae (today's Ch'ungmuro) to Namdaemun and the Korean-dominated ''?ukch'on" (Northern Village) area that

stretched from Kwanghwamun to Tongdaemun. However, under the heavy hand of the colonial regime, Korean merchants with little capital could not compete with the Japanese. Their business suffered with the emergence in the 1930s of large modem Japanese department stores such as Mitsukoshi, Minakai and Jojiya. In the meantime, changes in transpOrtation brought on by the construction of railroad lines between Seoul and Inch'6n and Seoul and Pusan around 1900 and subsequent changes in commercial routes dealt a fatal blow to the Songp'a Market. Commercial areas became widely dispersed as stores opened across the capital and peddlers from the countryside took their goods directly to the streets of Seoul without stopping for consignment at Songp'a. .The fmal blow came in the form of the great flood in 1925. In 1927, the merchants of Songp'a collected money and waged a massive campaign to revive their market. They invited sandae nori performers and organized ssiriim (Korean na-

tive wrestling) matches to attract peddlers and buyers, but their attempts were futile, for by that time the livestock market had already moved, and another big market had opened in nearby Ch'onho-dong. In 1931, Ch'oe Nam of the Tong-a Puin Sanghoe opened a large department store named Tong-a Paekhwaj6m in a modem fourstory building he rented on Chongno, at the center of the Pukch'on area dominated by Korean merchants. The store could not compete with the Japanese stores, however, and, after it was destroyed in a ftre in 1937, was transferred to Pak Hung-shik, who had already absorbed the Hwashin Sangh 'e from Shin Taehwa, the biggest Korean merchant in the Pukch'on area. Pak built Korea's largest department store on the site and named it Hwashin Paekhwaj6m. After Korea was liberated from Japan in 1945, the Chayu Shijang, a market selling black market goods from U.S. military bases and relief agencies, prospered at a comer nf Namdaemun Market. It has now become a live ftsh center. Kurigae, today's Ulchiro intersection, became famous as a heibal medicine market. It was a natural development because, during the Chos6n period, the Office of Medicine and a public dispensary were located in the area. Private vendors who brought medicinal herbs from the countryside all came to Kurigae to sell their goods. With the massive inflow of people from rural areas since the 1960s, numerous markets have sprouted across Seoul. The increase of markets resulted from both geographical expansion and the readjustment of housing areas necessitated by the population increase. Existing markets, such as the Tongdaemun and Namdaemun markets, expanded greatly, but the new and highly prosperous mammoth markets, such as Kuro Market in the west, Nams6ng Market in the south and Ch'6nho Market in the east, best reflect Seoul's growth in size and population. These markets seem to be short lived, however, for they are already being pushed out by modem distribution systems spearheaded by big department stores. The future of traditional marketplaces is even more questionable in light of the impending opening of Korea's market to global competition. +

SEOUL 600

Gates, Posts and Beams Signs of Class and Changing Times Joo Nam-chull Professor, Architecture Korea University In the tenth lunar month of 1394, King T'aejo, the founder of the Chason Kingdom (1392-1910), moved his capital from Kaesong to what is now Seoul. This of course entailed the construction of many houses which was actively undertaken in styles complying with the urban planning of the capital. It is quite probable that there was considerable housing well before Seoul became the Choson capital, because it was already a city, known as Namgyong, during the Koryo period (918-1392). In fact, the city's history can be traced back to the Paekche Kingdom (18 B.C.-A.D. 660), which was founded in its environs. Nevertheless, there are only a few traditional houses extant in Seoul, and they were built in the 1800s during the late Choson period.

The strict social class system, which dictated eveJY phase of

Classes of Housing The strict social class system, which dictated every phase of Chason life, had a great influence on residential construction. Houses were generally divided into three classes: upper-class houses for the so-called yangban who were qualified by birth to apply for government service; middle-class houses for lower echelon officials, such as medical doctors, astronomers, translators and minor government employees; and regular houses for the general populace. In addition, there were huts for servants who lived outside their yangban master's residence, though most servants lived within the walls of their master's compound. 44

Chos6n life, had a great influence on residential construction.

At the time the capital was relocated to Seoul from Kaesong, the government distributed housing plots according to social class. A 1396 entry in the Annals of King T'aejo notes that housing plots of 4,504 square meters were given to Grade 1 officials; 3,861 square meters to Grade 2; 3,217 square meters to Grade 3; 2,574 square meters to Grade 4; 1,930 square meters to Grade 5; 1,287 square meters to Grade 6; 1,030 square meters to Grade 7; 772 square meters to Grade 8; 515 square meters to Grade 9; and 257 square meters to commoners. King Sejong specified house sizes for each class in 1431. A prince was allowed 60 kan; a prince by a royal concubine, and a princess, 50 kan; a princess by a royal concubine, other royal family members and Grade 2 officials and above, 40 kan; officials of Grade 3 or less, 30 kap; and commoners, 10 kan. (A kan is a traditional measure of length, approximately 1.8 meters.) However, a kan being a unit of measure that referred to both the length between two columns and the square space within four columns, the size limit had little meaning because it could be easily enlarged by spacing columns wider apart. The size specification was thus amended in 1440 to include the length of columns, girders and beams. With time, however, the powerful uppercrust families built larger houses, going far beyond the 60-kan limit and resulting in a general escalation in house size. The government eventually upped the limit for private houses to 99 kan, allowing only palaces and public buildings to be larger. The 99-kan limit became so popular that people came to describe

a very large private house as a 99-kan house even if it wasn't. Other architectural restrictions were enjoined at the time the size limit was imposed. For example, the use of decorative eaves bracketing, tanch'ong coloring, and dressed stones, except for post stones, was prohibited for houses of princes down to the lowest commoner. Bracketing, though less ornate than in public structures, was not uncommon in the countryside where government supervision was not so vigilant, but all the ancient houses extant in Seoul are of a square beam style without bracket clusters. The restriction on the use of tanch'ong was strictly observed. Being a Confucian society, families held memorial rites to four generations of ancestors as prescribed in the Family Rites of Chu Xi (Chuja karye). This necessitated an ancestral shrine within the compound of the residence of the head of the clan. Geomantic theories that prevailed during the Koryo period and the yin-yang and Five Elements theories greatly influenced the selection of housing sites, construction planning and building layout during the Choson peri-

od. A house site was chosen carefully to fit the geornantic prescription for an auspicious location, and the layout of the house-from the main living room to the kitchen, gate and even the lavatory -Was planned in a way to best guarantee harmony with the Five Elements, which were represented by the cardinal points. The layout of buildings was often in the shape of auspicious Chinese characters; for example, the characters D (entrance), B (sun), Jl (moon), and ffl (use). Characters such as F (corpse) or I (to fabricate) were never adopted, the former for obvious reasons and the latter because it might involve, as the letter implies, a repetition of making, breaking and remaking.

Yon-gyongdang One of the fmest and most intact Chosonperiod houses is Y6n-gy6ngdang in the back garden of Ch'angdokkung Palace. It is representative of upper-class houses of the 1800s, having been built in 1828 at the request of the crown prince who wanted to become better acquainted with the lifestyle of the yangban.

Y6n-gy6ngdang comes into view when one rounds the Aery6nj6ng Pavilion and Aeryonji Pond. Its haengnangch'ae, or servants quarters, which forms its front wall, is the fli'St part of the house to come into view. A stream, with a stone bridge across it, flows in front of the house. There is a square pond at the side of the house. An upper-class house usually had such a pond for growing lotus near an auxiliary building or in a spacious yard outside the haengnangch'ae. A pond and some intriguingly shaped stones mounted in stone boxes were essential to a well-planned garden. The stone boxes in the garden of Yon-gyongdang are ornately carved. One has frogs carved on it, two crawling into the box and two crawling out, giving a mobile impression to the immobile piece. The stream that flows in front of the haengnangch'ae starts from the west of Tngyongdang and curves to the south Âˇof the haengnangch'ae, weaving its way between buildings. Using the stream to link separate spaces is not unlike the interpenetration technique of space in modem architecture. The

The entrance to Yon-gyongdang at Ch'angdQkkung Palace

curves of the stream, which give flexibility to the garden divided rigidly by the straight lines of the buildings, are reminiscent of the fluid lines of the uplifting eaves and ridges of Korean houses. A lofty gate is in the middle of the haengnangch'ae. This type of gate, called sosiil taemun, is extra tall, its roof rising above that of the haengnangch'ae that usually flanks it. This type of gate was originally designed to accommodate the passage of a one-wheeled palanquin used by officials above Grade 2; it had a groove in the threshold for the wheel. With time, the lofty gate became a status symbol of the upper class and remained so even after the wheeled palanquin fell into disuse. The gate in Yon-gyongdang does not have a groove though it is taller than the haengnangch'ae flanking it. This lofty gate leads to the yard of the haengnangch'ae, which is actually two buildings. The east part of the first building, which opens to the yard, consists of a room, a stable and an outhouse for men, and the west part consists of rooms and a shed. Two entrances to the house proper, a lofty gate in the east and a simple, rather non-descript door in the west, are in the second building which stands opposite the first across the yard. The lofty gate leads to the sarangch'ae, or men!s quarters, while the simple door leads to the anch'ae, or women's quarters, a reflection of the yin-yang and Five Elements theories and .also the male supremacy that characterized Choson society. Past the lofty inner gate is the sarangch'ae, which faces south. To its east is Sonhyangjae, a book depository, which faces west. The sarangch'ae was developed as the result of the Confucian precepts of strict sexual segregation and male supremacy. It was prescribed by law as early as the reign of King T'aejong (1400-1418) that men and women should keep separate sleeping quarters. The sarangch'ae of Yon-gyongdang thus comprises a room for sleeping, a sarangbang, or master's room, a taech'ong, or wood-floored hall, an elevated veranda , and an attic. The taech'ong and the elevated veranda were used as a living space in summer, but at other times the hall functioned as an antechamber to the sarangbang and the veranda. A sarangbang usually had a built-in cabi46

net, which led to the attic. A thick, cottonstuffed mat called poryo would be spread on the warmest part of the ondol (heated floor) below the cabinet. A thick, stiff cushion would be propped against the wall for the master to lean against when he sat on the mat, and two thick, stiff arm rests, one square and one rectangular, would be on each side of it. In front of the mat would be a reading table, and sometimes a large tray to hold the master's long-stemmed pipes, an ash tray and other necessities. Next to them would be an inkstone box. Writing brushes would be in a jar on a low chest or mun-gap. One or two decorative objects, such as an interestingly shaped stone or a potted plant, would also be on the mun-gap. Cushions for visitors were arranged around the inkstone box and the tobacco

tray. A tea cabinet sometimes stood against the north wall, and a letter holder was hung on the wall next to it. A pair of shelves called sabang t'akcha stood at the farthest comers to hold books brought from the book storage and perhaps a bowl of quinces or other fragrant fruits. Windows would open preferably to the south, calligraphy or paintings would be glued on the window panels, and a tablet hung over the window. The interior of a bed chamber was similar to that of a sarangbang. The bedding would be kept in the loft during the day, a thick mat placed on the warmest part of the floor in its absence. A bed with a latticed bottom was often used in the summer. A safe was kept in this room as well as the man's toiletries, including his head band. The taech'ong was favored in summer.

Large and small rush mats would be spread on it and sometimes even a latticed bed. The elevated verahda would be furnished in the same way. The beams in the sarangch'ae of Yongyongdang are round, whereas those in the anch'ae are square. It is a thought provoking contrast when one remembers that round beams were considered to be of higher stature than square ones. There is a low wall at the west end of the sarangch'ae garden to separate it from the anch'ae area. Near the wall is a line of interestingly shaped stones in stone boxes. At the east comer of the garden is a lotus pond. A big tree is in one comer of the garden. This is the "center tree" and should have been planted at the center of the garden. It was planted in the corner, however, because

Geomantic theories greatly influenced the selection of housing sites, construction planning and building layout during the Chason period.

The men's quarters ofYon-gyongdang Oeft), Nonl!/iujong Pavilion at Yon-

gyongclang (above), and room after room at Yon-gyongdang (below).

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when the Chinese character for tree ( is written inside a square ( D ), the shape of the garden, the combination makes another character meaning predicament ( ~ ). To the east of the sarangch'ae is Sonhyangjae, a book depoistory and study. It has a spacious taech'ong hall at the center that is flanked by ondol rooms . It has a canopy on the west side to block the afternoon sun. A canopy was a common feature of sarangch'ae and auxiliary buildings of upper-class houses. The canopy of this building has slatted panels like modem louvered shutters which can be lifted up. A small hill rises to the east of Sonhyangjae; on it is a pavilion named Nongsujong. The hill is terraced into flower beds. Because more than 70 percent of Korea is mountainous, Korean houses are often bordered by a hill in the back or on one side. The hills are made into terraced gardens and pavilions are built on them. Deciduous trees were planted in the garden because they best reflect the passage of the seasons. The anch'ae is approached from outside through the door built in the inner haengnangch'ae. The door opens on a courtyard to the south of the anch'ae. The L-shaped building has an anbang, or living room, a taech'ong, and a room across from it. The southern end of the anbang is a loft, and the area underneath it houses a fireplace to heat the anbang via the under-the-floor flues. In an ordinary upper-class house, there would be a kitchen here, but this house's kitchen is separated Âˇfrom the anch'ae by a low wall. The anbang is the wife's living room during the day and bedroom at night. Like the sarangbang, a typical anbang would be furnished with a thick poryo mat and cushions for the back and arm rests. While the mat and cushions in the men's quarters would be in dark blue silk, the ones in the anbang would be purple. There would be low mungap chests under the window and a small chest against the wall on the opposite side. A mirror box would be on top of the chest and a comb holder on the wall over it. Sometimes there would be a reading table in front of the poryo mat and, during the winter, a brazier with small mats around it for visitors. Various devices were used to shut out the 47

winter air. A folding screen was often placed across the built-in cabinet behind the pmyo, a thick curtain hung over the walls and the shutters outside closed. Sometimes curtains were draped across the ceiling to block the cold air that descended from it. The taech'ong, or wood-floored hall, often housed a rice box, the top of which was covered with a neat array of jars of preserved foods . In the summer, when the hall was used as a parlor, a rush mat would be spread on the floor and a bamboo blind hung from the ceiling to block the sun and curious eyes. Though the Yon-gyongdang does not have one, an extra room called "upper room" was usually attached to the anbang. Chests of various size and use would line its walls and on them would be small boxes such as sewing kits and thread holders. The two rooms would be separated by papered doors, which were usually kept open so that rile two rooms were more like one room than two. The room across the taech'ong was for the daughter-in-law. It was furnished similarly to the anbang. The servants who worked for the mistress of the house, such as seamstresses, cooks and nannies, .were quartered in the haengnangch'ae that surrounded the anch'ae. They worked in the kitchen beyond the low wall behind the anch'ae. An outhouse for women stood in the backyard of the west haengnangch'ae.

Oldest Houses The oldest residential structure in Seoul is perhaps the Yi Chin-sung House in Kwanhun-dong, believed to have been built in the 1700s. The residence of Pak Yong-hyo, a son-in-law of King Ch'olchong , was built in the 1850s and is now home to the Kyong-in Gallery and has been designated Folklore Material No. 18. The second oldest house is the Kong Tokkwi House in Anguk-dong, Folklore Material No. 27. It was built toward the end of the 1800s. The sarangch'ae, anch'ae, haengnangch'ae and an auxiliary building remain but the exterior of the anch'ae has been remodeled. Both houses are characterized by wide spans. While most upper-class houses have 48

five roof beams, these have seven. The sarangch'ae of the Kong House comprises a sarangbang, a bed chamber, a woodfloored taech'ong, an elevated veranda and a canopy on the south. The canopy on the sarangch'ae and the one on the auxiliary building were originally built of wood panels but these were replaced with slate tiles, which became available in the 1900s. The Chong Kyu-yop House in Chegidong, Folklore Material No. 24, was built to accommodate Yun Tok-yong, a son-in-law of King Sunjong, who came to the area to attend memorial services held at his ancestral

shrine. The layout of the buildings was planned so that, together with the shrine, they would form a Chinese character meaning "prime" (:5(;). When the class system was virtually abolished by the 1894 Kabo Reform, the middle class began to remodel their gates in the lofty style. Scandalized by this transgression of their status symbol, some yangban replaced their lofty gates with low ones. The Shin House in Mugyo-dong is an example of a middle-class house whose original gate was replaced by a lofty gate brought from another house in the early 1900s.

The residence of Kong Tok-kwi, the wife of the late President Yun Po-sun, built in the

late 1800s Oeft). Yun Tok-yong built this house (above) in the early 20th century to stay in when he visited the grave ofhis mther-in-law, King Sunjong. The residence of.Pak Yong-hyo, a son-in-Jaw ofKing Ch'olchong, which was built in the 1850s and is now hozne to the Kyong-in Gallery ~ow).

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After Korea reluctantly opened its ports to foreign trade at the end of the nineteenth century and Western diplomats, missionaries and traders built residences in their own style, Western architectural styles began to influence the construction of traditional houses. The most conspicuous change was the introduction of foyers and corridors, which were absent in traditional Korean houses. The houses of the Min brothers in Ky6ng-un-dong, Folklore Materials Nos. 15 and 17, which were built around 1930 by a Korean architect named Pak Kil-yong, exemplify such changes. They have foyers and the

anbang, sarangbang, bathroom and toilet are in the same building, connected by corridors. In the meantime, Seoul kept expanding and city development was undertaken in earnest in the 1930s. Real estate developers began the en masse construction of houses in the shape of a squared U to make the best of the limited size of urban housing plots. By design, the view of a U-shaped house was blocked by the back of the house in front of it, which in turn was blocked by one in front of it. The part of the wall between two houses that was the most obtrusive when viewed from the taech'6ng, at the center of the "U,"

was thus decorated with floral designs and auspicious letters. Freed from the housing restrictions that had limited the use of ceiling beams to three or four for a commoner's house, house sizes were expanded by using five beams as in a Chos6n yangban house. Because round beams were deemed of higher stature than square ones, round beams, or halved beams with the circular side down to appear round, were used. The roofs were hipped and gabled and the eaves doubleraftered, all in a fashion reminiscent of upper-class Chos6n houses. + 49

Creating from the Inside Out Kim Sang-ki Freelance Writer

ne of the pleasures of traveling abroad is seeing famous works of architecture. In that sense, Korea can be a disappointment for it doesn't have many interesting modem buildings. No wonder the Korean people were so pleased when the National Museum of Contemporary Art was built in Kwach'on. In this building, architect Tai Soo Kim (Kim T'aesu) has given his homeland a splendid gift, an art museum that compares favorably to any in the world. Born in Manchuria of Korean parents in 1936, Kim went to the United States in 1961 after receiving bachelor's and master's degrees in architecture from Seoul National University. He studied at Yale University and has since made many important contributions to the public and private architecture of Connecticut. His designs often hint at his Korean roots, though most of his work has been done in the United States. I went to see Tai Soo Kim at his home in Hartford, Connecticut, one snowy night last winter. He lives in what appears to be a big rectangular box hidden in the backyard of an old house. The box is completely undecorated. From the outside, it seems cold; it emits an air of drastic asceticism, of complete abstinence, the solitude of a Zen master's painting. One can't help feeling Kim's motto

Tai 50

must be "less is more." The interior of the house is, by contrast, warm and inviting. The shelves covering one wall are filled with ceramics, modem yet hinting of the white porcelain of Korea's Choson period. These are the works of

At the center of the large room that serves as living room, study and dining room is a large cast iron stove, and next to it a grand piano. I felt as if I had left the city and stepped into a forest in a distant northern land. And there we sat, wanning ourselves by the fire as we talked deep into the night. Actually, I shouldn't say we "talked" so much as spent a long and pleasant evening together. ,In fact, Tai Soo Kim is a man of few words, a taciturn artist who answered my questions with his own, much like a Zen monk. Later, however, as I looked over my notes of our encounter, I could see the clear contours of a consistent, thorough philosophy. KIM SANG-KI: I heard recently that a japanese architectural digest selected you as one of the world's top fifty architects. I've also heard several of your works have been carried in architectural magazines here in the United States. How does it feel to be one of the world's fmest architects?

Kim's wife, Pang Ryoungja. At the time I remember thinking: modernity rooted in tradition-perhaps this is the philosophy, the art on which Tai Soo Kim and his wife have built their life together.

TAl SOO KIM: Of course, I'm happy and thankful that the critics like my work, but an artist can't allow himself to be swayed by other people's opinions. If he's not careful, he may stray from his own path and lose his center. Once you've built a building, it's there for at least one hundred years. Why, some buildings stand for cen-

National Museum ofContemporary Art, Seoul (1983)

turies! Here in New England you often come across wooden buildings that have been standing for two or three hundred years. Each time I see one, I feel humbled by its beauty, by its fortitude in the face of all the influences of time.

Architects who insist on "style" without an understanding of or sympathy for the life that will

KIM SANG-KI: I realize that architectural journalism can have a negative effect on artists, but doesn't it also serve to induce a sense of sympathy and mutual understanding by reflecting new trends? Hasn 't the world benefitted from the exchange of information on architecture?

occupy the buildings they are creating must realize that they are alienating, even oppressing,

TAl SOO KIM: Of course, but we can't let it go too far in a negative direction. Architectural journalism has no choice but to pursue the new and exciting. Magazines have to feature new, outlandish things to stimulate reader interest. They have to do that to survive. Designs that move beyond the commonplace attract attention. But as Paul Valery (1871-1945), the French philosopher and poet, once proclaimed, in poetry, universality is more important than creativity. In this sense, architecture is no different than

KIM SANG-KI: Can you be more specific about the shortcomings of architectural criticism? TAl SOO KIM: The problem is architects are tempted by success. They try to create designs that are photogenic, that will look good in architectural journals, but are incomplete in terms .of artistic value. A photogenic building isn't necessarily a good building, is it? I feel that architectural journals are a major cause of the external extravagance and internal weakness of modem architecture. KIM SANG-KI: You seem to take a ve.cy hard view of modem architecture.

the final users, all in the name of art.

poetry. It's no wonder that Valery praised architecture as the ultimate art. He understood that architecture was the spatial art that most purely embodied universality.

TAl SOO KIM: As far as convenience or economy are concerned, I take a positive view of modern architecture, but from an artistic point of view, I feel it is still in a very confused state. Traditional architecture is based on a firm foundation in universal forms on top of which the architect expressed his own unique creativity. For example, the roots of the simple church that Saint Francis built in Assisi are found in the 51

solemn majesty of Notre Dame. In many ways, it is like one of Bach's fugues, endless development on a simple theme, on a logical foundation. KIM SANG-KI: Can a building transcend the era in which it was created? TAl SOO KIM: I think so. The building that

has impressed me most deeply is the Pantheon in Rome. It exudes a loftiness, a feeling of size, of "monumentality," quite unrelated to its actual dimensions. KIM SANG-I\!: But is it more impressive than St. Peter's? TAl SOO KIM: Of course. St. Peter's is noth-

ing compared to the Pantheon. What's so special about Michelangelo's dome? There is no greater monument to the human spirit than the Pantheon. KIM SANG-KI: So what about Korea? What is the most "monumental" building there? TAl SOO KIM: The Muryangsujon (Hall of Eternal Life) at Pusoksa Temple in Yongju, Kyongsangbuk-do Province is definitely the greatest masterpiece of Korean architecture. KIM SANG-KI: You seem to be saying that a building is "monumental" when its spiritual depth is reflected in architectural space, but

I'm not sure I understand. What do you base your observations on? TAl SOO KIM: An understanding of human

life is more important than art or technology when you're talking about creating a world for living, or a space for living. It's quite obvious, really. An inquiry into the human condition must form the foundation for all architecture. It's a process of developing empathy. For example, if you're going to design a building for the physically disabled, you have to understand how they approach the world. If you want to understand a blind person, you must spend a few days navigating with a white cane. If you want to understand a person who can't walk, you have to taste life in a wheelchair. The most important thing is listening to what these people have to say. When you're building for the elderly, you need to reduce the scale. Older people are easily overwhelmed. Architects who insist on "style" without an understanding of or sympathy for the life that will occupy the buildings they are creating must realize that they are alienating, even oppressing, the final users, all in the name of art. A classroom should have lots of natural light-that's simply a matter of Âˇ common sense, right? A building should follow the logic of the human condition. KIM SANG-KI: But aren't you ignoring the ornamental aspects of architecture by placing

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so much importance on this inquiiy into the human condition? It is human nature to want to build a building that pleases the eye, isn't it? In this sense, I would say that your design for Capitol Place, headquarters for the Connecticut Education Association, goes beyond purism to reflect a kind of puritanical asceticism. TAl SOO KIM: I feel a building should speak

for itself. The architect shouldn't make excuses for his work, but let me add a word of explanation about motif. You need to consider the environment surrounding Capitol Place. That office building was designed to complement its neighbors in the State Capitol Historic District. The Connecticut Capitol is a remarkably eclectic site that combines many different architectural modes. It has a rich history, so any building constructed there must be self-effacing. In this sense, I could use music as a metaphor. When Jascha Heifetz performs one of his brilliant cadenzas, the orchestra must hold back in order to highlight the violinist's genius. An architect would have to be terribly arrogant, vain without a scrap of cultural values, to build a loud building boasting of his own abilities next to something like the Connecticut Capitol. Personally I don't care much for I.M. Pei's work but I have high regard for the refinement and character he showed in his use of that glass pyramid to solve the lighting prob-

!ems in the underground expansion of the Louvre in Paris. He once said that it would be sacrilege to fool around with the Louvre, and he certainly solved the problems facing him with grace and intelligence. In this narcissistic age, it's a relief to see that there is still someone with I.M. Pei's classic refinement.

If an architectural

work can seJVe as a place of spiritual peace, a home, then we can say it is successful. The job for modem architects

KIM SANG-KI: Do you think narcissism is an occupational disease for the architect? TAl SOO KIM: In a way. Actually, it's true for all artists to a certain extent, but it's especially easy for an architect to fall into that trap because the ideas we develop inside our heads are played out on such a large scale, using .the labor of many people. If a person doesn't recognize this trap and attempts to narrow the gap between what he imagines in his head and what will be built in real space, he doesn't deserve to be called an architect. Whenever I see one of those preposterous buildings, I can't help thinking a lot of architects still haven't grown up. KIM SANG-KI: What do you think of the Bauhaus movement which responded to the chaos of the existing reality with the creation of its own rational order? Couldn 't we say your inquiry into the human condition through architecture is similar to what this movement was trying to achieve?

and urban planners is to create a place to come home to. We must study the villages of our ancestors, old cities in the East and West. It is a matter of history, of understanding how people have lived in the past.

Middlebury Elen1entary School (1979), HarryJack Gray Center, University of

TAl SOO KIM: Yes and no. There's no arguing with the ideal of rejecting the chaos of the existing system and creating a new rational order, but I can't help thinking the Bauhaus school's conception of a rational order was overly simplistic. Any inquiry into the human condition must be founded in an understanding of the history and tradition inherent in human life. Functional rationalism ignores history and tradition. A bulldozer can level a slum and build an enormous plaza with broad roads crossing through it, but that's only one step in the creation of a foundation for a rational order. I believe true rationality embodies a tolerance for and a cultivation of the irrational elements of human existence. The call for great buildings and well-designed cities that can create a new sense of humanity is an ambitious slogan, but on closer inspection, one realizes that this is nothing more than an expression of arrogance,. of the intellectual narcissism of this technical civilization that we are living in. If rationalism is not based on a thorough sense of self-criticism, it is doomed to irrationality. I believe the ideals of modern architecture and the thought behind urban design are incomplete because they ignore the problems of human existence and are only concerned with external appearance and function.

Hartford (1986), and Capitol Place, Hartford (1988)

Oeft to right) were all

KIM SANG-KI: But is any human endeavor ever really "complete?"

TAl SOO KIM: "Completion" doesn't have to mean the overcoming of humanity's limitations. If an architectural work can serve as a place of spiritual peace, a home, then we can say it is successful. The job for modem architects and urban planners is to create a place to come home to. We must study the villages of our ancestors, old cities in the East and West. It is a matter of history, of understanding how people have lived in the past. KIM SANG-KI: Can you explain? TAl SOO KIM: Let me give you an example. Le Corbusier's design for the administrative center of Shandigar, India is, from a functional point of view, a failure. His houses along the shores of the Mediterranean are lovely, like white sculptures against the backdrop of the sea, and he created even grander buildings against the background of the Himalayas in Shandigar. But what was the result? A clerk delivering something to the main government office could die of heat exhaustion before he reaches his destination! Le Corbusier did not take the scorching Indian sun into account. He should have spent some time in the slums of Calcutta before creating Shandigar like some kind of god giving orders from heaven. The chaotic streets of India are all covered in cloth tarps. There is a reason why so many millions of people have lived that way for so many thousands of years. Le Corbusier was a genius, but he failed , so how can someone who knows a bit of functionalist technology create anything more than nonsense out of a few lines on paper. The creation of a "home" for those who have lost theirs is an ideal which we must pursue by transcending the work of the Bauhaus school. KIM SANG-KI: Could you offer another example? TAl SOO KIM: Just look at what happened in Brasilia. The architects, Lucio Costa and Oscur Niemeyer, ignored the lifestyle of the Brazilian people and created a rational environment unfamiliar to them. People are still living in the temporary housing put up for the laborers who helped build the city be54

cause Brasilia itself does not embrace them. It doesn't protect them in the way they are accustomed to. Of course, I'm not sure what the city is like these days. KIM SANG-KI: You seem to take a vel}' pessimistic view of modem architecture. TAl SOO KIM: I'm neither a pessimist nor an optimist. I'm simply saying that it's time to consider history and tradition. We've had enough trial and error. It's too abstract to define architecture and urban planning as spatial art, as some kind of science. Architecture and urban planning mean the creation of a space for living, and the essence of life is historical; it is all linked to the passage to time. Life cannot exist in the present, separate from all the past life that has Âˇaccumulated before us. One could say Âˇtradition is the past living in the present, the strength we attain through our past experiences. KIM SANG-KI: This is a bit confusing-Imagine an architect who pursues rational, abstract forms emphasizing the importance of histOJY and tradition! In any case, the masses can't design a city or building as a group. TAl SOO KIM: Of course not. While the masses are alienated, they will accept anything unless directly subjected to physical pain. It's the artist's job to break through this passive insensitivity. If art serves to express and satisfy humanity's fundamental requirements and hopes, then architecture is art in the finest sense. Architecture is the art of listening for what is not heard, of deciphering meaning that is hidden. KIM SANG-KI: But how are such architects bam? What are your thoughts on the training of a new generation of architects? TAl SOO KIM: This is a difficult problem in architecture as in all artistic fields. I may be fighting the tides of history here but I believe the apprenticeship system of the old artisans is the only way to go. Of course, one has to learn the basics in university, but after that, textbooks are useless. You have to follow the universal logic of real human lives-not some abstract theoretical concept-so words

alone won't do. Artisans learn by a process of tacit understanding, participating in the creative process, sharing the hardships and the joys. I have many architect friends who can discuss architecture with great knowledge and insight, but they can't build the simplest building. This reflects a shortcoming in our university education system. KIM SANG-KI: This room is filled with examples of your work. Which ones would you say are your most important? TAl SOO KIM: It's difficult to evaluate one's own work, but it is important to consider the significance of each project in the overall process of one's development as an artist. I designed this house in 1976 when we didn't have much money. The design is very economical and easy to build, and is meaningful in that sense. The site for the addition to the Submarine Training Facility in Groton which I designed in 1978 is solid rock and located on high ground, so the addition was built to project from the existing structure and over the surrounding slope. It is a sculpture-like building that induces a broad range of feelings. The Middlebury Elementary School, which I designed un 1979, was built with children in mind and therefore has its own special significance. The National Museum of Contemporary Art in Seoul, designed in 1983, can be seen as a successful harmonization of architecture, in this case a massive structure, with the beauty of Korean nature. For me, it was a significant project because it was the first time I successfully created a complicated design. The Harry Jack Gray Center at the University of Hartford, a 1986 design, is significant because it was designed on the basis of a traditional conception of campus architecture and serves to pull the architecturally confused campus together. KIM SANG-KI: Have you any plans to return to Korea to teach a new generation of architects? TAl SOO KIM: I'm working on a way to work with and learn from young people. +

KOREAN ARTEFACTS ABROAD

ATrove of Korean Mastetpieces OSAKA MUSEUM OF ORIENTAL CERAMICS he Museum of Oriental Ceramics in Osaka was established in November 1982 by Osaka City to house East Asian ceramics from the Ataka Collection donated by the Sumitomo Group. The core of the original Ataka Collection, which is so named because it was owned by the Ataka Industries Co., was ceramics from East Asia. The company went bankrupt in December 1975 and its collection of 106 pieces of art by modem Japanese artist Koshu Hayami was sold in bulk to the Yamatane Art Foundation in August 1976. The disposal of 965 East Asian ceramics was the object of intense public concern and became an issue of parliamentary debate because of their great cultural value. The Japanese Ministry of Culture made a special request to the Sumitomo Bank, the custodian of the collection, not to break up the collection or sell part of it abroad. After a prolonged period of vacillation, the Sumitomo Group dedded in January 1980 to donate the entire collection of East Asian ceramics to Osaka City. The donation was formalized in March 1980 with the representative of Sumitomo handing the collection over to the city government, which then announced a plan to construct a special museum to house the collection permanently. The museum, which took 17 months to construct, opened in November 1982. The Ataka Collection contains about 1,000 pieces. Ceramic works number 144 from China, 793 from Korea, 5 from Vietnam, and 2 from Japan. Handicrafts number 5 from China, 10 from Korea, and 6 from Japan and other countries.

Chinese Ceramics The Chinese ceramics range from the Late Han Dynasty through the Ming Dynasty. The universally popular Qing ceramics are conspicuously absent because the collectors preferred not collecting them. The Chinese ceramics include 2 from the

Yun Yong-i Professor, Art History Wonkwang University Late Han Dynasty, 1 from the Six Dynasties period, 23 from the Tang Dynasty, 3 from the Five Dynasties period, 47 from the Song Dynasty, 18 from the Yuan Dynasty and 50 from the Ming Dynasty. The composition indicates that the collectors favored ceramics from the most glorious periods in the Tang, Song, Yuan and Ming dynasties when ceramic production flourished. Though the Chinese collection is not particularly large, it contains works that represent each period. A superb sculpture of a woman, gray pottery with painted ornaments, dating from the Tang Dynasty, for example, is representative of painted figurines of the time. The ceramics from the Song Dynasty, the most prevalent of the Chinese ceramics, are the best of the period. They include a vase with green glaze and black peony design from the Cizhou kilns in Hebei; a celadon bottle with peony scroll design from the Yaozhou kilns; a white porcelain bowl with lotus design from the Ting kilns; a long-necked octagonal celadon vase, a Guan (imperial) ware produced by the imperial kilns of the Southern Song Dynasty; a celadon flower vase with phoenix-shaped handles from the Longquan kilns; a tea bowl with temmoku glaze and silvery spots from the Jian kilns; and a tea bowl with temmoku glaze and leaf design from the Jizhou kilns. Graphically presenting the quintessence of East Asian ceramics, the Song wares include twelve works designated Japanese National Treasures or Important Cultural Properties. The Yuan period is represented by a celadon flower vase of outstanding glaze and shape from the Longquan kilns and a blue and white jar with fish and water plant design from the Qingdezhen kilns. The blue and white porcelain wares of the

early .Ming Dynasty are a major highlight of the Ataka Collection. Representative of them are a large blue and white dish with tree and bird design and a large blue and white flask with dragon and wave design, which are of special note because of the superb clarity of their blue designs. An underglaze blue and overglaze enamel dish with peony design is a rare porcelain masterpiece from the Xuande imperial kilns. There are also three blue and white porcelain wares with Chunghua period marks indicating they were made between 1465 and 1487. The collection includes quite a number of colored ceramics of the late Ming period. The better part of the Chinese ceramics in the Ataka Collection was acquired during the 1960s. Korean Ceramics Korean ceramics, which number 793, are the mainstay of the Ataka Collection. There are 4 from the Unified Shilla period, 304 from the Koryo period and 485 from the Choson period. Most of the Koryo ceramics are celadon wares, 92 of them dating from the eleventh and twelfth c~nturies . Some are plain but most have incised, inlaid, relief and openwork designs. A melon-shaped celadon vase is of special interest because of its. close similarity to another melon-shaped vase retrieved from Changnung, the tomb of King Injong who was buried in 1146. A three-handled celadon jar with incised lotus design, a celadon holy water pitcher with incised willow and water bird design, a vase with incised cloud design, a gourd-shaped vase with incised grape design, and a celadon maebyong vase are much admired for their refmed forms and exquisite blue-green celadon glaze. A celadon incense burner with cover surmounted by a mandarin-duck knob and a water dropper moulded in the shape of a human figure are representative of the best of the plain celadon wares of Koryo, surpassing any in col55

lections in Korea. The collection includes 128 inlaid works, a technique unique to Kmy6. They are of special note for they provide insight into the assimilation of Chinese forms and designs by Kory6 potters. Imagination and sophistication in form and design are the hallmarks of the celadon wares as well demonstrated by a gourd-shaped ewer with inlaid grapevine scroll design, a maeby6ng vase with inlaid cloud and crane design, a plaque with inlaid willow and water bird design and a maeby6ng vase with inlaid bamboo and crane design. There are also unusual pieces which have underglaze copper or iron decorations together with inlaid decorations. The collection is priceless to the study of Kory6 ceramics because it contains rare examples of celadon and porcelain wares including a celadon maeby6ng vase with arabesque design in underglaze iron, a maeby6ng vase with ginseng plant design in white slip inlay on a black ground, a maeby6ng vase with cloud and crane design in white slip inlay on a black ground, a bowl with marbled design, a porcelain vase with incised peony design, and a melon-shaped porcelain ewer. Compared with Kory6 works in collections

This tlattened

punch'ong bottle with peony design in iron underglaze reflects the beauty of

15th century Cho.sOn cerrunics.

in Korea, the Kory6 ceramics in the Ataka Collection excel in quality and are rich in form and design. Each is a superb example of its kind. The Chos6n ceramics are the most substantial part of the entire collection in both quality and quantity. Of special note among the 171 punch'ong pieces are a flattened bottle with inlaid peony design, a bottle with inlaid peony design, a square cup with inlaid lotus design, and a maeby6ng vase with inlaid dragon design. There are a number of flattened bottles and maeby6ng vases with designs inlaid in lines, planes or in reverse technique. Stamped punch'6ng wares include a jar, a bottle and a four-handled jar with stamped chrysanthemum designs. Some pieces have both inlaid and stamped designs. Punch'ong wares with designs engraved in lines on white slip also abound. A rice-bale shaped bottle with fish design, a flattened bottle with peony design and a flattened bottle with fish design are good examples of them. There

are also a flattened bottle with lotus design in sgraffito through white brush-mark slip, a maeby6ng vase and a flattened bottle with peony design in sgraffito through white slip, and a bottle with fish design in sgraffito through white slip. A punch'ong bottle in this group has a peony design rendered both in sgraffito and underglaze iron painting. Whether incised in lines or in planes, the sgraffito designs on the flattened botdes, flasks and tortoise-shaped bottles are artistically rendered with bold abbreviation. These works are superior to any of the similar works in museums in Korea and in other countries. A rice-bale shaped bottle with lotus and fish design painted in underglaze iron, a large bowl with fish design painted in underglaze iron and a box with arabesque design painted in underglaze iron are excellent examples of painted punch'ong featuring bold, freely wielded brush strokes. The collection also includes rare examples of ritual vessels, jars and bottles in powdery white slip and in white brushed slip. Rich in a variety of forms, techniques and designs, the punch'6ng wares are the pride of the Ataka Collection, and many are wellknown throughout the world. Nevertheless , the mainstream of the

Choson ceramics is 314 porcelain pieces. They include 73 pieces of white porcelain, 127 pieces of blue and white porcelain, 45 pieces with underglaze iron designs, 24 pieces with copper paintings, 7 inlaid pieces and 38 pieces with black or iron glaze. They deseiVe special note because they provide a comprehensive oveiView of Choson ceramics, presenting a great variety of forms, designs and techniques from the beginning to the end of the Choson period. The white porcelain wares include plain pieces and pieces with engraved designs, relief designs and openwork designs. Porcelain jars, some bevelled and some elongated, ritual vessels, candle holders with longevity designs in relief, openwork garden stools and porcelain bottles, some bevelled and some flattened, are especially outstanding in form and glaze. Blue and white works are the highlight of the porcelain wares. They include rare early Choson porcelain jars, one with pine, plum and bird designs and one with plum and bamboo designs, and late Choson works such as a bevelled jar with autumn grass design, jars and flattened bottles with landscapes with figures. The collection has valuable examples of blue and white porcelain from each period. There are also porcelain wares with designs painted in underglaze iron and copper. White porcelain jars with a tiger, bamboo, and cloud and dragon design painted in underglaze iron, are remarkable for their originality and refined technique. One porcelain garden stool features both blue and white and underglaze iron designs. Jars with underglaze copper paintings of peony designs, lotus designs and pine and crane designs are of such excellence that they have contributed to making the Ataka Collection world famous. 1n addition to jars and bottles, the collection has a great number of dishes, stationery

items, such as water droppers and brush holders, and vessels moulded in the shape of fruits and animals. The Museum of Oriental Ceramics is of special interest to Koreans because of its vast and valuable collection of Korean ceramics of

story building in Nakanojirna, Osaka. Permanent displays of Chinese and Korean ceramics, an auditorium and a hall for special exhibitions are on the second floor. The first floor has a storage area, a library, offices and a lounge.

A crafty tiger stalks the landscape on tlUs late 18th

century porcelain jar.

all kinds ranging from the early Kory6 period through the late Choson period. The extensive collection systematically presents the essence of Korean ceramics, many of which are the finest of their kind in the world. The museum is housed in a modem, two-

This beautiful museum by the river is a treasure house that presents an important facet of Korea's cultural legacy to Japan and the world. In this day of increasing globalization, it deseiVes our attention for linking Korea with Japan and the world. + 57

DISCOVERING KOREA

Kudos for Chicken Kim Kwang-on Professor of Folklore, Inha University Director, Inha University Museum

t is uncertain how, when and by what route the wild purebred chicken indigenous to the forest regions of Southeast Asia came to Korea , but it appears to have come with the introduction of rice culture from China. According to a genetic study on the chicken done by a Japanese scholar in November 1993, it was around the Yayoi Period (3rd century B.C.-3rd century A.D.) that the chicken came to Japan when tribes with agricultural skills migrated there. Some chickens in Kyushu were found to be identical in genetic makeup with the Southeast Asian chicken; however, most of the chickens in Japan were found to be identical in genetic makeup with those in the Korean Peninsula. According to a report by Japanese Prof. Hanihara Gazro, from the third century B.C. to the seventh century A.D. , approximately 1.5 million Koreans migrated to Japan to make up 70-90 percent of the entire Japanese population. Given that figure, it is no surprise that the ancestor of the Japanese chicken came from Korea. Moreover, few people are cognizant of the fact that the Japanese dog is descended from the Chindo and Chejudo dogs of Korea. In any event, it is evident that Koreans were raising chickens as early as the third century B.C. It is also clear that Koreans had a strong preference for chickens with a long tail, a preference that was known even in China. In the "Account of the Eastern Barbarians" Dong-i juan in the third century Chinese source Sanguo zhi, it is noted that the Korean chicken had a long tail. In the section on Mahan, an ancient Korean kingdom, in the same book is a reference that the length of the Korean chicken's tail was over 1.5 meters according to today's system of measurement. A chicken with a long tail is also mentioned

in a poem in the oldest Japanese poetry anthology, Manyoshu, which was compiled in the eighth century, an account that proves the long-tailed chicken was introduced to Japan from Korea. Given that the peacock was introduced to Japan from Korea's Shilla Kingdom (57 B.C.-A.D. 935) in 597 A.D., the longtailed chicken must have made its appearance in Japan much earlier. The Japanese government has designated the long-tailed chicken a natural cultural asset and is making a monumental effort to preserve the species; however, it has been a long time since any trace of the long-tailed chicken has been seen in Korea. The authors of a medical text from the Chinese Song Dynasty wrote that the Korean chicken was the only chicken with any medicinal value. The writer of a Ming Dynasty textbook of medicine praised the Korean chicken as being the most delectable. Since ancient times, the Korean chicken has enjoyed fame not only in Japan but also in China. From early on, Koreans believed that chickens could drive away evil spirits. They attached drawings of chickens to their doors and main gates early in the first month of each year. Chickens were also believed to chase the night away and usher in the new day. A drawing of a pair of chickens found on the ceiling of a tomb of the Koguryo period (37 B.C-A.D. 668) is further proof of this custom. Shamans would hold a kut, a ritual or exorcism, for a drowned person at a site where a chicken usually crowed. That is because they believed chickens knew where the spirit of the dead was. Judging from the large number of eggs that were found in a jar excavated from Ch'onmach'ong, a Shilla tomb in Kyongju, it

The authors of a Song China medical text wrote that the Korean chicken was the only chicken with any medicinal value, and the writer of a Ming medical text praised the Korean chicken as the most delectable.

can be said that eggs were regarded as a symbol of new life from at least the fifth century A.D. In addition, chicken blood was used as a sacrifice to divine spirits, not only in Korea but also in China as well as other parts of Southeast Asia. In Indonesia, cock fights were held every day in order to obtain the blood for sacrificial rites. To this day, carpenters on Chejudo Island slit a chicken's neck to spread blood around the construction area before holding the frame raising ceremony. The first written record regarding a chicken in Korea is in a story in Samguk sagi (History of the Three Kingdoms). The story says that in 65 A.D., King T'alhae of Shilla was awakened by the loud crowing of a rooster in the forest near his palace. A beautiful baby boy was found in a gold box dangling from a tree near the rooster. T'alhae named the child Kim Al-chi and made him crown prince. The child became the progenitor of the Kim clan of Ky6ngju. According to a legend in Samguk yusa (Memorabilia of the Three Kingdoms), Ary6ng, the wife of Pak Hy6kk6se (r. 57 B.C.-A.D.4), the founder of Shilla, was born from under the ribs of a dragon and, at birth, she was fair of face but her mouth was like the beak of a chicken. The beak fell off when she was bathed to reveal cherry-red lips. A chicken slightly bigger than a chick is generally called yonggae (tender chicken). A y6nggae stewed with a ginseng root is a famous summer dish known as samgyet'ang. Paeksuk, y6nggae boiled with sweet rice, and yonggaetchim, baked spiced y6nggae, are also popular summer dishes. Until recently, it was common to ask a man who had visited his in-laws how many ssiamt'ak (brood hens) his mother-in-law fed him. It was a custom for a mother-in-law to treat her son-in-law to the precious brood hens for he was an honored guest. In a farming household, where hens were indispensable for not only supplying eggs but also for breeding, one can see what an important person the son-in-law must have been if the mother-in-law unhesitatingly prepared the brood hens. A woman who had a ssiamt'ak walk, that is an elegant and dignified gait, was consid60

It was considered more than generous to present eggs in a straw wrapper on someone's birthday or take them as a gift when visiting someone. ered most desirable. In the classic tale Ch'unhyang-jon, the protagonist, Ch'unhyang, is said to have made a great effort to walk like a ssiamt'ak. A generation ago, there were families who raised chickens in their homes in the city of Seoul. My family put a clothesline between the main and inner gate of our house, and fed several chickens there, mainly to procure eggs. The memory of holding a warm egg in my hands and slurping the yolk is still fresh in my mind. The egg white was slimy and slightly nauseating but the nutty flavor of the yolk soon spread through my mouth. My grandmother surreptitiously gave the precious eggs only to me with little doubt that my younger siblings would not catch a glimpse of them for even my grandfather did not get a taste of them. Back then eggs were a truly special treat. Even a child from a well-off family could only eat them on special occasions, like school picnics. The ultimate picnic lunch was two boiled eggs, dried cuttlefish and a bottle of cider (a soft drink similar to Seven-Up). The pop left a bitter taste in one's mouth because back then saccharin was used as a sweetener, but it did little to dent our pleasure of going on a school picnic. We were just sorry the day was so short. Things did not change all that much in the 1960s. It was considered more than generous to present eggs in a straw wrapper on someone's birthday or take them as a gift when visiting someone. I know of a mother from the countryside who boasted proudly to her friends how she gave a sack of carefully wrapped eggs to her child's teacher. At that time, eggs were rated tops in nutrition. Some farmers saved the eggs they collected to sell on market day. The eggs helped with living expenses, if not with their children's tuition. I know a cultural editor of a major daily newspaper who still wouldn't dream of eat~ ing chicken or eggs because he is eternally ~ indebted to them for his college education. \;) Our view of eggs changed in the 1960s

when mass production became possible and the Korean living standard improved. Not only did people stop giving eggs as gifts, children no longer went wild over them. Moreover, eggs are no longer sold on trains because people no longer ask for them. In the past, it was common practice to offer an egg to the passenger beside you in order to start a conversation to pass the time on a trip that otherwise would have been very long and tedious. I still relish the mini-omelette side dish my wife makes for me. You crack several eggs into a bowl and mix them with finely chopped scallions, onions, carrots and minced meat. Thinly fry the mixture, then carefully roll it up and slice it into bite-size pieces. The pieces are soft and easy to chew, perfect with a drink. Whenever my wife ponders what to make for dinner, I always suggest the mini-omelettes to which she responds not too enthusiastically. But to me, eggs will always be a special treat. In the past, people could tell time by a rooster's crow. A rooster also has an impressive walk, almost like a strut. When a rooster with its flashy crimson crest is parading with its hen and chicks, it has an imperial look about it, a.s gallant as a general marching into battle. Not only will a roos(er fight to its death whenever it encounters a foe, but it will also refrain from eating a single grain until its family is fed and full-truly a role model for the men of this country. The old saying, "The day will break only when the rooster cries," surely indicates that it is the man who must head the family. Brood hens have vanished from sight these days because greedy people are interested only in breeding chickens for profit and consequently raise foreign chickens. You may see signs outside Seoul that say, "Farmraised chickens," but they are sure to be pumped full of chemicals, artificially fed, not the product of the traditional chicken farms of yesteryear. +

JOURNEYS IN KOREAN LITERATURE :

,_.

The Fictional World o.f

0 ChOng-hUi, Bruce Fulton Translator Ch6ng-hUi is one of the most accomplished writers of short fiction in modem Korea. She is one of the few writers to have captured both the Yi Sang and the Tongin awards-Korea's two most prestigious prizes for short fiction-and translations of her works into Japanese, English, French, and other languages have begun to gamer her an international reputation. English translations of her works have won her favorable comparisons with such writers as America's Joyce Carol Oates and England's Virginia Woolf All of this for a writer still in her mid-forties. 0 was just out of her teens when she burst onto the literary scene by winning a competition for aspiring writers sponsored by the ]oong-ang Ilbo, a Seoul daily, in 1968. The prize-winning story, "The Toyshop Woman" (Wanguj6m y6in), concerns a high school girl's descent into madness punctuated by kleptomania and an obsession with the crippled owner of a toyshop. That this remarkable debut story was begun while the author herself was still in high school suggested the arrival of a prodigious literary talent. There is very little like it among previous Korean fiction writers, male or female. 0 has since published some forty stories and novellas and a short novel, Spirit on the Wind (Param iii n6k, 1982). This is a comparatively meager output for a writer whose career covers a quarter of a century. But it is also an oeuvre of consistently high quality, consisting of provocative, densely textured stories, many of them infused with a restrained intensity that is unsettling, sometimes shocking. Not until 1977 did 0 publish her first collection of fiction, River of Fire (Pul iii kang). There followed a productive period in which many of her most memorable stories

were composed-"Evening Game" (Ch6ny6k iii keim, 1979), "Chinatown" (Chungugin k6ri, 1979), "Words of Farewell" (Py6lsa, 1981), "The Bronze Mirror" (Tonggy6ng, 1982), and "Song of the Pilgrim" (Sullyeja iii norae, 1983). The first three stories appeared in her second volume of fiction, The Garden of Childhood (Yuny6n iii ttiil, 1981), the latter two in her third collection, Spirit on the Wind (Param iii n6k, 1986). O's production in the last 10 years has been more sporadic, but recent stories such as "Lake P'aro" (P'aroho, 1989) and "The Old Well" (Yet umul, 1994) suggest that the author has maintained the high standards she set for herself at the very beginning of her career. Technically, 0 has few peers among contemporary Korean fiction writers. Her command of language is formidable-her vocabulary impressive, her word choices deliberate and suggestive. Stories such as "The Cookout" (Yahoe, 1981) and "Morning Star" (Saeby6k py61, 1984) reveal a good ear for dialogue, something that is neglected by many Korean fiction writers in favor of narrative. Flashbacks, stream-of-consciousness technique, and interior monologues constitute much of O's narratives. Long paragraphs juxtaposing images and points of view of family members past and present are not uncommon. "Words of Farewell," which depicts separate but parallel spiritual journeys by a woman and her lost husband, is a striking example. This concern with the interior landscape of the characters is for 0 a means of dealing with her characteristic themes of abandonment and loneliness. Heightening the impact of these themes is the author's typically dispassionate narrative tone, which in her earlier stories takes the form of a nameless first-person narrator (every story in

her debut volume, River of Fire, is told in this manner). These nameless narrators become Everywoman and Everyman (some of her narrators are male), struggling in an emotionally parched landscape that is sometimes specifically Korean, as in "A Portrait of Magnolias" (Mongny6nch'o, 1975), sometimes not, as in "The Toyshop Woman." That is, without ignoring the upheavals that have attended Korea's rapid modernization, O's stories transcend cultural boundaries to speak to universal themes of emotional rootlessness and a yearning for permanence, whether in the immediate context of the family or in the larger society. 0 , in fact, has been fascinated with family relationships ever since her literary debut. Her best stories are powerful yet sensitive portraits of families strained to the â&#x20AC;˘breakirlg point by hidden emotions and invisible external forces. In these works, 0 penetrates the surface of seemingly pedestrian lives to reveal nightf?arish family constellations warped by divorce, insanity, abandonment, and death. The prize-winning "Evening Game," for example, opens with the protagonist, an unmarried woman, preparing dinner for her querulous father before the two of them settle down to their nightly game of flower cards. It soon becomes apparent that the surface calm of their relationship conceals a barely suppressed tension arising from the institutionalization of the woman's mother for infanticide and from the disappearance of her brother. Darkness is prominent in this and other stories, representing among other things these tears in the family fabric . In "The Toyshop Woman, " "The Cookout, " "The Bronze Mirror," and elsewhere, darkness creeps upon the scene like a sinister beast, unleashing black memories among the char-

OChong-hUJ.

acters. Many of O's characters are haunted by memories. The elderly couple of "The Bronze Mirror," one of the outstanding works of modem Korean fiction, have been devastated by the death of their only son during the April1960 student revolution .. Significantly, he is the only person in the story to have a name. The main figure of the wistful "Morning Star" has a reunion with four college friends after an interval of some 13 years and finds her memories of them have frozen in time, and vice versa. On-su in Spirit on the Wind is cursed by the fleeting memories of a childhood incident so horrible and traumatic it has been erased from her consciousness. These memories make a wanderer out of her, destroying her marriage, until fmally her stepmother reveals the truth: as a young child On-su witnessed the bloody murder of her twin sister and parents by a band of starving thieves during the Korean War.

In O's stories memory can therefore be a curse as well as a blessing. The uncertainty of memory, and of reality itself, is addressed in "Words of Farewell." The latter part of the story is a tour de force of exposition shifting back and forth from the protagonist, ChOngok, to her vanished husband, who is soon to drown in a swollen stream while fishing. It is unclear, though, whether the husband actually dies, or whether he stages the drowning in order to escape the house arrest imposed upon him by the authorities for some unspecified offense. In the end, the answer to this question is not as important as our recognition of the ambiguity of reality and the potential of memory and imagination to embroider. In past decades, Korean women writers were commonly referred to as y6.tyU chakka, literally "writers of the female species." Although this designation is falling into disuse-largely through the achievements of women writers such as 0 as well her reluc-

tance to limit herself solely to gender-related themes-D's stories are valuable for their images of contemporary Korean women. Indeed, these images show how far 0 has departed froin her predecessors in her treatment of women characters. Granted, the women in her stories are ill used and traumatized, just as they are in stories by the previous generations of Korean women fiction writers. But they also have careers: the protagonist of "A Portrait of Magnolias, " for example, is a painter who draws artistic inspiration from the death of her shaman mother in a spectacular house fire. They have affairs. And their emotions are balanced by hard-headed practicality. The central character of "Evening Game," for instance, subverts almost every expectation of a filial daughter, dutifully entertaining her widowed father with the nightly card game but then stealing away to a construction site for assignations with a laborer and gloating over the experience afterward. 63

"Chinatown," one of O's most admired works, is a girl's coming-of-age story. Set in an Inch'on shantytown bordering that city's Chinese district, the story portrays a band of children who spend most of their time on the streets after school is out. Much of the interest of their young lives is drawn from two sets of foreigners-the Chinese who live nearby and the American soldiers who frequent the women of pleasure living in the children's neighborhood. The protagonist, a grade-school girl, observes early on the lives women lead-the elderly Chinese women with their bound feet, the abused women who serve the Gls, her own mother turning out one baby after another. These observations are related in the realistic tone of one who will grow to be a survivor rather than a victim. Modem Korean fiction opens a vast window onto Korea's tumultuous modem history and its pell-mell cultural and societal transformation, and O's works are no exception. She is by no means a writer of historical fiction, and yet her stories reflect, albeit obliquely, the familial and emotional costs of Korea's headlong industrialization since the 1960s. For in most of her stories the support network traditionally offered by the extended family is absent, leaving the characters to struggle on their own for emotional sustenance. The loneliness of the aged couple in "The Bronze Mirror" and their torment by the kindergarten girl who lives next door are as vivid as almost anything in contemporary Korean fiction. In "Fireworks" (Pullori, 1986) and "Lake P'aro" 0 touches on the theme of younger people suffering for the political misadventures of their elders-a theme mined with success in recent years by many of O's male contemporaries. In the case of "Lake P'aro," an American setting provides added interest in the form of the difficulties a different culture poses to irnirnigrants and foreign students. Finally, "Lake P'aro" contains a glimpse of the author's own two-year sojourn near Albany, New York, in the mid-1980s, an intensely frustrating experience for an artist so adept at expressing herself in words. 0 Chong-hui has already carved out for herself a prominent place in the literature of 64

two-volume children's novel. Which raises the question of whether she has been undergoing another of her periodic crises of artistic confidence. Earlier in her career, she tells us in a retrospective volume of her stories published in 1983, she passed an entire year without writing a single sentence. And yet she has rebounded from these bouts of writer's block to produce some of her best work. It is to be hoped that this pattern will hold true in the future, and that her brilliant technique, distinctive style, and fertile imagination will continue to enrich Korean fiction for decades to come. + For Further Reading

O 's stories often reflect

the familial and emotional costs of Korea's drive toward industrialization since the 1960s.

Bruce Fulton, "Orphans in the Dark," The World & I, October 1990, pp. 426-433. (A review of Spirit on the Wind.) Bruce and }u-Chan Fulton, trans., Words of Farewell: Stories by Korean Women Writers (Seattle: Seal Press, 1989). (Contains "Evening Game" and "Chinatown" as well as the tide sto-

ry.) 0 Ch6ng-hiii, "The Bronze Mirror," trans. Bruce and }u-Chan Fulton, in Land of Exile: Contemporary Korean Fiction, trans. and ed. Marshall R. Pihl and Bruce and }u-Chan Fulton (Armonk, N.Y.: M.E. Sharpe, 1993), pp. 244263.

0 ChOng-hili, "Fireworks, " trans. Bruce and }u-Chan Fulton, Asian Pacific Quarterly, Winter 1993, pp. 53-75. 0 ChOng-hili, "A Portrait of Magnolias," trans. Bruce ind }u-Chan Fulton, Koreana, Summer 1992, pp. 56-61.

twentieth-century Korea. What remains to be seen is the directions she will take in the future. Will she return to the starkness of early stories such as "The Toyshop Woman," "Desolation" (Chogyo, 1975), and "River of Fire" (1977)? Will she offer more of the astute portrayals of people and manners contained in "The Cookout," "Morning Star," and "Lake P'aro"? Will she find renewed inspiration from child-centered narratives such as "Chinatown" and "The Garden of Childhood" (1980)? In recent years, which have seen few stories from 0 , she has published a book of vignettes concerning household life and a

0 ChOng-hili, "The Toyshop Woman," trans. Bruce and }u-Chan Fulton, Korea Times, November 6-8, 1989. Bruce and }u-Chan Fulton are, with Marshall R. Pihl, the translators of land of Exile: Contemporary Korean Fiction (Armonk, N.Y.: M.E.

Sharpe, 1993). In 1993 their previous book of translations, Words of Farewell: Stories by Korean Women Writers, was honored with the Âˇ fuse Korean literature Translation Award, presented by the Korean Culture and Art5 Foundation. The Fultons live in Seattle, Washington, U.S.A.

CURRENTS

MORE THAN A WORD ON A BOARD

HyOnp'an Yi Chong-sop Consultant, National Conm1ission for Cultural Properties y6np'an, which literally means "hanging board," is a broad term referring to the calligraphic boards that hang vertically or horizontally , above the gates, doors, walls and pillars of traditional buildings. The predominant example is the one which, hanging under the eaves of houses, pavilions, palace gates and halls, Confucian academies, temples, public offices and stores, bears the name of the building on which it hangs. Another prominent type is the hyonp'an which carries the construction history of or other information about the structure it adorns. Government offices and shrines used to have boards inscribed with royal decrees and ordinances. Also, it was not uncommon for people to hang slim, vertical boards bearing verses or well-known quotations on the pillars of their houses or gates as a kind of good luck charm and also for decorative purposes. Some people hung hyonp'an bearing famous quotations or family precepts on their walls. The name on a hyonp'an is usually made by borrowing a word or phrase from verses that aptly describe the building or that are relevant to the building, often requiring another hyonp'an that explains why and how the name was created. There is no specific form for .the writing on a hyonp'an but the common practice is to write the names of buildings or short quotations of three to five letters horizontally and verses and sayings vertically. Hyonp'an vary in size according to its use and the size of the building it adorns. Some have decoratively carved borders of flower, cloud and arabesque designs. Hyonp'an have been used since ancient times. Korean culture was already highly developed in the Three Kingdoms period (57

"Calligraphic Boards of Old Palaces," an exhibition at the Seoul Art Center's Calligraphy Hall, June 14-30, presented soHJe 150 boards that adorned buildings in Choson palaces. Bearing the calligraphic works of kings, princes, statesHJen and renowned writers and calligraphers, the boards are bnportant to the study of the calligraphy, sculpture and decorative arts of the Choson period (1392-1910). The exhibition was praised for its originality as well as for the valuable opportunity it provided to appreciate the cultural and artistic legacies of the Choson KingdoHJ. The boards, whose preservation is in the hands of the omce for Cultural Properties, were exhibited to coHJHJeHJorate Seoul's 600th anniversary as the nation's capital.--- Ed.

B.C.-A.D. 935), so it is quite possible that hyonp'an adorned palaces, temples and pavilions at that time. There is frequent mention of hyonp'an in historic works such as Samguk sagi (History of the Three Kingdoms), Samguk yusa (Memorabilia of the

Three Kingdoms) and Tongmuns6n (AntholHowever, very few ancient hyonp'an have survived the ravages of time. The oldest extant hyonp'an is said to be the board hanging on the main worship hall, Taeungbojon, of Magoksa Temple in Kongju in Ch'ungch'ongnam-<io. The word "Taeungogy of Korean Literature).

bojon," which it bears, is in the calligraphy of Kim Saeng (711-791), a famous calligrapher of Shilla (57 B.C.-A.D. 935), a moot point if the inscription was recarved at a later date. l11ere is a number of hyonp'an from the Koryo period (918-1392). The three oldest are: the "Muryangsujon" hyonp'an on the Muryangsujon Hall of Pus6ksa Temple in Yongju, Kyongsangbuk-do which is in the calligraphy of King Kongn1in (r. 1351-1374); the "Andong-ungbu" hyonp'an on the gate to the Andong County office; and the "Yonghoru" hyonp'an on the Yonghoru Pavilion by the Naktonggang River. A great many hyonp'an on buildings across the country date from the Choson period, albeit not a few of tl1em have been recarved recently based on the original calligraphy. l11ose dating from early Choson are quite rare, however, all but a few having been destroyed during tl1e many wars the nation underwent or by fire. The five Choson palaces in Seoul are where one can fmd most of the Âˇancient hyonp'an of historic importance. Not only are there hyonp'an on every stmcture in the palaces, there are about 800 hyonp'an from dismantled buildings stored in Ch'angdokkung Palace. Another function of the hyonp'an is to be a talisman. The hyonp'an on Namdaemun, Seoul's South Gate which is also called Sungnyemun, has a vertical hyonp'an instead of the usual horizontal one, with the word "Sungnyemun" written vertically, allegedly with the purpose of preventing the flre energy from Mt. Kwanaksan in the south from affecting the capital. The hyonp'an on Tongdaemun, Seoul's East Gate whose formal name is Hung-inmun, is inscribed with the word "Hung-injimun," instead of Hung-inmun. The insertion of "ji" in the middle,

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making it a four-letter name instead of a three-letter name, which is the nonn for both people and structures, is said to have been motivated by the need to reinforce the energy of the terrain around the gate which was lower than the rest of the capital. Records show that hy6np'an were also used in the past to exorcise evil spirits. Yusaengnu, a pavilion in the government guest house in Naju, was allegedly haunted until its hy6np'an was replaced with one in the calligraphy of Kim Saeng. His Chos6n adn1irers made the calligraphic phrase on the hy6np'an with relevant letters from his work. According to legend, the hy6np'an on the wall of the Changnamh6n House in Hwas6ng Palace in Suwon, written in an enlarged grass style by Cho Yun-hy6ng (1725-1799), a scholar-official and calligrapher, was said to be so radiant and lively d1at even a century later ghosts dared not haunt the place. Yet another interesting legend concerns the previously mentioned Sungnyemun hyonp'an of Namdaemun. The board, which was written by Prince Yangny6ng 0394-1462), was lost during the 1592 Japanese invasion. One night during the reign of Kwanghaegun (1608-1623), a mysterious light radiated from the ground by a stream in Ch'6ngp'a-dong. When the area

was dug up, the board was uncovered. It is said that the calligraphy of the hy6np'an of Hunghwamun, the main gate to Ky6nghuigung Palace, which was brushwritten by Yi Hae-ryong during the reign of King S6njo (1567-1608), was so fine that a Japanese invader shot it with an arrow out of jealousy and the arrowhead remained embedded in the n1iddle letter "hwa" until the reign of King Kojong (1863-1907). It is recorded that the hyonp'an of Konghaedae Pavilion in Haeju, which was written by Hong Kye-hui (1703-1771), was clearly visible from 4 kilometers away. The hy6np'an on d1e main gate of Ky6ngun-gung Palace, which is now known as T6ksugung, was changed after a fortuneteller said the country would enjoy prolonged prosperity if the name, Taeanmun, were changed to Taehanmun. The hy6np'an on Napch'6ngj6ng, a pavilion in Ch6ngju, P'yong-anbuk-do Province, seemed to foretell the future. The pavilion was named Napch'6ngj6ng, meaning "pavilion to accept clarity." However, as it was destroyed during the 1636 invasion by Qing China, which Koreans pronounce "ch'ong," the name was reinterpreted as "pavilion to accept Qing China." Moreover, "napch'6ng" is ve~ similar in sound to "napchak," mean-

ing "flat," the state the pavilion must have been in after it was destroyed. A horrendous political purge can be traced to a simple hy6np'an. When Kim Chong-jik (1431-1492), a great scholar-official and Confucian educator, was the magistrate of Hamyang, he removed a hy6np'an from the government guest house of Hamyang which had been hung on the building by Yu Cha-kwang. 111is so angered Yu that when he came into power later in the court of Y6nsan-gun (r. 1494-1506), after Kim's death, he devised a plot that eventually led to the execution of many of Kim's followers and even had the body of Kim exhumed. TI1e incident is known to history as Muo sahwa, the Purge of 1498. Because of the significance attached to hy6np'an, the calligraphy was usually done by a well-known person or great calligrapher. Most of the hundreds of hy6np'an in palaces, for instance, are the work of kings, crown princes, statesmen, renowned calligraphers and even Chinese notables. Those for which the inscriptions were done by royal personages tend to be intricately decorated. TI1ey are now treasured as major cultural assets especially valuable to the study of d1e calligraphy, sculpture, and decorative arts of the Chos6n period. +

The hyonp'an identifying Chunghwajon at Toksugung Palace

The Tripitaka Enters the Computer Age Lee Kyong-hee Freelance Writer

hus have I heard ... " These are the words with which the disciples of the Historic Buddha began their recitations of the Enlightened One's sennons, implying that his preaching had been transmitted orally before it was written down. The compilation of the Tripitaka, as the Buddhist canon is known, took place during a council convened by the Indian Emperor Asoka around 250 B.C., some two centuries after the Buddha's death. The sacred texts were copied by hand and translated into various languages over the following centuries as the Buddha's teaching spread all over Asia. The composition of the Chinese

Dazangqing (Great Collection of Scriptures)

was completed around the end of the Tang Dynasty (618-907). The ftrst woodblock version in China was published in 983 during the Song Dynasty. The world's most comprehensive and oldest intact edition in Chinese script today is attributed, however, to the Koreans of the Kory6 Kingdom (9181392). The Tripitaka Koreana, as the edition is known, was compiled over a period of 16 years from 1236 to 1251 by order of King Kojong, who sought to solicit the Buddha's help to expel Mongol invaders. The 81,258 woodblocks for printing the Tripitaka Koreana have defied time and the elements and transcended religion to remain one of Korea's most highly prized cultural treasures. The blocks are safely housed at Haeinsa Temple, Korea's ancient center of Avatamsaka (or Hwaom, Lotus of the Good Law) Buddhism, which is located at Hapch'6n in Ky6ngsangnam-do Province. Known in Korean as Kol}'O Taejanggyong (Great Collection of Scriptures of KOJYO) and 80

The Tripitaka Koreana is recognized worldwide as the finest of some thirty East Asian versions of the Buddhist canon in Chinese script.

P'alman Taejanggyong (Great Collection of Scriptures in Eighty Thousand Blocks), the

Tripitaka Koreana is recognized worldwide as the fmest of some thirty East Asian versions

of the Buddhist canon in Chinese script in tenns of comprehensiveness, accuracy, beauty of calligraphic style and carving. In spite of its tremendous historic and religious value, however, the canon remains largely inaccessible to most people. It is simply too vast in content. It includes 6,815 volumes comprising 1,516 titles. Moreover, few Koreans can read it because the entire text is written in classical Chinese. Translation of the canon into Korean has been extremely sluggish and is still unfinished. A group of monks at Haeinsa have set about to remedy tl1e situation, however. Last year they began to computerize tl1e Tripitaka Koreana to allow easier access to tl1e canon. "If we can complete the computerization of the entire Tripitaka Koreana within the next ftve years, I believe it will lead to a revolution in Buddhist studies," said Monk Chongnim, leader of the group and head of tl1e Taejanggy6ng Institute of Haeinsa they established. The institute was set up in September 1992 for two principal projects: the electronic publication of tl1e Tripitaka Koreana and tl1e scientific preservation of its printing blocks. It has since been struggling to overcome two tough problems: one technical and tl1e otl1er fmancial. As for technical problems, which mainly concerned computer hardware and software, a breakthrough came from abroad. Given the fantastic memory capacity of computer hardware today, the actual size of the canon, some 55 million Chinese characters, posed no problem. The problems lay in finding software containing at least 20,000 different Chinese characters; the best programs thus far developed in Korea contain no more than 15,500 Chinese characters. After repeated ex-

periments with programs developed in ChiInitiative, a body for international cooperation Monk Chongnim and his group are enna, Taiwan and Japan as well as Korea, the which was organized in accordance wid1 a countering a greater difficulty in their efforts resolution adopted at the first seminar, as institute decided to use Taiwan's latest proto secure the necessary funds. Their initial gram, Eten, which has 73,000 different charwell as various technical matters concerning goal is to raise some 2 billion won to fmance software, input methods and the preparing of acters. d1e project for d1e next 10 years. Having no tools. Chongnim stressed that the breakthrough fmancial assistance from Haeinsa or any othwas largely due to the efforts of Prof. Lewis In the meantime, negotiations are going er organizations in and outside the Buddhist on between the Taejanggy6ng Institute of Lancaster of the Department of East Asian community, they began to recruit patrons for Languages at the University of California, Haeinsa and the Chinese Academy of Social the computerization project in April 1993. Berkeley. A leading American But it is no easy task for monks scholar of Buddhism, Lancaster in a temple in the mountains to has contributed significantly to gather 80,000 donors, the symthe realization of the electronic bolic target they set to emphasize database production and publicathe scale of d1eir endeavor. Only tion of the Tripitaka, which, about 600 donors signed up in handed down in Asian lanthe first 14 mond1s. Judging d1at it may be imposguages, has a significance for Buddhists comparable to that of sible to meet d1e entire costs with the Old Testament for Judeadonations, the institute is seeking Christians. He arranged for ways to coordinate with indusHaeinsa to have access to the tries and government agencies Shanghai Research Institute for concerned with electronic data Chemical Industry's database processing and communications. which contains 2 million charac"Raising funds has been the ters. hardest part of our work ," With the cooperation of the Chongnim noted. "But we are American Academy of Religion, continuing to work wid1 the beLancaster organized an internalief that we will eventually be tional seminar on the subject at able to accomplish this project Berkeley in April1993. TI1e fourwhich is of great historic signillday meeting was attended by cance." scholars and Buddhist clerics Many people are of the opinfrom eight countries, including ion that the project deserves wider attention outside d1e Budthe United States, Burma, Malaysia, Thailand, China, Tai0 dhist world, however. "I believe wan, Japan and Korea. ~ the computerization of d1e TripiTI1e conference discussed d1e ~ taka Koreana will greatly enestablishment of an international The Ven. Chongnbn, leader of the group ofBuddhist n1.onks hance the international cultural standing of Koreans, " claimed consortium of institutes pursuing con1.puterizing the Tripitaka Korea.na similar projects and dealt with Shim Jae-ryong, a professor of Sciences in Beijing to entrust the latter with various practical matters such as d1e standardOriental philosophy at Seoul National Unithe task of inputting data. After entering over ization of coding and d1e tagging of material, versity and a member of the project comn1ita million characters from the canon d1rough as well as d1e publication and dissemination tee. During a recent seminar on the project last year, the institute concluded that it would of CD-ROMs and on-line databases. held at Chogyesa Temple in Seoul, Prof. be far more efficient, as well as econon1ical, A second international seminar on the Shim said he hoped d1e nation will realize to have the Chinese academy handle the subject is scheduled to be held at Haeinsa d1at the project could enlighten d1e world to task. "They have been computerizing classifrom September 29 to October 2 d1is year, d1e outstanding contributions made by mecal Cl1inese literature for many years," Chongwid1 the participation of some twenty deledieval Koreans in science and technology, nim explained, "and d1us d1ey have considergates. TI1e agenda includes input activities especially printing and publishing. + able technical knowhow." by members of d1e Electronic Buddl1ist Texts 81

NEWS FROM THE KOREA FOUNDATION

Support for Korean Studies Programs Abroad

FELLOWSHIP FOR KOREAN S1VDIES

The Korea Foundation offers financial assistance to universities, research institutes and libraries abroad in their efforts to promote the study and understanding of subjects related to Korea. Projects submitted for consideration must be in the fields of humanities, social sciences or arts and within the categories listed below: 1) Establishment and expansion of Korea-related cmrrses and faculty 2) Fellowships for graduate students or research grants for faculty 3) Library acquisition and cataloging Applications must be submitted to The Korea Foundation by May 31. The results of the final selection will be announced by October 15 of the same year. For application forms, program ~idel.s or further information, please write to:

Applicants should complete two copies of The Korea Foundation Fellowship for Korean Studies application form and submit their academic research proposals to The Korea Foundation by May 31. The results of the final selection will be announced by August 15 of the same year.

International Cooperation Department I The Korea Foundiition C PO. Box 2147 Seoul. Ko rea Tel82-2-753-3464. FAX,82-2-757-2047.2049

KOREA FOCUS A BIMON11ILY ON KOREAN CURRENT AFFAIRS

In addition to KOREANA, The Korea Foundation publishes KOREA FOCUS as part of its effort to inform the world community about Korea and to enhance international understanding in this era of globalization We believe KOREA FOCUS will serve as an important and timely reference for the world community. KOREA FOCUS offers a comprehensive view of contemporary Korea in a wide-ranging selection of informative articles on Korean current affairs. In this new bimonthly, you will find timely reports on Korea's politics, economy; social environment and culture, a chronology of recent events in Korea, and opinions on world affairs. Published in English and Japanese, -its articles come from leading publica.. _._ 1... . tions in Korea, including major daily newspapers, newsmagazines and aca~:"' dernic journals.

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The Korea Foundation Fellowship Programs

FELLOWSHIP FOR KOREAN LANGUAGE TRAINING

The Korea Foundation offers grants for Korean language training to graduate students, scholars and other qualified professionals overseas who wish to learn the Korean language at a Korean university language institute for a period of six to twelve months. Each successful applicant .will be assigned to a Korean language course at one of three major Korean universities, and will be provided with tuition and a monthly allowance during the grant period. Applicants should complete and submit two copies of the Korea Foundation Fellowship for Korean Language Training application form to The Korea Foundation by May 31. The results of the final selection will be announced by August 15 of the same year. For application forms, program guidelines or further information, please write to:

International Cooperation Department !I The Korea Foundation / ~rCPO. Box 2147 Seoul. Korea

lei, 82-2-753-6465 FAX 82-2-757-2047.2049

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