Koreana Autumn 1998 (English) by The Korea Foundation

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BEAUli:Y OF KOREA

Door Latticework

Latticework on tl1e doors of the Hall of Paradise of T'ongdosa Temple

A door is a link connecting the inside with the outside and darkness with light. It can be a passage from one place to another as well as from reality to paradise. In Buddhism, doors symbolize the passage toward enlightenment, which is why intricate patterns were carved on doors to reflect an ardent desire for enlightenment. In most cases, the latticework used to decorate doors is named after the Chinese character it resembles, some of which include it!, 5.l, Jtl, and j:j: patterns. The latticework patterns create a striking contrast with the pure white door paper that invariably conveys a sense of peace and tranquility. One of the most prevalent latticework patterns appearing on Buddhist temple doors is the

lotus flower which, though emanating from the corruptness of the secular world, is a symbol of the untainted purity of the Buddhist paradise. Each lotus flower has triple petals signifying the former world, the present world and the after world-in short, the continuum of time. The flowers are linked with diagonal lines intersecting each other to symbolize the universe. Through such intricately carved latticework, one encounters the world of mandala, an absolute state of the spirit which transcends both time and space. The latticework on the doors of the Hall of Paradise of T'ongdosa Temple features elaborate lotus flower patterns which seem to glow from the natural wood surface. +

KOREAN ART & CULTURE Cover: Mot is a concept acquired through aesthetic experiences in Korean life

c 0

over a long period of time.

MOt: A Korean Approach to Life

Seemingly simple yet compli-

cated, spontaneous yet disciplined, Korean mot derives from the harmonizing of

The Ultimate Chic that Accommodates All Sizes and Shapes

by Lee 0-young

ambivalent elements. In this issue, KOREANA takes a look at mot and its influence on day-to-day life. The cover photo is a close-up of the diagonallatticework adorning a window of an upper class house.

N T

8 Mot: The Natural Rhythm of Life and Soul by Park Kyong-li

10 The Mot of the Choson Sonbi by Choi Seung-beom

16 The Charm of Anomaly in Korean Art by Kang U-bang

KOREAN A Internet Website With the inauguration of the Korea Foundation's home page on the World Wide Web, on-line access to its publications are possible with abstracts of KOREANA features along with photographs. Please visit our Internet website at: http:!Avww.kofo.or.krlkdata.htm.

ÂŠThe Korea Foundation 1998

22 Aesthetics of Korean Architecture by Kim Bong-ryol

28 Daily Artifacts: The Refinement and Elegance of Fans by Choi Gong-ho

Demythologizing Mot

The opinions expressed by the authors do not necessarily represent those of the editors of KOREANA or The Korea Foundation

The Arts of Korea Gallery in the Metropolitan Museum of Art

KOREANA, registered as a quarterly magazine with the Ministry of Culture and Tourism (Registration No. Ba1033, dated Aug. 8, 1987), is also published in French, Spanish, Japanese and Chinese.

by Kevin O'Rourke

by Yi Song-mi

Metropolitan Museum of Art Opens Permanent Gallery for Korean Art

48 INTERVIEW

Yun Kyung-ryol: T'ou Maker

Âˇ by Kim Young-uk

Korea Foundation

Voll2, No 3 Autumn 1998

51 ARTISTS OF KOREA

Pianist Paik Hae-sun by Paik Seong-hyun

54 ON THE ROAD

Autumn in Rural Korea by Kang Woon-gu

60 MARKETS OF KOREA

Hamp'y6ng Cattle Market by Chung Seung-mo

64 NATURE OF KOREA

The Virgin Forest of Mt. Ch6mbongsan by Chun Young-Woo

68 DISCOVERING KOREA

Mushrooms of Korea by Cho Duck-hyun

72 TRADITIONAL ARTISAN

Y6ny6pju by Lee Hyoung-kwon

76 KOREAN NATIONAL TREASURE

Tabot'ap and S6kkat'ap Pagodas by Lee \Von-bok

78 KOREAN MYTHOLOGY

Korean Myths of Death by Kim Yol-k yu

80 CURRENTS

Centennial Anniversary of My6ngdong Cathedral by Kim Won

Korean Cultural Festival Held in Berlin by Han Woo-chang

86 Events & Exhibits

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

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Since ancient times Koreans have pursued mot in their songs, dance, calligraphy, painting, and in the simple routines and games enjoyed in everyday life. All Koreans would love to "have mot," and to be called a ''person of mot" is the highest compliment any Korean can be paid. But what is mot? Many Korean scholars, including Yi Htli-sung (1897-1989), a revered specialist on the Korean language, agree that mot is an aesthetic concept. Put simply, scholars believe that mot is a kind of "beauty" viewed through the Korean sense of aesthetics. If "beauty" is a universal concept, then mot is a more unique, Korean concept and a symbol of beauty based on Koreans' perspective of aesthetics. The extreme difficulty of translating the word mot into foreign languages demonstrates the uniquely Korean nature of the concept. Mot is a composite value formulated by the combination and integration of several distinct values such as "beauty," "elegance," and "refinement" rough the Korean people's

So when and for what is the word mot used? It is most commonly used to describe the appearance of a person or a human creation, rather than an object from nature such as a flower or plant. In this sense, one could say that mot is an exceedingly "humane" expression of beauty and something more. The perception of mot transcends norms and breaks rules. Something that is extremely normal, standardized, and orderly can be called beautiful, but mot is not the word used to describe these characteristics. According to the great Korean poet Cho Chihun (1920-1968), "The sense of aesthetics called mot is felt in the beauty of refined tastes, magnificence, a free spirit, rhythms and transcendence. A world with such qualities is said to have mot." Genuine mot is found in the inner mind rather than external appearances. PY C'hOn-duk (1910-), a poet and essayist, once emphasized this b y saying, "Genuine mot should be perceived from the beauty of the mind that embraces poetic morality." As such, mot has accumulated in the aesthetic experience of the Korean people over thousands of years. Today mot pervades the daily lives of the Korean people. ~ !he pwpose of this special edition of KOREANA t.Si1to defin e th aspirations and contents of mot in Âˇ ,';_J;laily li studying the structure of the 6iÂˇean sense -Ed.

ABOUT

MOt

h'angm un: In the West they talk about peeping through the keyhole because that is the only way to peep through doors. But in Korean traditional homes, doors and windows do not fit their frames snugly enough and there is invariably a crack between the win-

dow or door and their frames, no matter how well-constructed. And we can look in and out from the sides of doors. Hence the Korean expression, "to look in through the crack of doors." Even Japanese doors, though they have the same paper and lattice

But what does all this mean? Does it mean that we Koreans, whose carpenters built Japan's famous Horyuji Temple, cannot do something just as exquisite in Korea when we set our minds to it? Maybe our windows and doors do not fit precisely, but can one find any more delicate and refined lat-

Ultimate Chic Accommodates All Sizes and Shapes

The that LeeO-young

Professor of Korean Literature Ewha Womans University

Koreans know what a window is. They know the secTet of the window, that crack in the border between light and dark which cannot be measured with even the most accurate ruler. The person who can appreciate the labyrinth called life, with all its subtle tones of gray and which cannot be told to the nearest millimeter or two, is one who is capable of living in the same way a Korean fits a window, the way a Korean lives.

designs we do, are not exactly like ours. Japanese doors and windows fit tightly, in contrast to ours, which hang there just close enough to serve their purpose. To us Koreans, the loosely fit window is the norm. You will not find this type of window or this mentality anywhere else in Asia, not to mention the West, making Korea the only place where you will find a paper specially named for its function of sealing up cracks between a window and its frame. "Window zephyr paper," if you will, is imbued with the Korean character. Even this crack sealer is forgiven if it is not suffocatingly airtight. And so it is that when you hear the wind whistling through the w indows on a deep winter's night, you know you are in Korea. Then there is the hinge. Westerners and Japanese have their scientifically fit hinges, and we Koreans have ours. Our hinge can be hammered in to tighten and hammered out to loosen, and we can be perfectly happy with the result.

ticework anywhere else in the world? Koreans know what a window is. They know the secret of the window, that crack in the border between light and dark which cannot be measured with even the most accurate ruler. The person who can appreciate the labyrinth called life, with all its subtle tones of gray and which cannot be told to. the nearest millimeter or two, is one who is capable of living in the same way a Korean fits a window, the way a Korean lives. And that person will enjo y the sound of the wind whistling through the cracks between a window and its frame, a sound so much more melodious than the exacting sound of the carpenter's plane. The beauty of the Korean window and door is the very same beaut y found in life's contradictions. Paji: Pants for People To understand what is meant when people talk about the functionalism and rationalism of the West, all you have to do is put on a pair of Western pants. These are made to

clutch at the waist without allowing even an inch of leeway. The closer they fit, the more highly regarded the tailor. It is the same with women's skirts; the length can vary, but the waist must be a perfect fit. It is no exaggeration to say that the technology that got us to the moon originated in this concept of exact measurement. But for the Korean, in his baggy trousers with bulky cotton

padding, there is nothing more ridiculous than a close fit. The human waist was never meant to be measured. One's waist is never the same size. It is larger after a person has eaten or when a person is in good health, and smaller when one has not eaten for a while, or when one is il l. The human body is not some architectural product made from concrete; it is always in flux,

Ch'angmun

Korean pants, or paji, are unique in that they have the world's la1gest waist, and have nothing to do with measurements, so that anyone can wear them. All you have to do is loosen or tighten the waist strap to suit the situation. It is the same with women 's skirts. Koreans have gone beyond the West's rationalistic concept of exact measurement to give their products the flexibility to adapt to any situation.

belying the accurate measurement of what it may wear. The attempt to measure the human body for a comfortable fit brings to mind a story about a river boatman who dropped his knife in the water and marked an "X" on the spot with his finger so he could find the knife when he came back that way again. How can a living body be measured? This folly of trying to measure the ever-changing body with a tape measure comes straight from the rationalism and functionalism of the West. Because of such thinking, when the body expands a bit, the waist of your trousers becomes unbearably constraining, and when the body shrinks a bit, you spend all day pulling up your pants. Thus Koreans designed the onesize-fits-all trousers, where you just adjust the waistband as your waistline requires. Korean pants, or paji, are

unique in that they have world 's largest waist, and have nothing to do with measurements, so that anyone can wear them. All you have to do is loosen or tighten the waist strap to suit the situation. It is the same with women's skirts. Koreans have gone beyond the West's rationalistic concept of exact measurement to give their products the flexibility to adapt to any situation. The discomfort which people suffer in Western pants is indeed a result of modern industrial society, which in turn was born of functionalism and rationalism. The human being should be considered before the clothes he wears, just as the horse should come before the cart. Clothes are meant to be worn by people; they are not meant to wear themselves. But look at the Western suit. Even when it is taken off, it retains its stiff form. That is why it must be hung on a hanger after it is taken off. Korean clothes are different; they take on the three-dimensional form of a person when they are being worn, then resume their two-dimensional form when taken off. Thus Koreans do not hang them, they are simply folded. Korean clothes do not exist for and of themselves, and thus do not retain their o.wn shape when not being worn. In the West, people fit themselves to their clothes; their clothes wear them. The result, of course, is the alienation seen so often in Western society. The adjustable waist of Korean clothing reflects the culture's flexible attitude toward material items, its only inflexible rule being that it serve the interests and attend to the comfort of its users. Poson: The Boot Sock It is said that when a company

offered a free pair of socks for the purchase of every package of its instant soup , sales plummeted. Apparently, consumers had subcon-

sciously tasted someone's foot in their soup. Of all the parts of the human body, the foot is the sorriest. The foot is that part of the body that comes in direct contact with the ground, which makes it the dirtiest and the most abused part of the body. With those five wiggling appendages (the most revolting being that withered baby toe) and that knob on the side that juts out like a tumor. .. the foot is so ridiculous it defies description. That is why genteel women in medieval times hid the silly things under skirts which draped all the way to the floor. Ancient Koreans, however, turned this unfortunate part of the body into a thing of beauty. They used their refined sense of design to give us the boot sock, or poson. The Western sock assumes a tangible form only when put on the foot. The shape that it assumes is the foot of its wearer. No matter how good Westerners rna y be in designing clothes, they have yet to figure out what to do for the foot. Every other piece of Western clothing, with the exception of that pitiful sock, has its own identity, its own form independent of the body wearing it. However, when you take a sock off, it just lays there limp, as creepy as the dead skin a snake slithers out of. The Japanese

tabi, much like the Korean poson, is made to fit the form of the foot snugly, and when it is taken off it looks as if someone's chopped-off foot is standing there hideously realistic. Then there is the Korean poson. It beautifies the foot by providing a distinctive form. All the graceful lines of the poson sweep together to meet in a hooked peak at the toe, something every bit as beautiful as the curved hip of the tiled roof corners on a Korean temple. No, there is no need to

Poson

The human being should be considered before the clothes he wears, just as the horse should come before the cart. Clothes are meant to be worn by people; they are not meant to wear themselves. But look at the Western suit. Even when it is taken off, it retains its stiff form. That is why it must be hung on a hanger after it is taken off Korean clothes are different; they take on the three-dimensional form of the human when they are being worn, then resume their two-dimen -

Paji

sional form when taken off

worry about that protruding big toe showing. The poson is a deviation from anatomical engineering in that no part of it too closely resembles its corresponding part on the foot. When you take off a poson, it retains its attractive form . In fact , though originally for the foot, it can also serve as a decorative piece for a room. The poson's lack of direct resemblance to the foot has given rise to some humorous incidents. There is an anecdote (whether true or not) that when, during Japan's Edo period, a pair of poson were presented to a distinguished Japanese figure, they were mistaken for and used as headgear. Thus the poson is sometimes jokingly referred to as the "Edo cap." Westerners may w ell have enhanced this anecdote: the "Edo stocking cap." As I have already mentioned, Koreans, who like roominess and flexibility in everything they wear, and do not like something which fits exactly without even an inch or so of leeway, make an exception for their poson. It is not loose and roomy like our skirts and trousers; it fits snug. The poson does not come off easily once it is on. Indeed, most Koreans can probably recall trying to help pull their mother's poson off on her return home, only to end up thump! on their rump. One can say that the poson is the embodiment of the Korean aesthetic. Unlike in the West, the foot appears often in Korean literature and song. The description of the heroine Ch'unhyang stepping so delicately in her poson suggests the ultimate in beaut y. True beauty is not an enhancement of something that we already think is beautiful. True beauty is the successful transformation of something that is unpleasant in appearance into something which pleases the eye. The Korean poson could never be thought of in terms of those socks that ruined the company that offered them in their packages of soup. +

ike han and shinbaram, mot is an almost uniquely Korean sentiment. All three represent highly complex and abstract states of mind, which are almost impossible to describe because they defy pinning down. The best illustration of mot may be found in Samguk yusa (Memorabilia of the Three Kingdoms) written by Monk Iryon in the late 13th century. Although the book has a strong Buddhist sensibility, it is a compendi-

um of the spiritual and emotional history of the Korean people. The attitude and sta te of mind underlying the episodes and events in the book still underpin the Korean character. Iryon's book presents events and characters from Korea's mythical past to the Three Kingdoms period (1st century B.C.- A.D. 7th century). Ch'oyong's efforts to subdue the evil spirit that violated his wife reveal an incomparable beauty of spirit. Ch'oyong exhibits the highest degree

Mit

e Natural

R ythm of Lie and Soul Park Kyong-li Novelist

The national culture of any people is an integral construct, form ed through long years of collective ex istence. What is loosely called "tradition" is something that grew out of the national life of each nation in its particular en vironment and in the course of its shared historical experience~

of spiritual refinement that a human can attain, and the most exquisite mental balance. Another moving episode in the book is that of an old man who scaled a cliff to pluck a flower for Lady Suro, who openly yearned for the flower, and offered it to her along with a song. A comparison may be drawn between the old man's actions and the gallantry of Western knights. Chivalry is the flower of Western civilization. A knight who spreads his cloak on the muddy ground so that his queen would not have to dirty her feet is a moving and inspiring figure. One can associate valor, devotion, and romance with that act. But it could also be that the knight had worldly motives of ambition and desire. The story of the old man who dedicated the flower to Lady Suro is quite different. There is no hint whatsoever

of desire or ambition. It is a pure and disinterested kindness that the old man shows Lady Suro, something akin to the bounty that Nature bestows on all living things. There is no suggestion of such virtues as self-sacrifice or loving-kindness; if anything, the story suggests compassion and mercy. Self-sacrifice and loving-kindness place on the beneficiary a burden of indebtedness. The pure benevolence exhibited by the old man can only emanate from a mind that has transcended earthly desires. Koreans call a state of mind like the old man's mot. The mot of Koreans is a product of Korean culture. The national culture of any people is an integral construct, formed through long years of collective existence. What is loosely called "tradition" is something that grew out of the national life of each nation in its particular environment and in the course of its shared historical experience. Therefore, the longer a nation's history, the more elaborate and refined its tradition. The most prominent feature of mot is that it is free of artificia li ty. Naturalness is the essence of mot. Koreans find mot in natural objects or works of art that are free of artificiality. Mot comes from balance. Balance fosters life. The artist's quest for balance in his or her artistic creation is a

quest for life. The sentiments of mot, shinbaram and han have no counterparts in the Japanese language. The Japanese terms iki and ko bear some similarity to mot and shinbaram, respectively, but there is no word in Japanese that even

Mot, in its essence, is not something that exists in form and

col01~

without reference

to the human spirit. In fact, mot is something that cannot dwell in something that has no spirit, that is purely material. Mot cannot reside in something that is gaudy and flashy. Mot is natural and approximates the concept of han. The Japanese word urami means resentment, but this is simply rancor and has only minimal affinity to the Korean sentiment of han. Han implies a mournful brooding on the essential condition of human existence and a sorrowful wish to transcend bitterness. The Japanese word ko simply denotes fun, and does not connote creative joy and elation, as does shinbaram. The Japanese word iki, which some people regard as an equivalent of mot, strongly suggests eroticism and aesthetic delight in the grotesque and is devoid of the connotation of spiritual delight in beauty. Iki is a relish for concrete aesthetic objects and experiences, a delight in the beauty of a glamorous woman, or the clean sweep of a samurai's sword in felling off heads. Perhaps this very materialistic orientation of the Japanese made possible the great material success of Japan. Many Koreans envy Japan, and argue that they must become realistic like the Japanese. But a materialistic orientation is not without negative consequences. If humankind keeps growing more and more materialistic, everyone will end up as machines existing solely for pleasure. Then our materialism will deplete Nature and there will be no more space for life. Are we living the kind of life we really want to live? The present state of the world is not what humankind

envisioned at the beginning of evolution. Civilization keeps improving, but humans are regressing. Nowadays, mot is most often used in the context of fashion shows, colorful personalities, and beauty contests. I am not saying that the use of the word in such contexts is wrong. But I do contend that our loss will be great if we continue to apply the word solely to material objects and visible phenomena. Mot, in its essence, is not something that exists in form and color, without reference to the human spirit. In fact, mot is something that cannot dwell in something that has no spirit, that is purely material. Mot cannot reside in something that is gaudy and flashy. Mot is natural and uncontrived, like a natural curve that flows spontaneously. It is my belief that the entire culture of the Korean nation can be summed up in the concept of mot. Whereas straight lines are sharp and forbidding, curves are soft and rhythmic, not rigid and static. The Korean landscape is formed of supple curves, and Korean architecture, clothes, and daily commodities utilize soft, flowing curves. P6s6n, Korean traditional women 's socks, for example, show the Korean predilection for the exquisite yet simple curve. All life is rhythmic and this rhythm represents the movement of the soul. We must respect life. Life must not be equated with objects and possessions. +

uncontrived, like a natural curve that flows spontaneously.

hen I was a child, I frequently heard my grandfather and grandmother utter the word "s6nbi." As I was about to begin primary school, just after I finished my study of the Ch 'ugu, a Chinese character primer, grandfather talked about the necessity of reading the

is wise and prudent." I felt that there was something lacking in these definitions. Whatever a man did, wherever a man served, if he showed the heart and deportment of a sonbi, he had to be a sonbi. The term

Sohak (Small Learning), a

The Mit of

the

primer of Confucian precepts. I insisted that I had to learn Japanese, trying to go against my grandfather. But grandfather stood firm. A sonbi, he said, must first learn what it is to be a man, and to do this he must know through the Sohak how the sages comported themselves. Once I began school, however, I used the pretext of school commitments to keep putting off the Sohak to vacation time. In the end I never completed it. My grandmother, who taught me han-gtll, always referred to the sonbi ideal when she scolded me for coarse behavior: "That's not good enough for someone who wants to be a sonbi," she would say. Thus, the word "sonbi" was regularly in my ear when I was a child. Once I grew up and left home, however, I virtually forgot it. It was in the mid-1970s that I began to think about the word "sonbi" again. As an assignment, I had to write a paper on the spirit of the sonbi in Choson Dynasty (1392-1910) shijo. This was a time when there was a concerted drive in Korea to define the spiritual underpinnings of the Korean people. To write the paper, I had to reconsider what exactly constituted the sonbi spirit. Somehow, I could not get started. I consulted several dictionaries. Almost all of them treated the word as antiquated: "a man of knowledge in olden times who did not take public office"; or "a regular title for a man of virtue and learning"; or "someone [today] who 10

"sonbi" could not be restricted to those who did not serve in the bureaucracy. A knowledgeable man, a widely read man who came out of retirement to assume the rank of prime minister, could not be said to have forfeited his sonbi status. A man with the mind and heart of a sonbi was still a sonbi even after accepting public office. It is in the heart and deportment of the sonbi that we find the essence of the sonbi spirit. This is what my grandmother had inculcated in me: Wherever I served, I should do so with the mind and deportment of a sonbi. The advice was clear. Live with the sonbi spirit of our forefathers. As I read through the shijo of the Choson Dynasty, I tried to summarize key points of the sonbi spirit. First, there was the spirit of loyalty. This quality is evident in ChOng Mong-ju's (1337-1392) "Song of the Red-Blooded Heart":

Chos6n S6nbi Choi Seung-beom Professor Emeritus of Korean Literature Chonbuk National University

The five qualities of the s6nbi spi11t show that the life of the genuine s6nbi was by no means easy Such a life could not be compromised. Sometimes it called for the supreme sacrifice.

Though my body die and die again, though it die a hundred deaths, my skeleton tum to dus~ my soul exist or not, could the heart, red-blooded in undivided loyalty to its lord, change? Korean history has more than a few examples of heroes of the past who sacrificed glory and life for honor's sake. Second, the sonbi spirit reveals an attitude that distances itself from ill-gotten wealth. This is the spirit shown in that well-known shijo by Song Sammun (1418-1456) arguing that a loyal man does not eat ill-gotten greens even when threatened with death from starvation.

I look at Suyang Mountain and I grieve for Baiyi and Shuqi. Faced with starvation did

they not eat wild greens? Weeds perhaps, but on whose land did they grow?

The s6nbi spirit emphasizes the practice of Confucian precepts. These require

After the accession of Sejo to the throne, Song Sam-mun, in a gesture of disapproval, refused to accept his official stipend. He spread a straw mat on the floor, a mark of poverty, and ate just enough to survive; he became the poorest of the poor. This is the sonbi spirit. Though destitute, one does not put a finger on ill-gotten goods; one stands firm in one's will for justice. To Song Sam-mun, the new regime was illegitimate. Third, the sonbi spirit is characterized by love of country. Song Sun (1493-1583) exemplifies this spirit admirably in his shijo "Ch'iimga" ("Song on Leaving Office"). The final section declaims: "Stay heart, body will go alone ," showing that there is no change in the sonbi's love for his country even after he has been removed from office. When the sonbi feels that the affairs of the nation are going awry , he feels beholden to send a memorial to the court calling for justice, even if he lives in the remotest corner of the country. Fourth, the sonbi spirit shows humility, a readiness to live in accordance with one's social station. Yun Son-do (1587 -1671) reveals this quality in "Natural Joy 1." At the age of 30, Yun Son-do was a scholar in the Court Archives. He wrote a memorial to the court, pyongchinso, excoriating the wrongdoing of a faction at court that included the powerful retainer Yi Idam and the king's brother-in-law, Yu Hl'1i-bun, as a result of which he was sent into exile. Freed after Injo's restoration, he went into exile again because of his unbending stance on the issue of the mourning period for Queen Cho. He wrote "Natural Joy 1" in his old age, after he had retired to the country:

I'm building a straw hut beneath a rock in a landscape of mountain and 12

one to first cultivate

water. Those who do not understand laugh at what they see, but folly and wstic simplicity somehow seem to become me.

the self and, on the basis of this personal Tao, to make an attempt to see that Tao is observed by other men in their daily lives. This was the s6nbi's life.

People may laugh at him, he says, for building a hut beneath a rock in the midst of mountains and streams, but he knows himself what best befits his station. He knew that a humble lifestyle befits a sonbi. Fifth, the sonbi spirit emphasizes the practice of Confucian precepts. Yi Hwang (1501-1570) points this out in "The Twelve Songs of Tosan." Although he cannot see the ancients, Confucius and Mencius, he must walk the road they walked; he must practice the Tao they exemplified.

The ancients cannot see me; I cannot see the ancients. Though I cannot see the ancients, the road they've walked lies before me. With the road they've walked before me, how can I a void walking it? This Confucian Tao requires one to first cultivate the self and, on the basis of this personal Tao, to make an attemp.t to see that Tao is observed by other men in their daily lives. This was the sonbi's life. The five qualities of the sonbi spirit show that the life of the genuine sonbi was by no means easy. Such a life could not be compromised. Sometimes it called for the supreme sacrifice, as exemplified by Hwang Hyon (18551910), who took his life in protest against Japanese annexation in 1910. His famous "Death Poem" reveals the difficulty of this road:

Lamplight in autumn: I close my book and think of days gone by: it's difficult to be a s6nbi in the world of men.

Hwang Hyon tells us how difficult it was to be a sonbi. He also convinces us that in his own life he practiced the true way. Despite the difficulties of this path, the men of old, whether in retirement or in public office, were able to keep their hearts upright through the practice of these five characteristic features of the sonbi spirit, which they acquired by reading the Sohak w hen they were still young. Ch'oe Ik-hyon (1833-1906), a leader of the anti-Japanese movement who died while on a hunger strike on Taema Island, emp hasized that the sonbi required genuine inner strength. Things are as they have always been for a sonbi, in matters of accepting public office and retiring from public office. Accepting public office indicates that one has the Tao to fulfill that office; the ability to leave office with an untroubled heart means that one has real inn er strength. This inner strength is the moral fiber that supports a sonbi in life. A sonbi, whether he held public office or not, always had the broadness of disposition to enjoy life. Kim In-hu (1510-1560) elaborates the p 'ungryu elegance of an upright life lived with the clear freshness of the breeze:

~-Âˇ

Blue mountains go their way; green waters go their way. Mountains their way, waters their way, and me my way among them. I've grown my way among them; among them my way 111 grow old. There was no room for stubborn perversity, social affectation or political intrigue. P'ungryu is defined in the dictionary as an abandonment of vulgarity and an enjoyment of oneself in a gracefu l, refined way. In sonbi entertainment there was poetry , wine, song and dance; and there was always a female presence. However, p'ungryu also

Orchid by Kim Chong-hili, ink on paper, 30.6 em x 55 em 13

incorporated an overall moral decorum, clear as the fresh breeze, that decried any impropriety. This occurs in the following, "The Fisherman," which dates from troubled times at the end of the Koryo Dynasty (918-1392):

The moon is bright on every mountain in sight; there is grace here without taking a beauty on board.

Shin Hum (1566-1628) tells us:

Lifting a cup of wine is a great joy, but when greed fills the heart, the cup of wine is gunpowder hell. Welcoming a visitor is a joy that opens the heart, but if one falls into vulgarity, pleasure changes to a sea of pain; joy turns to sorrow.

sonbi keeps close to him in his private quarters: copies of the classics; Chaejapaekka (All Masters and a Hundred Schools); history books; medicaments; and books on magic. Also, paper, brushes and ink Of particular interest are his instructions for pillows and incense:

If I make a pillow of willow branches and gather reed flowers

The same sonbi grace is evident in the shijo sung at Hwang Chin-i's grave by that exemplar of p'ungryu men, Im Che (1549-1587):

Are you asleep or are you just resting in this mountain valley thick with grass? Where is your rose complexion? Is only a skeleton buried here? Sad to say there's no one to offer me a cup of wine. Sonbi grace is also evident in Im Che's famous exchange with the kisaeng Hanu. Southern sonbi meets northern entertainer over a cup of wine. Im Che sings:

The northern sky was clea1; so I set out without rain gear. Snow fell on the mountain; cold rain ran through the fields. Today I met Cold Rain; I11 freeze in bed tonight. Hanu met Im Che's challenge with a poem of her own:

What's all this about freezing in bed, why should you freeze in bed tonight? Where's your duck embroidered pillow, your kingfisher quilt: why do you say you11 freeze? Today you met Cold Rain; perhaps you11 melt in bed tonight. 14

Vulgarity is the domain of the merchant; guile is the domain of the prostitute; comed y is the domain of the jester. The sonbi loses all dignity if his words are tainted by any of the three. Even w hen drinking w ine, the sonbi is al w a ys conscious of decorum; he always thinks of what may be said afterward. Shin Hum also tells of the things a

for a coverlet, that will suffice for old age. When it comes to gracious living deep in the mountains, one must not leave out the burning of incense. Gather old pine tree roots, branches, leaves and berries; g1ind them togethe1~ mix in the resin of maple. Then burn

the incense, a pellet at a time, to create an ethereal atmosphere.

Yi Pyong-gi has left us the following comment on a sonbi's living space:

The sonbi does not surround himself with accoutrements that smack of the gaudy or luxurious; he favors practical things, things associated with frugality. Yi Pyong-gi (1892-1968) was a noted orchid lover, both cultivating and planting these flowers. If a sonbi had even a small yard, he planted bamboo,

When I go into a house, I can tell what sort of man the owner is by looking at the orchids. A room w ith no old books, no orchids, just a few indifferent pieces of calligraphy and painting, no matter how big and gorgeously appointed, is no more than an

chrysanthemums, plum trees and flowering trees. By such cultivation, he hoped to realize within himself the fine principle of harmony that exists between heaven and earth. He embraced the plants that he cultivated as friends and cultivated the self at all times. Kang Hui-an, a famous sonbi, even wrote A Compendium on the Cultivation of Flowers.

eatery. A hut, a humble shack, with a few old books, one or two potted orchids, and a bottle of wine in between, is not to be traded for a prime ministership. Bread cultivates the body; orchids cultivate the mind. Yi Pyong-gi often said as much in his lectures. One of his essays includes

a shijo that sings of the wild orchid:

The flower is white with a tint of gossamer purple mist. Noble, elegant; it has a fragrance the initiated know, though it be hid in the forest. The mot of the Chason sonbi can be compared to that of the wild orchid, which never loses its distinctive purple

tint. Though the flower may be fragile as a thread, the orchid purifies the living environment with its presence and fragrance. So too the Chason sonbi. When did we begin to lose the light of the sonbi spirit? Looking at society today, one longs for a flowering of p'ungryu elegance. The word "sonbi" should not be obsolete; it should be very much alive. â&#x20AC;˘ 15

s art varies in style by location, time and people, a study of changing styles involves not only understanding the aesthetics of the time when the art was created but also the philosophy, religion and society of that time. Most art historians endeavor to trace a logical development of styles in the relics of the upper class because stylistic changes are relatively more pronounced in such items. Numerous studies and research indicate there is much complexity in mot, artistic charm or flavor, and that it too differs by time, location, people and even by individual. Because of their seeming similarities, people tend to confuse style with cha rm. Though they are of similar attributes, the two involve different concepts. Greater artistic charm can be found in ordinary life than in the art works cherished by the upper crust. After all, ordinary persons could be more extraordinary and anomalous; they could afford to be so because they had no reason or need to adhere to established norms. They could deviate from the standards set by society with total ease because they were free and without inhibitions. Such common people have sporadically left their marks in quite prominent places in art history. However, because the objects they created were unexpected and exceptional, they are often excluded from the list of objects selected for academic research, thus their significance is yet to be fully fathomed. Examples of these include terra cotta figurines of the Shilla period (57 B.C.-A.D. 935), punch'6ng pottery of the early years of the Chason Dynasty (1392-1910) and folk paintings and white porcelain with decorative underglaze iron of the

late Chason Dynasty. Vividly representing life at the grassroots, these works embody a bold spirit and charm derived from a blissful disregard of regulations and norms.

Terra Cotta Figurines One of the most spontaneous moments in Korean art can be found in Shilla terra cotta figurines. The roofend tile excavated from the site of Hwangnyongsa Temp le, a lth oug h much larger than the figurines, is their

sibling in terms of the spirit that exudes the earthy sentiments of their free-spirited creators. Terra cotta figurines were produced in abundance during the 5th and 6th centuries. Those attached to the surface of earthenware vessels as decoration are called t'ou to distinguish them from the free-standing figures known as t'oyong. T'ou are found on the shoulder of a pot or on the cover of a footed wine cup. Depicting people playing the zither, hunting or even in the act of cop ul ation, the Âˇ clay figures are humorous depictions of daily life during the Shilla period. Mostly prod u cts of spontaneous handiwork, t'o u are insightful and vivacious but far from realistic or sophisticated, certain parts of the body being grossly exaggerated. T'ou often exude a powerful vitality. The t'oyong recovered recently from the stone burial chamber of a tomb in Hwangsong-dong, Kyongju are very much in the tradition of Shilla. Especially notable among them is a figure of a coquettish female with her hair neatly parted in the middle and her left hand held coyly over her lips. She certainly allows us a glimpse of the sense of mot among the Shilla people. If I were to identify the most humorous and charming of all Shilla figurines , I wou ld not hesitate to choose this image of a very endearing woman. Some Shilla roof-end tiles were decorated with a hand-molded human face on the end. Roof tiles embellished with human faces are unique to Shilla. The complacent faces of Shilla people are also found on ch'imi, a decorative tile used at the end of a roof ridge. In 1976, some 700 years after Hwangnyongsa, the largest temple and

The Charm of

Anomaly n Korean Art

KangU-bang Director, Ky6ngju National Museum

One of the most spontaneous moments in Korean art can be found in ShilJa terra cotta figurines. The roof -end tile exca vated from the site of Hwangnyongsa Temple, although much larger than the figurines, is their sibling in terms of the spirit that exudes d1e earthy sentin1ents of their free-spirited creators.

the national center of Shilla Buddhism, was reduced to ashes by the Mongols, the government launched an extensive excavation of the temple site. One day in 1978, when the excavation was entering its third year, I witnessed a huge ch'imi being excavated. No less than 182 centimeters in height, the tile comprised two horizontal pieces that had been fitted together after being fired separately. The Hwangnyongsa ch'imi is no different in form than any others which were commonplace during the Three Kingdoms period (1st century B.C.-AD. 7th century). However, the colossal tile is truly extraordinary in that it is decorated with lotus blossoms and human faces, each molded by hand. The faces are all brimming with laughter. Some have beards and moustaches which identify them as men, more specifically, elderly men. At the center of the faces are little clumps of clay in the way of noses. The contours of the faces appear to have been roughly shaped with fingertips while the eyes and lips are rendered in quick strokes. One can see clearly that they were hurriedly and spontaneously created, yet they exude innocence and gaiety, some smiling gently and others laughing uproariously. I can almost see the friendly Shilla artisans beckoning to me in the handmolded faces and lotus blossoms and feel that perhaps I could plunge my hands into clay to shape these things myself. In a quantum leap over a temporal distance of 1,400 years, I am taken back to the time of Shilla, while the great ch'imi, which was made then, stands here and now with its powerful presence intact as in those bygone days. The sheer size of the ch'imi indicates that it was possibly part of the central worship hall, Hwangnyongsa's largest building. One can easily imagine the painstaking attention and reverence involved in the construction of such a magnificent national temple under the rigid government supervi-

Woman with Parted Hair, clay figurine from a tomb in Hwangsong-dong, Kyongju, 7th century Unified Shilla, height 16.6 em, Kyongju National Museum

sion of Shilla, which was at its peak in terms of influence in East Asia. One can also wonder how, amidst such a solemn atmosphere at the construction site, ch'imi depicting so much frivolity and spontaneity could be created by an anonymous tile artisan to adorn the rooftop of such a prominent building. Nevertheless, the supervisor must have allowed such a thing to happen. I see here the spontaneous, active participation of the grassroots and the allencompassing harmony that embraces the social classes of all ranks. Perhaps this was the spirit that enabled Shilla, the weakest of the three kingdoms, to defeat the other two kingdoms and unify the Korean peninsula under its rule. I can vividly feel the latent national energy and solidarity of the Shilla people in the ch'imi of Hwangnyongsa.

Punch'ong and White Porcelain with Decorative Underglaze Iron We come across a similarly delightful anomaly, a casual disregard for formality, in the punch'6ng ware that thrived during the early Chos6n Dynasty. Punch'6ng ware is made with coarse, gray-brown or deep brown clay commonplace in Korea. After the piece is shaped, it is brushed with white slip and then given a coat of soft gray or green glaze. The earthy green-gray shade of the body, similar to the color of mugwort, which peeps out between the yellowish white decoration is a color reminiscent of the spirit of Korean people. The two colors seem to play hide-and-seek for decorative effect, bringing alive the rather dull surface. Though of different attributes, the body and the design never conflict but rather complement

each other in perfect harmony. There are a number of techniques used to decorate the white-slip covered pottery with a variety of designs such as plants, flowers and fish. They involve stamping-and-inlaying, etching, scraping and iron-oxide painting. Sometimes the brush marks alone can create an attractive finish. Etching is mainly used for a linear depiction of a pair of fish or an abstract version of flowers on the slipcovered surface. This technique is usually applied on p'y6nby6ng, a wine flask with flattened sides. The sides are often divided into several sections that are decorated with various geometric patterns. Designs can be quite realistic as in the case of the pair of fish on one p'y6nby6ng, but they can often be very much abstract in a modern sense like the peonies on a piece in

the collection of the National Museum of Korea, which look anything but like peonies. The narrow panel at each end is divided into three areas and filled with vertical lines and dots making the entire flask a hodgepodge of abstract patterns. In the scraping technique, which is the reversal of the inlay technique, the slip is removed from the background save for the intended pattern. To minimize the area from which the slip needs to be scraped away, patterns tend to be broad. Peonies and lotus are favorite designs here because their wide leaves and petals can take up most of the surface, leaving only small areas to be scraped off. The end result often creates a lopsided sense of space because the broad patterns leave only a minimal background. The composition and the abstract linear rendering

The works created simply and spontaneously by commoners for commoners exhibit a marvelously anomalous style impossible to attain through conscious effort. The work of amateurs, they are out of the mainstream of stylistic development which art historians delve into so zealously.

Tall-necked Vessels with Clay Figurines,height34 cm,Kyongju National Museum. The decorative figurines humorously depict life during Shllla. A man and woman copulating (right) and a figure playing the kayagiim (left).

are very much like that of modern works of art. The wine flask with floral motifs in the collection of the Kansong Museum and one with lotus and fish motifs in the collection of the Horim Museum are representative of this technique. The lotus of the latter especially, a harmonizing of realism and abstraction presented in a perfect composition, is as exquisite a decoration as a modernistic painting at its best. Sometimes patterns are painted on the slip-covered surface with iron oxide pigment. The favorite motif here is fish rendered in geometric lines with swift but sure brush strokes. This is often featured with arabesque or lotus motifs so abstract that sometimes they are reduced to a few gloriously uninhibited lines. For instance, the arabesque motif on a jar in ~he Im

Kt:1m-hUi collection is the culmination of abstract painting charged with energy. This convincingly demonstrates that modern artists of the West were not the first to experiment with abstraction. How did all these motifs come to be so simplified and abstracted? And where did the bold, swift brush strokes originate? The answer is the endless repetition necessitated by mass production. Also, because punch'ong was the daily tableware of the common people rather than the upper class, the potters were at liberty to freely express themselves, unbounded

White Porcelainjar with Clouds and Dragon, underglaze iron decoration,

17th century,height36.1 em, National Museum of Korea 20

by restrictions and pressures that came with having to produce high-quality works. It was quite natural that the inner world of the potters was manifested directly and spontaneously in the works created at moments when they were their own masters. One can see a dramatic change in the dragon motifs painted in underglaze iron on the white porcelain jars of the 17th and 18th centuries. The face of the dragon is rendered humorously and its writhing is depicted far more imaginatively than the dignified beast on the jars custom made for upper-class clients. Sometimes two

bulging eyes are all there is in the way of the dragon's face. This expressionistic tendency is best exemplified in the white porcelain jar with a dragon in underglaze iron oxide in the collection of the National Museum of Korea. Its head hidden behind a cloud, the dragon is depicted writhing among clouds with powerful, tension-inducing effects. I am always awestruck when I view this jar. From where did its amazingly modern style come? Could it be the manifestation of the life force struggling within the Korean people all this time? It is a roaring release of rage erupting from a life of oppres-

sion, each brush stroke powerful and furious. Yet the rendering is done with such measuredness and makes for such a perfect composition, I am convinced that art cannot move forward from this jar. The works created simply and spontaneously by commoners for commoners exhibit a marvelously anomalous style impossible to attain through conscious effort. The work of amateurs, they are out of the mainstream of stylistic development which art historians delve into so zealously. They surge abruptly into the mainstream at sporadic intervals to provide insight into the inner workings of the Korean psyche. An aspect that I keep coming across time and again while studying art history is the Korean sense of humor. Many times, while scrutinizing innumerable Buddhist images in detail and sketching them meticulously, I have found myself smiling at the humor flickering through even the most rigid and austere work Few Korean art works are as perfectly finished as the art works in China or Japan. However, I find them even more satisfying because, instead of perfection, I can detect a sense of humor, freedom and beguiling innocence. Humor comes from the anomaly of imperfection, asymmetry, and non-inhibition. My examples of anomaly-the earthenware figurines of Shilla, punch'6ng and white porcelain with decorative underglaze ironexude feelings of freedom, vitality, and childlike naivete. In these are bold anomaly and spontaneity as well as the enduring simplification, abstraction and flourish born from endless repetition. These features are rarely found in the art works favored by art historians. Behind the unique beauty of these anomalous works is the vitality of the grass roots. They are the product of the optimism, humor and naivete of the Koreans who created them. One can see clearly the charm of Korean life in these delightfully charming objects. +

Punch'ong Flask with Lotus and Fish, sgraffito decoration, 15th century,

National TreasureNo.179,height22.7 em, Horim Art Museum

he beauty of "improvisation" is an underlying characteristic of Korean traditional arts in general. In music, one can hear shinawi, "improvisational ensemble music," emanating from the players' emotions of the moment, which has nothing to do with musical notes or conventions; in painting, literati painting, muninhwa, is known for ignoring conventional styles for the creation of something out of the ordinary. This artistic notion is sometimes called "natural beauty," in the sense that it is "improvisational beauty," or in the sense that the capabilities of the artist or the craftsperson are freely expressed. In architecture, also, improvisational, natural beauty is evident. The first image that one associates with Korean architecture is elegantly curving eaves and roofs. Whereas Chinese and Japanese architecture features an almost horizontal eave line, Korean eaves rise up in a curve created without regard for standard rules or formulas. This does not stop at the roof. Seen from a broader perspective, the spacing between temple buildings and residences comprising several buildings, such as Pusoksa Temple in Yongju, Kyongsangbuk-do province, are not parallel and do not meet at right angles. The so-called geometric arrangement technique is difficult to find in Korean architecture, in which buildings are arranged at a slant. The farther back in time one goes, buildings tend to be more geometrically arranged, keeping with parallel alignment and right angles, whereas architectural structures of more recent times are inclined to deviate from the geometrical norm.

Clearly, this break was not due to a lack of architectural or surveying techniques. It was just that Koreans did not feel like following the preset rules and norms; they undertook changes quite freely depending on their intentions or sensibilities. But a careful look reveals that a certain rule applies in improvisational beauty. Above all, architectural structures should be sturdy. Therefore,

Kim Bong-ryol Professor of Architecture Korean National University of Arts

It is easy to make a horizontal line, but making a rising curve is difficult. Hundreds of straight rafters ha ve to be fitted together to create one curving line, which is impossible without accurate calculations and great skill. Nevertheless, curved eave lines were created for structural stability, and this technique resulted in a visual beauty representative of Korean architecture.

before launching into construction, carpenters think about, for example, how to ensure a structure can withstand the weight of its roof, and how to erect columns able to withstand storms or earthquakes. This is known as "structural stability." As for buildings made of bricks or concrete, the size of the columns and the thickness of the floor can be accurately determined by mathematical calculations before the actual construction begins. Wood is the primary building material of Korean architecture. It is the only building material that was origi-

nally a living organism and thus, unlike dirt, cement or metal, wood maintains the characteristics of a living thing. In particular, most Korean pines are bent, gnawed by insects, and rotted by rain. In this respect, wood is treated as a non-homogeneous building material. Wood's dynamic qualities have not been defined precisely, consequently its material strength and allowable unit stress are only approximate values, because consistent test values are not possible. This is because, unlike bricks, concrete or steel frames, the physical attributes of wood are much less uni-

form. Wooden structures bend or compress due to the weight they have to support. Moreover, they undergo a selftransformation as the resin within each piece of wood seeps out over time, resulting in twisting and cracking. The degree of transformation is all the more severe in Korean wooden structures, because most of them are made of pinewood. Such inconsistency troubled the builders of ancient times. In extreme cases, an eight-foot column would contract about two inches due to the load of the roofing framework Other build-

ing components attached to support columns shifted as well, and the entire framework would warp over time. As a result, a competent builder allowed enough room for the changes that would occur after the completion of the building. The problem is that there is no consistency in the eventual changes, making it difficult for the builder to judge just how much allowance would be necessary. Wood from the Japanese hinoki tree and the firm, straight Canadian pine does not change noticeably for many years, but wood from

the Korean pine will change within several years. Compared to Korean carpenters, Japanese and Canadian carpenters had it easy. Korean carpenters found it easier to use already bent wood for columns from the outset, as can be seen in the main hall of Ch'ongnyongsa Temple in Ansong, Kyonggi-do province. The uncertainty in predicting future changes meant no guarantees for exact vertical or horizontal construction. No matter how skillful a carpenter, it was impossible for the builder to overcome the non-homogeneity and uncertainty of inevitable changes. Thus it was extremely difficult to build wooden structures that would never change. Therefore, building techniques for wood were developed to allow for uncertain changes. For Korean wooden architecture, the vertical and the horizontal lines were only building guidelines, not uniform standards that had to be strictly observed. The eaves sagged with time, but never became horizontal. Straight lines were forgotten from the start with curves being employed instead. Therefore, even when the eaves sagged, no change could be detected. I call this concept "visual stability." There is only one straight line that connects two dots, but they can be connected by endless curves. There is only one perpendicular line, but there are endless lines that are not perpendicular. There is only one right angle, but there are countless angles that are not right angles. In Korean architecture, even if a straight The buildings of Pusoksa Temple stand in spontaneous abandon against each other. Insert: The columns of the buildings are tapered like the entasis of Greek columns.

line or a right angle was utilized, it soon changed into something else. The paradox is that if one foregoes the straight line and the right angle, things do not change and they are always curved or not square. Instead of struggling to reach one impossible goal, it is a formative concept that encompasses endless possibilities. This is visual stability. The principle of visual stability dominates Korean wooden architecture in general. In a monk's room, ch6kmuktang, in Naesosa Temple in Puan, Chollabuk -do province, warped wood was used for the threshold of its entrance. If perfectly straight boards had been used for the threshold over which some 30-odd monks crossed endlessly, it would have had to be replaced within a year; the incessant footsteps would wear out the horizontal line, transforming it into something else. But the warped boards of the threshold can endure the wear and tear, remaining always out of line. The same principle was applied to the beam supporting the roof frame, only it is bent in the opposite direction. Visual stability is synonymous with structural stability. The middle of the columns of the Hall of Immeasurable Bliss at Pusoksa Temple are convex based on a technique <o:alled paehUllim, "potbelly flow." This is equivalent to the entasis of Greek architecture. Whereas the Greeks used entasis to correct an optical illusion that caused the middle section of a column to appear concave, the Korean potbelly flow was not applied in this manner. Regardless of how hard one looks at a column with potbelly flow, it does not appear concave. This column is the only type that was not originally intended to be a column with a consistent diameter. Even if this column becomes bent or twisted, it will still retain its potbelly flow. Examining several representative column techniques would be instructive. Another common column feature that is used along with the potbelly 25

flow is the "plain flow," minhullim, which is created by giving a straight column a broader base and a slender top. This is also a foregoing of the parallel column. For potbelly columns, a considerable amount of wood had to be carved out, but for plain flow columns, the carpenter could take advantage of the original shape of the tree that naturally narrows from its base. This technique was used widely during the Choson Dynasty (1392-1910). . Kwisosum, "raised ears," is a technique whereby the outside columns are made higher than the inner ones, which is possible to do because it is not necessary to maintain a horizontal line. Although changes may occur after the completion of the structure, the outer columns will always be taller. With another building technique called anssollim, "kaning toward inside," outer columns are erected with an inward slant. A difficult technique, it was employed to solve the problem of columns that tended to bend outward because of the weight of the eaves. However, there are no established mathematical standards for these techniques. There are no standards for determining how much to slant, how high to go and how much to bend. Everything depended on the builder's experience and sensibility. Just as the length of cut taffy was at the discretion of the taffy vendor, the amount of flow, height differential, and slant were at the discretion of the builder. With a potbelly flow column, the highest point of the "belly" lies about one-third of the way up the column from the bottom, with its diameter being about one-tenth larger than the diameter of the column. But anyone who has seen a carpenter carving a "potbelly flow " column knows that such a scientific formula is of little use. A chalking string is fixed between two dots toward the bottom of the pillar, the middle of which is pulled up to a side and then dropped; the string bends like a bow and leaves a mark on the wood. If the picked-up point is at 26

To understand the lines of a Korean building, one should understand the heart of the carpenters and the spirit of the masters. The structures built by masters became masterpieces whereas those built by run-of-the-mill carpenters became simply mediocre structures. The masters used their expertise to

create structures that

were not flashy; they were natural, but elegant. The improvised beauty of Korean architecture was possible only after the acquisition of precise tech nical skills, with their naturalness being derived from accurate calculations.

the one-third mark, the potbellying will be created there, but if an eccentric carpenter picked it up at the two-thirds mark, the potbelly would be higher up. Moreover, if a carpenter is more forceful or if he pulls at a different angle, different curves are created. This principle of inconsistency is not limited to columns. The same principle is applied to the stereobates and plinths that support and distribute the weight of the entire structure. The first thing that catches one's eye at Pusoksa are the large stone bases made of large and

small stones piled up irregularly. At first, one might think that stacking up stones of similar size might look better. But structurally, this would be unstable, as just one hit could cause them to come tumbling down. If stones of varying sizes are piled up, the spaces between them begin to create threedimensional support capability, like the interlocking of cogged gears, resulting in structural stability. Visually, it produces a natural beauty as well. In most buildings, plinths were not cut into regular shapes. Rough, uneven stones in their natural state were used for stone bases, while columns were carved to fit their rough surfaces. The plinth and column combination thus maximized surface contact so that they could endure adverse weather conditions. Actually, it is much easier to shape a stone into a smooth form with flat surfaces and then fit a column to this, than it is to fit a column to a rough, uneven stone, which is more time consuming and requires greater skill. Nevertheless, the latter method was employed to enhance structural stability as well as to achieve highly refined beauty. The supreme beauty of the concept of visual stability is best seen in the curve of the eaves, which look as if they are about to fly away. If the lines of th(3 eaves had been made exactly horizontal, the rafters supporting the roof would have soon sagged because of the weight of the roof. If the lines for the eaves were designed to curve upward, however, they would remain a curve even if the rafters later sagged. It is easy to make a horizontal line, but making a rising curve is difficult. Hundreds of straight rafters have to be fitted together to create one curving line, which is impossible without accurate calculations and great skill. Nevertheless, curved eave lines were created for structural stability, and this technique resulted in a visual beauty representative of Korean architecture. The problem was how much curve eaves should have and how much pot-

belly columns should have. There was no consistency. The only principle was the concept of visual stability. The actual shape of the curves depended on the skill of the carpenters. There was no manual; it took decades of building and training to create beautiful, sturdy structures. To become a master architectural carpenter generally required a difficult 15-year apprenticeship. Only after enduring arduous training under a master carpenter could a carpenter become a skilled craftsman himself. If a carpenter without such an apprenticeship built a house, its eaves usually curved up too sharply, giving an impression of frivolity, or the lines of the pillars looked clumsy, giving an impression of instability. Visually unstable houses are weak in terms of structure and do not last long. It is like the old saying, "An unappetizing-looking rice cake does not taste good." The lines of Korean buildings were at the discretion of the builders. But well-trained carpenters did not deviate too much from conventional standards. And they added numerous architectural elements one by one to enhance the beauty of the overall structure. Such builders were recognized as masters. To understand the lines of a Korean building, one should understand the heart of the carpenters and the spirit of the masters. The structures built by masters became masterpieces whereas those built by run-of-the-mill carpenters became simply mediocre structures. The masters used their expertise to create structures that were not flashy; they were natural, but elegant. The improvised beauty of Korean architecture was possible only after the acquisition of precise technical skills, with their naturalness being derived from accurate calculations. Indeed, improvised beauty was the result of skills acquired after decades of trial and error, which came from striving to achieve the concept of visual stability, a truly rational principle that originated for structural reasons. +

Built with stones of different sizes dressed to fit each other, this embankment at Pusoksa is sturdy and natural looking. 27

Daily Artifacts

Refinement and Elegance of Fans

The

he elegance and tastefulness of Korean handicrafts originate from an ingenious harmonization of functionalism and symbolism. A practical functionality together with concise and simple forms created by skillful hands merge harmoniously with diverse symbols rooted in the Korean people's inherent character , invariably resonating with a unique sense of aesthetics. This is true of the majority of items used for practical purposes in traditional Korean society. Among them, fans are particularly noteworthy for exhibiting an exceptional harmony between function and symbol. Fans sym bolize s6nbi, traditional scholars who led a simple and principled life, yet enjoyed refined tastes. Exquisitely elegant is a folding fan featuring illustrations of sagunja, "The Four Noble Gentlemen"-plum, orchid, chrysanthemum and bamboo-or a poem in stylish calligraphy. It was a popular custom among the li terati of the Choson Dynasty (1392-1910) to present a fan as a gift to close friends and neighbors on Tano, the fifth day of the fifth lunar month, the calligraphy and ink drawings on the fan expressing the giver's senti-

Choi Gong-ho Art Historian and Director, Equine Museum

Friendly Chat in Pine Valley by Yi In-

mun, color on paper,37..3 em x 77 em

It was a popular custom among the literati of the Chos6n Dynasty to present a fan as a gift to close friends and n eighbors on Tano, the fifth day of the fifth lunar month, the calligraph y and ink drawings on the fan expressing

th ~

giver's

sen tim en ts.

ments. As it is stated in Tongguk seshigi (Korean Almanac) that "A fan is a gift for Tano, and a book calendar a gift for Tongji (winter solstice)," one can surmise that Koreans would prepare for the coming summer heat and maintain close relations with neighbors by exchangi ng fans on Tano. Today, Koreans continue to give calendars to friends at year's end, but regrettably the custom of exchanging fans on Tano is no longer observed. Fans, an indispensable tool for beating the heat of summer, were considered a symbol and gauge of the owner:s taste, refinement and social class, as they also functioned as an expression of one's thinking. It is noted in Kory6 Toky6ng (Landscape Painting Book of Kory6), "The people of Koryo carried fans even in winter." As such, it appears that a fan was a necessity that a man of noble birth carried regardless of the weather. Samguk sagi (History of the Three Kingdoms) is the first historical document that mentions Koreans using fans. However, fan handles excavated from tombs in Taho-ri, Uich 'ang, Kyongsangnam-do province, indicate that fans were used as far back as the beginning of the Christian era. Fans were also important items of exchange with neighboring countries

and treasured gifts offered by government envoys. For example, Chinese envoys visiting Korea during the Chason Dynasty always asked for over a hundred fans, and fans were invariably included in the gifts which envoys carried to Japan, evidence of the exceptional value accorded Korean fans. Perhaps this is why a Korean fan called Chos6n kols6n (bone fan of Chason) enjoyed great popularity among the Japanese during the rule of the Tokugawa. From its name, it can be surmised that it was a folding fan finished with finely carved cow bone at the butt of the handle. There are about 80 different names for fans in Korea. Fans are generally classified into two categories: tans6n, or round fans, with a rigid circular surface, and ch wilbuch'ae, or folding fans, which are also called ch6ps6n. However, different names are used depending on their particular shape, function and decoration. Among the different types of tanson are: sungdus6n (monk's head fan), so-named because the handle resembles a monk 's head; 6dus6n which resembles a fish head; sadus6n which has an intricately carved handle in the shape of a snake or dragon; ils6n which aristocrats used in lieu of a parasol to block the sun; and t'aeguks6n featuring a t'aeguk (yinyang symbol) on the surface of the fan. Chwilbuch'ae include hapjuks6n with ribs edged with double slips of bamboo on both sides of the fan; panjuks6n with dark red dots painted

with urine on the edges of ribs; oegaks6n with animal bones attached to the outer ribs; naegaks6n with double slips of bamboo or ordinary wood on the outer ribs and animal bones on the inner ribs; clwkj6ls6n exuding natural grace through the use of bamboo slips from near the roots where the joints are clustered together; and ch'aegaks6n finished with dyed, carved or finely colored bones on the ribs. The fact that a single object was available in

Fan with double ying-yang symbol

Kopjang-yunson fan featuring wheel design decorated with curved ribs (above); koktu-oyopson fan, featuring a Paulownia leaf design with curbed rib decoration (far right) 30

such a variety of types proves how widely fans were used and cherished by Koreans in their daily lives. Artisans must exert scrupulous care when making a fan, beginning with the selection of the bamboo. As is the case with other traditional artisans, fan-makers begin their work by carefully picking the most suitable materials. Bamboo stalks cut from about a month before and after the middle of the seventh lunar month or from the end of the ninth month until the second month of the following year were considered to be of the highest quality in terms of color and resistance

to insects. The selected bamboo stalks are dried for a certain period of time, then baked over a charcoal fire to draw out the sap, which creates a luster to the stalks. Next, the stalks are split and carved into ribs. The part that makes up the handle, or moksal, is thinly carved to leave only the bamboo sheath. Its two sides are then glued together with isinglass. Bleached cow bones are carved and fixed to the end of the ribs. Closely folded paper is pasted onto the prepared ribs, and then the rib ends and the handle are assembled and linked together with silver or nickel pivots. Such is a brief description of how a hapjukson, the most widely known type of traditional Korean fan, is produced. The beauty of a fan with nakjuk, patterns such as pine trees and cranes, bats and butterflies created on the ribs with a hot iron, is practically indescribable. As described by Muneyoshi Yanagi, a Japanese art expert who wrote a vivid account of his travels through the ChOlla-do provinces during the early Japanese colonial period, it is indeed marvelous to watch a variety of fine and elegant patterns being created with the end of a hot blunt iron. Nakjuk is an especially interesting medium of expression comparable to Indian ink in that it can depict shape, shadow and hue through the color of black which is said to embrace a thousand colors. Nakjuk later developed into nakhwa, which became established as a genuine painting genre. Pak Ch'ang-kyu of Namwon was one of the most active professional artistans of nakhwa during the Chason Dynasty. According to the annals of the reign of Chason's King Songjong (r. 1469-1494), the price of a single nakhwa fan was equivalent to 400 rolls of cotton. During the reign of Chason's King T'aejong (r. 1400-1418) when discrimination against women intensified, the

government issued a decree that prohibited women from carrying fans. Together with the practice of restricting commoners from hanging a pendant called s6nch'u from the end of a fan handle, the prohibition reveals the active role that fans played in establishing and maintaining order among the different social classes, a key foundation for sustaining feudalism. All sorts of taboos and customs related to fans that began during the Choson Dynas ty continued until modern times. Koreans endlessly sought to demonstrate their creativity in devising new forms and functions for fans in accordance with the changing sentiments and aesthetics of the times. The py6ls6n fan perhaps best represents such unique creativity. It is called py6ls6n, literally meaning different fan, because it differs so radically in shape from ordinary fans. It includes songs6n, a fan said to have originated during the Kory6 Dynasty that is made by weaving together soft pine branches, and yuns6n, a fan that opens like an umbrella. The 50-rib py6ls6n was considered the highest quality folding fan. The Choson Dynasty did not maintain many records related to artisans or the yangban, the ruling class, regarding technology because of a Confucian concept that held technology in contempt. It is interesting to note, however, that the process for producing py6ls6n and the artisans who made them were described in detail in a number of official documents. One of the few artisans that Choson history mentions is Kim Huiok of Cholla-do, who created the oks6n (jade fan), so-named because its outstanding beauty made it as valuable. Ogols6n (O's bone fan) was designed by 0 Chae-mun, who once served as the magistrate of Namwon during the Chos6n Dynasty. Its manufacturing process is extremely complex and unique, and it was highly

sought after by prominent figures living in Seoul at the time. Orders for the fan poured in when Tano approached, a source of agony for established fanmakers. The making of ogols6n was a painstaking process, requiring much more time and effort than ordinary fans. Because the government appropriated a number of the fans as a kind of tribute, the fan-makers came to call the fan the "bones of that bastard 0 ," out of resentment toward its designer. Who would have ever imagined that the idea of a creative government officer would inflict so much pain on later artisans!

There was also a folding fan named p'yoj6ngs6n after the pen name of Min T'ae-ho (1834-1884), a relative of Queen My6ngs6ng who wielded great influence during the late Choson Dynasty. Literati at the time valued the fan because of its elegance and rather compact size, but it is no longer manufactured today. The most refined of all fans, however, are those with illustrations painted on their surface. In China, such paintings were usually created on nonfolding round fans, whereas in Korea they were typically produced on folding fans. Virtually every type of plant

Fans, an indispensable. tool for beating the heat of summer, were considered a symbol and gauge of the owners taste, refinement and social class, as they also functioned as an expression of one's thinking.

and flower were painted on fans. Painting motifs ranged from Mt. Kumgangsan, a mountain considered so sacred that even Chi-

Mison fans of caudal fin design, decorated with peony blossoms and chrysanthemum 32

nese sought to visit there once in their lifetime, to the Four Noble Gentlemen, landscapes with figures, flowers, plants and insects, and fish. Poetry by renowned calligraphers were also written in diverse styles of calligraphy including ch 'os6, a cursive writing style, as well as ch6ns6 and yes6, ornate writing styles. A series of fan paintings, including Songgye handamdo by painter Yi In-mun (1745-1821) depicting a man leaning against a hill alongside a stream flowing through a dense forest while leisurely appreciating the surrounding environment, and 56won-ajipdo by folk painter Kim Hong-do (1760-?), are representative examples that offer a glimpse into the elegant tastes of the Chason literati. There is a popular anecdote related to Kim Ch6ng-hi:'1i (1786-1856), a renowned scholar and calligrapher known for creating a unique style of calligraphy named after his pen name, Ch'usa. He is said to have written a poem on a fan overnight to give as a gift to a fan seller who happened to visit his servants quarters. A literati who enjoyed the art of calligraphy would have viewed the fan as a piece of paper rather than a means of beating the heat. Fans are also used as important props in p'ansori, in addition to performances by wandering troupes of singers and dancers known as sadangp'ae, and other traditional forms of entertainment such as mask dances and shaman rituals. During p'ansori, the singer accentuates tension and vitality on the entire performing stage by folding and opening a fan in accordance with the flow of the music.

It also helps the lengthy performance by a lone singer from becoming too tedious. Fans serve as important props during sadangp'ae performances and mask dances, and for binding the audience and the stage into one, as well as to heighten the performance effects. Today, the fan dance created by dancer Kim Paek-bong enjoys such tremendous popularity that it has become synonymous with Korean dance. It even surpasses traditional Korean dance characterized by stillness amidst dynamism, and has sue-

ceeded to some extent in propagating and continuing Korea's traditional dance through splendid and dynamic group dance movements utilizing numerous fans. We are now living in an era when the summer heat can be alleviated simply by pushing a button, but unlike the refreshing breeze created by a hand-held fan, cool mechanical wind is devoid of human sentiments. Perhaps the creative wisdom that our age requires can be gleaned from a traditional folding fan. +

Clockwise from top left: folding fan; fan for covering face; fan for shading sunlight; pendants for fan decoration; folding fan with calligraphy decoration and pyrography design on the ribs

very handbook on Korea notes on the first page that Koreans are a homogeneous people. Homogeneity is obviously seen as something rare and precious, an identifying mark that singles Korea out from the nations of the world. Identity is a crucial concern in Korea, perhaps inevitably so against the background of Japanese oppression in the first half of this century. While Japan struggled to annihilate a Korean identity separate from that of Imperial Japan, Korea struggled to preserve a clear national identity. The result was a preoccupation with things identified with "Koreanness" and a certain willingness to mythologize to achieve a specific goal, as evidenced by the claim to a racial homogeneity that takes no account of Mongolian, Chinese and Japanese intrusions in Korean bloodlines, not to speak of the gene input of Hendrik Hamel's red-haired Dutch crew. The supreme example of myth in action, however, is the shijo. In the 1920s, Ch'oe Nam-son saw the inherent possibilities of the classical shijo as a vehicle of national consciousness. With his colleagues, he created an elaborate literary form with complex rules of rhyme, syllable and breath count. Shijo was the "breath and soul of the people" The shijo as literary text was born with such great success that within a generation everyone believed that the shijo had always been thus. The situation today is so muddled that while no one seems to really know what the shijo originally was, the schools continue to present it in the terms invented by Ch'oe Nam-son and his colleagues. One of the few things that can be said with absolute certainty about the classical shijo is that it was not the "breath and soul of the people." The kagok-ch'ang to which shijo was performed was much too complex and demanded far too many players for the shijo to be characterized as a broadly popular form. In addition, Chinese was the language of literature, and shijo were writ-

ten in 6nmun, or vulgar language. The shijo movement is one example of a mythologizing process, which very often carries the overt nationalistic tones, so prevalent in 20th-century Korea, that tend to get under the skin of "sensitive" foreigners, leading to their cries of xenophobia and exclusiveness.

The drive to discover or create the "uniquely Korean" is at the center of this process. Take, for example, the penchant of commentators to present han, hung and mot as exclusively Korean concepts-defining elements, in fact, of Korean identity. If you are not Korean, they say, you cannot understand han, mot and hung. Everyone seems to accept the basic premise unconditionally: Han, hUng and mot are exclusively Korean. The myth is complete. NonKoreans, however, relate to all three concepts within their own experience. Many believe that these concepts are in fact universal in their application, with subtle regional differences. Han and hung are Chinese-derived terms, and a discussion of these concepts goes back to antiquity. Mot, on the other hand, is a han-gul (Korean alphabet) term and has only been a subject of

Demytholo Kevin O'Rourke Professor of English Language and Literature Kyunghee University

The shijo m ovement is one example of a m y thologizing process, which very often carries the overt nationalistic tones, so prevalent in 20th-century Korea, that tend to get under the skin of "sensitive" foreign ers, leading to their cries of xenophobia and exclusiveness. The d1ive to discover or create the "uniquely Korean " is at the center of this process.

discussion in Korean academic circles since the publication of Shin Sok-ch'o's "Motsol" in the March 1941 issue of Munjang. Since then there has been a stream of articles by learned members of the Korean literary establishment, such as Cho Yun-je, ChOng Pyong-uk, Cho Ch'i-hun, Lee 0-young and Kim Chong-gil. One of the factors that has bolstered the claims of the Korean commentators is that English does not have corresponding words for han, hung and mot, a regrettable oversight by the founding fathers of the English language, one which tells us that Korean is more sensitive than English in these matters. However, no one in the English-speaking world has much difficulty identifying either with the ideas or the feelings that han, hung and mot

elicit. Han is the quintessential sense of bitter wrong that has dogged the Korean people throughout their history. However, there is just as much han per square mile in Ireland as there ever was in Korea: the han of a divided nation; the han of years of cultural exploitation; the han of the widow; the han of the childless woman; the han of the woman who sacrifices her own life to look after her aging parents; the han of the abused daughter-in-law. Ireland even has a category of han unknown in Korea: the han of the old bachelor who never got married either because of a domineering mother or because of the poverty of his circumstances. The Irish experience of han is repeated across Europe and into Russia, not to speak of Africa, the Middle East and the Far East. In fact, wherever you have communities that have suffered oppression over an extended period of

best literary work in the short story. Joyce and Beckett would probably be a little offended, but this is an interesting theory developed with much cogency in O'Connor's acclaimed study

gizing MOt time, you will find some version of han. It may differ slightly from region to region, but basically han is han. The English language may not have a word for han, but much of the English-speaking world knows exactly what the concept means. In fact, the short story writer Frank O'Connor has an interesting theory that the short story thrives under circumstances of han. He illustrates his case with examples from Russia, England, Ireland and India, noting how England, with the largess of temper that comes from empire, has tended to excel in the novel rather than in the short story, whereas Russia, which has known both empire and grinding misery, is distinguished in both the short story and the novel. Ireland and India, archetypal han countries, have produced their

of the short story, "The Lonely Voice." Hung is the excitement generated by the apprehension of beauty. It can be triggered by almost anything- sunrise, sunset, wine, music, dance, poetry, a companion, a painting, an insight into life, a fish biting. Yi Hwang (1501-1570) of the Chason Dynasty (1392-1910), or Yi T'oegye as he is better known by his pen name, tells us that hUng is the feeling produced by vernacular songs, meaning Koryo Dynasty (918-1392) kayo. Shijo is full of hUng, the hUng of spring, of love, of wine, of music, of fishing:

I nodded off; I lost my fishing pole. I danced a set; I lost my rain cape. White gull, laugh not at an old man's folly. Ten li of peach blossoms

are in blossom; I am filled with the joy of spring. Hung, however, is not an exclusively Korean feeling. Anyone who ever took a fishing rod in hand and felt the nibble of a fish knows it; anyone who enjoys music knows it. It is what Wordsworth felt in his golden moments of insight into truth in nature; what Thomas Hardy felt in that moment of intensity he experienced driving up the hill on the way to Castle Boterel; what William Carlos Williams felt when he looked at his famous red wheelbarrow. In rhythmic terms, its most characteristic movement in Korea begins in the shoulders, whereas in Ireland it begins in the feet. Anyone who has seen a farmers' band perform will know the shoulder movement and the buzz of excitement that goes with it; anyone familiar with Irish music will know the characteristic tap of the foot and the excitement that comes with jigs and reels. The rhythm and movement of a farmers' band is quintessentially Korean, the tap of the jig and reel are quintessentially Gaelic, but what is felt in the heart in both cases is universal. Kim Chong-gil tells us in "The Darling Buds of May" that mot is a phonetically corrupted form of mat (taste) and that the word first occurred 35

as late as the second half of the 19th century. He tells how Professor Kim Hi:'mg-gyu found the phrase matto morugo in a p'ansori version of the classical Korean novel Hungbujon , believed to be written in the latter half of the 19th century. This phrase means "without knowing taste," but in context it is used in the sense of "unwittingly" or "carelessly," the present-day version of which is motto morugo. This may be one of the most recent cases in which the word mat was also used in the sense of mot. The word m6tchige, the adverbial form of mot, occurs in a shijo by An Min-yong in his collection Kumok ch'ongbu, edited in the 1870s. Thus, Professor Kim believes that the word mot began to be used in the second half of the 19th century, together with words like m6tchaeng-i and m6tchida. One obvious problem w ith mot as a defining concept of Korean sensibility is explaining how one can hang an entire aesthetic on a single han-gul word, used only since the latter half of the 19th century, w hen the whole world knows that han-gul was not held in very high repute in intellectual Korea until the surge of nationalism at the end of the enlightenment period. In fact, the word "han-gul" itself was not coined until the 20h century. 6nmun (vulgar writing), an obviously deleterious expression, was the term in common use. Mot is a popular rather than a scholarly term. Very difficult to define, it reflects the perception of beauty, refinement, taste, elegance, and so on, in people and things. A man of mot is a gentleman in the fullest sense of the word-the complete, best-rounded human specimen. He is refined, urbane, charming, attractive in appearance, maybe even sexy, with overtones of being a dandy and a swinger. Mot is both inward and outward, but inward mot reflects the real essence of mot. The man of mot is inwardly untrammeled; he has broken from the constraints of the merely conventional; he has reserves of emotional largess; he 36

holds himself open to aesthetic ~xperiÂ ence; he tastes of life's experience to the fullest. Mot is more in the heart than in the senses; more outward looking in love to others than inward looking in preoccupation with the self; more platonic than sexual. It is found more consistently among our forefathers than among our contemporaries. All this is universal. Wherever people have concerned themselves with beauty, whether in nature, art or the spirit, there has always been mot. What is different is the attitude that individuals, cultural groups and nations have toward beauty. The discussion of mot, then, rightfully begins with a discussion of attitudes toward "the beautiful" because, although mot and "the beautiful" are by no means synonymous, they are so closely related that overlap is inevitable. ChOng Pyong-uk, a prominent scholar of the last generation, notes that when Koreans look at a rose, they do not see an array of individual petals, each subtly distinct from the others, each totally distinct from every petal of every rose that ever existed. They are not interested in the physical makeup of the individual flower. They see a rose that is the essence of every rose; they see a symbol of the universal. Beauty as it appears to the eye takes a back seat to beauty as it appears to the heart. Th is explains why one does not readily find the kind of poem in Korean that Gerard Manley Hopkins, for example, wrote in English. When Hopkins saw a blade of grass, he felt compelled to define its essence, to see how it differed from every other blade of grass, to marvel at its uniqueness, and to refer the mystery of its existence back to the glory of God. A Korean poet is interested in the moral aspect of things. He sees his rose as symbolic of a spiritual reality embodied in nature. The beauty of the rose is a healing beauty, the contemplation of which relieves humankind of the accumu lated burdens of everyday life.

Hopkins put his blade of grass under microscopic scrutiny. The Korean poet universalizes his blade of grass. Something quite extraordinary happened to Korean poetry at the beginning of the Choson Dynasty, something that is crucial in terms of understanding the way Koreans approach beauty. Simp ly stated, passion left Korean poetry. Take, for example, the opening stanza of the Koryo kayo "Spring Pervades the Pavilion": I make a bed of bamboo leaves; I spread them on the ice. Though my love and I should freeze unto death, slowly, slowly, pass this night in love's enduring gentleness. There is nothing like this in Choson poetry, not at least until the kisaeng (professional female entertainer) poet Hwang Chin-i. Several hundred years had intervened before Chin-i wrote her celebrated shijo: !11 cut a piece from the waist of this interminable eleventh moon night, and wind it in coils beneath these bedcovers, warm and fragrant as the spring breeze, coil. by coil to unwind it the night my lover returns. This is kisaeng poetry free from the constraints that circumscribed most yangban (aristocrat) poetry. When Ho Kyun (1569-1618) compiled the poems of his sister, Ho Nansolh6n (1563-1589), some of the best poems were put into a supplement because the y were rega rd ed as risque. "To My Love Reading in His Study," which suffered the indignity of relegation to the supplement, would not shock many people today, but its sentiments were considered daring for a Choson yangban woman:

Under the eaves the sparrows fly the angle in pairs; falling leaves plop on my silk robe. I see from the bridal as far as the eye can see: I'm sick at heart, for all is green but my Kangnam love does not return. Passion would not be tolerated; great literati such as T'oegye regarded it as vulgar. In T. S. Eliot's terms, Chos6n society experienced a sort of dissociation of sensibility; passion left Korean poetry and did not return until the 18th century, when the new breed of chung-in (professional middle class) poets came to the fore, who, with much less to lose, were perhaps less intimidated by Confucian standards than their yangban brothers. When passion left Korean poetry, the moral aspects became dominant, and the need for a "physical" poetry disappeared. Yi Kyu-bo, a Kory6 poet, describes the experience of drinking tea in physical terms:

•'

.. ·;

;.'

~·.;lt ....

With a pot of tea I try an experiment in taste; it's like frozen snow going down my throat. He pinpoints the joy of the board game paduk:

The pleasure is in the clinking of the stones. He watches a rat coming out of his hole and examines the rat's hesitance before continuing with the moral meditation that is the essence of the poem:

Why be a rat, head stretched out of the hole, unable to decide on direction. These images focus on the physical; they come with a fresh immediacy, leaping off the page. Coming to Kory6 poetry after reading Chinese Sung Dynasty poetry, one is struck by the fact that the Kory6 tradition is much

Butterflies by Cho Hiii-ryong. Interested in the moral aspect of things, Koreans regard even butterflies to be symbolic of a spritual reality embodied in nature. 37

less physical than the Sung tradition. Nevertheless the physical is still there. In Chason poetry, the physical is very rare; the central emphasis is moral. The tradition of poetry in Korea continues to be moral and conceptual. "Looking for the Cow," vintage Zen, is one of Han Yong-un's best poems: I haven't lost a cow; it's silly to look for it. Were I to find it, would the finders keepers rule apply? Better not look;

abstract. The stench of blood is the only physical factor here. In fact, in the context the phrase takes on an extraordinary power: What the poet said about envying the freedom of the skyla1k in its mastery of the blue sky needs qualification. Anyone who ever soared for freedom will know what the skylark sees

It is modernist, abstract, intellectualist; it

recurs line after line. Essays and poetry appreciation are invariably moral in tone; the physical is rarely given central focus. The conceptual essence of the Korean approach to nature is enforced in our own time by Lee 0-young's idea of point of view in traditional Korean art. Perspective is a Western technique. Korean poets, he tells us (using Sowol's famous poem "Mountain Flowers" to illustrate his theme), see all points of view at once. It is as if, he says, the poet were riding in a helicopter; he is

)

/ .--

IIi

Herd Boy Heading Home by Kim Hong-do, ink on paper,34 em x 25.3 em

that way I won't Jose it again. "Looking for the Cow" was the name of Han Yong-un's house on Inwangsan Mountain. It faced away from the Japanese governor-general's residence so that the poet-monk would not have to face the indignity of Korea's loss of sovereignty every day. People who like Zen poetry will love this poem, but the poetic manner it demonstrates is pure abstraction. "Blue Sky," written by Kim Su-yong in the 1960s, shows one of Korea's foremost modernist poets still favoring the 38

that inspires its song; how the stench of blood is mixed in freedom; why revolution is lonely; why revolution has to be lonely. Read any account of a Korean poem in a representative anthology; listen to any student appreciation of a poem. The material invariably is presented in abstract, conceptual terms. There is no escaping the terminology:

untrammeled by the purely physical restrictions of the Western point of view. This idea may not stand up to critical scrutiny, but it is at the least a very unusual conception and shows the continuing Korean preoccupation with the conceptual aspects of things. Commentators try to give some historical depth to the concept of mot by linking it with the Korean-Chinese term p'ungryu, but the link is rather tenuous. Shilla (57 B.C.-A.D. 935) p 'ungryu is a version of Chinese fengliu, which, according to Kim Chong-gil, originally meant "social

morale" but came to mean "carefree, detached lifestyle"; it was associated with poetry, wine, the lute and female entertainers. Fengliu reached its full development during the Tang Dynasty and subsequently found its way into Korea as p'ungryu and into Japan as miyabi. So Chc'Sng-ju explains the p'ungryu concept in a poem entitled "P'ungryu Discrimination":

The Shilla poet, Ch'oe Ch'iwon, said that p'ungryu as first understood in this country was a fine amalgam of Buddhism, Taoism and Confucianism. Ch'oe Nam-son, who passed away some years ago, claimed that the old Korean term pu-ru, meaning the light of heaven, was matched to the Chinese characters p'ung and ryu (wind and flow). P'ungryu, then, is a concept with strong religious overtones; it is the light of heaven in a person's inner being. However, in the practice of p'ungryuthat is, in the life of the p'ungryugaek (aesthete)-there are always strong overtones of music, poetry, wine, and kisaeng. It is a notable aspect of the So Chc'Sng-ju poem that whereas the elucidation of the principle is religious and spiritual, the practical illustration is from the kisaeng world. The poem continues:

In considering these two explications, imagine, if you will, old p'ungryu melodies twanging perforce from the strings of kayagum played in secluded rooms in the back Janes of the night by old kisaeng whose hearts are filled with all regret: something comes to you, as if from home, across the shimmering haze of the centuries. Especially if you think these thoughts while gently stroking a fine old Chason white or a Kory6 green.

Old Fisherman by Yi Kyong-yun, Chos6n 16th century,31.1 em x 24.8 em

Mot is more in the heart than in the senses; more outward looking in love to others than inward looking in preoccupation with the self; more platonic than sexual. It is found more consistently among our forefathers than among our contemporaries. All this is universal. Wherever people have concerned themselves with beauty, whether in nature, art or the spirit, there has always been mot. What is different is the attitude that individuals, cultural groups and nations have toward beauty. 39

Notice also how So Chong-ju mixes the notion of kisaeng han with the notion of artistic fineness. In The Darling Buds of May, Professor Kim says that Alan Heyman, a specialist in Korean music and dance, is wrong to think that mot occurs from the interaction of hung and han. Mot, Professor Kim points out, is rather the Janus face of hung. He says that Heyman was probably reflecting something learned through his long association with Korean music and the dance. Many of

clear, although it is not quite clear where the Shilla religious connotations of p'ungryu come from. The problem occurs in getting from Shilla p'ungryu to modern mot. There is no linguistic link. The argument is developed by means of historical examples on the presumption that p'ungryu and mot emanate from the same national heart. And since p'ungryu in its original form is Chinese, it cannot be an exclusive definer of Korean sensibility. The archetypal Korean man of p'ungryu-

I wish I . . ." She seemed to speak to the flowers, to the company, to the air. Thus the wife, angled slightly on her horse. The husband, fool that he was, made no response, while the company reacted as if her words had rolled from thei1Âˇ ears. The old man, passing by, utterly unconnected, cocked his ears and acceded to her request. The essence of the old man 's p'ungryu heart is defined in three lines:

His was the heart of a flower that laughs when it sees a flowe1; the heart of the unencumbered.

Sailing the Blue River by Shin Yun-bok, 18th century, 282 em x 352 em

the great exemplars of mot in history have also been great exemplars of han. Nongye, for example, a kisaeng who threw herself off a cliff in the arms of a Japanese general, pulling him with her, and Hwang Chin-i, the celebrated 16th-century kisaeng, have always stood as symbols of han as well as mot. It is interesting that So Chong-ju goes straight to kisaeng han to illustrate his idea of mot. All of this goes to show how much m ythmaking there is in these exclusive, identity-defining concepts. The progression from Tang fengliu to Shilla p'ungryu seems relatively 40

mot is the old Shilla gentleman who scaled the cliff to cut azaleas for Lady Suro. As So Chong-ju tells the story in "The Old Man's Flower Song," the old man plucks the azaleas for the lady against the backdrop of the inadequacies of her husband and retinue , against the failure of the light of heaven to shine in their emotional response:

The woman rode with her horseman husband and company. '~

.. those flowers are so beautiful,

The old man is transcendent: He breaks through the mold of convention, he knocks down the walls of inhibition, he shows himself to be a man of great emotional largess. He scorns the social norms that govern age, subservient wives and boorish husbands; he is oblivious to everything except an ideal beauty. The situation has a special emotional complexity in that Lady Suro, whom the old man recognizes as a "flower," is herself a lady of p'ungryu, not just physically beautiful but also aesthetically beautiful. What is at stake here is a spiritual quality, an opening of the heart to emotional response that enables a man to transcend life while experiencing life's full intensity. This is not an exclusively Korean emotion. People everywhere will identify with this quality. Ch'oyong is also considered a quintessential example of a man with the light of heaven in his heart:

I revel all night long in the moonlit capital, come home and discover four legs in my bed!

Two are mine; whose are the other two? Legs once mine, now purloined! What am I to do? The commentators traditionally have taken the intruder in Ch'oyong's bed as an evil spirit, a metaphor for smallpox. They praise the nobility and equanimity of Ch'oyong's response in the face of personal calamity. This kind of equanimity wears hard with Western readers despite 2,000 years of the Christian tradition of turning the other cheek Of course it wears hard in the Korean tradition too, but the commentators explain it by insisting that we are dealing here with smallpox and not adultery. It is a neat trick for getting around a difficult corner, but not very convincing. It is interesting that the present generation of Korean university students have problems with traditional interpretations of Ch'oyong's response. No matter how hard you try to make the case that Ch'oyong breaks through the mold of the conventional response, just as much as the old man and Lady Suro, somehow it is not the same. The average Western reader would prefer to make a case for Princess Sonhwa in that very early hyangga, "Song of Mattung." She certainly qualifies, if breaking the mold of convention is the criterion. Note the irony of the title: The song is Mattung's, not Sonhwa's!

Mot is universal. What distin-

Princess S6nhwa had marriage on her mind the night she stole into Mattung's room and took him in her arms.

guishes Korean mot from mot

There are dozens of figures in history who are used to illustrate the Korean idea of p'ungryu-mot. Some that come directly to mind are Chong Mong-ju, full of wine and back to front on his horse as he goes to face the assassin's club; Myongwol the Monk piping down the lady in the moon; Admiral Yi Sun-shin strapped in death

moral rather than physical

elsewhere in the world is the Korean attitude to beauty. The Korean artist looks to

beauty; his concern is with the universal rather than the particular. The approach is conceptual, the emphasis is moral.

to the mast of his ship, continuing to lead his men even after he has expired; Prime Minister Yu Kwan cupping the rain in his umbrella hands; Hwang Chin-i catching the fleas in her dress before she would sing at the Governor of Naju 's feast; N ongye taking the Japanese general in her arms down the cliff to his (and her) death; Shimch'ong giving up her life so that her father might see; Kim Tong-in marching down Ulchiro in morning coat, striped trousers, silk hat and carnation; and So Chong-ju himself, perhaps the last of the old generation of motchaeng-i, whose mot transcends the pettiness of the establishment, which may in the end cost him a Nobel Prize. Mot is universal. What distinguishes Korean mot from mot elsewhere in the world is the Korean attitude to beauty. The Korean artist, as I have noted, looks to moral rather than physical beauty; his concern is with the universal rather than the particular. The approach is conceptual, the emphasis is moral. The Korean approach is neither better nor worse than any other approach. There is plenty of precedent for it, particularly in the tradition of poetry practiced in 20th-century eastern Europe. One thinks immediately of Czeslaw Milosz and the influence of his work on contemporary poetic practice. The implications of the conceptual approach to beauty are very wide ranging. In practical terms, the conceptual approach focuses on ideals rather than on realities. We feel the effects of this during every day of our lives. Koreans look at the facade and dream great dreams. When things go wrong, there is a great outpouring of moral outrage; blame is apportioned; myths of responsibility are created. The mythmaker resigns, the angry waters subside and everyone holds their collective breath until the process begins again. Who would have thought that the roots of a national attitude would be buried so deeply in the perception of beauty? + 41

he new Arts of Korea Gallery at the Metropolitan Museum of Art is a permanent space dedicated to the display of Korean art works. The gallery opened on June 7, 1998, with a ceremony that was attended by Korean President Kim Dae-jung and many Korean and American dignitaries. The gallery is the fruit of five years of efforts by Korean and American experts as well as the support of the Korea Foundation and the Samsung Foundation of Culture. The opening of the gallery was covered extensively by both the U.S. and Korean media. In particular, art critic Holland Cotter of the New York Times gave the gallery high marks in his article of June 12 entitled "A Jewel of Korean Culture," in which he highlighted the importance of Korean art in the context of East Asian art. The 128-year-old Metropolitan Museum of Art, which holds worldrenowned collections of art of the world through the ages, attracts over five million people a year. It was indeed an epoch-making event for a permanent gallery for Korean art to be installed in this prestigious museum. The Metropolitan Museum of Art began installing Asian art galleries early in the 20th century. A large Chinese Buddhist sculpture gallery was the first to open. Subsequently, the Chinese galleries were expanded several times. In

1981, a Chinese traditional garden court was incorporated within the galleries, and the present arrangement of galleries was completed in 1997. The Arts of Japan Gallery was opened in 1987, and the Southeast Asian Art Gallery in 1994. With the addition of the Arts of Korea Gallery, the museum's master

plan of creating a comprehensive Asian art section is now completed. Considering the importance of Korean art in the context of Asian art, the Korean Art Gallery was long overdue. It is indeed fortunate, however, that the gallery could be installed in its present location, the last available space within the Asian art section of the museum. The Metropolitan Museum of Art is situated alongside Central Park and facing Fifth Avenue, the most refined and fashionable thoroughfare in New York It is a large structure occupying an area extending from 80th to 84th Street. The building itself has been renovated and expanded numerous times since 1869 when it was decided that the museum would be constructed on that site. America's most representative architects and architectural firms have participated in its construction and renovations resulting in a masterful evolution. In 1995, the "Met," as it came to be known, assumed its present shape and magnitude with the incorporation of the Egyptian Temple of Dendur. In this sense, the present structure of the museum represents a history of modern American architecture in a nutshell. Although it is impossible in this short article to describe all the evolutionary stages of the Metropolitan's architecture, it is perhaps worth mentioning that the present facade in the Beaux-Art style of Neo-classicism was

designed by Richard Morris Hunt (1827-1895). The Arts of Korea Gallery is situated on the second floor, accessible through the grand staircase from the lobby. After ascending the stairs and proceeding northward past the balconies to the large Chinese sculpture hall, one faces the north wall of the hall with a Yuan Dynasty fresco. There, one finds a set of short stairs on either side of the wall. These steps lead to rather narrow passage-like galleries: on the right, to the Indian gallery; on the left, to the ancient Chinese art gallery. The Arts of Korea Gallery is situated between these two galleries. Koreans can take pride in the fact that the gallery was designed by Woo Kyu-sung (1941- ), a Cambridge based Korean architect who is active both in the United States and Korea. It is a square room of 1,710 square feet, accessible through the doorways on the east and west sides. From the dimly lit galleries on either side, through the doorways with frames crafted in blackened steel plates, one enters the Arts of Korea Gallery replete with softly diffused light. The impression of the space

is that of a traditional Korean woman clad in a clean white ramie hanbok. An advantageous aspect of this gallery is that half of the space receives natural light. This portion of the room was originally an air well of the building which, fortunately, could be incorporated with a small existing gallery, creating a sizable space for the gallery. Architect Woo Kyu-sung narrowed the upper portion of the air well in the form of a gabled roof with translucent glass panes, and placed a similarly translucent theater scrim across the area which serves as the ceiling of the room. The result is a space with an openness and a light quality characteristic of Korean architecture. The gallery walls are defined by perimeter glass display cases that provide for the flexible display of ceramics, painting and sculpture. A screen of mylar within the display case, which recalls the light quality of Korean rice paper, allows for more intimate viewing of smaller objects. The use of nonreflective glass for the display cases creates the impression that the "wall" between the viewer and the objects in

the cases has been removed. The display cases as well as the display stands within the cases are all modular, enabling flexible and orderly display. A removable central partition allows for a variety of exhibit configurations, including the display of larger scroll paintings. The extension of the traditional wood flooring of oak into the display case blurs the separation between object and viewer and further contributes to a sense of spaciousness within the room. Woo Kyu-sung has succeeded in conveying the character and spirit of Korean culture without directly resorting to Korean architectural forms. To quote his own words, with the limited use of architectural elements, he succeeded in creating "a gallery Korean in nature that is quietly restrained and foremost an outstanding space .for the display of art." The writer wishes to express her gratitude to the architect and the lighting expert for creating such an exceptional environment for the display of Korean cultural assets. The purpose of the special inaugural exhibition is to introduce masterpieces

Frontispiece to the A vatamsaka Sutra, Koryo Dynasty, 1337, National Treasure No. 215,gold and silver on indigo paper, 20 em x 36.5 em 43

of Korean art through the ages. The exhibition not only provides an ideal opportunity for introducing the rich cultural and artistic legacy of Korea, but also allows an in-depth appreciation of Chinese and Japanese arts by putting them in proper context and by providing a link between the artistic relationships of the three Asian countries. In walking through these galleries, for example, one can recognize the similarities and differences in the ink monochrome landscape paintings of the three countries; how the techniques and the use of the media, having originated in China, evolved through the centuries in China, Korea and Japan. It is now possible to observe how the artistic characteristics of each people are reflected in their paintings in spite of similar themes and media. The similarities and the differences in the ceramic cultures of China, Korea and Japan can also be discerned. The viewers can now understand each nation's tastes and aesthetic sensibilities through comparisons. Although Chinese and Korean celadons were created by employing basically similar techniques, their colors show subtle differences in tone. In the 12th century, Korean potters developed the inlaid celadon which is uniquely Korean. One can see that in the same period, Japanese potters were unable to produce ceramics fired at temperatures of 44

above 1,200 degrees centigrade. The exhibition is accompanied by a fully illustrated catalogue, Arts of Korea. All the works in the exhibition are illustrated in color. The illustrations of the paintings include close-ups of details, while those of the ceramics and sculptures include views from one or two additional angles. The catalogue contains six essays on Korean history and art: "Profile of the Korean Past," by Professor Jonathan Best, Wesleyan University; "The Art of the Korean Potter: From the Neolithic Period to the Choson Dynasty," by Director Chung Yang-mo, National Museum of Korea; "Tradition and Transformation in Korean Buddhist Sculpture," by Professor Kim Lena, Hongik University; "The Origin and Development of Landscape Painting in Korea," by Professor Ahn Hwi-joon, Seoul National University; "Artistic Tradition and the Depiction of Reality: True-view Landscape Painting of the Choson Dynasty," by Professor Yi Song-mi, Academy of Korean Studies; and "An Kyon and the Eight Views Tradition: An Assessment of Two Landscapes in the Metropolitan Museum of Art," by Professor Kim Hong-nam, Ewha Womans University. Professor Pak Young-sook of the University of London wrote on the Metropolitan's collection in detail in an article entitled "The Korean Art Collection in the Metropolitan Museum of Art."

Whereas there are many English-language publications on Chinese and Japanese art history available in the West, this is not the case for Korean art. Thus Arts of Korea will play an important role in disseminating scholarly information on Korean art not only in the United States but in other countries in the West as well. As the 512-page catalogue includes the latest research on Korean art history, it can well serve as a textbook for Korean art history in American universities. Professor Wen C. Fong of Princeton University, serving concurrently as Consultative Chairman of the Metropolitan's Department of Asian Art, was in charge of the overall planning of the Arts of Korea Gallery project. The Korea Foundation and the Samsung Foundation of Culture provided financial support. The Korea Foundation funded the construction of the gallery, while the Samsung Foundation of Culture provided support for a curatorial program through its Kun-Hee Lee Fund for Korean Art. In addition, the Prospera Foundation in New York provided invaluable support during the initial stages of development of the Metropolitan's Korean art program. The Samsung Foundation of Culture and LG's New York subsidiary extended support for the opening exhibition. The inaugural exhibition will be on view until January 24,

1999.â&#x20AC;˘

Metropolitan Museum of Art Opens Permanent Gallery for Korean Art he first permanent gallery dedicated to the display of the arts of Korea at the Metropolitan Museum of Art was opened to the public on June 9. The Arts of Korea Gallery will display on a rotating and often thematic basis, the museum's collection of Korean painting, ceramics, sculpture, metalwork and lacquerware spanning 1,500 years of Korea's culture and history. "This new permanent gallery has been the dream of many of us here for a number of years," stated President of the Metropolitan Museum William H. Luers in a related news release. "Its inauguration symbolizes an important commitment to the study and presentation of the artistic heritage of Korea as well as the completion of our grand Asian museum within a museum, a project that has seen, over the last decades, the creation of major new gallery areas for the cultures of Asia." Commenting on the opening of the gallery, Museum Director Philippe de Montebello noted: "Here, for the first time in the United States and perhaps anywhere outside Korea, the stunning artistic achievements of Korea find significant representation. Of all the East Asian cultural and artistic traditions, those of the Korean peninsula have received the least attention in the West. The Arts of Korea Gallery puts on view superb Korean works of art, many of which have not been displayed before because of limited space, that will raise the awareness of the unique artistic achievement of Korea." The Metropolitan Museum's collection of Korean works of art is among the finest collections outside Asia. It

reflects not only the Korean art tradition but also its reception and appreciation in the West. Due to the vicissitudes of history, there are few examples of Korean art of outstanding quality, a situation that has resulted in Western scholars' relative lack of emphasis on, and therefore knowledge of, the Korean art tradition in comparison to that of other Asian countries. Among the rarest pieces in the Metropolitan's collection are those of the court tradition of the Kory6 Dynasty (918-1392). Works in celadon reached their height of achievement in terms of technology, form, and ornamentation during this period and were admired widely outside the Korean peninsula-in East Asia at the time of their production and, more recently, in Europe and the United States.

President Kim addressing the guests

The collection also includes exceptional examples of Korean Buddhist art which exemplify Korea's significant role in East Asia's artistic tradition. Buddhist paintings from the Kory6 and Chos6n (1392-1910) Dynasties in particular cast light on an area that has yet to be studied thoroughly by Western scholars. The museum 's painting of Buddha and a single bodhisattva together in a hanging scroll, Amitabha and Kshitigarbha (Chijang), is the only known example of such an image in Kory6 Pure Land Buddhist iconography. A superb early-14th century painting of the Water-Moon Avalokiteshvara follows one of the most commonly used iconographic conventions for portraying this popular Buddhist deity. Attired in beautiful robes and sashes, he is shown seated on a rocky outcropping, with an entourage of officials offering precious tribute. The extraordinary delicacy of pictorial details, many .of which are executed in brilliant gold pigment, and the relatively pristine state of preservation make this one of the most important examples of the preeminent Kory6 tradition of devotional painting. A group of landscape paintings produced in the early Chos6n Dynasty, when the landscape painting tradition that flourished in the Kory6 period developed in new directions, is another strength of the museum's collection. Reflecting the importance of An Ky6n (act. ca. 1440-1470), the most popular and influential court painter of the day, these paintings provide crucial evidence of the Korean landscape painting tradition during a pivotal period of development from which very few 45

Wrestling Match by Kim Hong-do, latter 18th century, color on paper

examples have survived. The inaugural exhibition of the new Arts of Korea Gallery features the finest examples of Korean art in all major media, including 22 of Korea's national treasures, many of which have never before been displayed in the West. Drawn from the collection of the National Museum of Korea in Seoul as well as from private collections in Korea, Japan, and the United States, and including works from the Metropolitan's collection, it is the first comprehensive display of Korean masterpieces to be seen in the United States in nearly 20 years.

Th e Metropolitan Muse um's collection of Korean works of art is among the fines t collection s o utside Asia. It reflects not only th e Korean art tradition b ut also its reception and apprecia tion in th e West.

Gilt bronze stupa from five-storey brick Pagoda of SOngnimsa Temple, UnifiedShilla, TreasureNo.325 46

Bringing together 100 works dating from the Neolithic period through the 19th century, the exhibition examines four major areas of traditional Korean art: ceramics, metalwork and decorative arts, Buddhist sculpture, and painting. Together with the catalogue and educational programs, the exhibition highlights the distinguished cultural and artistic legacy of Korea and the historical context in which the artifacts were created. Director of the National Museum of Korea Chung Yang-mo noted: "The Metropolitan Museum of Art, a treasure house of world cultures, exemplifies the American people's appreciation of artistiC excellence and their belief that international mutual understanding is furthered by cultural interchange. The establishment of a permanent Arts of Korea Gallery and Korean art program at the Metropolitan, which had long been a fond wish of the Korean people and of many Americans as well, is a milestone in the introduction of the rich cultural and artistic legacy of Korea to the Western public." Two earlier exhibitions surveying the history of Korean art and drawing upon public and private collections in Korea were presented in 1957 and from 1979 to 1981 in a number of venues in the United States, including the Metropolitan Museum. Since that time, significant advances in the art history of Korea and new archaeological findings throughout the Korean peninsula have led to a more thorough and critical assessment of Korean art as a distinctive tradition, particularly in regard to its relationship to the art and culture of China and Japan. The present exhibition incorporates recent scholarship in the analysis of stylistic and technical developments in the various media and in the examination of the social and cultural conte xt in which the works of art were produced. Forty ceramics, ranging from earthenware of the Neolithic period to the celebrated celadons of the Koryo

Dynasty and the white porcelains and

punch'6ng (powder green) ware of the Chason Dynasty, demonstrate the skill and ingenuity of the Korean potter. Among these objects are an imposing bird-shaped vessel of the late 2nd to 3rd century, which represents one of the earliest known Korean ceramic sculptural forms; a mid-12th-century celadon bottle (kundika) with an incised and carved design of waterbirds and willows (Treasure No. 344); a 12th-century maeby6ng (prunus vase) embellished with an underglaze ironbrown and inlaid design of ginseng leaves (Treasure No. 340); a 15th-century punch'ong bottle with an incised design of a fish; a striking 17th-century porcelain jar (National Treasure No. 166) that has an underglaze iron-brown design of bamboo and plum; and a large porcelain jar produced in the second half of the 18th century that is decorated with an animated design of a tiger, magpies and haet'ae (mythical lion dog) painted under the glaze in cobalt blue and copper red. Spectacular gold ornaments, such as an elaborate crown and delicate earrings produced from the late 4th to the 6th century, during the Three Kingdoms period (57 B.C.-668 A.D.), reflect the sumptuous lifestyle and authority of the royal famili es of Korea's first centralized states. Buddhism, which was introduced from China in the 4th century, flourished throughout the peninsula in the Unified Shilla (668-935) and Koryo periods, when Korean artists produced some of the world's most sophisticated and technically accomplished Buddhist works. The importance of Buddhism today in daily life and its pervasive influence as a creative and spiritual force in early Korea can be seen, for example, in silver-inlaid bronze incense burners and vessels, as well as bronze bells and gongs used in tern pies. Among the monuments of Buddhist art is a large gilt-bronze image of the bodhisattva Maitreya, from the late 6th century, whose contemplative expres-

sion epitomizes the powerful presence of Korean Buddhist sculpture. Portable shrines and reliquaries exquisitely crafted in gilt bronze are evidence of the increasingly personal expression of Buddhist devotion in the Koryo Dynasty. Although suppressed by the state, Buddhism continued to express itself in the arts of the Chason period. Elegant yet restrained lacquerware, furniture, and scholars' accessories became popular in the 14th century with the rise to prominence of the yangban, the members of the "two orders" of civil and military officials who dominated the political, economic, and cultural life of the Chason Dynasty. In addition to court-sponsored secular painting, works attributable to individual artists became more numerous during the Chason period. Among them was the preeminent court painter An Kyon and the literati artist Chong Son (1676-1759), who saw themselves as heirs to a long-standing tradition of scholar-artists in China. Although deeply indebted to the themes, techniques and critical tradition of Chinese painting, Korean artists sought to create individual stylistic vocabularies, especially in landscape painting. This new interest culminated in the so-called true-view landscape movement of the 18th century, which advocated the depiction of actual Korean scenery as an alternative to the classical themes of Chinese landscape painting. The 18th century also saw the emergence of a unique tradition of genre painting, whose acknowledged master practitioners, Kim Hong-do (1745-1806) and Shin Yun-bok (ca. 1758-after 1813), portrayed the daily life of all classes of Korean society-from carpenters and iron forgers to aristocrats and scholarsin all its diversity and vitality. An album painting of a dancer performing to the accompaniment of a small troupe of musicians, Dancer and Musicians, demonstrated Kim's extraordinary talent in conveying sensitive observations of narrative detail. +

Th e inaug ural exhibition of the n ew Arts of Kor ea Gallery fea tures th e fin est examples of Korean art in all m ajor m edia, including 22 of K orea's n ational treasures, m an y of w hich h ave never bef or e been displayed in the West. Drawn from the collection of th e N ation al M useum of Korea in Seoul as well as from p riva te collections in Kor ea, j apan, and the United States, and in cluding work s from th e Metrop olitan 's collection, i t is th e first compreh ensi ve display of Korean m aste1pieces to be seen in the United States in nearl y 20 years.

Bronze Kundika with willow and fowl design inlaid in silver, Koryo period, National TreasureNo.92 47

INTERVIEW

YUN KYUNG-RYOL T'ou MAKER AND KEEPER THE SHILLA TRADITION

Kim Young-uk Associate Editor, KOREANA

y6ngju, the capital of the Shilla Kingdom (57 B.C-A.D. 935) for over 1,000 years, is not only the oldest city in Korea, but also home to many fine Buddhist carvings on Mt. Namsan and to such treasures as S6kkuram Grotto and Pulguksa Temple, which have been included in UNESCO's World Heritage list. It is a city which brings out emotions, where one can feel the spirit and wisdom of ancient Koreans in the smooth rounded tombs that have stood silent watch over the city for 1,000 years, in Anapji pond and in Ch'6ms6ngdae, the oldest astronomical observatory in Asia. In addition, Ky6ngju is home to what might be called a living cultural treasure in the person of Yun Kyungryol, a local historian who has lived in the bosom of the spirit of Ky6ngju's Shilla ancestors. From an early age, he sought to protect Korean traditions as a maker of the traditional Shilla terra cotta figurines known as t'ou. In cultural circles, he is called "the last Shilla man." There is no one who loves Shilla history more than Yun; he has devoted his life to discovering the spirit of the people of Shilla. As I entered the traditional village of Yangji, which faces Mt. Namsan, to meet Yun at his home, I felt as if I had just stepped out of a time machine like a character in a science fiction movie.

As I passed through the front gate of Yun's house, an old man came silently to greet me. You could tell he was no ordinary man as he looked so at home with the past. He was dressed in a gray hanbok (Korean traditional garment) and his long white hair looked like smoothly brushed cotton. "The last Shilla man" had the gentle, comforting look of a Buddha. He looked like a holy man who knew the wisdom of the world. His expression, neither smiling nor unsmiling, was that of a mystic, pure and innocent. The innocence about him belied his 82 years. The pride of the Ky6ngju people, the emotion that Yun feels when he discovers the strength and artistry of the Shilla people emanating from the cultural relics scattered throughout the

city and its environs is one that he believes must be passed on to young children. That is why he started museum classes for children and has been known among children for the. past 40 years as a storyteller. Yun originally hails from Chu-tH, a hot springs town in Hamgy6ngbuk-do province in the northernmost part of the Korean peninsula. Although there would seem to be no immediate connection to Ky6ngju, Yun, who loved to read from an early age, said that he first became attracted to Ky6ngju when he read stories about the ancient capital in a book his eldest brother, an artist, sent him from Seoul. Legends about . the birth of the Ky6ngju Kim clan from an egg in Kyerim Forest, the wisdom of Queen S6nd6k, the tears of Ch'oyong, and other stories about Ky6ngju, where the history of nameless people lies buried, instilled in him a special fascination for the city. Ky6ngju became a city of dreams that he promised himself to visit one day. Yun grew up in an affluent family and was educated in the dark days of Japanese colonial rule. "The most shameful period in the 5,000 years of Korean history is the 20th century. In the first half of this century we lost our sovereignty and had to live under Japanese colonial rule. Those who spent their childhood and youth in those days grew up

learning history that was distorted," Yun says. The reason Yun has spent his life researching and treasuring Korean history and the strong, proud history of Shilla in particular, is that he realized that the history that he learned under the Japanese was mostly lies. "If there is a unique aspect to the beauty of Shilla, it is the harmonious coexistence of strength and softness. Shilla inherited both the strength of Koguryo and the softness of Paekche from which it created a unique culture of its own. You can see this in the many works of art that Shilla left behind," Yun says. Although the purpose of my interview was to write about Yun's life and art, our conversation kept straying to questions about the essence of Korean art and culture and the true charm Âˇof the Shilla people. And though this was not quite the direction I had been planning to take, I could see that these questions were at the core of Yun's life. "In the Middle Ages, the people of Western Europe expressed their desire to reach heaven in their Gothic church steeples, some of which took decades to build. In contrast, the Shilla people carved away stones in nature bit by bit to form a base and then piled stones they smoothed one atop another, forming a high pagoda that expressed sublimation and seemed to reach into the clouds. The Shilla people carved out of rock seemingly unfinished Buddhist figures, turning mountain peaks into natural Buddhist sanctums. That was the natural kind of beauty that the Shilla people created," Yun says. He added that though beautiful Shilla creations are often hidden in natural surroundings, they must not be overlooked. Anapji, one of the representative gardens of Korea, features a pond that is just a little more than a kilometer in circumference. With the pond symbolizing their thoughts of the sea, the Shilla royalty built beside it a pavilion

called Imhaejon, meaning "pavilion by the sea." The pond was created so that, like the sea, it could not be seen in its entirety with one look "The best word in the Korean language is the word for beautifu l, 'anlmdapda.' The word to describe something held out in front with arms full is 1Janarum.' So the word for beautiful means something that is perfectly round. That is, it means something that is unbroken. If you extend the lines of a Korean tile roof or the curve of a ceramic storage jar, you will see that it eventually forms a circle. Therefore, they are naturally beautiful," Yun says. "The Buddhist figures on Kyongju's Namsan are typically made with the body carved out in relief in order to achieve a harmony between nature and art. In the case of Sokkuram, the bodhisattvas and disciples of Buddha are smaller than the principal image of the Buddha in order to enhance the dignity of the latter. And the major treasure of the Shilla Kingdom, Pulguksa Temple, was a recreation of the heavenly world here on earth. It represents a place that cannot be reached in this life and is an expression of the fantasies and dreams of our Shilla ancestors." Yun, who says that no one has lived a happier life than he, even though he lived through the same pains and sufferings of most Koreans of his age, decided to rediscover the true face of traditional Korean t'ou after seeing one made by a Japanese artist in his youth. He says that the more he thinks about it, the surer he becomes that a life devoted to such a purpose cannot be happier. He says there are no words to express the gratitude he feels toward his late wife, who was his partner and supporter in all things, and to his children who are following in his footsteps. Yun started making t'ou seriously at the age of 19 when he went to Japan. He had made up his mind to overcome the hardships of living in a foreign country for the single purpose of

Namsan was a sacred mountain for the Shilla people and there are Buddhist figures scattered all over it. Yun has climbed the mountain more than 600 times, leaving no part of it unexplored, to find the true Korean face to express in the clay dolls he produces.

Doll by Yun Kyung-ryol 49

Ky6ngju is home to what might be called a living cultural treasure in the person of Yun Kyung-ryol, a local historian who has lived in the bosom of the spirit of Ky6ngju's Shilla ancestors. In cultural circles, he is called "the last Shilla man." There is no one who loves Shilla history more than Yun; he has devoted his life to discovering the spirit of the people of Shilla.

Doll by Yun Kyung-ryol 50

learning how to make the clay figures. His teacher was Tami, a renowned living cultural treasure in Japan. Studying under a teacher who was strict and above all a true artist, Yun honed his techniques and learned what it takes to be a master craftsman. Learning art must come from the fingertips. From his teacher, he learned how to be a true artist, what it meant to be an artist. It is said that the key to art is not skill, but spirit. While he was in Japan, Yun's art was not Korean. Through the techniques he learned from Tami, he made traditional t'ou but there was something unmistakably Japanese about them and it took Yun a lifetime to overcome the limits of his Japanese teaching. It was from this time that Yun decided to discover true Korean art and culture. On his journey of discovery, Yun said he met some unforgettable teachers. From the "butterfly doctor" Sok Chu-myong he learned the importance of researching tradition. Korea's first modern art historian Ko Yu-sop taught him that "Paekche Buddhist figures take after the people of the Cholla provinces and Shilla Buddhist figures take after the people of Kyongju -the things which take root and flower in a certain place are the beauty of that place." Artist 0 Chiho taught him that even beauty has a nationality. It was under the influence of such people that Yun was led to Korea's finest treasure house of culture, Kyongju , to become the "Shilla man" he is today. In 1949, Yun settled in Kyongju, his city of dreams, and established a traditional folk art research center called Koch'ongsa where he produced dolllike cia y figurines that were truly Korean in look and essence. In the figures, he tried to recreate an everyday kind of beauty. He gave form to the spirit of the legends surrounding Queen Sondok, Lady Suro and the Shilla warriors known as h warang, especially Kwanch'ang. His creations were based on a solid foundation of

historical research on the figures of Buddhist disciples and young monks at temples and on tomb ornaments. In looking back over Yun's life, another important achievement is his untiring research of Namsan. Well into his 60s, he published two thick volumes on the cultural treasures of Namsan, significant additions to the cultural archives of Korea. Namsan was a sacred mountain for the Shilla people and there are Buddhist figures scattered all over it. Yun has climbed the mountain more than 600 times, leaving no part of it unexplored, to find the true Korean face to express in the clay dolls he produces. Yun 's books about Namsan were the first to be published since the Japanese colonial government produced Traces of Buddhism on Mt. Na1nsan. Shamefully, no Korean effort had been made to research the mountain until Yun's comprehensive report on Namsan and this was the result of his efforts alone. Deploring the fact that cultural treasures are being thoughtlessly destroyed in the name of development, Yun contends that Namsan should be protected and preserved. "The art of Shilla contains no traces of sadness or rancor. It is vigorous and bright, full of natural beauty and dreams. You can see the dreams and great imagination of our ancestors in the many cultural treasures that they left behind, the Buddhas who look like Koreans, the brilliant gold crowns, and the droll clay dolls known as t'ou. Shilla art has the brilliance of the sunrise," Yun says. Yun is a person who loves Shilla history, a person who came looking for the soul of Shilla and came to settle in its ancient capital, the city of Kyongju, to become the last Shilla man. When asked if he had ever been discouraged as an artist, he replied, "I have not been ambitious or greedy so I have never known despair." So this is Yun, the pride of Kyongju and guardian of the ancient city. +

ARTISTS

KOREA

PAIK HAEÂˇSUN NEXT GENERATION PIANIST Paik Seong-hyun Reporter, Gaeksuk

ianist Paik Hae-sun does not consider herself to be gifted. "I'm one of those people who has to practice like crazy to get worthwhile results," she says. "The amount of effort it takes to go one step further frightens me." At the same time, Paik is ambitious, saying with determination, "I want to be the kind of person who can face the challenges of the future, who jumps in and takes risks, but also thinks deeply about what she's doing." It was in 1993 that Paik's view of life changed in this direction. Up till then, she had enjoyed an enviable career, winning awards in such prestigious international competitions as the William Kapel International Competition, the HelenHart International Piano Competition, the Leeds International Piano Competition and the Queen Elizabeth International Competition. In the 1993 Van Cliburn International Competition, however, Paik was greatly shocked: She was eliminated in the first round of preliminaries. Like a high-speed locomotive that had come to an abrupt stop, Paik was stunned by the thought that her career as a pianist might have already passed its peak That experience had a serious, long-lasting effect on Paik, who is more cautious and sensitive than she appears. "I didn't touch the piano for a whole month and physically, I ached all over as if someone had hit me really hard," explains Paik. "But then I found peace. I at last realized that competitions do not

Paik Hae-sun is the kind of musician who seems different every performance. But behind her perpetual freshness there has always been pain, as her life story plainly tells.

necessarily make good pianists. My outlook on life finally broadened and I became convinced that music was the right career for me." The despair that Paik experienced then at the age of 29 was so traumatic that it even changed her character. Thanks to her natural talent, Paik's career had been smooth and she never

really needed to assume an aggressive approach toward her work Winning awards at international competitions had become a routine affair. Although she was always grateful for the good things that came her way, she never had any burning passion to achieve a specific goal. It was Paik's disappointment at the Van Cliburn competition that turned her into a more aggressive performer. She entered the lOth Tchaikovsky International Competition in 1994 and the following year she resigned from her professorship at Seoul National University to study in Italy. In the end, these two bold steps helped to vault Paik into the ranks of the world's top pianists. When Paik visited Korea in April 1994 to perform a concert, she said, "There will be no more competitions for me." She went on to say, "Some clays, when I am listening to the works of Beethoven or Schubert, I get a sudden attack of homesickness." But when asked when she would return to Korea for good, she replied, "After I've had some more training." In the fall of that very year, however, Paik surprisingly placed third in the Tchaikovsky International Competition. "It was the last competition I had the chance of entering," she explains. "I was just a few months under the maximum thirty-year age limit, so I decided to enter on the very last day of the application period. It was not so much to show other people what I could do but 51

to prove something to myself. It was my good fortune to place third in a competition that produced no grand prize winner." Through the Tchaikovsky International Competition, Paik regained her confidence. Gradually, she got busier and busier with performance engagements. Her schedule included a special performance for the International Press Institute General Congress at the Seoul Arts Center under the baton of Chung Myung-whun , a solo recital in Los Angeles and a joint symphony concert in Honolulu, Hawaii. The then Ministry of Culture and Sports selected her for its Young Artist award and the daily newspaper Dong-A Ilbo presented her with its Music Dong-A Grand Prize. It was also around this time that Seoul National University appointed her as its youngest full-time professor. Pail< resettled in Korea in early 1995 but it was not long before she began to feel that she was not where she was supposed to be. She became obsessed with the idea of flight. Then came the news that she had been selected as the only female participant in the International Music Foundation's study program at Lake Como, Italy. "That was a really hard time," Paik recalls. "The big question was what would be the best thing to do. I agonized over this and finally came to the conclusion that as long as I remained in Korea I could not develop any further as a musician. So I applied for a leave of absence from Seoul National University, gathered up my courage and left for Italy to become a student once more." Before leaving for Italy in October 1995, Paik embarked on a nine-city performance tour entitled "From Seoul to New York" The program for these concerts featured such pieces as "Pigeon" from the prelude of the Messiah, "Gold Cuckoo" from the Catalog of Birds, Schubert's Sonata in C minor, and Mussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition." Judging from her choice of composers, which ran to Rachmaninoff and Liszt, whose scores are considered difficult 52

for a woman to perform, it was clear that there had been a notable change of direction in her music. This was a conscious move on the part of Paik because she did not want to be criticized for always playing the same old thing. About that change in her music, she explained: "I had been seeking a change for a long time. For some time, I had been thinking that it was time to do not only showy pieces but also more contemplative works." The stirrings of such change hardened into resolution during Paik's studies in Italy. The Lake Como International Music Foundation was established by a young German industrialist and music lover, Theo Liben, to support young promising pianists. Five people are selected to participate in the Lake Como program each year. The students are housed at Liben's own mansion where they are provided with food and lodging and most importantly, the time and space to study and practice. During her time in Italy, Paik had the chance to study and perform with Maurizio Pollini, Fou Tsong, Alexis Weisenberg, Murray Peraia and Leon Fleisher. This invaluable experience enabled her to make a new beginning as a musician, performing with world famous orchestras. "Lake Como is a well-known holiday resort, with a town of spectacular beauty featuring magnificent natural scenery and a landscape filled with old historic houses. It is the kind of place where you can get a real taste of traditional Italian culture. It's paradise," Paik says. "A totally self-regulated program, it was quite a new experience for a person like me who had studied mostly in the United States. It was a chance to personally experience the tradition of European music." The results of her training at Lake Como began to show immediately in Paik's performances. She became a big sensation and was invited to perform with such prominent orchestras as the Boston Sy mphony Orchestra, the Birmingham Municipal Orchestra, the

Munich Philharmonic Orchestra and the New Japan Philharmonic Orchestra. In early 1996, she played Mozart's piano concerto in D minor with the Boston Symphony Orchestra and earned wide acclaim from the critics who wrote that the concert was: "A memorable performance, one that is definitely worth seeing again," and called Paik "a charming soloist" and "a great artist." Her most memorable moment by far, Pail< says, was her performance of Beethoven's "Emperor" with the Munich Philharmonic Orchestra in July that year as part of a Beethoven piano concerto series. The German critics, notoriously hard to please, sang her praises. "The members of the orchestra were young, mostly in their mid to late thirties, but their harmony and ability to support a soloist was amazing. It was not so much the technique of each individual but the way they brought their strengths together as an ensemble and the way they built up the sound, bit by bit," Pail< recalls. "Before I knew it I was caught up in the sound and became one with them. I just let the music play itself. I rediscovered the true essence of music. For the first time in a long time I really played well." When Paik began to get a lot of attention on the international stage, she was approached by EMI Classics and eventually signed a contract with them to record three albums over the following three years. Her first album, recorded in London in July 1997, contains four Mendelssohn pieces, from Song Without Words, Mozart's Fantasy in D minor, Schumann's Humoreske and Ravel's La Valse. Released in Korea early this year, it has already sold over 15,000 copies. Prior to recording the album, Paik said: "Up to this point in my life, I had experienced many hardships and disappointments as well as a lot of worrying. This album marks a new beginning and at the same time closes a chapter in my life. I want to put away the painful

memories of my youth and through this album put a close to my student days and my career as a competition winner. Now I want to be a more responsible musician and artist, a more serious musician. I have devoted my life to music and I hope to take the road that I want to take, play the music I want to play, the way I want to play it." Paik Hae-sun is the kind of musician who seems different every performance. But behind her perpetual freshness there has always been pain, as her life story plainly tells. Born in Taegu, Paik began piano lessons at age four. She would wake up at six o'clock in the morning and practice for two hours before going off to kindergarten for the day. In the second grade, she entered a provincial piano competition for which she practiced 10 hours a day for a whole month. So Paik was no ordinary child. "At that time I was taking lessons from Chu Seung-ok [currently professor at Yongnam University] who was a student at Seoul National University. Now that I think about it, she was an extraordinary person. How could she have demanded so much from such a young child?" says Paik. She studied under Chu until she entered high school. Chu was instrumental in making Paik who she is today. On Chu's recommendation, Paik entered Yewon Arts School and it was Chu who also made it possible for her to continue her piano studies in the United States. Paik's father was a stumbling block, however. The director of Tongsan Hospital in Taegu, he did not want his precious only daughter to become a pianist. When Paik told him she wanted to study overseas, he tore her plane ticket in half and said, "You should be satisfied playing at church. Why should you go to America?" But as they say, there is no parent who does not eventually give in to the wishes of his or her child. Boarding the plane in tears, Paik finally left for America and spent the next 15 years there, first entering the New England

Conservatory preparatory school, and then remaining through graduate school. It took 20 years before her father finally resigned himself to the idea of his daughter being a pianist and gave her due recognition as an artist. He traveled to the United States to see her debut recital at the Lincoln Center's Alice Tully Hall, after she had won first prize in the William Kapel International Competition. That night Paik showed her true talent to the public for the first time in a sold-out concert. A review in the New Yo1k Times said that she was a performer of wide range and strong

already been diagnosed with lung cancer and was in failing health. His trip to the United States to see Paik perform was his last. Sadly, it was then that Paik's fame began to take off. She went on to win second prize in the Helenhart International Competition, a prize in the Leeds International Competition in 1990, silver prize in the Queen Elizabeth International Competition in 1991, and finally, third prize in the Tchaikovsky International Competition in 1994. Now in her mid 30s, Paik is recognized as one of the world's leading pianists of the next generation. The rea-

individuality. Her father, who sat in the audience, could not help weeping, overcome by the hard work his daughter had so obviously put in over the years. "At the reception afterward, my father held my hand and squeezed it hard, saying 'I can see you have studied hard. I am happy now that I've seen you give your all to your work. I take it you have become married to the piano. You are beautiful.' You have no idea how happy those words made me," Paik recalls. But by the time Paik's father had come around to this point, he had

son that she is looked upon as a representative of the next generation and so many people have high expectations for her is that she has confirmed and secured her own place in the music world, has taken on all challenges, while enduring pain and suffering, and put everything back into her music. From tim e to time there appear little wunderkinds that astonish us with their ability but the musicians that truly move our hearts are those who have overcome hardships in their own lives. In this respect, Paik's future looks bright indeed. + 53

ach year, Korea experiences four distinct seasons. Winter is the three months starting from December, and spring, summer and fall follow at

Mt. Munsusan in Koch'ang is renowned for its beautiful autumn leaves. Farmers, however, are too busy to appreciate this splendor.

In traditional agricultural communities rifthe past, it was common for three generations rifa fomily to be living together under the same roqf. Because the a verage lifespan was much shorter back then, persons in their SOs were usually treated as elderly people who were not responsiblefor any chor es as there were plenty rifother people to peifO:rm the required labor. In marked contrast, the majority rif"the people who work thefields andpmfdies today are in their SOs or even older. 56

scape changes dramatically clue to the significant variation in climatic conditions during the year, and people have to change their wardrobes to suit the weather of each season. Over time, such distinct seasonal changes no doubt influenced the character of the Korean people, as they had to constantly adapt to the changing climate. Until a few decades ago, Korea was an agrarian-based nation, as it had been for thousands of years. Therefore, all seasonal customs as well as the culture in general are rooted in farming activities. Unfortunately, Korea has suffered considerable turmoil in recent years and friction between generations has intensified largely because of the abrupt transition from agriculture to industrialization and the resulting changes in values. As Korea's environment has also changed, traditional culture that has been molded over countless centuries is now crumbling or undergoing transformation. Nevertheless, amid this whirlwind of change, Korea's younger generations are now striving to preserve or restore Korea's traditional culture. And as a result of this, ch'ang, or traditional Korean songs, p'ansori, a narrative, epic, and dramatic folk vocal art form performed by a soloist, sam ulnori, a type of farmers' music involving four percussion instruments, and the hanbok, Korea's traditional costume, albeit modified greatly to suit today's lifestyle, are now loved by the younger generations more than by their predecessors. Paradoxically, most members of the younger generations are highly educated people born and raised in urban areas and thus have no firsthand experience of rural life, where such traditions originated. Their affection for traditional culture thus seems somewhat superficial, and virtually none of them are willing to

move to rural areas, much less take up farm work When Korea began to industrialize, the vast majority of the rural population ended up migrating to cities and factories in nearby satellite cities. Mostly those too old to work in factories remained behind in farming communities, where they have struggled to preserve Korea's farmlands since the 1970s. These people, of whom all Koreans should be proud, have seen their economic situation improve over time, thanks to their own efforts as well as various government measures. Still, compared to urbanites, many of them continue to suffer from relative poverty and an inferiority complex. Even though they now have ample food and large-size televisions and refrigerators, their quality of life does not appear to have improved Âˇall that much mainly due to their subpar housing conditions. People in rural communities tend not to invest in housing out of a sense of insecurity and uncertainty about the future, including concerns about how long they should continue to farm and remain in rural areas, or else they simply cannot afford to invest in better housing. Slate-roofed

houses that replaced traditional strawthatched houses and tile-roofed houses now stand in a dilapidated state, much like old people drained of their vitality. In traditional agricultural communities, it was common for three generations of a family to be living together under the same roof. Because the average lifespan used to be much shorter, persons in their 50s were usually treated as elderly people who were not responsible for any chores, as there were plenty of other people to perform the required labor. In marked contrast, the majority of the people who work the fields and paddies today are in their 50s or even older, including the women. There are even many septuagenarians working in the fields, mostly due to a shortage of labor rather than increased average lifespans. It was not too long ago that people in farming communities customarily took turns helping out with each other's farm work under a cooperative system called p'umasshi, but this is rarely practiced today as households cannot contribute an equal share of hands. Instead, farm machinery such as tractors and combines are rented, which is naturally more costly.

Farm machinery can be difficult for older people to operate. Therefore, it is time for the younger generations to return to the rural areas and begin employing scientific methods of farming. Paddies, which used to be narrow and terraced when farming was done manually, are now made flat to accommodate farm machinery. It takes money to farm properly nowadays but few people are willing to invest in rural areas. The natural environment remains as beautiful as ever in today's agricultural communities. However, most manmade structures are disfiguring. Old houses are unsightly due to their deterioration, new houses are lacking in character, and high-rise apartments, which block the sky, mountains and wind, are built solely on the basis of economic considerations without regard for the surroundings. A dizzying number of electric poles also stand scattered about the fields and beautiful mountains as if to visually prove that Korea's supply rate of electricity and telephones ranks among the highest in the world. Furthermore, several highways, national roadways and high-speed railway projects are being constructed in vari-

ous corners of the nation simultaneously. These projects involve razing mountains and boring holes in them to build tunnels, all of which are creating such tremendous and rapid changes to the landscape that new maps have to be drawn up. Such changes are unfortunately defacing Korea's beautiful natural environment. The momentum that has propelled Korea's industrialization and modernization has thus transcended and dominated all other considerations in Korea since the early 1970s. The main crop raised in Korea is rice. Although wheat, barley and beans are also grown in large quantities, Koreans refer to them as miscellaneous cereals. There is a slightly condescending connotation to this reference, but it is more a reflection of Koreans' fervent passion for rice over all other crops. Until about 30 years ago, the most ardent wish of many people was to fill their stomachs with rice. In the past, rice farming frequently ended in failure due to unreliable precipitation and damage by blight and insects. A bumper crop of rice signified a bountiful harvest, regardless of how other grains fared. The relatively small Korean peninsu-

People carry mesh bags and climb up persimmon trees to pick the ripened persimmons, usually after the rice harvest is over. 58

Ia is currently split in half into North and South Korea. In South Korea, there is a difference of almost two months between the time when rice seedlings are transplanted in the mountainous areas nearby the 38th parallel, the northern border of the South, and the southern plains along the 34th parallel. This distance may be only four degrees latitude, but it involves differences in temperatures and precipitation, to which rice is very sensitive. Rice seedlings are transplanted in early April in the northern regions of South Korea, and until the end of May in the southern areas. Crop harvesting begins in early September in the southern regions and moves northward to mountainous areas where the harvesting of crops is completed in early November. The photographs illustrating this article were taken in S6ngnae-my6n and Kosu-myon, Koch'ang-gun, Ch6llabukdo province. Koch'ang is located in the southwestern region of the Korean peninsula where many traces of traditional life are still preserved. About 500 Bronze Age dolmens stand in Koch'ang's Sanggap-ri and Maesan-ri villages, leading to the conjecture that Koch'ang must have boasted good living conditions in ancient times. The area has a relatively mild climate and gets plenty of rain. It also has a number of small streams. The entire area is cozy with low mountains embracing wide fields. In short, Koch'ang is an ideal site for farming, and thus thrived during long-ago times when farming formed the core of traditional society. Accordingly, traditional music such as ch'ang and p'ansori, which are at the heart of Ch6lla-do culture, flourished in Koch'ang with this area producing a number of singers who became renowned throughout the nation. Ironically, it began to lag behind economically as Korea pursued industrialization, a phenomenon not limited to Koch'ang but common to every farming region in the country. The heavy concentration of wealth in urban areas

ultimately acts as a magnet which draws in the young people of rural areas, aggravating the already difficult conditions in farming communities. Still, farmers continue to harvest crops in the fall, not joyfully as in the past but dutifully nonetheless. As before, the fields continue to ripple with waves of gold in autumn, but the crops are no longer regarded as precious bounty. Fall is the favorite season of Koreans. The temperature is pleasant, the days are marked by clear skies and there is an abundance of food, thanks to the freshly harvested crops. Koreans often

refer to autumn as the "season when skies become higher and horses fatter." Mountains become resplendent with the diverse colors of the autumn leaves, a scene more glorious than spring flowers. Ch'usok, the Harvest Moon Festival celebrated on the 15th day of the eighth lunar month, is one of the most important holidays in Korea. It immediately follows the annual harvest in autumn. Due to the strong influence of Confucianism, every household performs ancestral rites, which include offering newly harvested rice, rice

wine, rice cakes, fruits and meat, to pay homage to ancestors and thank them for ensuring good harvests. Although farming and farming communities have declined sharply in Korea in recent years, the custom of observing Ch'usok remains as strong as ever. When Ch'usok approaches, countless people who left the countryside to live and work in urban areas, including the many involved in manufacturing or selling automobiles, TVs, computers and the like, depart the cities with their families and head for their hometowns, laden with gifts in their cars bought

with money thus earned, in order to attend ancestral rites. Then all the roads throughout Korea become paralyzed as the so-called Great Migration of Koreans gets underway. After the holidays, the people return to the cities, and the farming communities where mostly elderly people remain become quiet again. Fall is already progressing in Korea. The days are becoming increasingly shorter and the mercury is steadily dropping. Pretty soon, a cold wind from the north will sweep away the fallen leaves and winter will be with us. + 59

MARKETS OF KOREA

canle Chung Seung-mo Curator, Seoul City Museum

nterestingly enough, cows occupy a rather significant place in Korean culture. Their substantial girth, innocent and limpid eyes, and resonant bellowing undoubtedly stir nostalgia in anyone who grew up in rural communities. Archeological studies indicate that Koreans began to raise cattle about 2,000 years ago. Nowadays, because of the greatly diminished involvement of

cows in farming activities, many people regard cows as nothing more than a source of protein. However, in Korea's traditional agrarian society they played an integral role. In much the same way that Indians revere cows as sacred creatures, Koreans once considered cows to be much more than a source of food, treasuring them for their diligence and loyalty. Farmers even regarded them as

Hamp'yongcatde market from bygone days: Catde market (left);catde transactions (top); and eateries near the cattle market (above)

respected family members, referring to them as saenggu, a living family member. In traditional Korean society, servants enjoyed a respite from their daily toil on Paekchung, the Buddhist All Soul's which falls on the 15th day of the 7th lunar month. Cows were given a break from their labor and treated to their favorite food on the year's first Ch'uk-il, or Day of the Cow. The cow is the second of the 12 animal symbols of the Oriental zodiac system, and hence the designation of the day. There are also numerous Korean myths and legends in which cows are regarded as humans. It is said that Hwang Hui (1363-1452), a renowned state minister of the early Choson Dynasty (1392-1910), once saw t_wo cows plowing the fields when he was young. He asked the farmer which of the cows was the better worker, whereupon the farmer whispered into Hwang's ear, "That cow is better." Intrigued, Hwang asked the farmer why he was whispering. "Cows may be animals, but they have feelings just the same as humans. I don't want to hurt the other cow's feelings," answered the farmer. There was a time in Korea, particularly in major cities such as Seoul, when cows were traded and consumed as the main source of meat. For sometime during the late 19th century, cow hides were exported in large quantity to Japan. This period also witnessed an increase in the consumption of alcoholic beverages that was so dramatic that the government was forced to declare a prohibition. Increased consumption of both meat and liquor was understandable in light of the fact that beef was mainly consumed as a sidedish for wine-evidence that cattle were raised not only for farm work, but also for consumption. However, in terms of the overall population, beef consumption was meager, especially in comparison to more recent years following Korean industrialization. During the migration of much of the rural population to urban areas as part 61

of the industrialization process in the 20th century, cows played an important role in helping farming households raise money to send their children to city schools. In fact, because cows could be easily sold for a substantial amount of money, many farming households raised cows for the sole purpose of providing for their children's college tuition. Thus, universities were once referred to as "Towers of Cow Carcasses." Korea's cattle markets once supplied the cows necessary for farm labor, and later, during Korean industrialization, became centers for the buying and trading of cows and calves. According to research conducted in late 1918, there were a total of 655 cattle markets across the nation. Among them, the cattle market located near the Hamp'y6ng Stream in Hamp'y6ngup, Hamp'y6ng-gun, Ch6llanam-do province, dealt with cows raised on nearby farms and on Chido, Imjado and other islands off the west coast. The Hamp'y6ng Cattle Market, despite its ample size, today suffers from poor traffic access, which makes it difficult for islanders to personally bring their cows there for sale. The market covers 9,900 square meters and can accommodate about 800 cows at a time. It used to be part of the traditional Hamp'y6ng market which opened every five days, but for more convenient access, it was moved to its present location about 15 years ago when the Livestock Cooperative took over its management. Locals call the cattle market by several names including sojang and soejang (place of cows), soj6n (cattle shop) and soshijang (cattle market). The Hamp 'y6ng Cattle Market, which opens every five days on the 2nd, 7th, 12th, 17th, 22nd and 27th of each month, when the Hamp'y6ng traditional market also opens, attracts farmers who come to sell cows they raised at home or to buy new stock, middlemen who mediate deals between sellers and buye rs, and 62

employees of the Livestock Cooperative. In the past, there were stable owners who took care of cows in waiting and offered accommodations to cattle drivers, and imaejaeng-i who inspected the health of the cows. However, with the development of modern transportation, such stables have ceased to exist. Cow traders routinely visit mountainous areas to buy cows, which are later loaded on trucks and brought to the market for sale. However, such traders sell only when market prices are favorable, and buy when prices are cheap. Some traders slaughter cows themselves to sell the meat to butchers, but usually a dozen traders work

Each middleman has his own stakes for tying down his cows. They are known as malttukpekkigi, literally meaning "sponging off the stakes," in reference to their earning money from the labor of others. Today, the stakes are made from steel rods, but in the past they were made of wood and thus would often break when cows struggled or raged out of control. When that happened, the middleman, the owner of the stake, personally took care of its repair. The trading process begins when a buyer sees a cow he likes and pays some deposit amount to the middleman to whose stake the cow is tied.

At the end o/1!)19, there were a total o/65'S cattle markets across the nation. Among them, the cattle market located near the Hampyong Stream in Hampyong-iip, Hampyonggun, Chol/anam-do province, dealt with cows raised on nearlry

forms and on Chido, Imjado and other islatuls o/.fthe west const. Hamp'yong cattle market today is crowded with people from 5 o'clock in the morning until it closes at 8 a.m_

together to brand the cows, commission the slaughtering to a butcher, and then sell the meat to wholesale markets. The butcher who does the slaughtering receives the cow's head, hide and a fee in return for his work Accordingly, the labor involved is clearly segregated between those who collect and sell the cows, and those who slaughter them. There is a Korean proverb, "A neighbor's cow never looks big," meaning that one tends to give higher marks to his own cow; that is to say, the value of a cow can be quite subjective. For this reason, middlemen always mediate the deals at cattle markets to ensure that a fair price is reached for each cow.

The middleman then negotiates with the cow owner, and when both sides agree on the price, the middleman turns over the deposit money he received from the buyer to the cow owner. The transaction is settled with the buyer paying the remainder of the price to the cow owner. Of course, the middleman receives a commission from the seller for his services. Whenever a cow is traded at the market in this manner, the middleman must file a report with the Hamp'y6ng Livestock Cooperative. The report includes the names of both the buyer and seller, the cow's sex, age, color, weight and distinguishing marks, the

price, and the chop and signature of the buyer. Distinguishing marks could include the location of the vortex of hair on the cow's head or the shape of its horns. Aside from the Hamp'yong market, middlemen also conduct business at the relatively large-scale Changsong and Yonggwang cattle markets in the city. In the past, assistant middlemen used to negotiate deals informally. Presently, there are 18 middlemen plying their trade at the Hamp'yong Cattle Market; nine are official and nine are assistants. Cattle market middlemen are called soj6nkkun. Today, the goings-on at the cattle

directly with local farmers and buy cows under more advantageous conditions. Farmers also prefer to make deals with tradesmen who visit their homes as it is time consuming and costly for them to personally deliver their cows to market. When the demand for working cows gave way to beef cows, tradesmen who trucked cows to the market on behalf of farmers began to dominate the market, thus compelling the markets to open earlier. Nowadays, markets usually open about 5 a.m. and close about 8 a.m. during summer. They usually open before 6 a.m. in winter. Tradesmen try to begin business even

brought in for sale. When business is brisk, as many as 500 cows are brought to the market with about 300 of them being traded. Cows that are not sold are transported to the nearby y ongsanp'o Market or the relatively larger Chang song Market. The Yonggwang Market opens on the 1st, 6th, 11th, 16th, 21st, 26th and 31st of each month, the Hamp'yong Market on every 2nd, 7th, 12th, 17th, 22nd and 27th, the Hwasun Market every 3rd, 8th, 13th, 18th, 23rd and 28th, the Hwangryong Cattle Market in Changsong every 4th, 9th, 14th, 19th, 24th, and 29th, and the Yongsanp'o Market every 5th, lOth, 15th, 20th, 25th and 30th. Thanks to the

market are markedly different from those in the past. In the past, the majority of cows were traded for farm labor. When farmers used to bring their cows to the market themselves, the market opened after lunch and closed at sunset or later. Tradesmen who had to travel long distances finished their business even earlier so that they could reach the next market before nightfall. The majority of traders, however, spent the night at the stable in the market and then departed early the next morning. Cattle drivers were responsible for transporting the purchased cows to other markets. Today's cattle tradesmen negotiate

earlier, around 4 a.m., like other traditional markets, so that they can visit the distribution or sales center, finish their business and return home within the day by starting out in the early hours when there is less traffic. The restaurants near the Hamp 'yong Cattle Market only operate on market days. They usually open at 4:00 in the morning and close around 9 o'clock after catering to the needs of tradesmen who especially enjoy drinking after a successful deal. During the busy farming season and in winter, from 170 to 180 cows are traded on a typical market day, approximately 60 percent of all the cows

development of modern day transportation, cattle tradesmen today conduct their business in any large market with little regard to provincial boundaries. Most of the small cattle markets in farming areas no longer operate due to the reduced size of the farming population and the overall decline of farming. Markets such as the Hamp'yong Cattle Market have managed to maintain their original size, thanks to today's improved transportation, but their character is very different. It is no longer easy to see in the middle of the day farmers leisurely negotiating the sale of their own cows. + 63

NATURE OF KOREA

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route to the summit. The surrounding region is facing destruction due to various development projects, including the construction of a power plant in Yangyang. In autumn, the appearance of the forest changes as much as it does in spring. From about October, the trees on the upper slopes of the mountain begin to change color. The green summer forest, which has been preparing for winter, begins to shed its plain look. In autumn, the leaves of maple, Amur maple, lacquer, sumac, Korean barberry and rowan trees turn red, while the lea ves of aspen, overcup oak and white birch trees turn yellow or yellowish biÂˇown. High in the mountains where the first frost comes very early, autumn does not last long. The show begins with the changing of the colors of the maple leaves on the peaks and soon moves gradually down the mountain. The splendid transformation of the forest in the fall is a blessing to Koreans and an intrinsic aspect of Korea 's four distinct seasons. The autumn forests of Chombongsan epitomize Korean forests in autumn, which anyone can experience. ChOmbongsan does not enjoy the popularity of such famous mountains as Odaesan and Soraksan; it is just one of the many mountains found in Kangwon-do province. However, its natural broadleaf forest is famous as a habitat for some 70 species of broadleaf trees. There are few places in Korea where one can find such a variety of wide-leaf trees in an area the size of a hectare. The broadleaf forest, which has more diverse species than other forests in the Temperate Zone, is a precious natural asset. Anyone who is interested in nature and forests is advised to visit Chombongsan. It is said that the greater variety of species an ecological system has, the more stable it is. For an ecological system to be stable, the roles of producer, consumer, and disintegrator must be well balanced so that the closed cycle

runs smoothly. The smoother the cycle, the better the balance of the ecosystem. The forest of Chombongsan, composed of various species, is very stable and is thus an ecosystem to be treasured. Some 800 species of trees, or 20 percent of all flora endemic to Korea, and 36 species of flowers and shrubs, which are indigenous to Korea, can be found in the forest. In addition, it is inhabited by some 30 animal species. Once the region was the only place where leopards could be seen. Flying squirrels, bears, otters, musk deer and antelopes were also reported living here. In the forest one can still hear the resonant song of a woodpecker. As there are not many places where so many varieties of plants and animals can be seen together, Chombongsan is a very valuable ecological resource. Virgin primeval forests formed and maintained via natural processes, without any artificial interference, are rare in Korea but can be experienced in the forest on Chombongsan. The 9-kilometer-long forest that begins at the threeway junction in Chindong 2-ri is the only place in South Korea where one can enjoy such an experience as well as view a natural broadleaf forest, fir trees, and acicular trees coexisting. It is not easy to predict the dynamics of a forest. Though it may not be apparent, firs fight for space with latifoliate trees and struggle to survive the deep shade of Mongolian oaks and birch trees which block the sunlight. Trees that require ample sunlight cannot survive here. However, firs can survive for many years under the wide leaves of latifoliate trees, which let in only one-tenth of the sunlight. When a tree is capable of surviving in shadow, it is said to have strong "shade tolerance." If a tree has shade tolerance it can emerge as the true master of a forest. Only trees with strong shade tolerance can survive for dozens of years, sometimes for hundreds of years, until they eventually take over the entire forest.

In Chindong Valley, one can easily see firs that are 2 meters high and 10 centimeters in diameter. It normally takes about 10 years for a fir to reach that size in the open, such as on a plain. Surprisingly enough, a fir of the very same size growing in a shady area may be over a hundred years old. I once had to use a microscope to count the closely packed annual rings on a fir that I cut in the valley for research purposes. Persevering for dozens of years in the shade, a fir is a true late-bloomer. Even so, firs will outlast Mongolian oaks and lime trees that block the sunlight. It may take one or two hundred years, but eventually the firs will dominate the forest. Only people who can sense the serene order of a forest can appreciate the true color of a fir. If you are observant, you can witness the life cycle of a forest. A tree reaching for the sky, suggesting vigor, a gigantic withered Mongolian oak that has fallen to the ground, and a fir sapling that is budding on a rotting stump-these are all part of the forest of ChOmbongsan. The perpetual cycle of birth and death that occurs in the forest reveals the power of nature. In the forest one can appreciate the greatness of Mother Earth, which gives birth to new life, and the solemnity of the natural law of the cycle of life. It is where you can experience not only the interplay between life and death, but also the wonders of a virgin forest. The sky is covered with lu xuriant foliage and the sunlight barely reaches the floor of the forest. What should be done is obvious. We sho uld soothe our spirit and cleanse our bodies with the freshness of the forest. And drink the clear valley water, which embodies the essence of the forest, and take a deep breath. There are not many places where one can take in a forest with such ease. Chindong Valley of Chombongsan is one such place. Close your eyes and take in the sound and fragrance of the forest. You will become a part of the forest in no time. +

From top: Spleen worts thrive in shady, moist terrain; maple and oak trees in autumn, two species representative of broadleaf trees of the temperate zone; the Chindong Valley has the mystic atmosphere of a pristine forest.

DISCOVERING

KOREA

Cho Duck-hyun Professor of Biology, \'(/ oosuk Uni versity 68

lmzg ago, Koreans have valued mushrooms not only as a source o/nutrition, butfor their medicinalproperties. Turkey tail (coriolus versicolor) grows among dead trees in layers, not unlike the tiled roofs of traditional Korean houses; Suillus grevilleigrows in the ground ofpine forests (insert)

bout 70 percent of Korea is mountainous, which means that only 30 percent of its terrain is flat. The country also has four distinct seasons with a monsoon period during the summer that makes for hot, humid weather conditions.

Korea's native flora includes both deciduous and coniferous trees, as well as mixed forests. Accordingly, Korea's topography is ideally suited for mushrooms. From long ago, Koreans have valued mushrooms not on ly as a source of nutrition, but for their medicinal properties. Samguk sagi (History of the

Three Kingdoms), written in 1145, mentions that fungus from forests and plains were eaten as early as the reign of King Songdok (r. 702-737) of the Shilla Kingdom (57 B.C.-AD. 935). It has also been documented that the tricholom a matsutake and poria cocos varieties were consumed as food and medicine during the reign of King-Injo 69

(r. 1623-1649) of the Choson Dynasty

(1392-1910). Legends about mushrooms abound in Korean folklore. According to one, a mountain spirit was so touched by the devoted efforts of a scholar to save his dying son that he gave the father a poria cocos mushroom as medicine. The boy recovered after the mushroom was rubbed on his body and fed to him. To this day, Koreans call the mushroom pokryong or "lucky spirit." In another tale, a filial son, on the advice of a spirit, hunts for morels in the mountain in the dead of winter in order to save his father's life. More than 1,500 varieties of mushrooms are native to Korea, flourishing everywhere-in the soil, on dead trees and fallen branches, in meadows, on compost, and even on insects. Most of these varieties are basidiomycetes, or fungi that produce spores at the tips of slender projecting stalks. A few are ascomycetes, or fungi in which the spores are formed within a club-shaped pod called ascus. It is not necessarily that there are fewer ascomycete species in Korea, just that fewer studies have been conducted on ascomycetes in Korea than on basidiomycetes. However, many varieties are disappear-

ing as a result of environmental pollution, a crisis that demands immediate action. Mushrooms have a purifying effect on their ecological systems. They play a key role in the life cycle of their environment by helping to decompose organic matter such as dead plant life. Some mushrooms such as the artists conk ( elfvingia applanata), sulfur shelf (laetiporus sulphureus) and others are parasites or pathogens that cause trees to wither. Others maintain a symbiotic relationship with plants, such as the suillus bovinus, suillus grevillei and the amethyst laccaria (laccaria amethystea) varieties. Mushrooms are nutritious, a rich source of protein, vitamins and minerals. In particular, the lentimus edodes mushroom is said to ward off certain diseases thanks to its ability to reduce cholesterol and to stabilize high blood pressure and insulin levels. Still other varieties, such as the ling chih

(ganoderma Jucidum), phellinus linteus and morel (cordyceps) are widely prescribed by alternative medicine practitioners as anti-cancer agents. The most common varieties in Korea are the turkey tail (coriolus versicolor) and the common split gill (schizophyllum commune). They grow

all year round, anywhere from rotting tree stumps to dead trees to live forests, where they contribute to the decaying of the trees. These mushrooms dry up to the point of appearing dead when there is a lack of moisture, but they spring back to life at the first sign of rain. That is because from within trees, the filaments that make up the mushroom's body can dry up without dying, while being able to supply moisture whenever it is available. The turkey tail has cancer-fighting properties, and a beverage made from it is even marketed as a health drink Varieties that flourish in the spring include the tree ear and jelly (tremella) types, ascomycetes that can be found among rotten stumps, fallen branches and leaves. The tree ear mushroom grows in clusters around tree stumps. Once they are picked, they -can be dried for consumption at a later date. They are used extensively in Chinese cooking. More varieties thrive in summer than in any other season, as temperatures can often reach 25 degrees Celsius or higher following the monsoon season (from mid:June to mid:July). Many varieties literally "mushroom" right after a rain, in gardens, along the roadside, in

The American Caesars mushroom (amanita hemibapha) grows in rings in grassy areas of mixed forests. 70

fields and forests. Among these is the American Caesars mushroom (amanita hemibapha), which many people consider to be poisonous because of its beautiful red color. However, the mushroom is actually edible and gives off a rich, meaty aroma when roasted. It grows in clusters in the soil of forests. It is not to be confused with the amanita verna variety. Many people believe it is edible because of its pure white color, but in fact it is poisonous. Apart from this, many summer varieties are edible. Many summer mushrooms, including the micropous vernicipes and the fomitella fraxinea, are also decomposition agents that cause wood to rot. Some varieties, such as the asterophora lycoperdoides and the asterophora prasitica, actually grow on top of other mushrooms. Among the mushrooms that appear in autumn is the tricholoma matsutake variety, which flourishes best in pine forests at least 15 to 25 years old. This mushroom, called song-i in Korean, is popular among Koreans for its delicious aroma and meaty taste. In fact, it has become a key agricultural export item, much of it being shipped to Japan. The song-i is so treasured, and so expensive, that mushroom pickers are known to go off on their own to hunt for it and when they find a patch, they keep it a secret. Many of the mushrooms found in coniferous forests are edible. In mixed forests, mushrooms with rings (cortinarius) and coral mushrooms (ramaria) abound. Many varieties of the latter are edible, and they are often harvested and sold at markets in rural areas. However, the yellow-tipped coral (ramaria formosa) can cause diarrhea and other adverse reactions when eaten. The slightly bitter tasting sarcodan aspratus is widely used as a digestive in rural communities. The orange peel (aleuria aurantia) is a singularly beautiful variety that grows in clumps on bare soil. The velvet foot (flamulina velutipes) mushroom is a cold-weather vari-

ety that grows from autumn to early spring. It is cultivated in large quantities and sold in supermarkets. Morels, mentioned earlier for their medicinal properties, are unique in that they are insects in the fall and then turn into plants by spring. That is, they are the only variety that is partly animal. The cordyceps nutans is the most common type, being found virtually everywhere. There are about 30 kinds of poisonous mushrooms. Some of the more common ones are the alcohol inky (coprinus atramentarius), panther (amanita pantherina), sulfur tuft (naematoloma fasciculare) and emetic russula (russula emetica). The alcohol inky mushroom springs up in compost heaps after a rain and then, as its name implies, melts into an inky liquid. The sulfur tuft grows in the wild, among the trunks of pine trees. The lampteromyces japonicus emits a faint glow at night. It was often used by the royal court as a poison. The dictyophora indusata is found in bamboo groves. It is unusually large, measuring 10 to 15 centimeters across, and appears to be wearing a net-like sheath over its pure white body. The very tip of the mushroom is covered with a sticky foul-smelling mucous-like substance that attracts flies and other insects which pick up its spores and help to disperse them. The brittle (russula) mushroom grows in the ground from spring. By summer it is found in dense clusters, which begin to die out by fall. The polyporus mushroom grows in rotting trees in both coniferous and deciduous forests. It dries up during an absence of moisture, and then quickly revives when it rains. Among this variety, the myekkot mushroom is commonly found beneath dead branches in forests. Korea is home to a tremendous variety of mushrooms. It is no wonder they are considered "fairies" of the forest; they are not only beautiful, but also purify their environment. +

From top: Tree ear (auricularia auricula), an ear-shaped spring variety grows

among lichen and moss; Orange peel (aleuria aurantia) grows in clusters on

ground covered with lichen or moss; and Velvetfoot(flamulina velutipes) grows in clusters in crevices of dead trees. 71

TRADITIONAL

ARTISAN

YONYOPJU LOTUS-LEAF WINE BREWED BY YI CH6NG-Y6L'S DESCENDANTS Lee Hyoung-kwon Director, Cultural Heritage Research Institute

here is an old saying: "The taste of a town's wine is indicative of the quality of its politicians, and the taste of a family's fermented sauces is indicative of the family's situation." In other words, when these two are good, other things go smoothly. For ancient Koreans, the taste of wine and food were yardsticks for many things, from national politics to household affairs. Wine was a symbol of proper etiquette. Koreans brewed wine at home with the greatest of care to offer libations to gods and ancestors, to serve important guests, and to show respect and love between parents and children. Th at might be why the expression chudo (the way of drink) is an element of Korean drinking culture. The first mention of Korean wine is included in the founding myth of the Koguryo Kingdom (37 B.C.-A.D. 668) recorded in Samguk sagi (History of the Three Kingdoms). There is also a reference to a tale about a Koguryo woman making kogaju wine in the ancient Chinese literary work, Taiping yulan. Moreover, Korean historical records show that wine was used for a religious ritual called y6nggo during the Puyo period (18 B.C.-A.D. 660). By the Three Kingdoms period (1st century B.C.-A.D. 7th century), two types of wine were produced: clear and murky. During the Koryo Dynasty

(918-1392), the brewing of soju, a distilled liquor, became widespread, while various types of wines were also developed. According to Im won shipyukji (Sixteen Treatises on Agriculture), as many as 180 kinds of wines were made during the Chason Dynasty (1392-1910). Since long ago, wine has been an integral part of Korean seasonal holidays. Special wines for such occasions emerged: for example, kwibalki sui, a wine to sharpen the ears, for Taeborl'nn, the 15th day of the first

lunar month; ch'6ngmy6ngju, "clear and bright wine," for the fifth day of the fourth lunar month; chrysanthemum wine for the ninth day of the ninth month. On New Year's ÂˇDay, it was customary to offer wine to elders along with wishes for a long, healthy life. Villagers also shared wine and song as they celebrated together. For Koreans, wine was a medicine as well as a cultural medium for practicing etiquette, encouraging harmony among people and enhancing community relations among neighbors. Families brewed their own wine with recipes handed down from generation to generation. Wine brewing represented a major household chore. A law prohibiting wine brewing at home was introduced during the Japanese colonial period (1910-1945), which led to the creation of commercial breweries. To maintain control over the industry, the Japanese colonists enforced a wine tax and required people to obtain permission to make wine for household use. Thus, traditional winemaking either degenerated into a clandestine operation or disappeared altogether along with family winemaking secrets. Nevertheless, for weddings, funerals and ancestral rites many aristocratic families continued to make their own wines from recipes handed down from their ancestors.

For ancient Koreans, th e taste of w in e and food were yardsticks for many things, from national politics to household affairs. W in e was a symbol of proper etiquette. Koreans brewed wine at home with the greatest of care to offer libations and ancestors,

gods

serve

important guests, and to

show respect and

love between parents and children.

Many of the representative traditional wines of today, including p6pju of Ky6ngju, sogukju of Hansan, hosanch'un of Mun-gy6ng, songhwaju of Andong, chinyangju of Haenam and y6ny6pju of Asan, the subject of this article, have a sad history. Y6ny6pju is a traditional medicinal wine that has been handed down for five generations by the Yi clan of Yesan, descendants of Yi Ch6ng-y61, a second minister of the Royal Library, in Oeam-ri, Songak-my6n, Asan, Ch'ungch'6ngnam-do province, a celebrated folk town. This wine became widely known because Yi Ch6ng-y61 presented it to King Kojong (r. 1863-1907) to drink and to use in memorial rites. However, the history of the wine goes back to Yi Ch6ng-y6l's great-great grandfather Yi Won-jip. When Yi W on-jip was working for the royal court as Chief Royal Secretary, a severe drought hit the country and a prohibition was decreed to curtail grain use for winemaking. Problems arose when the court, which was supposed to set

The lofty gate of the upper class residence of the master brewer of yonyopju (opposite); a page from Ch'inong (Farm Management) by Yi Wonjip that outlines the brewing methods of yonyopju 73

an example, could not brew wine for royal ancestral rites and to serve the .king with. his meals. Yi pondered this predicament and came up with a lowproof medicinal wine that became known as y6ny6pju. However, records such as Sallim kyongje (Book on Forest Management)

and Kyuhap ch'ongs6 (Encyclopedia for Women on Manners, Wine and Food) introduce y6ny6pju as a wine of

the Kory6 Dynasty. Also, it is recorded that during the Manchu Invasion of 1637, General Yi Wan prepared y6ny6pju to boost the morale of his exhausted soldiers. From this, it can be inferred that y6ny6pju has been loved by Koreans for a very long time. Generation after generation of Yi Won-jip's descendants have produced y6ny6pju following the brewing methods he outlined in Ch 'inong (Farm Management). Traditionally, the brewing tradition and secrets have been passed down only to the eldest daughter-in-law of each generation. The family has always brewed the wine for use in ancestral rites and for this reason there are many taboos associated with its brewing while extra care is taken in regard to its preparation and storage. First, the maker cleanses her body and mind, dresses in new clothing, and covers her mouth and hair with scarves. She takes extra care to be on her best behavior, and consults the zodiac to choose a propitious day to begin the winemaking. For the wine to ferment, it is placed in the warmest part of the main room of the house, and from that time, it is an unwritten rule that no one except the daughter-in-law and the mother-in-law can enter the room. Like any other grain wine, the making of y6ny6pju begins with the making of the yeast cake. Ground wheat and water are mixed together at a ratio of five to one and the mix ture is poured into a mold. The mixture is covered with zucchini leaves and bound with hemp and allowed to ferment for more than five days. The best 74

yeast is that which becomes covered with white fungus. Once this occurs, the yeast is broken in small pieces, placed outside for two nights to allow frost or dew to moisten it, and then placed in the sun for two days until it becomes thoroughly dry. Then rice is cooked, one toe (a measuring utensil equivalent to 0.716 gallons) of glutinous rice and 10 toe of regular rice. The rice is washed and cooked with as little water as possible, and then spread out on a sheet of hemp cloth or placed in a winnow. When the rice is dry, it is added to a mixture of 1.9 gallons of yeast, 500 grams of chopped lotus roots or lotus leaves and 16 liters of water and then blended well. Next, a clean jar is held over a fire to sterilize it with smoke and heat. When the jar is ready, it is filled with .a layer of pine leaves, a layer of lotus leaves, the starter and clean water. The jar is then covered with a coarse straw mat and kept at a temperature of 25 to 30 degrees Centigrade for a week Then the tern perature is lowered to 20 degrees and the mixture allowed to ferment for another eight days. After a total of 15 days, the liquid is strained through a bamboo sieve to remove any sediment and poured into another jar. Then the wine is ready. Because of the great care with which the wine is made, it can be said that when one drinks y6ny6pju, one is taking in the brewer's devoted heart. The Yi family only brewed this wine as an ancestral offering fit for a king and thus the members of the family tasted it only when they shared the wine after ancestral rites. It is only recently with the advent of a campaign to revive traditional folk wines such as family-brewed wines that y6ny6pju has become known outside the Yi family. It was designated a Ch'ungch'6ngnam-do provincial cultural asset at the end of 1990. Because of its ingredients- pine leaves, glutinous rice, licorice and lotus leaves- y6ny6pju is considered a med-

icinal wine good for cleansing the blood and promoting vitality. It is said that even if one overindulges in this wine, there will be no hangover because many of the intoxicants are discharged through urination. Since the wine's designation as a cultural asset, the Yi family has been selling yonyopju. Although they sell only limited quantities, they feel that this is a shameful act in the eyes of their ancestors. For this reason, they are striving to maintain their winemaking heritage. Other people who produce folk wines have hurriedly installed mass-production equipment, but the Yi family continues to prepare yonyopju in the traditional way using small earthenware jars. They produce a small quantity and strictly observe all taboos even today. Ch'oe Hwang-gyu, who married into the family at the age of 17 to become the eldest daughter-in-law, is the ninth generation to continue the yonyopju tradition. She said, "If the Second Minister's eldest daughter-in-law sold wine for a living, how could she face her ancestors in the Other World?" She added that her generation would be satisfied if they could ensure the preservation of their winemaking tradition. Indeed, she sounds like a daughterin-law of the Second Minister, who is said to have retired to his hometown when Korea fell into Japanese hands toward the end of the Choson Dynasty, saying, "I can go home and witness my grandson's death if I have to, but I cannot watch my country fall." Ch'oe Hwang-gyu is the granddaughter of Choe Ik-hyon, a renowned Choson Dynasty scholar. What more can one say? Yonyopju is not merely a wine but a living spirit. From the bright spacious veranda of the Yi residence, one can view mosscovered stone walls, a large squeaking gate and the roof of the men's quarters, all showing the weight of unchanging years. The early summer during which wine is being fermented looks fresh from the veranda. +

Wine was a medicine as well as a cultural medium for practicing etiquette, encouraging harmony among people and enhancing community relations among neighbors. Families brewed their own wine with recipes handed down from generation

generation.

Wine brewing represented a major household chore.

Opposite page, from top: A clean jar is held over a fire to sterilize it with smoke and heat Cooked rice is spread out on a sheet ofhemp cloth. When the rice is dry, it is mixed with yeast Then it is also mixed with chopped lotus roots or lotus leaves and water. This page, from top: A clean jar is filled with a layer of crusted yeast Then it is covered with a layerof lotusleaves. Thisprocessisrepeated with the starter and clean water. Then the jar is covered with a coarse straw mat and kept at a temperature of 25 to 30 degrees centigrade. 75

ountains and rivers are integral to the city of Kyongju, giving rise to the city's natural landscape, while serving as a source of livelihood as well as monuments of love and utmost devotion. Mt. Sondosan and Mt. Namsan (Kumo-san) embrace the city like a folding screen, . while the Hyongsan-gang River and the Pukch'on Stream have been the city's lifeline for more than 1,000 years. The latter is unique in that unlike any other stream or river in Korea, it flows from south to north. If you were to follow the stream to its source, you would come upon an otherwise hidden mountain range standing in your path. This would be T'ohamsan, part of the Paektusan range that extends from North Korea all the way down to the southeast of the peninsula. At the southern end of this range, the mountains seem to be worn down, except for T'ohamsan. Indeed, the way it rises up is an anomaly. Facing out to the East Sea as well as protecting the city once known as Sorabol for thousands of years, T'ohamsan has lost none of its splendor or mystery over time. It is here that the people of the Shilla Kingdom (57 B.C.-A.D. 935) sought to embody Buddha's divine grace in earthly terms by erecting Pulguksa Temple, which still stands today. Pulguksa remains a stunning repository of ancient Buddhist architecture and relics despite the many foreign invasions that Korea has experienced throughout its long history. In front of the temple's main sanctuary stand two structures-one to the east, the other to the west-not unlike faithful worship76

pers. They are known as the Tabot'ap (Pagoda of Many Treasures) and Sokkat'ap pagodas. On their own they are as beautiful as any structure made by human hands, so exquisite, in fact, that it is easy to forget that their splendor can only be fully appreciated when seen as a pair. The two pagodas are as inseparable as the two embodiments of Buddha, Sakyamuni (the historical Buddha) and Prabhutaratna (Buddha of the Path), whom they symbolize. Tabot'ap was constructed during the Unified Shilla period (668-935) according to the precepts laid out in the Popwhakyong (Lotus Sutra). Built

to symbolize the virtue and moral character that come with enlightenment, its height reflects the intrinsic relationship between the karma of one's previous life and the present; its broad width meant to represent the vast, unlimited strength of the spirit that comes from moral virtue and its capacity to influence others. An empty shrine in the tower symbolizes a heart completely free of earthly attachments, filled only with infinite mercy. The pagoda was built on these premises, which were ultimately manifested in a complex structure unlike that of any other pagoda. White granite was used for the pagoda, allowing for elaborate sculptural detail and creating a singularly striking result-the most beautiful of all Korean pagodas. The craftsmanship that went into the carving of the young maidens on the surface is so skillful that it almost seems as if they are blushing with modesty. Originally, four stone lions were perched on a flat stone near the maidens to protect them, but over the years one was lost, and many other such treasures were stolen by Japanese invaders. Fortunately, one pair of the stone lions remains intact. They have become cherished images, even being commemorated on coins. Turning away from Tabot'ap, one can see the towering form of another pagoda, whose carvings of young men appear to welcome the weary traveler. The story behind its construction is tragic, but visibly the pagoda is elegant with a rigid style. This is Sokkat'ap, also known as Muyongt'ap. Unlike the Tabot'ap , which boasts of superior technique and artistry, Sokkat'ap is simpler in style. On top of a two-story base rises a three-story tower which seems to

reflect the ridgeline of Mt. T'ohamsan, especially in the stone roofs separating each section. The roofs are grooved so as to allow water to easily drain, just as prescribed in the Sokka yoraesang chus6lp6p, or "Building Code for Sakyam uni Statues." The overall impression is one of simplicity and

unwavering strength. In the center is the entrance, decorated with stone lotus blossoms called palbanggtlmkangjwa. The blossoms section off the holy or sacred area of the pagoda, with each blossom representing one of the eight deities who sit upright facing each direction of the

compass. The pagoda itself consists of an eight-part body. No matter what their exact functions might be, lotus blossoms are a Buddhist symbol of purity. They also represent deference to the Sakyamuni Buddha, and confirm that the entire structure was built in his honor. +

SOkkat'ap

Tabot'ap

Pulguksa remains a stunning repository of ancient Buddhist architecture and relics despite the many foreign invasions that Korea has experienced throughout its long history. In front of the temple's main sanctuary stand two structures-one to the east, the other to the west-not unlike faithful worshippers. They are known as the Tabot'ap (Pagoda of Many Treasures) and Sokkat'ap pagodas. 77

KOREAN MYTHOLOGY

Korean Myths of Death Kim Yol-kyu Professor of Korean Literature, Inje University

s anyone who is in the least knowledgeable in literature knows, Rainer Maria Rilke's last major poem, "Sonnets to Orpheus" centers around the theme of death. In this poem, Rilke, who brooded on death in almost all his poems, apostrophized, "Ah, Orpheus, you who traverse the boundary of life and death freely, like the wind!" This could well have been an epitaph Rilke wished to have for himself. It could also be the unexpressed inmost wish of all humans. Remarkably, there is a Korean myth that features a heroine who traverses the boundary of life and death freely like the wind. That heroine is Paritegi, or "the castaway." Paritegi is worshipped to this day by shamans of a certain region as "the guide of souls." She is believed to lead the souls who have ended their sojourn in life to the other world over the long, lonely and strange road that they must trod for the first and last time. Koreans always believed that the souls of the dead journey from this world to the other world, which is their home, and it is a long and painful journey. The journey is painful not only because of the roughness of the road but also the sorrow of leaving this world. Few, if any, travel that road willingly. Koreans were wont to describe the 78

journey as one in which at the outset "the feet refuse to move." In other words, they did not want to make the transition from this world to the other world. The dead are loath to part from their family, especially their young children, who are said to hinder their going by clinging to their hair. The unfulfilled wishes and plans of the dead also make them linger in this fell ill. His condition grew worse and world. So great is this reluctance that some worse until his death seemed immidead souls cannot undertake the journent. A fortune-teller told him that he would recover if he drank the water of ney to their eternal resting-place but life in the other world, but no one voltarry in this world indefinitely. These are called "restless souls." Death is not a unteered to travel to the other world to completion for them, and their deaths fetch the water of life for him. His six daughters all refused to undertake the are incomplete deaths. journey on one pretext or another. Paritegi, the heroine of a shaman But the forsaken princess, on hearmyth that has been handed down ing of her father's critical health condiamong Koreans from time immemorial, tion, immediately volunteered to make is the savior of these miserable wanderthe journey. In other words, she was ing souls. She helps them to achieve complete deaths. willing to risk her life for the father Paritegi was the seventh princess of who had abandoned her. Even the a king. Her father, who yearned for a most stouthearted men found the idea male heir but was repeatedly disap- . of making the perilous journey daunting, but Paritegi set out without giving pointed, ordered his seventh daughter it a second thought. Thus, Paritegi cast out. Her name, Paritegi, literally undertook the journey that is called the meaning a castaway, was derived from the verb porida, "to forsake." "other world journey" in mythological Paritegi was put in a box and cast studies and is a notable feature of on the waters. She was picked up by Siberian shamanism. Figures such as an old woman on a distant shore and Kubaiko in Mongolian myth and Nisan was raised as the woman 's foster in Manchurian myth undertake similar "other world journeys" for similar purdaughter. She grew up lonely and poor. In the meantime, her father the king poses. This indicates that Korean

shamanism has its roots in Siberian and Mongolian shamanism. Paritegi reaches the other world after many near-fatal accidents and passing many tests. She succeeds in fetching a jar of water from the fountain of life located in the king of the other world's back garden, and it brings her father, who had already died, back to life. This is how Paritegi became the guide to the souls in transit, and a goddess of the road between this world and the next. In the old beliefs Koreans had about death, Paritegi was special. Ordinarily, the journey from life to death is a oneway trip, and no soul can return to this world, regardless of how much he or she may wish to. Paritegi was the only one who ever made a round trip to and from the other world. She could cross and re-cross the boundary between this world and the next as freely as the wind. Paritegi attained this extraordinary power through the power of love and self-sacrifice. That is the primary signifi-

cance of the Paritegi myth. The myth is telling us that no obstacle can prevent a person with the power of love and self-sacrifice from reaching his or her goal. The myth is also significant in that it embodies the human wish to transcend the boundary between life and death. Death is a dark, forbidden and closed realm to humans. Death is a fact of life for every living being. It is a certain, inalienable part of life. Nothing else is as certain and inalienable as death. But it is categorically closed off from the realm of life, and no one can steal a look into that realm. So, death remains a stranger to the living, and nothing is as strange and forbidding as death. Koreans devised the myth of Paritegi to alleviate their despair about that dark, closed-off, forbidden realm. In other words, Koreans made possible in their myth what Orpheus almost accomplished but finally failed to achieve-the rescue of his beloved from the grip of Death. +

Death is a fact of life for every living being. It is a certain, inalienable part of life. Nothing else is as certain and inalienable as death. But it is categorically closed off from the realm of life, and no one can steal a look into that realm. So, death remains a stranger to the living, and nothing is as strange and forbidding as death.

u r r e n t s

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ny discussion adesigned the cathedral, bout the construcconstruction began in 1892 tion of Myongdong and was completed in Cathedral should 1898. The rather arduous building project was beset begin with the sigwith great obstacles durnificance of its site. The history of this church involved ing the relatively brief bloody repression and the construction period of six persecution of 10 clergymen years. Construction had to and 10,000 followers during be stopped s~veral times due to a lack of funds as the 100-year period that folwell as when the Choson lowed the first gathering of government confiscated a Catholic group in Korea in Kim Won President, Architects' Group Forum 1784 at the site of today's the certificate of land ownership for reasons Myo ngdong Cathedral, involving geomancy, haltwhich was then known as ing construction. FurtherMyongnaebang, until freedom to engage in missionmore, Chinese bricklayers, ary work was granted in carpenters and plasterers with strictly rudimentary" 1886 with the signing of the Korea-France Friendship skills had to be employed since there were few Pact. Korean technicians skilled Just as many churches in building Western-style around the world wer e structures (only Korean built on sites associated masons could be mobiwith historical religious lized), but they were all even ts to commemorate their importance, so too was deported in the aftermath of the Sino-Japanese War Myongdong Cathedral. The church is situated on the (1894-1895). On top of this, there were frequent accisite of the former residence of Kim Pom-u, the first dents, starting with the death of four workers Korean Catholic martyr and during the groundbreakan official interpreter who formed a Catholic commuing phase, mainly due to a nity with other Catholic la ck of basic skills and leaders. As Kim's house was experience. The steeple also crumbled several used for secret congregational meetings during the times so that its height had early days of Roman Cato be reduced and the tholicism in Korea, the site was a natural choice on blueprint changed to accommodate thicker walls. which to build the cathedral. The French Overseas Eventually, technical advice had to be sought from Missionary Church purchased the land and began to the Russian Legation and from Russian architect A. I. level the ground for construction in 1887, immediateScredin Sabatin, who designed Tongnimmun ly following the signing of the Korea-France (Independence Arch) in 1898. Father Coste was born near Montpellier, France in Friendship Pact. 1842. He came to Korea at the age of 43 as a member Under the supervision of Father Eugene-Jean Georges Coste (Korean nam e Ko Ui-son), who of the Paris Overseas Missionary Church. He

Centennial Anniversary of My6ngdong Cathedral

Currents designed Myongdong Cathedral in 1892 when he was 50 based solely on his previous experience of designing the Yakhyon Cathedral and Yongsan Divinity School, which he pursued without any formal education in architectural design. Unfortunately, he passed away at the age of 54 before the church was completed. Western missionaries must have experienced numerous inconveniences stemming from differences in housing styles when they first arrived in the Hermit Nation. A lack of confidence in Korea's seemingly impractical and uneconomical building practices perhaps resulted in their unhesitating choice of the Gothic style prevalent in the West for Myongdong Cathedral, believing it to be representative of proper churches. They did not try very hard to adapt to Korea during the early years of their missionary work, and failed to develop a keen interest in and affection for Korean culture. As for Myongdong Cathedral, there were problems with the structure and choice of construction materials so that the attempt to build a truly authentic Gothic structure was not entirely successful, mainly due to a lack of expertise and experience. Stacking stones or bricks on top of each other was the usual construction method for building Gothic structures. As for Myongdong Cathedral, gray bricks were used for the entire original structure, but they were not as durable as the red bricks used for subsequent non-structural work. Accordingly, there is no clear distinction between the material used for the original structural construction and the subsequent non-structural work. Furthermore, the roof arch was later replaced with a wooden structure, resulting in a structural style closer to Romanesque. As such, the structural need for clustered beams and buttresses failed to achieve the essence of a genuine Gothic structure. The overall dimensions of the church are also much smaller than that of renowned Gothic cathedrals in the West. It is pointless, however, to compare the scale of Western structures, which took as long as a hundred years to build with Myongdong Cathedral, which was completed in a mere six years. Nonetheless, it is truly impressive that the church was built essentially on firm religious belief and hard

work despite such adverse circumstances. Furthetmore, from the perspective of architectural history, it is of particular significance that a Western architectural style was directly adopted, not through Japan. It should also be emphasized that the layout of the cathedral is Korean in character. The effort to attain the highest ideals of Gothic architecture by erecting a prominent church measuring 68 meters 29 long, meters wide and 23 meters

high, with a 46.7-meter-high steeple on the slopes of Chonghyon, today's Myongdong, was ultimately successful as the people of Seoul marveled at the magnificence of the Western structure. Father Victor Louis Poisnel (Korean name Pak Tohaeng), who took charge of the building project after the death of Father Coste, is said to have finished building the church's interior by studying architecture for the first time in his life. It can truly be said

(7 u r r e n t s that My6ngdong Cathedral is a sacred shrine built more through the help of a divine hand than by the construction skills of mere mortals. The cathedral is all the more exquisite because of a simplicity that shows no trace of the impulsiveness, egotism and arrogance of professional architects. Even today, the remains of martyred foreign bishops and saints are preserved in the church's mausoleum. The cathedral and the site itself are actually sacred grounds that testify to the persecution and hardships endured by early Korean Catholics. One hundred years have passed since the construction of My6ngdong Cathedral was completed on May 29, 1898, the day of advent of the Holy Spirit. To mark this occasion, special emphasis should be placed on a study of the church's 100-year history and the 200-year history of Roman Catholicism in Korea. Furthermore, My 6ngdong Cathedral, blessed as a sacred site of Korean martyrdom, has served as a fortress for Korean democratization during the past 40 years. Even now , all segments of society come to the church to air their grievances. The true essence of an architectural work can be said to result from its social significance, which overshadows the aesthetics or architectural value of the structure. My6ngdong Cathedral and its surroundings serve an important role today as the population of Seoul hovers near the 10 million mark. The church is a beautiful island in the heart of Seoul, offering comfort and refuge to the homeless and vagabonds who have lost their way. The Seoul Metropolitan Government needs to reevaluate not only the significance of the site in the process of city planning, but also neighborhood traffic, land use within the district, and future skylines.

r---------------- -- - - - - -- -- - - - - - - -- - .

The Architects' Group Forum was commissioned to renovate the church's exterior and plan roof repair work in 1982. With a sample of one of the bricks in hand, I personally visited the Deterioration Research Laboratory, w hich specializes in aging bricks, in the U.S. colonial city of Williamsburg, Virginia, in order to assess the structural integrity of the 100-year-old bricks and their state of wear. Following the test results and the laboratory's advice, oil paint w as scraped off the external walls to ensure their continued preservation, albeit only temporarily. Further measures must be taken if this magnificent building is to last another 100 years. I have thus submitted a proposal calling for the ringing of the bell in the steeple to be halted and for the church to be used as infrequently as possible. However, such measures have yet to be implemented. In an attempt to modernize its diverse peripheral functions, My6ngdong Cathedral organized a contest for the design of a new master plan for the entire church a few years ago in order to finish the renovation work in time for this year's centennial anniversary. This effort; however, has been dela yed indefinitely and no winners have been named. Nevertheless, such plans should be implemented by employing all means available to enable the church to function anew as a park, cultural space and venue for youth in the heart of Seoul. Today, a number of masses and other religious rites are conducted in different parts of the church to make room for the marriage ceremonies that are frequently held at the church. The ceremonies, however, should be performed elsewhere to ensure the church's continued preservation. This historical brick building should now be reserved for only special occasions as an expression of Koreans' respect and affection for the cathedral. +

Currents

"The Year of the Tiger: Korea"

Korean Cultural Festival Held in Berlin Han Woo-chang Cultural Attache to Korean Consulate General in Berlin

''T

he Year of the Tiger: Korea" (Im Jahr des

Tigers: Korea), Europe's biggest cultural event for a single country, was held at Haus de Kulturen der Welt, an international culture center in Berlin, from April 2 through

June 14. Operated and funded by the German government and the city of Berlin, the Haus de Kulturen der Welt hosted an exhibition in 1995 that introduced the cultures of such Asian countries as Korea, Singapore and Malaysia. After two years of research and study, the center decided to stage a Korean festival this year in recognition of the uniqueness of Korea's culture. Indeed, this was a comprehensive undertaking which covered Korean culture, arts and even its economy. The Haus de Kulturen der Welt, which was established in 1989, is located in front of the Tiergarten, the park along which the German assembly, presidential palace and prime minister's residence are located. The center's main purpose is to introduce the cultures of non-European countries.

"The Yea r of the Tiger: Korea" was officially opened on April 2 at the culture center's main hall with Korea's Consul-General for Berlin Kim Seung-eui, Germany's Secretary General Dr. Knopp and many other dignitaries in attendance. The opening ceremony featured musical performances by Kim Duck-soo and his SamulNori Hanullim percussion group and master p'ansori singer Ahn Sook-sun. Kim Duck-soo and his percussion group gave additional performances with electric violinist Eugene Park and saxophonist Wolfgang Puschnig on April 2 through April 4. These performances were a big hit. The percussion group also conducted a four-day traditional Korean music workshop, one of the most popular events of the festival, with over 60 Germans and Swiss participating. The two-month Korean festival featured 16 different programs and the participation of over 150 artists. In addition to the percussion workshop, there were performances of traditional shaman exorcism rituals, modern dance, drama and music; exhibitions of con-

£7

u r r e n t s

temporary art, fashions and Korean, Chinese and Japanese calligraphy; and a symposium on Korean culture. The festival was an ideal opportunity to show Europeans the diverse aspects of Korean culture. The exhibitions were held in the culture center's lobby and gallery throughout the two-month period. The contemporary art exhibition featured the work of 15 artists including Jheon Soo-cheon, Cho Duck-hyun, Kang Ik-joong and Choi Jung-wha. The Fashion as Art exhibition presented the works of 36 designers including professors Bae Chun-bum and Yang Chieukyung. These two exhibitions along with the calligraphy exhibition attracted more than 20,000 visitors. Entitled "From ··shamanism to the Avant Garde," the Korean festival was also an opportunity to showcase traditional Korean music such as the music of SamulNori Hanullim, Lee Tae-baek on the ajaeng (bowed seven-string zither), and Kim Jae-young on the taegum (large transverse bamboo flute), as well as Kim Ri-hae 's performance of the nun 's dance "Sungm u." Of the dramatic pieces staged, Lee Yoon-teak's Ogu and Hamlet were based on a modern reworking of traditional shamanic arts, while Kim Ara's Oedipus examined the Buddhist concept of transmigration between life and death. Shaman Kim Kum-hwa, a designated intangible cultural treasure, performed a traditional shaman ritual. The spectators held their breath when Kim danced on the blades of fodder choppers. After her performance, many people lined up to have their fortunes told. Dance performances by the Kim Hyun-ok Modern

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Dance Company featured works such as "Modus" and "Island of Lost Souls" that mixed shaman arts with modern dance. Hong Shin-ja's Laughing Stone dance group presented works called "Pilgrimage" and "Musing." As for longhair music enthusiasts, the Yun Isang Ensemble and the Seoul Music Ensemble performed the works of Yun Isang and Kim Seung-kun. Staged at an outdoor venue, the drama and music performances revealed the unique elements of Korean culture, attracting more than 7,000 people. "Calvin versus Konfuzius," a symposium examining the influence of Confucian thought on Korea's current economic crisis, was held on May 8-9 at the conference room of the Haus de Kulturen der Welt. Lee Kark-bum, (ormer senior secretary for policy planning at the Office of the President, described the pains of Korea's ongoing economic restructuring, while noting that with the support of the International Monetary Fund, the country's economic reform would be expedited. In a paper titled "Confucianism and the Crisis in Korea's Development," Han Sang-jin, a Seoul National University professor, pointed out that Confucian values are at the core of all leadership in Asia today. He said that there is the potential for a "Confucian-style capitalism," which depends largely on personal relations, to emerge in the future. Kim Moon-whan, head of the Korean Cultural Policy Development Center, discussed in detail how animism has influenced Korean culture and the positive and negative effects of Confucianism on Korean values, life and livelihood. The festival generated a ·lot of attention not only from the German media but also the Swiss. Over 50 articles appeared in 23 German publications, praising the event for the way it showed the harmony between traditional and contemporary Korean culture. They said the event was a fresh source of artistic inspiration for rational-thinking Europeans. German new spapers showed particular interest, introducing program details on a daily basis. In its May 3 issue, Die Welt said, "As far as culture is concerned, Korea has been a land of mystery to the German people. But this event has shown us that Korean art is a unique blend of Western and traditional cultural elements." The Berliner Morgenpost said that Korean art is creative and optimistic in outlook, combining East and West, past and present. The

Currents class cultural events. It is home to Berliner Zeitung said that the fesThe festival generated the Berlin Philharmonic tival was a good opportunity' to much attention not only Orchestra, three opera houses grasp the true character of c~mÂ including the National Opera, 170 temporary Korean culture that from the German media but museums, 150 performance halls has emerged amid the rapid also the Swiss. Over 50 artiand 300 galleries, making for a changes that have taken place lively cultural scene. from the long-ago days of cles appeared in 23 German Despite the various influences shamanism through the age of publications, praising the of Buddhism and Christianity, industrialization. event for the way it showed industrialization and urbanizaThe festival also received gention, shamanism has managed to erous TV coverage thanks to the harmony between tradiremain the mainstay of Korean 3SAT-TV, an affiliate station of tional and contemporary culture. Thus, the introduction of the German public TV station Korean arts in Berlin, focusing on Korean culture. They said ZDF, giving the event a 1-minute the changes from shamanism to spot on its "Kultur Zeit" program the event was a fresh contemporary times, is all the on April 3. SFB radio in Berlin source of artistic inspiramore meaningful in light of the did a 40-minute live broadcast of relocation of the seat of the a Kim Duck-soo SamulNori tion for the German federal government to Hanullim performance and interrational-thinking the city in 1999. view, introducing the group's Europeans. Organized by the governmusic as traditional Korean perments of Korea and Germany, cussion music fused with the cost of hosting "The Year of the Tiger: Korea" was Western contemporary characteristics. shared by both sides. The Haus de Kulturen der Welt Berlin, the capital of unified Germany, is more than allocated 160,000 marks to cover the actual cost of a center of politics, culture, arts and tourism; geoholding the event while the Korean Ministry of graphically it is the gateway between Eastern and Culture and Tourism provided 200 million won in Western Europe, a metropolis between Paris and Moscow. All year round the city plays host to worldsupport funds. +

Events & Exhibits!------- - - - - -- photographs, illustrations and videos which describe the historical background, H omecom i ng af ter 400 Years: production process, Ceram i cs E x hibitio n of S him Fam il y and unique aesthetics of Shim Su-gwan pothis year marks tery. A follow-up the 50th anniverexhibition, "400 Years sary of the founding of Nostalgia: The of the Republic of Shim Su-gwan . Korea and the 400th Family's Ceramic Art," year since a number will be held jointly of Korean ceramists by Korea and Japan were kidnapped to from October 22 until November 15 Japan during the late 16th century in Japan's Kagoshima prefecture of Japanese invasions. To commemorate Kyushu province. the two events, the Dong-A Ilbo daily newspaper and the Ilmin Gallery held an exhibition from July 6 until "K orean T iger- W isdom, August 10 of ceramic works by the D ignity, and H umor" Shim Su-gwan family of potters that not only introduced Korean ceramics s 1998 is the year of the tiger, to Japan but also kept alive the the National Museum of Korea ceramic-making tradition of potters of held a special exhibition, "Korean the early Chos6n Dynasty (1392-1910). Tiger-Wisdom, Dignity, and Humor," The Shim Su-gwan family, descenfrom July 14 until August 16. The dents of potter Shim Tang-gil who exhibition was a rare opportunity to was kidnapped to Japan during the appreciate the place that tigers held in Japanese invasion of 1598, have kept the life of ancient Koreans. Since ancient times, the tiger has been revered as a symbol of courage and intelligence. It has also been looked on as a good-hearted and even comical creature that can be afraid of a dried persimmon and helpful to dutiful sons. Consequently, tigers are not only prevalent in myths and proverbs but also in paintings, sculptures and artifacts. The special exhibition included some 200 pieces dating from prehistoric to modern times from the collection of the National Museum of Korea as well as regional museums alive the family tradition of making and private collections in Korea. The ceramics, producing satsuma pottery objects were of various types includthat is known the world over. ing paintings, wood and stone sculpThe exhibition included some 140 tures, ceramics, ornaments, decorative ceramics made over the last 400 years pillow ends and charms. Of special by potters from 14 different generainterest among the exhibits was a tions of the Shim family, along with

ART

tiger-shaped belt, which was excavated at Sara-ri, Kyongju, and Chukhamaenghodo (Picture of a Tiger in a Bamboo Grove) painted jointly by Kim Hong-do, an outstanding genre painter in the late Chos6n period, and Im Hui-ji. Along with the exhibition, the museum presented special lectures on the tiger theme. These included "The Ecology of the Korean Tiger" and "Old Paintings of Korean Tigers" on July 15, ~nd "The Symbolism of the Korean Tiger" and "Korean Tigers and Foreign Tigers" on July 29. The exhibition will also be shown at the National Taegu Museum and the National Ch'ongju Museum.

H o -A m Gallery H olds "T reasures of the L ate C h o s6n D ynasty" Ex hibition he Treasures of the Late Chos6n Dynasty is the third in a series of exhibitions organized by the HoAm Gallery entitled "A Search for Outstanding Cultural Legacy," follow-

, --

- - - -- - -- - --

- -- - --

ing "The Great Koryo Exhibition" and "Treasures of the Early Choson ? Dynasty Exhibition." Focusing on art of the 18th and 19th centuries, "Treasures of the Late Choson Dynasty" is being held from July 17 to \ October 11 at the Ho-Am Gallery in downtown Seoul. The late Choson period was marked by challenges to the established order as well as social reform and changing values. It was a time when people were awakened to the value of "our" things and the importance of "Choson" things, thanks to the broadening of culture-enjoying classes. This was when the foundation of modern Korean culture was laid. The exhibition features some 150 works of art, including five national

treasures and nine other treasures, from the collections of the Ho-Am Gallery, the National Museum, various university museums and private collectors. The works reflect the spirit and aesthetics of the late Choson Dynasty. The exhibition is divided into eight

------IE

groupings: court art; calligraphy and painting by artists such as Chong Son, Kim Hong-do, Shin Yun-bok, Yi Insang, Chang Sung-op and Kim ChiSnghui; ceramics in which functionality, practicality, tranquility and diversity are harmonized; inlaid mother-ofpearllacquerware; Buddhist arts incorporating Confucian and Taoist motifs; women's items; and astronomical and geographical implements combining nature, scholarship and art. The exhibition is a special opportunity to appreciate the originality of the late Choson period.

A rts o nj e C enter Opens in S o g yak - do n g he Artsonje Center, a new cultural establishment, opened in Seoul's Sogyok-dong on July 9. The districts of Sogyok-dong, Sagan-dong and Insa-dong form a cultural district that includes Kyongbokkung Palace, the French Cultural Center and some 15 galleries, including the Kukje Gallery, Gallery Hyundai, Kumho Art Gallery and Art Space Seoul. An annex to the Sonje Museum in Kyongju, which the Daewoo Foundation established, the Artsonje Center is an eclectic cultural space with three stories above ground and three below. On the first floor are an art shop and a cafeteria while the second and third floors are galleries. The underground floors include a small theater for performances and symposiums as well as a library with catalogues of foreign artists and some 100 videotapes and CD-ROMs. Various events including performances by Kim Duck-soo and his SamulNori percussion group, vocalist Ahn Sook-sun and dancer Lee Maebang were held on opening day. An inaugural exhibition of works by late

v en t s &

x h i bits

artists, elder artists and prominent artists entitled "Echo" opened on July 9 and continued through July 29. The center held an exhibition of Australian art and an Australian film festival on August 5 and a video art exhibition by Lee Bul is scheduled from October 7 to November 1.

THEATER S eoul International T heater Festival he 1998 Seoul International Theater Festival is being held from August 31 until October 15 in the main theater and the little theater of the Munyehoegwan as well as the Hakjon Blue Theater and other theaters in the Taehangno area of Seoul. Formerly called the Seoul Theatrical Festival, this event is marking its 22nd year while striving to become a gen-

uine international festival featuring renowned theatrical companies of the world performing their latest productions here in Korea. Eight Korean drama companies were selected to perform through an intensive screening process. The companies and the works they will perform are: the Sungjwa Theatrical Company performing The Last Performance by an Old Playe1~

Chunchu Theatrical Company, T'apkkol; Arirang, The Song of Vagabonds; Shinhwa, At the Land's End, You Can See the Ocean; Michu, Blazing Sunshine; Happy People, The Song of a Heavenly Poet; Y6n-wu Theater, Mr. Kim Ch'iguk Has Gone Crazy; and the Y6nhidan Group, Heavenly Feeling.

The foreign participants and the works they will perform include: the Rome Modern Theatrical Company (Compagnia del Teatro Meoderno-di Roma) of Italy, Crash! (Patapumfete); the Theatre des Arts of France, Reporter Londres's World Report (La Planete Londres); the Ljubljana

National Theater of Slovenia (Slovensko Narodno Gledalisce Drama Ljubljana), Life Is a Dream; the Kory6 Theater of Kazakhstan,

Memory; and the Biuro Podrozy

Theatrical Company (Teatr Biuro Podrozy) of Poland, Carmen, the Pitiful (Ca1men Funebre).

ARCHITECTURE "A nticolonialism H ow S hould W e V iew M odern K orean A rchitecture?"

group of both veteran and young architects of Korea have

commenced a historical survey and exploration of some 220 representative modern buildings of Korea in an attempt to review the Korean history of modern architecture. On July 18 and 19, the group gathered in Ily6ng, Ky6nggi-do province for the opening ceremony of a largescale project launched by the Reality Research Institute. Veteran and younger architects in their 30s and 40s are participating in the project to compare and analyze each others' works, and to write a history of Korean architecture. The project, which includes two programs, is being carried out from August 1998 to October 1999 and is entitled "Anticolonialism-How Should We View Modern Korean Architecture?" In the first program, young architects are analyzing 115 works of 16 veteran architects. At the conclusion of this program, Part I of a history of Korean architecture will be drafted and edited. In the second program, veteran architects will analyze the works of 35 young architects and write Part II of the history. The first program will include weekly field investigations as well as lectures, seminars and discussions. The project intends "to do away with the current trend whereby buildings are only analyzed through

photographs in architectural periodicals using superficial statements and with the sycophantic practice of blindly following foreign trends, while establishing an accurate history of Korea's modern architecture through the promotion of a proper tradition under which a building is appraised as a 'concrete structure that actually exists."' The project, through which architects of the new and old generations will interact and analyze each others' works, is considered an extraordinary effort that is rarely seen even in international architectural circles, and is thus expected to spur the development of Korea's architecture.

ANIMATION K umho G allery H olds K orea U nderground C artoon Festival

he "Korea Underground Cartoon Festival" held at the Kumho Gallery in downtown Seoul from July 1 until August 9 featured so-called underground cartoonists who maintain their originality by rejecting the pursuit of commercial-

ism and vulgarity. Under the theme of "atrocity," the cartoonists presented cartoons, animated works, paintings and performances that revealed the atrocities of censorship which serves to oppress freedom of expression and of the commercialism that hinders creativity. The Alliance for the Development of Korean Cartoons held an eclectic event titled "Freeze! Cartoon!" in Insadong from July 1 to July 7. The event, which included cartoon displays, animated shows, and symposiums, was held to publicize the cartoonists' views concerning the current unsatisfactory state of Korean cartoons and propose measures for improvingÂˇthe situation.

beauty of their islands. Displays featuring the diverse natural features and cultures of the islands by region-the Pacific, Indian, Atlantic, Caribbean and Mediterranean-were exhibited in the main theme hall and five regional halls. Other events included performances of folk music and dance, an ethnic food fair, a fashion show and a Miss Island contest. There was also a potted plant park where each island's floriculture was displayed and a folk sculpture park where original island symbols were exhibited. Contests involving deepsea fishing, wind surfing, CULTURE FESTIVAL paragliding, scuba diving and mountain biking were '98 C he j u Island C ulture Festiva l . conducted at different sites on Cheju. he '98 Cheju Island Culture Festival, the first '98~ of its kind in the world, was held from July 18 to August 13 at the Ora Tourist Resort on Cheju Island. Some 900 performers from 28 islands of 25 countries, including Tahiti, Western Samoa, Hawaii, Jamaica and Dominica as well as the Korean islands of Chejudo, K6jedo and Chindo, presented the unique nature, history and

WORlO FESTIVAL fOI

ISlA."'D CUlTURU

The Korea Foundation Fellowship Programs FELLOWSHIP FOR KOREAN STUDIES

The Korea Foundation offers fellowships for Korean studies in the fields of humanities, social sciences and arts. The program is intended to provide scholars and other qualified professionals overseas with an opportunity to carry out in-depth research in Korea for a period of three to twelve months. Each successful applicant will be provided with round-trip airfare to Korea and a monthly stipend during the grant period. Applicants should complete 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 31 of the same year.

Support for Korean Studies Programs Abroad The Korea Foundation otters 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 courses and faculty positions, 2) Fellowships for graduate students or research grants for faculty members, and. 3) Library acquisitions and cataloging. Applications must be submitted to the Korea Foundation by May 31. The results of the final selection will be announced by November 30 of the same year. For application forms, program guidelines or further information, please write to:

FELLOWSHIP FOR KOREAN LANGUAGE TRAINING

International Cooperation Department I The Korea Foundation

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 a major Korean university, and will be provided with tuition and a monthly allowance during the grant period. Applicants should complete and submit 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 31 of the same year. For application forms, program guidelines or further information, please write to:

CPO Box 2147 Seoul. Korea Tel 82-2-753-3464. Fox 82-2-757-2047. 2049

International Cooperation Department II The Korea Foundation CPO Box 2147 Seoul. Korea Tel82-2-753-6465 Fox 82-2-757-2047. 2049

KOREA FOCUS A BIMONTHLY ON CURRENT KOREAN 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. KOREA FOCUS offers a comprehensive view of contemporary Korea in a wide-ranging selection of informative articles on Korea's current affairs. In this bimonthly, you will find timely essays and commentaries on Korea's politics, economy, society and culture, opinions FOCUS !~~ on world affairs, and a chronology of recent events in Korea. Published in English and Japanese, its articles are selected from leading publications in Korea, including major daily newspapers, newsmagazines and academic journals.

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