Koreana Spring 2010 (English)

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The Royal Tombs of

Jongga Clan Culture

the Joseon Dynasty ISSN 1016-0744

BEAUTY OF KOREA

Tteoksal

© Ahn Hong-beom

T

teoksal is a mold that is used to press decorative patterns onto pieces of rice cake, known as jeolpyeon. This type of mold is believed to have originated during the Goryeo period (918-1392). Featuring a variety of elaborate patterns, this wooden mold is said to be a crown jewel of Korea’s traditional patterns. Ancient tteoksal have been recovered from the Honam area, which has served as the Korean Peninsula’s granary.

Jeolpyeon is a basic type of tteok , or rice cake, which is invariably served at any festive occasion or party gathering in Korea. Jeolpyeon is made by steaming rice powder and then pounding the rice dough with a mallet until it results in a malleable texture. The dough is flattened and shaped into round forms, which are pressed firmly into a tteoksal mold to create an embossed decoration on their surface. Before serving, the jeolpyeon is brushed with sesame oil.

Tteok is such an integral aspect of Korea’s traditional rituals and ceremonies that there is a saying, “Tteok bon gime jesa jinaenda ,” which can be roughly translated as: “Since you’ve seen the rice cake, you might as well stay for the ancestral rites.” This is meant to suggest that since you have already been involved with an initial step, you might as well take part in the entire process. Tteok has long been a traditional food that is associated with the offering items included on the altartable during ancestral rituals. And it is always served at a celebratory event. On such occasions, additional tteok would

be prepared so that leftovers could be given to guests and neighbors. Jeolpyeon was especially well-suited for this purpose because of an ability to retain its shape and freshness for a longer period of time.

Well-crafted tteoksal have been passed down from generation to generation, like a family heirloom, enabling village residents to identify which household made a particular jeolpyeon from its decorative pattern. The various tteoksal patterns include images of flowers, clouds, and fish, along with auspicious symbols for longevity and good fortune, and taegeuk (cosmos) designs. Certain patterns would be used for a particular occasion. For example, a fish-pattern jeolpyeon was made for a child’s first birthday, whereas auspicious symbols or flower patterns would be used for a 60th birthday celebration. An individual household might have various tteoksal types for specified events. In this example, the tteoksal creates different patterns on each side of a rice cake.

A traditional tteoksal is made of wood or ceramics. Tteoksal were often made with the wood of pine, oak, persimmon, birch, gingko, or jujube trees. However, since the tteok was typically a food offering for formal rituals and ceremonies, a tteoksal could never be made from a tree that had been struck by lightening. Even today, craftsmen will apply traditional tteoksal patterns to their wood works. As for modern housewives, there are those who combine tradition with convenience with the use of a cookie-cutter type tteoksal mold.

Korean Art & Culture

Vol.24, No.1 Spring 2010

Jongga descendants from around the country gather at the men’s quarters of the ancestral home of Yi Won-jo to prepare for an “immovable ancestral tablet” ritual.

The preparations include an agreement among the participants about their individual roles during the ancestral rites. © Seo Heun-kang

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Jongga Clan Culture

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8 What Is the Significance of Jongga in Korea’s Modern-day Society?

Yi Soon Hyung 16 Jongga Ancestral Rituals and Food Culture Lee Yeun ja

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24 A Tour of Korea’s Jongga Museums Charles La Shure 72

34 FOCUS Concerted Efforts to Implement Creative City Projects

| Lee Sun-chul

40 Interview Ahn Eun Me Ahn Eun Me: Neo-Shamanist Choreographer of the 21st Century Kim Nam-Soo

46 Artisan Kim Young Hee Kim Young Hee’s Works Reveal the Graceful Charm of Jade Park Hyun Sook

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56 ART REVIEW

A New Home in Seoul for Korea’s Contemporary Art 62 DISCOVERING KOREA

Korea: How Did I Get Here?

| Chung Jae Suk

| Robert J. Fouser

66 ON THE GLOBAL STAGE Bae Bien-U

ae Bien-U’s Photographs Resemble Korean Ink Painting B Yoon Seyoung

72 ON THE ROAD Daejeon Daejeon, Where People Embrace a Slow-paced Life

| Kim Hyungyoon

80 CUISINE Stir-fried Squid Rice: Flavorful, Healthful and Economical Shim Young Soon

84 LIVING

Out from the Shadows, Makgeolli Takes Center Stage JOURNEYS IN KOREAN LITERATURE

Jeong Ji A

“Light of Spring” Reveals the Burden of Korea’s Aging Society

Light of Spring

| Translated by Hwang Sun-Ae and Horace Jeffery Hodges

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© The Korea Foundation 2010 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without the prior permission of the Korea Foundation.

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

Koreana | Spring 2010

Jongga Clan Culture The Korean term jongga refers to a household that has descended from a clan founder or distinguished ancestor through the eldest son of each generation. Today, many jongga exist in Korea that can trace their roots back nearly 400 years, to the middle period of the Joseon Dynasty. As a primary vehicle for the transmission of Confucian culture, the jongga functions as a repository and exemplar of a traditional lifestyle and long-held values, even in Korea’s modern society, which is centered around nuclear family units.

Takcheongjeong, a pavilion of the Kim Hyo-ro jongga in Gunja Village, Andong, Gyeongsangbukdo Province (www.gunjari.net (Korean only)).

Spring 2010 | Koreana

What Is the Significance of Jongga in Korea’s Modern-day Society?

Under the family system of jongga, Koreans maintain a belief that the life and spirit of their ancestors is passed down through the current generation to their descendants. To help explain this tradition, a scholar, who has researched Korea’s jongga for 18 years, provides an overview of the formation and concept of jongga, along with the system’s basic characteristics and its status and outlook.

Yi Soon Hyung Professor, Department of Child Development Family Studies, Seoul National University Seo Heun-kang, Lee Dong- chun Photographer

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he passion of Koreans for the education of their children is evident in the fact that over 80 percent of Koreans graduate from university. The Korean zeal for education is so prominent that even U.S. President Barack Obama has called on American educators to learn lessons from Korea’s educational system. Koreans also make up the largest share of foreigners studying in the United States. This remarkable dedication to education has led to an enhancement of the quality of human resources in Korea, which has powered the country’s emergence as the world’s ninth-largest economy and its development of a democratic government. While Korea’s enthusiasm for education has been essential for this social advancement, at the root of this success is the longstanding Confucian ideology of the Joseon era.

Confucian Principles The fundamental ideology of the Joseon Dynasty, from the time of its founding 600 years ago, has been Confucianism. The Joseon Dynasty’s continuous reign of 500 years has been attributed to the strength of Confucianism’s spiritual culture. Confucianism involves a spiritual as well as practical ideology.

Confucianism emphasizes moral justice and the virtuous individual, but it also includes scholarly concepts for the teaching of principles and norms for proper conduct. As such, there is no mention of the afterlife in Confucianism.

Under Confucianism, the individual is taught to develop the character of a scholar. A scholarly individual strives, through study and self-improvement, to attain the humanity and righteousness advocated by Mencius. Righteousness is the human morality that is based on the Three Bonds and Five Relationships. Human morality is the concept that forms the foundation for all human Koreana | Spring 2010

The jonnga house of General Nam I-heung of Dangjin-gun, Chungcheongnam-do Province (www.chungjanggong.or.kr (Korean only)). Ancestral graves can be seen to the left, on a sunny hillside behind the house.

Spring 2010 | Koreana

relationships. If the Western view of humanity finds meaning in existence through the individual, then the Joseon view of humanity defines our reason for existence in the relationships between individuals. In addition, loyalty is a critical element of these relationships. This loyalty is not only a necessary virtue between a king and his vassal, but also between a teacher and his student, parents and their children, a husband and his wife, and even two friends.

The most important virtues for a scholar to possess include integrity, discipline, and patience. A scholar’s honor, and sometimes even his life, is dependent upon his integrity. As for discipline, which is the ability to suppress basic human desires and forgo gratification, it also applies to everyday life and human relationships, as well as the forthrightness of academic research. Finally, the virtue of patience was necessary to realize the reason for and value of controlling your personal desires.

To the scholar, discipline was inseparable from patience. As an individual who possessed these virtues, the scholar was able to understand knowledge and put it into practice through his actions.

Center of Life Confucianism emphasizes that the family or household is the fundamental unit of which the nation as a whole is comprised, along with demanding loyalty and filial piety as operational principles for both the nation and the family. That is, it views the nation and the family as one in the same in terms of operational principles. The ideology of Joseon centered on familism and a form of collectivism. The nature of familism calls for all family members to be considered part of the family, while everyone else is considered an outsider. Accordingly, all the individuals in the family work together to achieve the family’s goals.

In the use and accumulation of land, money, and physical commodities, decisions are made at the family level rather than that of its individual members. If a family member desires something, it is the family’s responsibility to provide it, and if a family member has a problem with an outsider, the family members will readily come to that person’s aid. Family members engage in economic activity or start a new family in accordance with the expectations of the family. At the foundation of these actions is a principle that makes it imperative for the family to be preserved.

The jongga is a household descended from a distinguished ancestor, through the eldest son of each generation. Greater

jongga, which have descended from a clan founder through the eldest son, can trace their lineage back over 1,000 years. Lesser jongga are those that originate from a secondary clan founder who descended from the original founder. These secondary founders include those who have performed such a meritorious feat or have become so accomplished in learning that they are designated spiritual mentors of the nation. In such case, under government decree, their mortuary tablets would never be removed from the family shrine.

During the Joseon period, each family maintained a shrine in which they kept the mortuary tablets of deceased ancestors, going back four generations. As for the royal family, their royal mortuary tablets were maintained at Jongmyo Shrine, while the mortuary tablets of spiritual mentors were housed at Munmyo, in Seonggyungwan. The Joseon Dynasty maintained the ancestral tablets of 18 sages at Munmyo, for 500 years, along with adopting their teachings as spiritual pillars of the nation.

The people of the Joseon Dynasty thought of themselves as intermediaries between their ancestors and their descendants, as well as messengers for transmitting the teachings and principles of their ancestors to their descendants. Because of their reverence for the spiritual lessons and teachings of their ancestors, they would preserve the collections of their writings, which had been handed down from generation to generation, by concealing the documents underneath roof tiles or in the wall that they then plastered over, so that they would not lose the writings in the event of a fire. They considered these spiritual teachings even more precious than their own family fortune, in addition to believing that poverty was proof of a scholar’s integrity.

This idealistic image of the scholar sometimes clashed with the reality of everyday life. Many jongga experienced difficulty because they did not have sufficient financial means to properly conduct the ancestral rituals or receive guests, but the heads of these families and their wives treasured their roles, even to the point of enduring economic hardship, while maintaining a dignified lifestyle thanks to the respectfulness of clan members and the extension of encouragement and material assistance.

Jongga households waited for the emergence of a prominent figure, whether it be the eldest son of the jongga, or someone else in the clan. They hoped for the birth of a prodigious son, while the clan also searched for talented children and sought to raise gifted individuals who might serve the nation with distinction and bring glory to the clan. This was also evident from the fact that, when a jongga had no son by birth, it

1 The ceiling of Simsujeong (Important Folklore Material No. 81), a pavilion in Yangdong Village, Gyeongju, Gyeongsangbuk-do Province (English website content: www.invil.org/english/village/daegu/contents.jsp?con_no=23876).

2 Ancestral shrine of the Yi Won-jo jongga of Hangae Village, Seongju-gun, Gyeongsangbuk-do Province.

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The proper humanity sought by the Confucianism of Joseon society, along with a communal ethical consciousness that seeks to define existence not by the individual, but by the relationships between individuals, are ideals that our society seems to need more than ever before.

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would seek out and adopt an exceptionally gifted child, regardless of how distant the relationship might be. Talented individuals who excelled in learning enabled the jongga to prosper, along with creating expectations that these individuals would follow in the footsteps of their ancestors and achieve greatness.

Thus, the thinking of a jongga household did not deal with the present only, but instead connected the past to the future. They also considered the formation, and the rise and fall, of not only individuals and individual families, but of the clan as a whole.

Koreans during the Joseon period believed that life and the spirit of their ancestors were passed down, through the current generation, to their descendants. Under the jongga’s interpre12 Koreana | Spring 2010

tation of history, an individual’s being was formed through the past (the lives and thinking of their ancestors, and the history of the clan), while the spirit of the past was transmitted to the future through the proper education and upbringing of their children.

Jongga Education For eventual scholars, education began in the home. The home was a social unit, for which a group of relatives was responsible for maintaining its cohesiveness. Jongga was at the center of the network of kinship relationships in Joseon society. They placed just as much emphasis on the prosperity of

A house in Yangdong Village of Gyeongju, Gyeongsangbuk-do Province

the clan as a whole as they did on the individual achievements of the eldest son of the jongga family. The eldest son assumed three responsibilities. First, he needed to pursue scholarship and develop into a scholar. Second, it was necessary for him to be familiar with genealogy and to perform ancestral rituals.

Third, he was required to preserve the integrity of the clan by maintaining harmonious relationships with his relatives and extending hospitality to guests.

It was essential for the eldest son to pursue learning and be courteous in conduct, while acquiring the knowledge and character of a scholar. A scholar who attained the Confucian mindset and scholarly attributes through books and lifestyle education could succeed through learning and come to possess spiritual awareness and material wealth. In order to achieve this, he was required to pass the civil service examination and enter government service, which involved learning classical Chinese, the official writing system of the time.

The eldest son of the jongga would live with his grandfather, in the men’s quarters, from the age of five or six, where he studied classical Chinese. Through texts such as One Thousand Characters he received basic education in classical Chinese, while during his youth he would study Elementary Learning and The Secret to Striking Out Ignorance, a textbook for young students written by Yi I in 1557. Thereafter, he would study under private tutors and the village schoolteacher, along with reading Chinese classics, such as Doctrine of the Mean and Great Learning , to develop the values, life view, and ethical principles of a scholar. During this process, lessons on ethical behavior were taught in conjunction with text-based education, so the student could understand that his actions must be consistent with his knowledge.

Jongga education conformed to the layout of the traditional Korean house, in which the men’s quarters were separated from the women’s quarters. In his infancy, the eldest son stayed in the women’s quarters, where he learned self-help skills and underwent a process of adapting to everyday life.

During the eldest son’s infancy, the grandmother was often in charge of his upbringing. In addition to having much experience in caring for infants, the grandmother was typically easygoing and had the time to devote to childcare, which led to a natural bonding with children and gave them a sense of comfort.

At the age of about four or five, when the son was able to get around on his own, he moved into his grandfather’s room, in the men’s quarters. In this way, he spent his early years living with his grandparents, during which time he learned through

observation. Although the grandparents may not have been as agile as younger people, their deliberate actions taught the child self-control and helped him develop a calm disposition.

In spite of occasional difficulty, by living with the elderly he was exposed to models of adult behavior, which served to encourage him to control his desires and conform to society. The children raised in a traditional home, in this manner, would develop a sense of self-control and patience, and thus be able to better deal with temptation and confrontation. They sought to satisfy the demands of the social system and their own high standards, while attaining the key virtues of a responsible scholar.

For jongga, socialization meant conforming to a collective society, under which the primary psychological mechanisms involved in this process can be summarized as the creation of collective characteristics and experience. The creation of collective characteristics refers to the development of a child’s character and behavior, whereby the lifestyle of a Confucianbound jongga provided an environment conducive to a child’s integration into society. This refers to a similar process as that described in child social-development theories.

Experience refers to the seeing and hearing that enable the child to learn adult behavior through observation and interaction with adults. Experience includes three basic psychological mechanisms: identification with a model, observation and imitation, and reinforcement and reward. Identification with a model corresponds to the theory of imitative learning of Western psychologists, such as Albert Bandura, while reinforcement and reward are identical to the psychological mechanisms of social learning. These psychological concepts were introduced in the late 1960s, but jongga applied socialization methods that had been handed down since the time of the Joseon Dynasty, which were systematized in the 17th century and passed down from generation to generation.

Jongga Family Heads In the early Joseon period, the Neo-Confucian scholar Jo Gwang-jo (1482-1519) stated in his Family Teachings of Jeong­ am : “No matter how exceptionally talented one may be when he is born, only after he has pursued learning will he understand how to live in this world.” If an individual did not study, he could not know the principles of the world and thus could not have a proper understanding of the things of the world, and find himself at a loss about what to do in life. This person would be unaware of even his own worth. This thought is clearly presented in the stanza of a poem by the Song Chinese Spring 2010 | Koreana 13

poet Liu Yong, which sought to praise the value of learning.

If parents do not teach their children as they raise them, then they do not love them, If they do teach them but do not teach them strictly, this also is because they do not love them, And if a child does not learn what is taught, then he does not love himself.

For this reason, one must teach a child as one raises him, and the teaching must be strict, And if the teaching is strict and the learner diligent, he will surely succeed.

There were two reasons to encourage learning. The fundamental reason was an idea that a person could become a forthright individual only through learning. Confucian learning involves not only knowledge but moral teachings as well. It thus teaches the importance of putting knowledge into practice, so learning was not thought of as simply an accumulation of knowledge, as it seems to be today, but as instruction for the guidance of humanity. In this way, the people of Joseon valued learning in and of itself. This was because, through learning, they hoped to achieve their goals and to approach the thinking of distinguished figures, while learning from their thoughts, so as to become scholars with a profound spirituality and to carry on the Confucian ideology. Although scholars from the southeastern regions of Korea, such as Andong, did not emphasize material success, they did encourage learning because they recognized that through learning an individual could become a scholar with the knowledge and capability for moral behavior.

In addition, learning could lead a son onto a path of success in which he passed the civil service examination, entered gov-

ernment service, served with distinction, and brought honor to the clan. Individuals who passed the civil service examination were on the road to career success, with an opportunity to realize the prestige and material benefits that came with this social status.

The Joseon people’s passion for learning gave rise to two notable lifestyle practices. One was that of staying in your hometown to perform rituals for the family’s ancestors and to oversee property holdings. In this case, the jongga family head and his wife would reside in the jongga house in the clan’s hometown, while performing ancestral rituals, hosting guests, and looking after clan members who remained in their hometown. On the other hand, there were those family heads who felt that if the clan hoped to improve its lot, it was not enough to live a simple and lowly existence in the countryside. They thus called for living in a place with more advanced learning and where they might befriend their neighbors. These family heads would take steps to establish homes within the city walls of Seoul, where they sent their sons to study under private tutors or alongside the children of prestigious families.

As such, they believed that if they left their sons in the countryside they would not learn as much and likely end up as simple-minded country folk. They thought that if their sons could be educated in Seoul, they would be exposed to the latest information and be able to make friends with their classmates from prominent families and develop lifelong friendships. And even if their sons did not possess outstanding intellect and failed to gain an attractive government position, they believed that these friends would be valuable assets.

These thoughts about their children’s education, from the time of the Joseon period, form a foundation for the educational attitudes of the parents of Korea’s modern-day society.

The traditional resolve to educate your children, carry on the

1 Earthenware crocks store soy sauce and soybean paste that are carefully prepared according to generations-old family recipes.

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2 Clan members gather at Okdong Seowon in Sangju to prepare for an ancestral ritual.

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thinking of your ancestors, and contribute to the clan’s prosperity, is still a primary motivation and concern of Korean parents. This “DNA-based” fierce passion for education, which is embedded in the Korean psyche, transcends time and remains vibrant in all Koreans.

Future of Jongga Up through the 1980s, a majority of the jongga family heads doubted that the jongga would be able to survive; however, since the 1990s they began to think that the jongga might indeed have a future. The material abundance that came with Korea’s rapid modernization in the 1980s provided stability, along with a rise in the number of people who showed a keen interest in learning about their family roots. The general public’s appreciation of traditional culture also flourished during this period, which included efforts to preserve jongga houses as valuable cultural resources. The government’s recent policy measures include the provision of financial support to help

maintain the traditional jongga houses and to preserve the jongga rituals and food culture.

In modern society, concepts related to a primacy of blood lines and family ties, which can have a negative influence on the independent thinking and decision-making of an individual, will gradually lose their prevalence. But the proper humanity sought by the Confucianism of Joseon society, a communal ethical consciousness that seeks the reason for existence not in the individual, but in the relationships between individuals, are ideals that our society of the future seems to need more than ever before. The tangible and intangible cultural assets that have been handed down through the generations by the jongga will continue to be preserved and passed down. In particular, the spiritual culture of the jongga, which valued the humble yet forthright virtues of the scholar, who showed indifference toward material interests, but sought to properly educate the children, will remain a vital cornerstone of Korean society and its future development.

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Jongga Ancestral Rituals and Food Culture The jongga of Korea have well preserved the ritual ceremonies of their individual clans, which includes an especially strict observation of the ancestral rituals. Through their observance over the centuries, the ancestral rituals have been an invaluable means to preserve and refine Korea’s traditional food culture.

Lee Yeun ja Director, Ulee Tea Culture Association Lee Dong- chun, Seo Heun-kang Photographer

16 Koreana | Spring 2010

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n December 1995, the Jongmyo Shrine in Seoul was designated a UNESCO World Heritage. The mortuary tablets of the kings and queens of the Joseon Dynasty are enshrined in Jongmyo Shrine, where ancestral rites are conducted in May of each year, according to strictly-prescribed standards for ritual music, attire, and food offerings. Korea is the only country in East Asia that still conducts ancestral rituals according to Confucian principles, thereby attracting a steady stream of visitors from neighboring countries that had once been under the cultural sphere of Confucianism.

The Jongga Shrine If Jongmyo, the shrine of the Joseon Dynasty, is revered as the site where the royal ancestral rites are performed, then

the jongga shrines of individual clans, found scattered about Korea, might be even more meaningful, in that they are attached to the homes where clan descendants continue to live.

Today’s jongga are located in single-clan villages founded by their long-ago ancestors of some 400 or 500 years ago, where ancient traditions remain alive, as evidenced by the number of traditional-style houses. For the memorial rites of the ancestors whose mortuary tablets are housed in the family shrine, protocol calls for the preparation of a variety of food items and the wearing of ritual attire. After the ancestral rites, the ritual foods are shared with neighbors, as a community-minded gesture of the jongga. In the past, when ordinary Koreans struggled to eke out a livelihood, ritual food was a much-needed source of nutrition as well as a means of developing Korea’s food culture.

During a continuous history of 2,000 years, from the Three Kingdoms period (1st century B.C.-A.D. 7th century) to the Goryeo (918-1392) and the Joseon (1392-1910) eras, ancestral rituals were not the exclusive domain of the royal family and aristocratic class, but a kind of nationwide ceremony for the benefit of commoners as well. Moreover, in line with a perspective that ancestral rituals are an extension of the concept of filial piety, it is all the more imperative for this priceless cultural heritage to be carefully preserved.

Types of Ancestral Rituals To Koreans, ancestral rituals and the jongga are one in the same. As such, any household that does not faithfully observe ancestral rituals cannot be called a jongga. Over the course of 10 years, I conducted surveys and interviews of 120 jongga households with 490 questionaires. I only contacted those households with a surviving descendant, who maintains the family shrine, because I sought to document aspects of jongga culture through direct descendants.

Throughout the year, the jongga will perform a number of rituals, each with its own name. The basic rituals include an annual ritual, conducted on the eve of the anniversary of an ancestor’s passing, a memorial ritual, performed on the morning of the lunar New Year and Harvest Moon holiday, and a tomb ritual, held at the ancestor’s tomb site. In addition, there is also an “immovable ancestral tablet” ritual, which is held to commemorate a distant ancestor who had been commended for his extraordinary contributions to the welfare of the nation or his clan. In this case, an exception is made to the practice of housing the ancestral tablets of the previous four generations, whereby the mortuary tablet of this illustrious figure is permanently enshrined.

In the Andong region of Gyeongsangbuk-do Province,

Members of the Gyeongju Choe jongga convene at their clan residence, in Gyeongsangbuk-do Province, for the ancestral rites of their esteemed ancestor General Choe Jin-rip.

Spring 2010 | Koreana 17

Jongga conduct at least 30 ancestral rituals each year, and in certain cases this number can be as many as 50. As a result of these numerous rituals, fundamental aspects of Korea’s age-old culture have been kept alive, giving Koreans a deep-rooted sense of cultural pride and self identity.

where Confucian culture is still highly respected, only households that observe the immovable ancestral tablet ritual are considered true jongga, in the strictest sense of the term. There is also an enshrinement ritual, during which the mortuary tablet of the eldest son of the family is placed within the family shrine, along with those of his ancestors, after a three-year mourning period, and an announcement ritual to notify the clan ancestors of a particularly noteworthy event.

Other rituals include a new offering ritual, in which freshly harvested crops are offered to ancestors, full moon memorial ritual that is performed on the day of the first full moon of the lunar year, and spring ritual, to herald the arrival of spring with special rice cake made with azalea blossom petals. A Dano ritual, for which surichwi (flowering plant related to the daisy) rice cake and cherry punch are prepared, and Chilseok ritual, on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month, for which noodles are made from the season’s wheat crop, are also important rituals observed by jongga. In addition, a ritual is held in the tenth month of the lunar calendar to give thanks for the harvest, and red bean porridge is prepared for the winter solstice ritual. And in the first month of the lunar year, there is a ritual to appease the house gods so as to ensure the household’s peace and harmony.

Jongga households conduct at least 30 ancestral and seasonal rituals each year, and in certain cases this number can be as many as 50. As a result of these numerous rituals, fundamental aspects of Korea’s age-old culture have been kept alive, giving Koreans a deep-rooted sense of cultural pride and self identity.

Ancestral Ritual Protocol At the heart of the jongga is the head of the family and his wife. The family head’s responsibilities include properly maintaining the mortuary tablets of ancestors, conducting ancestral rituals, and having a son to carry on the family line. It is customary for jongga to adopt a son to carry on the family line if the family head has no son of his own. In particular, the family head needs a son to preside over the ancestral rituals, in accordance with requisite procedures.

The numerous jongga family heads that I have interviewed continue to fulfill the roles that tradition demands of them, to a rather surprising extent even in our modern times. For example, I have met family heads who did not have a regular job, while being fully occupied by their jongga responsibilities. This was because of the considerable time and effort necessary to faithfully tend to clan business and observe the ancestral rituals. In addition, they also had to be well-versed in genealogy in order to verify their authority as family heads to a seemingly unending stream of clan relatives and visitors who paid a visit to their household.

In fact, they have to remember not only the order and names of their ancestors but what government positions they had held and their notable achievements. Only someone who knows the many stories of his ancestors and understands the times of his ancestors will be respected as a true family head.

They must know the location of all of the tomb sites of their direct ancestors, along with the dates on which their rituals should be performed. Moreover, they must also possess the ability to read classical Chinese in order to decipher ancient texts, while many are skilled in calligraphy as well. They need to know the names, relationships, and ritual dates of all their close relatives because a visit is called for to pay proper respect, whenever necessary. As such, the family head needs to have considerable financial means to satisfy these never-ending obligations.

Meanwhile, people say that you must be born with an exceptional strength of character in order to be the wife of a jongga family head. For the jongga “first lady,” the difficulty of her everyday life is beyond description. This is evident in the fact that the life of a family head’s wife is often said to consist of “performing ancestral rituals and receiving guests.” For the woman of such a household, performing the ancestral rituals and receiving guests is far more demanding than the everyday domestic work of a regular housewife.

At the jongga residence of the Hyeonpung Kwak clan, several bus loads of relatives descend on the house every spring.

Even ten hands are not enough to make sure that each and every one of these relatives is served their fill of food and liquor.

After members of the Kim Hyo-ro jongga, in Gunja Village, Andong, Gyeongsangbuk-do Province, reach an accord on the various roles and details of the ancestral ritual, a written notice is posted with the specific assignments and procedures.

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An elder of the Nam I-heung jongga presents an offering of ceremonial liquor to an ancestor’s mortuary tablet during an immovable ancestral tablet ritual.

Yet even though she might stay up all night dozens of times each year to prepare for ancestral rituals, and would go hungry while serving relatives and visitors, one wife of the family head said that if she were to be born into this world again, she would gladly do all of this again. The fact that she has married off her daughters to other jongga provides a glimpse into just how proud she is to be the wife of a family head.

In this way, the unwavering resolve of these family heads and their wives, while diligently fulfilling their roles as the heads of their clan in a dignified manner, and always considering “us” and never “me,” provide an exemplary model for weaker-willed modern-day Koreans. It is the staying power of these noble families that has enabled them to carry on their family lines from eldest son to eldest son, while in many cases residing in a centuries-old traditional house.

Prescribed Liquor and Rice Cake The Jaeryeong Yi clan, in Won-ri, Seokbo-myeon, Yeongyang-gun, Gyeongsangbuk-do Province, is the source of the 350-year-old Korean cookbook Understanding the Flavor of Food . Of the 146 recipes in this book, 51 are related to the making of alcoholic beverages. The author of this book, Lady Jang of Andong, was designated “Cultural Figure for November 1999” by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism.

Jongga households prepared numerous types of alcoholic beverages because of the different requirements of various rituals and their efforts to satisfy the preferences of relatives and guests. Before refrigeration, many alcoholic beverages could not be kept for long, so whenever the day of a ritual ceremony approached, preparing the appropriate types of liquor was a top priority. The names of these beverages are varied and include seasonal varieties, such as plum blossom wine, chrysanthemum wine, and lotus leaf wine, as well as wines named for the period of fermentation, such as seven-day wine and tenday wine.

Similarly, jongga of the Gwangsan Kim clan, Yean branch, of Gunja Village in Andong, Gyeongsangbuk-do Province, compiled a cookbook entitled, Various Recipes for High Cuisine , that documents a millennium of food history, which has been handed down for the past 450 years. This cookbook describes and identifies some 60 types of alcoholic beverages by name. Along with explaining the process for brewing these beverages, it also includes detailed instructions for making the teacakes that are a central element of the ancestral rituals.

The Yean Yi clan of Oeam Village, in Asan, Chungcheong­ 20 Koreana | Spring 2010

nam-do Province, is well-known for its lotus flower wine that is presented as an offering as part of the ancestral rituals.

Gyeongju Beopju, which today is a popular brand of commercially made rice wine, is based on a ceremonial beverage that had been prepared for the ancestral rituals held by 12 generations of affluent jongga households.

Jongga of the Andong Kwon clan in Bonghwa Village, Gyeongsangbuk-do Province, have a 300-year tradition of preparing delectable Korean sweets, including rice crackers of various colors, fried sweet rice cake, and sweet ginger cookies, for ancestral rituals. On Jejudo Island, jongga of the Jeju Yang

clan form rice cake into the shape of the sun, moon, stars, and earth, as a plea for favorable weather on the island, which often encounters harsh weather conditions. Of note, jongga of Bak Munsu do not prepare rice cake offerings for their ancestral rituals in accordance with the last will and testament of Bak Munsu, who called on aristocratic households to forgo the offering of rice cake for their ancestral rituals, in consideration of the fact that so many common people suffered from malnutrition and starvation, during the lean months before the barley harvest. So, even today, the jongga prepares chestnut cakes instead.

For many households, the stacks of rice cakes should be as high as a seated adult. Originally, the stacks were made with only layers of steamed rice cake; but later, different colored rice cake types, such as honey jujube rice cake, flower fried rice cake, and rice ball cake, were added in an effort to uphold the household’s prestige. In the case of even the most upright family of scholars, the housewife would not hesitate to cut off and sell her hair if that was necessary to ensure ample food and beverages for the rituals, because it was believed that the rise and fall of a household depended on the propriety of its ritual food.

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People could tell which family had prepared the ritual food, because the women of each family maintained their own unique methods and secrets, which had been handed down through the generations. By tradition, after the conclusion of a ritual, the food would be divided up and distributed to village neighbors and families of lower standing as a way to “spread good fortune.� The food that was shared became an example of ritual food for the common people.

Due to the diverse and bountiful ritual food, ancestral ritual days at an aristocratic household were even more special than holidays for the common people, especially during times when food was scarce. The wives of family heads could create dozens of recipes from a single ingredient, which was necessary because there were numerous rituals to worship and honor heaven, earth and their ancestors. The most important duty for the wives of family heads was to make sure that the rice cake, alcoholic beverages, and every item of ritual food was properly prepared for the ceremonial rites. Indeed, they considered the 22 Koreana | Spring 2010

responsibility for overseeing the ritual food just as important as their own life.

History of 1,000 Years The annual ancestral ritual involves the preparation of food for a single ancestor; however, for the new offering ceremonies, performed on holidays such as the lunar New Year and the Harvest Moon, various foods would be prepared from the fruits of the first harvest for a number of ancestors. For the lunar New Year, rice cake soup takes the place of rice, while stuffed rice cake is prepared for the Harvest Moon holiday. At Andong Hahoe Folk Village, the jongga observes the Harvest Moon ritual on the ninth day of the ninth month of the lunar calendar, about one month later than the traditional date, so that the ceremony can be an actual offering of the newly harvested grains.

Memorial rituals differ from annual rituals in that no written prayer is read, along with only a single glass of liquor be-

Participants in a tomb ritual of the Sim On jongga, in Suwon, Gyeonggi-do Province, make their way to the ancestral gravesite.

ing offered. The types of food to be prepared for the lunar New Year and Harvest Moon rituals are set forth in the classical text, Memorabilia of the Three Kingdoms , in the section on the land of Garak. In 661, when King Munmu of Silla ascended the throne, he declared: “Gaya has fallen, but King Suro is my forefather on my mother’s side, so his ancestral rituals must be continued. On each of the holidays [the third and seventh days of the first month, the fifth day of the fifth month, and the eighth and fifteenth days of the eighth month, by the lunar calendar] prepare liquor, sweet rice drink, rice cake, rice, tea, and fruit.”

Of particular note, the six food items that King Suro identified are still prepared for ancestral rituals being held today, after the passage of 1,300 years. It is difficult to find a nation whose history has spanned a period of more than 1,000 years, but with the tradition of ritual food having been around for more than a millennium, it can safely be said that Korea has long been a country of outstanding cultural heritage. In addition, it is worth noting that tea is used as an offering during the memorial ritual.

Significance of Ritual Food The basic foods prepared for the annual rituals, on the anniversary of the death of an ancestor, include the following. The rice, liquor cup, soup, chopsticks, and spoon, as well as a small bowl of vinegar-soy sauce are placed closest to the mortuary tablet. Noodles, skewered meat, vegetables, and fish, rice cake, and dipping sauce are included in the second row. The third row contains three types of hot soup, such as a fish, meat, and clear soup, between which batter-fried meat and vegetables are placed. The fourth row includes dried snacks, such as dried pollack, beef, and octopus, next to which there are cooked vegetables of three different colors, radish kimchi, and sweet rice drink. The fifth row contains a variety of fruit.

Households have their own rules for arranging the fruit,

such as placing the red fruits to the east and the white fruits to the west, or having a particular order for jujubes, chestnuts, pears, and persimmons. Ancient texts that describe the rituals do not specify the names of fruits to be used. However, a careful review of the ritual food will show that each of the items has a symbolic significance. For the cooked vegetables of three colors, the white vegetables were the roots, such as those of bellflower or radish. The black vegetables were stems or stalks, such as bracken, while the green vegetables were leaves, such as parsley or spinach. The roots, stalks, and leaves symbolized the ancestors, the parents, and the current generation, respectively.

Symbolism applies to the skewered foods as well. A different type of skewered food was offered for each of the three cups of liquor: skewers with fish from the ocean, meat from the land, and tofu or various vegetables. Various food offerings to the ancestors were meant to represent a spirit of filial piety.

Among the various fruits, jujubes represented a wish for the prosperity of the descendants. Chestnuts symbolized an eternal connection to the ancestors. If you plant a chestnut, even after it grows into a mature tree the seed chestnut will continue to exist. The mortuary tablets are made from chestnut wood so as to metaphorically apply this principle to people. Persimmon is a ritual food because if you plant the seed of a persimmon, the resulting tree will produce only small-size, astringent fruit. As such, it is necessary to take a branch from that tree, after three to five years, and graft it onto another persimmon tree in order to produce high-quality fruit. The persimmon tree is used as a metaphor for the fact that people must undergo education so that they can become proper members of society.

Rice cake soup, the customary dish of the lunar New Year ritual, is cited in Song of the Farmhouse Almanac : “There is a ritual dish of rice cake soup, which is made from rice cake slices boiled in broth.” It also notes: “When the rice cake is sliced, it looks like a round coin.” The coin-shape slices symbolize the sun that rises on the morning of the New Year, so the rope-like rice cake should be sliced straight down to make circular forms, rather than at an angle, which would produce oval shapes, in order for the ritual offering to maintain its original significance.

The Korean people have handed down this ritual culture over thousands of years as a means of expressing respect to their parents and ancestors, along with reinforcing family bonds between siblings and promoting harmony among relatives. The family is one of humanity’s greatest gifts, and we can see, through the food culture, how the ancestral rituals have played a critical role in assuring the health and soundness of Korean families.

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A Tour of Korea’s Jongga Museums Museums conjure different images for different people. For some, the cool, quiet halls are ideal places for thought and reflection. Others see them as a gateway to days gone by, windows into human history. Everyone has their favorite hall or exhibit, something that inspires them or fills them with awe and wonder. This is as it should be, for our English word “museum” originates with the Greek “mouseion,” referring to a place of, or shrine to, the Muses, the Greek goddesses who were the source of literary and artistic inspiration. Jongga museums are also places of inspiration, not only offering us precious glimpses of Korea’s past, but also serving as conduits that make the past present, honoring the memory of ancestors long gone in body but still with us in spirit, and thus keeping that spirit alive.

Charles La Shure Professor Graduate School of Interpretation and Translation, Hankuk University of Foreign Studies Seo Heun- kang Photographer

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literally means “head family or household,” but “Jongga” this does not really help us understand the concept. It

would be more accurate to say that jongga are households descended from a renowned ancestor through the eldest sons of the family. This renowned ancestor could be the founder of a clan, but in most cases it is another ancestor who was honored in his time for some great deed or service, and who was granted what is known as an “immovable ancestral tablet” upon his death.

Inside the Chunghyeon Museum of the Yi Won-ik jongga (website: www.chunghyeon.org)

The Origin of Jongga The tradition of ancestor veneration in Korea, like the concept of the jongga itself, has its roots in the Confucian ideology of the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910). Confucianism dealt largely with relationships—for example, the relationship between king and vassal, or father and son—and the obligations inherent in these relationships extended beyond life. So shrines were built to house “ancestral tablets,” small tablets inscribed with the name of the ancestor that were thought to act as both a symbol and locus of the ancestor’s spirit.

The responsibility for, and privilege of carrying out, the ancestral rituals fell to the household of the eldest son of that family. Each year, on the anniversary of each ancestor’s death, the members of this household prepared a ceremonial feast and performed rituals to honor their ancestors. In return, it was believed that the ancestors would protect their descendants and make them prosper. This tradition is so deeply ingrained in Korean culture that most head families still hold these rituals today.

According to tradition, these rituals are held for the four latest generations of ancestors. Once a family head dies and joins his ancestors in the shrine, the tablet of the ancestor who previously represented the fourth generation back is removed.

The aforementioned “immovable ancestral tablets” are exceptions to this rule. If an ancestor performed a service for the nation or otherwise achieved greatness, the king or some other authority figure may order that rituals be held for this ancestor in perpetuity, no matter how many generations may pass.

Thus, his ancestral tablet becomes immovable and will never leave the family shrine.

It is these ancestors from which most jongga trace their descent. In addition to performing ancestral rituals, these jongga families also act as guardians of precious documents and artifacts handed down from generation to generation. A few jongga families have taken this one step further and opened small Spring 2010 | Koreana 25

Ritual articles and tables of the Kim Seong-il jongga (left), and a hanging scroll (right). The characters on the scroll literally read, “hundred generations refreshing wind,” as a symbolic wish for the family’s traditions to be properly observed for generation after generation.

museums or exhibition halls to display these treasures. Let us take a look at some of these unique museums around Korea.

Unjanggak, at the Jongga of Kim Seong-il Our journey will first take us to Andong, in Gyeongsangbuk-do Province, a city known as Korea’s “spiritual culture capital.” It has long been a center of learning and the arts, not to mention Confucian philosophy and culture. Thus, it is no surprise that there are a number of jongga museums in the area.

Northwest of the city of Andong, on the road to Bongjeong sa Temple, lies the jongga of Kim Seong-il. We walk through the front gate and enter a broad, grass yard. To our right is a small garden of carefully tended trees and plants, interspersed with natural stones and stonework. The house lies to the left, at the foot of a low hill blanketed in Korean pines.

We are greeted by Kim Jong-gil, who is 15th in a long line of descendants from Kim Seong-il. But he is not the current head of the family yet. Even though his father passed away over two years ago, the three-year mourning period is not yet over. Mr. Kim shows us the small room in the house where visitors still come to pay their respects to his father. Hanging on the wall are the mourning clothes that he must wear as chief mourner at such times. When the warm spring winds blow in May, the mourning period will end, and the family will perform a ritual to place the ancestral tablet of Mr. Kim’s father in the family shrine. At the same time, the tablet of Mr. Kim’s great-greatgreat-grandfather will be removed from the shrine and buried in the ground. The “immovable ancestral tablet” of Kim Seong-il, at the far left end of the shrine, will of course remain untouched.

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As we sip tea and enjoy a selection of delicate snacks prepared by the mistress of the house—dried persimmons, small cakes made from pine pollen, sweet ginger cookies—Mr. Kim talks about the challenge faced by the jongga in modern society, finding a balance between tradition and modernity. “The traditional social structure centered around the family and the household is collapsing. We cannot fight this trend, but the importance of the jongga lies in preserving our traditions. Yet we need to adapt to modern society.” He also talks about the ancestor whose spirit and mentality he has been charged with preserving.

Kim Seong-il (1538-1593) was a well-known student of the famous Confucian scholar Toegye. He entered government service at the age of 30 and, in addition to holding various posts, traveled to China and Japan as a member of diplomatic missions. When Japan invaded Korea at the end of the 16th century, he devoted himself to traveling around the region, supporting and encouraging the resistance fighters until his death.

He was renowned for his scholarship, and also for his concern for the common people and love for his country.

The small museum, called Unjanggak, sits next to the house and contains some 20,000 artifacts and documents, over 200 of which were left behind by Kim Seong-il. It was originally built as a place to store the many relics and artifacts that had been handed down from generation to generation. Through the years it had become increasingly difficult to store and take care of these artifacts, so the Uiseong Kim clan built Unjanggak with the aid and support of the government.

These days, however, more and more people are taking an

© Lee Dong- chun

Records of the Kim Hyo-ro jongga, which have been handed down for generations, prescribe the detailed procedures and traditions for ancestral rituals.

interest in the precious relics of Kim Seong-il and the Uiseong Kim clan, and Unjanggak has become an exhibition hall for a handful of the treasures in its storeroom. Currently, visitors wishing to see the exhibits can arrange for an appointment with the manager for a tour of the museum and explanation of the various artifacts, although there are plans to open the museum to the general public in the future.

Some of the more prominent artifacts housed in the museum are a pair of eyeglasses and an eyeglass case used by Kim Seong-il himself, the oldest of their kind in Korea. There is also a wooden saddle that is presumed to be the oldest of its kind, although the historical research to prove this is still forthcoming. Other items include hopae , small wooden or bone blocks that served as the Joseon Dynasty version of identification cards. Unjanggak is also home to a wealth of written records that provide scholars with valuable insight into the history and culture of the Joseon Dynasty. There are texts known as Journals of Royal Lectures , which were written by chroniclers who attended lectures given for the king. The contents of these journals were fiercely protected—not even prime ministers or the king himself had the authority to read them—and they were later used as source materials when compiling the royal annals. The Journals of Royal Lectures here were all recorded

by Kim Seong-il himself. Other documents, although perhaps not as important for mainstream history, still offer intriguing insight into Joseon life. For example, we can see the original composition submitted by Kim Seong-il for the civil service examination. Still visible are the red marks made by the examiner to indicate particularly well-written passages, as well as the final

score and ranking. “This would be about an 80 today,” our guide, Kim Yong-su, tells us. “That’s a very good score.”

Now it is time to leave the quiet hall of Unjanggak behind.

On our way out, past the front gate of the house, we can see that a new building is under construction. This will eventually house many of the artifacts now stored in Unjanggak, and will hopefully draw many interested visitors.

Sungwongak, at the Jongga of Kim Hyo-ro Our journey now takes us a short way east, toward the Confucian academy of Dosan Seowon. A narrow road winds up and through a pine-covered hill, and suddenly the forest clears and a small traditional village lies before us. This is the Ocheon Historic Site, more commonly known as Gunja Village. “Gunja” can be translated as “man of virtue” or “gentleman,” and the village got this name when the magistrate of Andong said, “There is no one in the village of Ocheon who is not a gentleman.” It was originally located farther east, but it was moved here in 1974 to save it from being wiped out when the Andong Dam was built and the area was flooded. Now it looks like something out of a painting, as the low houses crouch on the hillside beneath green pines and a cobalt blue sky. On the right is a grand zelkova tree that rises above even the roofs of the houses farthest up on the hill.

At the far end of the village we meet our guide for the day, Kim Bang-sik, the younger brother of the head of the family and director of the museum and other village facilities. He is soft-spoken but thoughtful, and taking artistic photographs of Gunja Village is one of his favorite pastimes. This someSpring 2010 | Koreana 27

how seems appropriate, considering the nature of Kim Hyoro (1454-1534). Unlike many of the other jongga ancestors in the region, he shunned a life of government service and instead chose to live the quiet, untainted life of a scholar. The inscription on his tomb monument, written by Toegye, reads: “He was not bound by the civil service examination, nor did he take directly from the teachings of others, but practiced his own learning through pure and proper conduct, he performed the ancestral rituals with respect and devotion, and he taught his descendants through his respect for 1 his parents and love for his siblings. In manner and deed he was most exceptional.” After his death, Confucian scholars had a shrine built for his ancestral tablet.

Mr. Kim leads us back to the entrance of the village. Here stands Sungwongak, the museum. It is built in the traditional style like the rest of the village, but unlike the rest of the village it is a modern building made of cement. When the village was moved here in 1974, some 1,200 books and other documents were discovered in a small attic space above the rafters of Hujodang, a wooden structure 450 years old. Sungwongak was built with government funds in 2007 in order to house and display these relics. However, electricity and other utilities for the building are paid for by members of the clan, so the museum is open only by appointment, Mr. Kim explains as he lifts the metal grate that rolls down over the entrance.

Inside the building, we begin our tour, but soon discover that we are not the only visitors that day. Another group joins us, and they are intrigued and fascinated by the precious documents and other relics. The first to catch our attention is a series of royal edicts, the foremost of which grants Kim Hyoro his posthumous title—one of the requirements of a true jongga. Other documents of interest are the marriage letters and wills. Marriage letters were written by the groom and sent to the bride’s family along with the wedding gifts, and we can see in the unsteady hand in which some of these letters were written just how young these men were when they were married.

Wills functioned in Korea the same way they function in the West, but these wills are fascinating for the light they shed on early Joseon society. Although it is often thought that Joseon society was dominated by men, the wills tell a different story: before the Japanese invasions 1 at the end of the 16th century, property was divided up evenly among sons and daughters alike, and women kept control of their own property even after they were married. This changed with the Japanese invasions, though; as the nation faced hard times, Confucianism became more dogmatic, and women were afforded fewer freedoms than before.

In addition to these precious documents, there is a bronze mirror that Mr. Kim speculates may have been brought over from Japan. A few elaborate and intricately made wooden

1 An incense burner of the Yi Won-jo jongga 2 Eyeglasses and eyeglass case, which were once used by Kim Seong-il, on display at a smallscale museum of the Kim Seong-il jongga 3 Articles of clothing maintained in display cases at the Nam I-heung jongga. On the left is a royal court garment with an embroidered dragon.

© Park Tae-shin

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boxes were once used to house ancestral tablets. Other artifacts remind us that it was not a peaceful time; one display case contains arrows carved with the owners’ names, so when a fallen soldier was found on the battlefield those keeping records would know who killed him.

Our fellow visitors are enthusiastic, and the conversation is lively. When our tour of the small museum is complete, Mr. Kim takes us all to see Hujodang. Even though it was built during the Joseon period, many of the design elements are vestiges of the Goryeo period (918-1392): both the rafters and the doorsills are built in the Goryeo style. As we look up at the rafters, we can see the small space where the documents were found.

Back outside Hujodang, Mr. Kim must attend to the other visitors—they have arranged to spend the night in one of the traditional houses here. So we make our way back down the stone steps, past the zelkova tree, and leave behind the Village of Virtuous Men. Yeongmogak, at the Jongga of Ryu Seong-ryong Our journey now takes us south to the city of Andong itself, and then west again to Hahoe Folk Village. This picturesque village of over 100 traditional houses, 12 of which are designated cultural properties, is situated in a deep bend in the Nakdonggang River. In fact, the village takes its name from this topographical characteristic, as Hahoe literally means “river bend.” The village attracts many visitors who come to see its traditional buildings, experience its culture, and see performances such as the yearly Mask Dance Festival and the traditional fireworks displays. Our destination today, though, is Yeongmogak, the small museum that houses the relics and artifacts from the jongga of Ryu Seong-ryong.

Hahoe Folk Village is home to a single clan, the Pungsan Ryu Clan. One of its most famous members was Ryu Seong-ryong (1542-1607), who served as prime min-

ister beneath King Seonjo (r. 1567-1608) and was appointed supreme commander of the military forces when the Japanese invaded Korea in the 1590s. In addition to being an able statesman and military leader, he was also a renowned scholar, and after the invasions he wrote Record of Reprimand to Prevent Future Misfortunes , which noted in often-painful detail the mistakes made by the ruling clan both before and during the war.

From the entrance to the village we follow the main street west, resisting the temptation to explore the alleys that wander away on either side. Soon we come to Chunghyodang, the jongga of Ryu Seong-ryong, and behind this is Yeongmogak.

It is open to the public year round, and as we step inside we find other visitors quietly appreciating the exhibits. There is, of course, the Record of Reprimand , as well as other documents that have been preserved by the family from generation to generation. Many are records of events or other documents related to the Japanese invasions. One royal edict praises Ryu Seongryong for his service to the king when he safely escorted the royal family to Uiju after the Japanese invaded.

These documents are some of the greatest treasures of the Ryu family, but there are other relics that offer a different glimpse into the life of Ryu Seong-ryong. The armor and helmet that he wore as supreme commander of the military remind us of the great trials he faced. From everyday life, a pair of his leather shoes and a number of beaded hat strings remain, and a ceremonial ivory tablet that was carried during the royal ancestral rituals or when having an audience with the king represents his life as an official.

We leave Yeongmogak and take our time as we walk back through the village.

There is much more to see here, but that will have to wait for another visit, as we are now leaving the Andong region and heading northwest, to the Taean Peninsula in Chungcheong-

© Park Tae-shin

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1 The jongga of Kim Hyo-ro 2 Yeongmogak, a specialized museum of the Ryu Seong-ryong jongga in Hahoe Village, Andong, Gyeongsangbuk-do Province (website: www.hahoe.or.kr).

1

Chunghyeon Museum is both a foundation and an officially registered private museum. Yi Seung-gyu, the president of the foundation, explains the importance of this fact: even after he and his wife are gone, the foundation will remain, and so the future of Chunghyeon Museum is ensured.

nam-do Province. There, some 30 kilometers or so west of the small town of Dangjin, lies the jongga of General Nam I-heung.

Chungmogwan, at the Jongga of General Nam I-heung We are greeted by Nam Ju-hyeon, the family head and also our guide for the day to the two small museum buildings here. Built in 1980 by the government, both are named Mochunggwan, which translates as “Chungjang Memorial Hall,” Chungjang being the posthumous title of General Nam I-heung (1576-1627). Like many of the other individuals we have already heard about, General Nam lived in perilous times.

When Yi Gwal rose up and rebelled against King Injo in 1624, General Nam defeated the rebel army, which was three times the size of his own, and quelled the rebellion. For this King Injo (r. 1623-1649) named him a meritorious subject of the first rank. Three years later, when the Jurchen invaded Joseon, General Nam was charged with defending Anju against an overwhelming force numbering ten times the defenders.

Although he managed to hold off the invaders for some time, reinforcements sent to aid him turned around before reaching Anju when it was determined that the situation was hopeless.

So General Nam opened up the gates of the fortress and let 30 Koreana | Spring 2010

the enemy in, but his intention was not to surrender. Instead, he led the enemy troops to the magazine and there ignited the gunpowder, killing both himself and many foes in a terrific explosion. When King Injo heard of his death, he was greatly grieved and ordered that General Nam be given a state funeral.

When Nam Ju-hyeon speaks of his ancestor, he seems both proud of and humbled by General Nam’s achievements. Just inside the door of the first memorial hall hangs a portrait of the general, and for a moment we imagine that the general himself is seated there to greet all visitors. The portrait was bestowed on him by King Injo after he quelled the rebellion by Yi Gwal.

Turning to the left, we see display cases filled with precious artifacts from General Nam’s life and death. The first to catch the eye is a splendid ceremonial gown, woven from white silk and embroidered with dragons. It was never worn by General Nam, though. At his funeral, King Injo was so grieved that he took off his own gown and laid it over the general’s coffin. The garment in the display case is a replica, but Mr. Nam takes the original out of storage for us. Though some of the threads are frayed, the dragons still leap and writhe on the shimmering cloth.

Next to the gown is a leather garment that was worn by General Nam beneath his armor, and it is amazingly well

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preserved even after four centuries. The few small, neat holes in the garment, Mr. Nam tells us, were made by arrows that pierced the armor, and the bloodstains around them are still visible. It is like looking back in time, not learning about history but seeing history itself. Both this garment and the king’s gown were kept in a large jar that was buried beneath a dirt floor in the house and were thus able to survive Korea’s tumultuous history.

There are many other relics here as well, some from General Nam’s life as a warrior, such as a quiver and a short bow for use on horseback, and others from the more peaceful side of his life, such as a collection of wooden, ivory, and bone hopae. One relic in particular, though, stands out. It is a simple roof tile, painted blue-green and covered in part with lichen that almost looks like gold leaf in the light of the display case. But this is no ordinary roof tile. Normally, blue-green roof tiles were only used by the king, but King Injo bestowed two of these roof tiles on General Nam as a token of his gratitude. One was broken in recent years during repairs on the roof, but fortunately this one was preserved intact.

We leave the first hall and walk up the hill. Ahead of us we can see the gate to the family shrine, but we turn right before

reaching it and enter the second building. The small room is dominated by what look to be two large wooden boxes to our right. But Mr. Nam first shows us the collection of various documents on display: personal letters, wills, royal edicts, and other precious texts that record the history of the family. Only then does he turn to the wooden boxes, which turn out to be the coffins in which General Nam and his wife were buried.

They are thick and sturdily built, and Mr. Nam tells us that when they were taken out of the ground they had trouble finding the seams for the lids.

As we finish our tour and stand admiring the handiwork of craftsmen centuries ago, Mr. Nam says, “It is not important how much artifacts are worth. The spirit contained within those artifacts is what is important. That is the significance of preserving artifacts: so we can experience for ourselves the spirit of our ancestors.” His words ring true as we think about the king’s gown, the leather garment pierced by arrows and stained with blood, and the many other relics we had seen—symbols of a spirit defiant to the very end.

And so we leave Dangjin behind and continue north. On the outskirts of Seoul, we arrive at our final destination, Chung­ hyeon Museum.

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Four portraits of Yi Won-ik can be viewed at the Chunghyeon Museum of the Yi Won-ik jongga

Chunghyeon Museum, at the Jongga of Yi Won-ik Chunghyeon Museum is different from the museums we visited previously. For one, it is very close to Seoul and thus accessible by public transportation from the capital city. There are very few jongga that remain intact in the capital region, and for good reason: unlike areas such as Andong, Seoul was hotly contested during the Korean War and many of the historical buildings in the area were destroyed, along with any artifacts they might have contained. Fortunately, the jongga of Yi Wonik survived the war unscathed. Another important difference is that Chunghyeon Museum is also both a foundation and an officially registered private museum. Foundation president Yi Seung-gyu (a doctor and professor emeritus at Yonsei University) explains the importance of this fact: even after he and his wife are gone, the foundation will remain, and so the future of Chunghyeon Museum is ensured.

Dr. Yi is the 13th generation descendant of Yi Won-ik (1547-1634). Yi Won-ik served as prime minister under three different kings and distinguished himself both politically and militarily during the Japanese invasions. He was not simply a capable leader, but a rare official who truly cared for the people.

He was well known as a pure official who shunned bribes and did everything in his power to ease the suffering of the com32 Koreana | Spring 2010

mon people. When the king saw how humble his home was, he decided to grant him a house befitting someone of his station, but Yi Won-ik refused three times, saying that he could not burden the people. When he finally relented, he did so on the condition that the house be unusually small. When Yi Won-ik died, an ancestral tablet for him was enshrined in the shrine of King Injo.

This museum began like the other museums we have visited, as a small exhibition hall for relics and artifacts preserved by the family. Then, in 2003, they created the Chunghyeon Foundation and established the entire jongga grounds as a private museum. “The most important function of a jongga museum is spiritual culture education,” explains Dr. Yi. “At the core of that are the ideas of loyalty and filial piety from Joseon period Confucianism.” His wife, Mrs. Ham, the director of the museum and also president of the Korean Private Museums Association, tells us that the museum is regularly used as an educational and cultural space. Among other activities, they have programs for teaching the local children about traditional culture and its importance.

Our tour of the museum begins in the two-story exhibition hall, the first building we see on our right as we enter the front gate. On the first floor are many articles that were used

in everyday life, such as braziers, irons, and bedpans. There are also display cases with various pieces of furniture from both the men’s quarters and the women’s quarters; the latter are far more elaborate and delicate in design. Also on display is a limited selection of the many small dinner tables collected from various sources by Mrs. Ham. In Joseon aristocratic society, each person was served at a separate small table, so the number of tables possessed by a family was one indicator of their wealth. The last room on the first floor holds an unexpected but fascinating display: items used by Dr. Yi and Mrs. Ham when they were first married and lived in their ancestor’s house. The watches they exchanged as engagement gifts, the transistor radio Dr. Yi bought for his wife, and the dishes they used all serve as a reminder that the history of the jongga is still alive in its descendants.

On the second floor, one of the first displays we see is a series of portraits of Yi Won-ik. The two leftmost portraits are of particular interest. Of these two, the portrait on the right was commissioned by the king and thus shows characteristics of a traditional palace portrait. The portrait on the left, though, was painted by a private painter and shows Yi Won-ik at a younger age. His followers wanted to honor him during his lifetime and so built him a “living shrine” (so called because shrines are usually only built after death), but he was so incensed at this that he had the shrine torn down. The portrait, however, was preserved, and now hangs next to his official portrait.

Inside another display case hangs a poem penned by Yi Won-ik himself upon his wife’s death. Even though they were married, war and strife kept them from spending much time together, and the poem expresses his deep regret and sorrow.

Mrs. Ham is so touched by this poem that she reads it to us herself, and the final lines still linger: “I bitterly wish to follow after you, / And have no wish to live long on this earth. / If we should be joined beneath the earth, / Our karmic ties will surely be as they were before.” Also here is Yi Won-ik’s last will and testament, a fascinating glimpse into the mind of an eminently practical man. He tells his family not to hold a grand funeral, not to bring a shaman or monk to conduct the services, and not to be misled by the superstitions of pungsu (feng shui ) when selecting a grave place. Instead, they should wrap his body in a simple shroud and bury it in a place that is easily visited, and they should prepare simple foods for the funeral.

Other letters written to his descendants offer similar practical instructions and are a testament to his wisdom.

Of course, the exhibition hall is only part of the museum.

The original old house, the small house bestowed by the king, a shrine for Yi Won-ik’s portrait, two pavilions, the site where a private Confucian academy once stood, and the family burial grounds are all part of the jongga grounds and thus part of the museum. The original house has been modernized some, as Dr. Yi and Mrs. Ham lived there when they were first married, but it still retains its traditional style and charm. The house be-

stowed by the king is known as Gwangamdang, which literally means “house of seeing and feeling.” The name was given by the king as a reminder to others that they should see Yi Wonik’s conduct and take it to heart. In front of this small house is a 400-year-old Oriental Arborvitae tree, and next to it is a flat rock where Yi Won-ik used to play the geomungo , a stringed instrument, in the shade of a much younger tree. With this our tour of Chunghyeon Museum—and our brief journey into the world of Korea’s jongga museums—comes to an end.

Reflections on Our Journey Although we have only seen part of what Korea has to offer in terms of jongga museums, a few things are clear. These small museums and their collections of artifacts and documents are precious treasure troves of Korean culture and history. Many of the artifacts, such as the oldest pair of eyeglasses in Korea, are the type of thing we have come to expect from museums. But the vast number of books, letters, royal edicts, and other documents preserved by these jongga came as a surprise. Nowhere else in the world will you find such large private collections of historical records. Some of these records, of course, were vital in proving the pedigree of the jongga, but many are not. These collections can only be explained by the love of these people for the wisdom of their ancestors.

Herein lies the true value and importance of jongga museums: history here is not some abstract concept, but a living, breathing part of the family. And yet the number of jongga museums is very small compared to the number of jongga remaining in Korea. Even those who do stay in their ancestral homes often find it difficult to manage the vast collections of artifacts and documents, and so these treasures are donated to other, larger museums. While it is fortunate that these treasures are being preserved, in a larger museum they are simply relics like any other, devoid of context. Some of them might still be impressive, but one of the most exciting parts of our journey was being able to hear the story behind these artifacts and documents from someone who was intimately connected to and interested in them.

It has been over six years now since Chungyeon Museum was registered as a private museum, and it is still the only officially registered jongga museum in Korea. Yet Dr.Yi seems more saddened by this fact than proud of it. The other small museums we saw on our journey are just as valuable and have just as much to offer, but they are still struggling to bring their treasures to the general public. It was heartening to see a new museum building being constructed at the jongga of Kim Seong-il in Andong, as well as efforts being made elsewhere to make these museums more accessible. We can only hope that this trend continues, and that jongga museums will be a growing source of inspiration to all and come to play a central role in spiritual culture education.

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FOCUS

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Concerted Efforts to Implement Creative City Projects As part of the ongoing efforts to provide artists with creative spaces and local residents with vibrant cultural venues, local governments have been implementing a wide variety of development projects. It is thus timely to evaluate the status and outlook for Korea’s “region-based comprehensive art spaces.”

Lee Sun-chul Cultural Planner/President, Potato Blossom Studio

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he “Creative City” concept has attracted growing attention within the large urban centers of advanced countries. This development concept, which is also known by other names such as Cultural City, is distinctive from previous efforts that amounted to little more than empty slogans. In particular, the recent initiatives have taken concrete form at the policy level, along with receiving program support from various sources. A variety of ideas and approaches have been applied to the planning of such Creative City projects and their operations, based on the expected benefits and required infrastructure improvements. Of particular note, rather than constructing new large-scale facilities, the transformation of existing buildings and sites of historical value into new cultural spaces is at the heart of this innovative approach to invigorating cities.

This global urban trend is evident in Korea’s metropolitan areas, cities, and even rural regions, where such projects are designed to take advantage of local circumstances. Local governments in Korea are now busily redeveloping various idle facilities and sites into cultural spaces. These venues serve to boost civic pride and are a useful tool to publicize cities. This emphasis on “site recycling” is a clear departure from the previous tradition of constructing new cultural facilities as part of an overall development policy. As such, this growing awareness of the importance of eco-resources and local architectural heritages is praiseworthy and practical.

Seoul As for the “Creative Space of Seoul” project being spearheaded by the Seoul Foundation for Arts and Culture, it is centered on a basic strategy of recycling underutilized urban facilities and resources. Rooted in a “culturenomics” goal of transforming metropolitan Seoul into a “Creative Cultural City,” this project is designed to upgrade the city’s international competitiveness by bolstering the creativity of artists and the citizenry alike. This initiative, which was launched in 2008, strives to enhance the availability of creative spaces for artists and provide the public with added opportunity to appreciate culture and the arts. The new creative spaces, which began to open their doors in autumn 2009, have sparked a kind of cultural renaissance of the city, along with reviving local communities and helping to satisfy the cultural, environmental, educational, and economic interests of Seoulites.

This project has already led to the opening of various cultural spaces, the first of which was the Seoul Art Space SEOGYO, a complex of cultural spaces nearby Hongik University that are housed in a former Seogyo-dong neighborhood office. Other examples include the Seoul Art Space YEONHI (on the former premises of the Current Issues Compilation Committee in Yeonhui-dong), Seoul Art Space GEUMCHEON (within a building previously occupied by a printing business) that promotes international exchange of culture and art, and Seoul Art Space SINDANG (in a renovated space of the Sindang Underground Shopping Center), which comprises a complex of crafts studios. In addition, a variety of other types of creative spaces are being developed at idle facilities, such as a hardware production village in Mullae-dong, which is currently underway.

These creative venues represent regional comprehensive artistic spaces that combine the advan-

1 Housed in the building of a former printing business, the Seoul Art Space GEUMCHEON, in Doksan-dong, Seoul, provides space for residential studios and workshops.

2 An exhibition area of the Seoul Art Space SEOGYO, which had previously been occupied by a Seogyo-dong neighborhood office.

3 The Seoul Art Space SINDANG, which resulted from a renovation of Sindang Underground Shopping Center, offers studio spaces, exhibition rooms, and workshop areas.

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Professor Yi Jong-ho of the Korea National University of Arts has stressed the importance for cultural venues to be readily accessible to the general public, since the segregation of such cultural facilities will result in the formation of isolated islands within the cityscape, thus falling short of the project’s basic objective.

tages of existing facilities, such as those now occupied by creative groups, and public and private-level creative studios, with the creative energy put forth at the individual and group level. In addition to supporting the creative endeavors of artists, these efforts have also been focused on the creation of public-friendly spaces.

The spaces thus contribute to the activation of cultural exchange (domestic and international), cultivation of human resources, and promotion of cultural and artistic education. Furthermore, rather than constructing additional large-scale complexes, which are already found in abundance in large cities, these creative spaces emphasize the reuse of existing facilities scattered about the city, by adapting new functions that reflect the particular spatial characteristics, transforming such structures into regional cultural hubs, and linking the individual projects together as part of a countrywide network.

Incheon and Gyeonggi-do By recycling the modern architectural sites created as a result of the opening of Incheon Port, the Incheon Metropolitan Government has established the Incheon Art Platform, which serves as a creative space for artists. The officials and residents of Incheon, who are currently preparing to vault the city into the new decade and beyond, anticipate that this cultural space, located near Incheon Station and the Chinatown district, will help to reinvigorate the city and attract additional visitors. Meanwhile, the Gyeonggi Creation Center, created by renovating a provincial vocational school located in Ansan, has been acclaimed as a cultural complex that provides facilities for resident artists. The space functions as a work station for artists engaged in various genres and a venue for a variety of exhibitions, exchange activities, regional programs, and festivals, along with being a cultural repository.

Daegu Housed in the buildings once occupied by KT&G, the Daegu Creative Center project, initiated by the Daegu Metropolitan Government, is part of an ambitious master plan to transform Daegu into a global center of artistic and cultural pursuits. The 48,843-square-meter site includes a 5-story main building, ancillary buildings, and open space. With such a large-size property, this project stands apart from other creative space projects, in terms of its scale and potential usage. Current plans call for the development of a future-oriented and integrated cultural space that will offer creative art activities, residence studios, a media library, and art education for children and adults, in addition to hosting large-scale conferences and presenting contemporary culture to local residents.

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Gangwon-do Gangwon-do Province has also been actively moving forward with the development of cultural spaces at idle facilities. These efforts are in response to the growing number of schools that have recently been closed down in the province due to a lack of students. For example, in Pyeongchang, one of the most pristine areas of Korea, which hopes to be named the host city of the Winter Olympic Games, the program for redeveloping former school sites has been delegated to private consultants, which have overseen the transformation of schools into art galleries, community theaters, and artist residences. Successful examples include the Potato Blossom Studio, Mooee Arts Center, Moonlight Theater, and Suhasan Culture Arena.

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1 A workshop in the Seoul Art Space SINDANG. 2 Sindang Creative Arcade offers an “I am also an artist” workshop program to encourage the general public’s participation in the arts and culture.

3 Seoul Art Space YEONHI provides a new venue for community activities

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Central Government Support The central government has extended comprehensive su­pport to the regional efforts to recycle idle facilities and resources. Of particular note, a substantive initiative is the “art and creativity network built on the back of our modern industrial heritage” program administered by the Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism, in conjunction with the “Creative Cultural Nation Equipped with Strong Soft Power” campaign that is intended to form a cornerstone of the administration’s cultural diplomacy. As suggested by its name, this program seeks to use remnants of Korea’s industrial development era as basic elements for the establishment of creative cultural spaces. To this end, industrial buildings, train stations, and public facilities, which had been built during Korea’s industrial development, are being targeted for redevelopment.

At times, this recycling push has come into conflict with measures designed to preserve various industrial sites for their historical value. Accordingly, the Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism has placed a priority, to the extent reasonable, on converting such industrial facilities into creative spaces for the arts, cultural venues, and tourism resources. Such efforts are deemed beneficial, in terms of rejuvenating urban and rural economies and promoting culture at the local level. Notable examples of such projects include the utilization of architectural buildings nearby Gunsan Port, the development of an art valley on the site of a former limestone quarry in Pocheon, and the conversion of a salt storage site in Sinan and a former KT&G factory in Daegu.

Since 2008, the ministry has lent assistance to various efforts to transform vestiges of the industrialization era into cultural spaces. As part of the preparations to link Incheon International Airport with the High Speed Railway in 2010, the Seoul Railway Station building, which has been closed since 2004 when the high speed train began regular service, is being converted into an inte38 Koreana | Spring 2010

1 Incheon Art Platform resulted from a conversion of modern architectural structures into integrated cultural spaces.

2 An amateur photography exhibition presented at Incheon Art Platform.

grated cultural space for hosting such activities as exhibitions and live performances. In addition, a former thermal power plant site in Dangin-ri will be renovated into a modern industrial museum and design archive by 2012, in order to create a “cultural creativity power plant” that integrates cultural characteristics of the Hongik University, Sinchon, and Hangang River areas.

Strategies for Success Above all, the re-creation of existing regional facilities into new cultural spaces is dependent on careful planning and feasibility analysis. Indeed, myriad factors must be considered: the original use of existing facilities, any relevant historical significance, potential uses that are feasible for the site, suitable programs based on local interest, regional resources and external support, formulation of publicity/marketing strategy, maintenance of long-term operations in a cost-effective manner and how to secure budget. Each of these matters must be assessed in detail and made to fit into the overall picture.

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Therefore, it is absolutely essential for these projects, at the planning stage, to identify the measures needed to ensure success and minimize the risk of failure. It is necessary to investigate usable resources that reflect the past and future of an individual region and develop region-specific content. It is also important for feasible programs to be developed, and for the management and marketing of such endeavors to be carried out in a consistent manner. In particular, the management of cultural spaces should be based on a perspective that these facilities are public resources rather than commercial properties. Furthermore, it is paramount for local residents to have the opportunity to readily appreciate the culture and arts at these new venues. As such, a consensus about the value of these cultural spaces must be developed among not only the cultural circles and local governments, but the general public as well.

To this end, Professor Yi Jong-ho of the Korea National University of Arts has stressed the importance for cultural venues to be readily accessible to the general public, since the segregation

of such cultural facilities will result in the formation of isolated islands within the cityscape, thus falling short of the project’s basic objective.

It is also necessary to organize the types of regional festivals and cultural events that can serve as a cultural catalyst for cities.

Networking with adjacent areas will be essential to optimize available resources. The provision of cultural and artistic education programs will help to naturally create cultural communities that can collectively form the foundation of a more creative society. The availability of advantageous residential conditions for artists and support for their artistic efforts will serve to foster a two-way dialogue between residents and artists. It is also essential to develop programs and contents that can be closely linked to the efforts to create environment-friendly and low-carbon green urban cities. In doing so, the cultural spaces can demonstrate a sensitivity toward the regional environment, and better satisfy the public’s desires.

Spaces created in such a manner will thus function as a magnet for the attraction of additional visitors.

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INTERVIEW

Ahn Eun Me: Neo-Shamanist Choreographer of the 21st Century The renowned choreographer and dancer, Ahn Eun Me, is especially appreciated by European audiences for her creative works that draw upon traditional Korean motifs.

Shamanism is an inspiration for her artistic energy, just as it was for the late Nam June Paik, Korea’s famed video artist.

Kim Nam-Soo Chief Curator, Nam June Paik Art Center Choi Young-mo Photographer

Scene from 2006 Chunhyang, with Ahn Eun Me, holding a fan, cast in the role of Chunhyang.

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n 2009, when Ahn Eun Me was named the recipient of the first Nam June Paik Art Center Award, it was in recognition of her innovative work in dance. This special “encounter” of two of Korea’s foremost artists was exciting as well as a symbolic event with regard to the future of Korean arts in the 21st century. Much as Paik had performed non-European “cultural barbarism” in the midst of Western Europe’s avant-garde art scene in the 1960s, Ahn has pursued her dance art as a form of “cultural confrontation” beyond East Asia.

Dance Beyond Time Common to Paik and Ahn is their exploration of new artistic terrain by breaking down the cultural boundaries defined by the globally dominant Western world. As an artist, Paik explored the world well beyond his Korean homeland, while Ahn has been performing in Germany and the United States, thereby expanding her global audiences.

Their art world, however, should not be judged merely on the criterion of transcending cultural boundaries. Indeed, they have gone beyond the “boundaries of Korea” and the “boundaries of Asia,” along with rising above the “boundaries of the West.” This does not mean simply presenting another direction but the gaining of a new perspective through the intersection of different aspects, representing a kind of dimensional shift.

For example, if a friend of mine with excellent taste were to praise an article of mine, I would respond by again reading the content, but from his perspective. As I reread and reflect upon what he found to be praiseworthy, I would experience, for a brief moment, the birth of a new point of view through an intersection of our individual perspectives. This example might help to explain Ahn’s dance world. Dance is a genre of art of the present moment, but Ahn’s view of time goes

beyond the common understanding of the temporal nature of dance works.

“It is necessary to have an outside perspective. You must think of time as something lengthy, slow, and perseverant. My movements are not just for a moment in time. Imagine them as fossils to be reborn at a desired time, the different movements expanding in an elastic world for brief moments. Dance is performed for such memories, unexpected memories, not just for the moment. If I am regarded as a stranger or alien, this friction is what is interesting.”

Shamanism as Inspiration Shamanism has served as a source of inspiration for Paik and Ahn. During a performance, Paik was known to suddenly jump onto a piano to perform or scribble the expression “Blue Sky” on a blackboard, to signify Northeast Asian shamanism as a cultural source of his artistry. A personified Blue Sky was the highest form of worship for the shamans of Mongolia. Throughout his life, Paik dealt with the essence of a shaman’s exorcism ritual, or gut , in a form based on Northeast Asian shamanism, which led the art critic and performance artist Allan Kaprow to describe Paik’s performance work, with an ironic but approving Dada-inspired expression, as “cultural terrorism from Asia.”

At the core, his early musical performances, such as Hommage à John Cage, Etude for Piano Forte, and Originale, were presented with a style rooted in Northeast Asian shamanism, thereby corresponding to Walter Benjamin’s concept of “cultural barbarism.” His performances, as culturally heterogeneous works, challenged the cultural traditions of the West, while disrupting its long-sustained cultural identity, and ultimately pressing it to pursue a Nietzschean “higher

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health.” Since the time of Oswald Spengler, a decline of the West and even the end of history, have been a Western preoccupation, leading to a search for new energy and richness from different cultures. Anthropology has been closely aligned with this process of cultural intellectual development in the West. Still unclear is whether the West has declined or not, but even if it has, it still seems to maintain an upper hand.

As for Ahn, her pursuit of “cultural confrontation” is a process of the body’s search for its voice, loosening the stiffened body notes through a process influenced by the shaman ritual performance, which soothes the world through shamanist exorcism.

Contrasting the negative with the positive in the form of a paradox, the body itself becomes a battleground of conflict between the shadow of modernization and the cultural archetype. Asking the question “Who am I?” is like the shaman who treads upon the blade of a fodder cutter. It amplifies the positive life force.

For example, 2006 Chunhyang, a work that enjoyed a successful European tour, was a dance drama that centered on a traditional Korean story line influenced by a more particular undercurrent of East Asia’s unique culture and driven by ambiguous forces of love and violence. The presentation of this work not only had a notable 42 Koreana | Spring 2010

impact on European audiences but also marked a turning point in the recognition of Ahn’s impressive work by Koreans. The European dance magazine Dance Now dubbed Ahn “the Pina Baush of Asia.”

“My performances are ‘allegories of human history.’ They contain insight into violence, the duality of human society, and new arrangements of forms and images. In principle, I’m not interested in actual politics, but what I’m doing is deeply connected to ‘the politics of art.’ Even without a specific political background, a person’s body, if it follows its own principles, has political resonance.”

Award Ceremony Performance As a celebratory performance, in conjunction with the award ceremony at the Nam June Paik Art Center, Ahn set up 74 pianos on the center’s front grounds and suspended another 24 pianos in the air as a tribute to Nam June Paik. This was a reflection of the kinship and offbeat paths that the two had shared in their artistic endeavors. This was particularly evident in a segment of her performance that was reminiscent of the time when Paik cut up a necktie worn by John Cage, during which Ahn cut up her own pleated fairy-godmother dress, made of white neckties, and gave away pieces while performing a fairytale teddy-bear dance to a piano rhapsody played by another teddy bear. In Chronicle of a Beautiful Dancer, another sequence of her performance, like a bountiful Mother Earth, Ahn flew through the air, with the help of

1~2 Scenes from Louder! Can You Hear Me! Ahn Eun Me is the dancer in the first photograph.

3~4 Performance of Let Me Change Your Name

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a crane, leading up to a climax in which she assaults a piano with an ax and scissors, as a takeoff on Paik’s previous antics. Through her presentation, she seemed to summon for “Paik’s return.”

“There is no salvation without a thirst for it. It is important to have empathy for the deep and low keys in the fundaments of life.” Exactly what does Ahn mean by this? Is she suggesting that even in this postmodern time, when everything is compromised and becomes a mere game of irony, life remains fundamentally unmoved? Or does she mean that life does not really progress and we should therefore be aware of its contradictions and paradoxes?

Choreographic Artistry Ahn’s 2009 performance of Princess Bari-The Life revealed the essence of her choreographic artistry. In this work, she presented the tale of Bari as a source of shamanism through a performance set in modern times. Blending a variety of performing art forms, such as pansori (Korean-style opera with solo performer), shaman narrative songs, and folk music, Ahn plays out the story in dance, to musical accompaniment. This “symphoca,” a term coined for a “symphonic arts” concept by Park Yong-gu, a “renaissance man” of Korea whose life spanned almost a century of East Asian history, can be compared to Wagner’s “Gesamtkunstwerk,” or “total work of art.”

“That the victim should forgive first is the teaching of Jesus.

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“To stir up the present, to give an epistemological shock is important.

In my case, I would say: ‘Every moment is a shock.’

The concentrated power within the brief time of an intense crisis leads members of the audience to experience a sudden ‘opening’ of themselves. That’s a special moment when intellectual energy is born.”

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The only human able to do so is a shaman. With indifference toward influencing a country or possessing power, the shaman becomes the mother of all, while Bari is a shaman who wants to become ‘bari,’ that is, ‘one who is cast away,’ through love and the power of life.”

In her shaman-inspired performances, Ahn does not engage in a communicative process of conveying particular messages.

She is not interested in expressing specific thoughts through words or images. Even if inexplicable, the opening of the world, as a noble experience, is the most important goal—indeed the sole purpose of her dance performances. The shaman as mediator between heaven and earth is the embodiment of an intellectual flexibility that seems to have gone missing in people. Heaven is “creative dynamism,” while earth is “total network.” What does Ahn say about the animated life that results from an interaction of dynamic energy and a networked environment?

“To stir up the time present, to give an epistemological shock is important. In my case, I would say, ‘Every moment is a shock.’

The concentrated power within the brief time of an intense crisis leads members of the audience to experience a sudden ‘opening’ of themselves. That’s a special moment when intellectual energy is born. I’m not a choreographer of the kind who uses a mathematical brain with editing skills. A dynamic statement that knocks 44 Koreana | Spring 2010

me down should have the power to communicate with people, so they experience it as a shock. That’s what I want. So if the audience says, ‘We’ve been taken in again by Ahn Eun Me,’ then it’s not just rhetorical. Of course, I go through many crises on my part because the communication through dancing is beyond the level of some conventional sign language that is agreed to. Language can cheat us, but we have to use it, and so in every crisis of overcoming this paradox, my spiritual friends helped me with their divine responses. In me, there exist many such friends.”

Looking Ahead In 2010, Ahn seeks to shed new light on life from a perspective of death, through her work Princess Bari-The Death . She wants to tell the story of how Bari saves her father, gives birth to seven sons while living three years deaf and three years mute, and becomes a shaman, whose actions symbolize the universal equality of peoples and nations. However, this will not be presented in some abstract and serious manner, as that is not in keeping with Ahn’s style.

“The idea of filial duty is a basic concept of the work. Ideas of equality and democracy also make up the background, but I pursue it with a comic imagination. I’m thinking of opening our minds through a dream that is hoped to come true, even if not in this

world. Moreover, a 33-year-old woman, with the body of a young girl, will play the role of Bari, and she is so wonderful, with a pure and unpredictable nature. With her as Bari, the audience can experience an angel who comes down to earth. I’m planning to invite 6,000 people afflicted with dwarfism.”

She will also be staging a new work in Heidelberg, Germany this year. She has already made a name for herself through such works as Let Me Change Your Name and Louder! Can You Hear Me. As for the latter, the critic Annette Hofmann has commented, “A beginning with great promise,” while another critic, Ludwig Amman, noted: “The fantastic still life had a surprise effect, capturing the audience from the first impression” and “there was not even a single idle second.”

Ahn is well-known for the difficult contortions of the dance routines that she creates and stages, exacting extreme physicality from herself and fellow dancers. She thereby portrays a motif of metamorphosis, according to her propensity for force versus antiforce, not only in regard to the non-Western body but to the Western physique as well. It is amazing to see how the body’s agility can be used to represent time and space, to such great effect.

“The truth is not to be honest, but long-dwelling, so long that the dwelling seems to be a waste of time. As Freud put it, the ‘principle of temporality’ is working, and after a long time has passed, we reach a ‘sudden truth.’ Showing the scabs of long dwelling, in a form of concentrated energy, that’s my dance.”

2 1, 3 Scenes from Ahn’s 2009 performance of Princess Bari-The Life 2 Ahn Eun Me, wearing a wedding dress made of neckties, performs Chronicle of a Beautiful Dancer to commemorate her receipt of the Nam June Paik Art Center Award.

Spring 2010 | Koreana 45

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ARTISAN

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ade artisan Kim Young Hee’s workshop has nothing but a plate, too large for a nameplate and too small for a signboard, to distinguish it from the other houses along an alley that winds like a stream through a residential neighborhood.

The two-story building in Ganeung-dong, Uijeongbu, in Gyeonggido Province, houses the artisan’s workshop on the first floor and his living quarters on the second. Unlike its façade, which is plain enough to be mistaken for an ordinary house, the interior of the workshop is like a wonderland. The space is divided into four work sections generally related to the processes of cutting and polishing raw stones, designing products, fabricating metal molds, and detailed handiwork. These sections are again divided into individual tasks, for which there are 20 workbenches. The workbenches and the wall surfaces are covered with hundreds of implements and tool kits.

Unlike a modernized production plant, which includes a division of labor, only two individuals, Kim and his apprentice, carry out all the processes in this workshop. They crisscross the work areas, using the numerous tools with the dexterity of a swordsman. A master jade craftsman and Gyeonggi-do Intangible Cultural Property No. 18, Kim Young Hee is the only artisan in Korea who is highly skilled in the making of jade wares and metal crafts.

Lifetime of Experience In Korea, jade wares have been crafted since the Bronze Age. The fact that beads of jade and other gemstones accounted for 68 percent of the artifacts excavated from Cheonmachong, a Silla royal tomb in Gyeongju, demonstrates that Koreans have long treasured works of jade. In the past, raw jade was rarely available and notably expensive. Moreover, cutting and crafting jade required the advanced techniques of artisans, so the government limited entry into the trade. In order to turn raw jade stone into a finished product, a series of intricate processes is involved. Based on a carefully prepared design, a jade stone is cut into pieces,

Kim Young Hee’s Works Reveal the Graceful Charm of Jade Jade has long been cherished throughout Asia. In Korea, China, and Japan, there was a belief that keeping jade in the home or carrying it would help to prevent misfortune and bring wealth to your family. A master jade craftsman and Gyeonggi-do Intangible Cultural Property No. 18, Kim Young Hee is the only artisan in Korea who is highly skilled in the making of jade wares and metal crafts.

Park Hyun Sook Freelance Writer | Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

46 Koreana | Spring 2010

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“Our ancestors believed that jade embodied the five virtues of benevolence, justice, wisdom, courage, and strictness. In line with this, some of my customers will have jade jewelry prepared for their children’s future wedding, even when they are still a young teenager, while grandparents will order jade accessories as gifts for their young grandchildren.”

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carved, and then polished. It is essential to create a design that takes advantage of the specific shape, color, and grain of the jade stone. In addition, exceptional skills as well as a high level of artistic craftsmanship are required of an artisan to carry out each process, which entail the use of a variety of equipment, such as a metal saw, sanding machine, spinning wheel, and diamond mill.

Kim Young Hee specializes in the making of jewelry and accessories of white jade, green jade, agate, crystal, amber, and other gemstones. Of note, this 53-year-old artisan was designated a Gyeonggi-do Intangible Cultural Property at the age of only 48.

Although a large majority of the artisans who have earned this honor are about ten years older, Kim’s lifelong experience in the crafting of jade wares spans a period of some 40 years, because of his early start at the age of only 13.

“I was born and grew up in Hongseong, Chungcheongnamdo Province. When I was 13, my mother passed away and my family was not well off. I had to quit school and move to Seoul with my father and two sisters to find work. An acquaintance of my father’s got me a job at the jewelry workshop of master artisan Kim Jaehwan, who was one of the leading jewelry makers in Korea. I was the youngest pupil that he had ever taken in, and I worked in his workshop in Jeongneung for 19 years. People would praise my master for his ‘heavenly skills.’ He was taciturn and difficult to please. In retrospect, I think those tendencies revealed his character as a diligent artisan. Although he did not speak much, I clearly remember a few occasions when he told me: ‘Never begin something if you don’t intend to do it perfectly from the beginning,’ and ‘Don’t try to fix your mistakes; just start the whole process all over again.’”

In his book Human Cultural Properties , the folklorist Ye Yong-hae (1929-1994), who

This finely crafted pin is part of Kim’s re-creation of a headpiece once worn by Empress Sunjeong.

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coined this term, referred to Kim Seok-chang as the last “royal jewelry artisan” of the Joseon Dynasty.

Although the younger brother of this royal jewelry artisan, Kim Jae-hwan was known to have been equally as talented as his renowned brother. He never praised his pupils and was blunt in his criticism, making them forever fearful of being reprimanded. However, he started to take notice of his youngest worker, while observing him with an affectionate interest, and regularly giving him suggestions and new projects.

“Maybe it was when I was 24 or so. My master, who had been so stern all this time, started to treat me with concern and suggested that I try to design and make various kinds of jewelry.

When I showed him a piece that I had made based on his suggestions, he just looked at it closely without saying anything, and then gave me another assignment. But the expression on his face when he took a close look at my work was itself a compliment, which made my heart overflow with joy.”

1 Jade ring with a modern touch. By combining the traditional with the modern, Kim hopes to have more people appreciate the elegant beauty of jade wares. The long hairpin is adorned with exquisite engravings of apricot blossoms and bamboo leaves.

2 T he cover of this green jade case is decorated with exquisite carvings of twin phoenixes, peony flowers, vines, and clouds. Fitted within the case are five elegant cases of white jade.

Personal Inspiration At about the age of 20, Kim began to learn from his master about how to make traditional accessories, such as norigae (tassel pendant), jangdo (silver knife), garakji (ring), gakdae (belt), tteoljam (ornamental hairpin) and binyeo (long ornamental hairpin). He was so intrigued with this knowledge that he wanted to learn everything about traditional Korean accessories. He visited museums, bookstores, and libraries to learn about their origin and history. He was fascinated to learn that the various patterns, which he thought were simply beautiful designs as he carved them on various articles, were in fact replete with symbolism and significance.

“It was around that time I learned about the sun, mountain, water, rock, cloud, pine tree, herb of immortality, tortoise, crane and deer, which made up the ten symbols of longevity and immortality. I also learned that plum, orchid, chrysanthemum and bamboo are known as ‘the four gracious plants,’ which represent the virtues of a gentleman. I found out as well, that in the past, a particular type and color of jade accessory represented the wearer’s social status. As soon as I learned something new, I craved to know more.

Each thing I learned led to another that stimulated my curiosity, and then another, and another.”

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Using every opportunity as a learning experience is still a habit of his. He does research on whatever sparks an interest in him, while recording information in a notebook and looking it up whenever necessary.

When he encounters an unfamiliar situation, he seeks out anyone who might be helpful, such as a crafts scholar, painter of traditional patterns, or gemologist with an intimate knowledge of jade and gemstones. He always keeps a notebook nearby so he can jot down any ideas that pop into his mind. Because design inspirations often come to him during moments of relaxation at home, and can disappear in a flash, he keeps two sets of notebooks and pens in his house: one on the bedside table and another on the dinner table. His stack of notebooks has grown steadily in line with his insatiable appetite to acquire more knowledge about jade crafts.

Kim Young Hee’s exquisite craftsmanship extends well beyond the making of jade wares, for which he has been designated Gyeonggi-do Intangible Cultural Property No.18. This is readily evident from a number of his masterful works, such as “White Jade Incense Case with Peony Design,” “Jade Ink Stone with Spring 2010 | Koreana 49

2 1 Headpiece of Empress Sunjeong 2 A king’s belt made of wood and covered with red silk and cotton padding, wrapped with yellow silk. The gold-rimmed accessories of white jade are engraved with dragons.

Peony Design,” and “Jade Incense Burner.” In 1999, at the 24th Korea Annual Traditional Handicraft Art Exhibition, he received a special prize for his “Green Jade Case with Twin-Phoenix Design,” a set of cases in which smaller white jade cases are fitted within a larger green jade case, highlighted by dramatic phoenix carvings. More recently, he has succeeded in re-creating the ceremonial crown of a Joseon Dynasty king.

For a three-month period, he dedicated all his efforts to conducting research on this crown and the techniques used for its production, and the making of his re-creation. In addition, he also reproduced a scroll portrait of King Yeongjo of Joseon, as well as the royal seals of King Myeongjong, Queen Inhyeon, and Queen Insun. A number of his works of traditional jewelry have been exhibited at Seokjuseon Memorial Folk Arts Museum of Dankook University, along with having been introduced at the “Traditional Clothing of North Korea” exhibition, previously held at this same museum. His re-creation of the coronet of Empress Sunjeong was presented as a gift to Queen Elizabeth II of Great Britain, during her visit to Korea in 1999, and is maintained by the British Royal Family.

As Precious as Jade

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Nowadays, reproductions of traditional artifacts account for about 30 percent of Kim’s efforts. He considers the replicating of artifacts as “extremely honorable work for an artisan.” While working on relics of traditional jewelry, he has come to greatly admire the aesthetic sense and technical skills of ancient artisans.

There are so many kinds of jade and such a wide variety of hardness that selecting the right stone for a specific purpose and then crafting it with

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4 3 Kim carves intricate designs onto a piece of coral.

4 This pendant in the shape of a butterfly is a re-creation of the original accessory that belonged to Queen of King Yeongchin. The butterfly-shaped metal piece is affixed to a jade piece, which is decorated with pearls, coral, and dark-green jade.

the proper skills are essential for the production of an exceptional work. In fact, this master artisan will still awaken in the middle of the night to write down a new idea that occurred to him in his slumber.

“Our ancestors believed that jade embodied five virtues: benevolence, justice, wisdom, bravery and strictness. Anything that was precious and beautiful would be referred to by the Korean word ok , which means jade. For example, a precious boy was called okdongja . And the sound of a lyrical voice would be described as ‘the sound of jade beads rolling on a silver tray,’ while the body of a king was known as okche , and his throne okjwa. White jade is the favorite of Koreans because a deep whiteness represents purity and righteousness. As for blue and green jade, I prefer the jade stones from Myanmar. As for Korea’s white jade, the stones from Chuncheon are excellent in quality.”

In the past, only the royal family and elite noble families could afford jade accessories. Therefore, the jade articles that have been handed down over the generations are today regarded as precious treasures. Kim Young Hee often meets people who show him their family heirlooms of jade, such as hairpins, rings and pendants, which are invariably the source of delightful stories.

“Now, I realize for the people who dearly cherish their family’s jade heirlooms that these articles are truly irreplaceable treasures, as seen in the related stories about love, affection, promise, and gratitude. I can now understand why some of my customers wish to have jade jewelry prepared for their children’s future weddings, as early as when they are still young teenagers, or why some grandparents order jade items as gifts for their young grandchildren. Whenever I receive such orders, it dawns on me that the jade jewelry that I’m going to make is not simply an article, but a vehicle for beautiful stories about people as pure as jade.”

When asked about anyone who is “as pure as jade,” he mentions his wife, Shin Ok-sun, who learned how to make traditional knot-works to enhance the artistic quality of her husband’s jade creations. Together, the couple obtains the best-quality silk thread for the colorful tassels that Shin intricately weaves to complement her husband’s jade pendants. Her knotted tassels make his jade accessories all the more beautiful and original. Kim Young Hee has often sought to combine the traditional with the modern in such works as brooches with a contemporary design that are engraved with exquisite traditional motifs.

In this way, he seeks to make a connection with people who think of traditional heritage as something distant or difficult to appreciate. His children are also supporters of his efforts to incorporate modern features into his works: his eldest daughter majored in metal crafts and jewelry design, while his son and youngest daughter are now studying sculpture and fashion design, respectively, in college. Kim Young Hee also operates a gallery of traditional court jewelry, named Yejibang, in Gwanhun-dong, Jongno-gu, Seoul. Here, his re-creations of historical relics are exhibited alongside modern jewelry items, such as brooches and necklaces.

“A Korean proverb tells us to distinguish jade from useless stones. But I think you can polish ordinary pebbles into gemstones. I believe the same is true for our lives: if you have a good heart and strive to make your days beautiful and worthwhile, your life will also sparkle like precious gemstones.” In his youth, when Kim Young Hee worked tirelessly from 9 a.m. until 10 p.m., while living on a daily bowl of instant noodles, his self-satisfaction with a completed work was enough to give him hope that his future would be as brilliant as a refined gemstone. At the age of 53, jade art remains a source of pleasure during the day, of dreams during the night, and of everything good in his life.

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MASTERPIECES

Connecting the Secular and Sacred Worlds Seungseongyo Bridge traverses a stream nearby the entrance of Seonamsa Temple. With its graceful form, striking presence, and natural scenery, this arched stone bridge is revered as a masterpiece of ancient architecture. Its structure and foundation, which are made of innumerable pieces and blocks of natural stone, were built by a workforce of mainly Buddhist monks.

Cheon Deukyoum Professor, School of Architecture, Chonnan National University Seo Heun- kang Photographer

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t Seonamsa Buddhist temple, which lies nestled in a valley below Mt. Jogye­ san, in Suncheon, Jeollanam-do Province, there are two ancient stone arch bridges that cross over a stream of crystal-clear waters. The bridge found upstream, called Seungseongyo, is the larger and more elegant structure.

With a large arch, in a perfect semicircle, the Seungseongyo Bridge (Treasure No. 400) was completed in 1707 (33rd year of the reign of King Sukjong of the Joseon Dynasty) by Monk Yakhyu. It was repaired in 1713 after being damaged by heavy flooding.

Legend of Seungseongyo Since long ago, the Buddhist temples found in Korea’s mountainous areas have often included stone arch bridges, known as a “rainbow bridge,” along the nearby pathways. According to Buddhist principles, the secular and sacred worlds are separated by a “Forbidden Stream,” over which a bridge is needed to connect the two realms. While crossing over the stream’s waters, which symbolize purity, the Buddhist faithful are said to cleanse themselves of the secular world’s impurities before entering the sacred temple grounds.

The construction of Seungseongyo is associated with a popular legend that tells of Monk Yakhyu (Hoam daesa), who meditated for 100 days in the hope of glimpsing an image of the bodhisattva Avalokitesvara (Bodhisattva of Compassion). But his efforts were to no avail. Overcome by despair, the monk sought to end his life by jumping off a cliff. At that moment, a woman appeared out of nowhere, saved the monk, and then vanished just as suddenly. Believing that he had somehow been rescued by Avalokitesvara, the monk dedicated himself to the construction of Seonamsa, where an image of the bodhisattva has been enshrined in its main hall, and also built the attractive rainbow bridge at the temple’s entrance.

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Seungseongyo Bridge is a single-arch stone structure. A small rock carving, in the shape of a dragon’s head, has been placed at the center of the arch (page 55). As a symbol that is said to ward off misfortune, the carving reflects the sentiments of the bridge builders Winter 2009 | Koreana 53 who wished for the safety of passersby as they crossed the bridge.

Along with enjoying mild temperatures year-round, which average about 14°C (57°F), the Suncheon area records annual rainfall of 1,500 millimeters, on average. The higher mountain elevation, where the temple is situated, receives considerably heavier rainfall than the low-lying plains of Suncheon, so a bridge like Seungseongyo serves a symbolic as well as practical purpose of providing access to the temple over the stream’s flowing waters. The construction of the stone structure no doubt required substantial resources and advanced architectural technology, which can be seen in its timeless beauty and continued usage today. Until recently, people could only access Seonamsa by crossing over the bridge; however, a nearby roadway has since been built in order to divert traffic away from the bridge and reduce the wear and tear on this ancient structure.

Aesthetic and Religious Significance Among the stone arch bridges in Korea, Seungseongyo is said to be the most attractive, in part because its impressive stone structure blends so naturally with the surrounding landscape.

Moreover, the stream’s flowing waters gather in a large, seemingly motionless pool directly under the bridge, adding to the scenery’s tranquility. At times, a reflection of the bridge arch can be seen on the water’s surface, forming a perfect circle. Seungseongyo is indeed a handsome stone bridge, whose elegant appearance is enhanced by the gracefulness of its natural environment. From a vantage point downstream, it is possible to catch a glimpse of the sky above, the water below, and a pavilion off in the distance while looking through the bridge opening, which create a scene of ideal harmony framed within the stone arch.

In Buddhist tradition, it is unusual to include the character seon (仙, meaning a Taoist hermit) in the name of a particular building or structure. Accordingly, the Seungseongyo and Gangseonnu names, along with being rare, seem to conjure up thoughts of the fabled imagery associated with Taoist hermits.

In living up to its lofty name, a visit to Seungseongyo will confirm its ability to exude an otherworldly aura of the mystical Taoism.

Although the bridge is a means of linking together the secular and sacred worlds, it is much more than a mere physical structure.

Seungseongyo is a sort of transitional space from the secular to the sacred. The path toward sacredness cannot be easy. As for

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true devotees, they would take pleasure in treading the pathway to pay tribute to the Buddha, while helping others along the way would be thought of as a virtuous deed. Similarly, the building of a bridge, in order to make access to a temple more convenient, would thus be regarded as a praiseworthy act of piety. As such, the workers who helped to build Seungseongyo must have felt that their efforts and sacrifice would earn them some points for a better existence in this world or the afterlife.

In pre-modern Korea, a bridge construction project would normally be undertaken by royal court ministries or in certain cases by a Buddhist temple. The construction of an elaborate stone bridge by a Buddhist temple required advanced technology and extensive manpower, typically led by Buddhist monks. And this was the case with the two arched stone bridges at Heungguksa Temple and in the town of Beolgyo, in Jeollanam-do Province.

And this was true for Seungseongyo’s construction as well. To the north of the bridge, you can find a commemorative monument that is inscribed with various details about the project, including the names of development principals and primary donors.

Architectural Features At the point where Seungseongyo spans the stream, its waters extend over a width of about 10 meters. The graceful stone arch, measuring 8.8 meters from pier to pier, is firmly grounded on a streambed surface of granite gneiss. The walkway atop the bridge structure measures 3.6 meters across, wide enough for two people from opposite directions to pass each other comfortably. The bridge arch is built with more than 140 large stone blocks.

A number of stone arch bridges can be found in Korea, but the span of Seungseongyo’s arch covers the greatest distance.

Because it stands on a solid surface of bedrock, the bridge is capable of bearing its heavy load and withstanding surging flood waters. The bridge structure was built by carefully stacking up small stones from the base, with a slight inward slant. To construct the bridge arch, precisely trimmed stone blocks were tightly wedged together to form the semicircular shape, which enables the weight of the upper structure to be distributed laterally. Each support pier sits on a huge stone surface, while small stone pieces were fitted together for the upper structure that extends to the

From a vantage point downstream, it is possible to catch a glimpse of the sky above, the water below, and a pavilion off in the distance while looking through the bridge opening, which create a scene of ideal harmony framed within the stone arch.

banks at both ends. The walkway surface is completed with rubble and earth.

Unlike the typical stone arch bridge seen in China, which has a steeply rounded walkway, the Korean versions tend to feature a flat upper deck, for the convenience of passersby. At the center of the arch, there is a small rock carving of a dragon’s head, facing downward. Although rather small in size, the carving serves to accentuate the bridge’s overall symmetry. In addition, the carved dragon’s head, a symbol that is said to ward off evil spirits, reflects the sentiments of the bridge builders who earnestly © Kwon Tae-kyun wished for the safety of the bridge as well as the people who cross over it from the secular world of suffering to the sacred world of the Buddha.

About 60 meters downstream is a smaller stone bridge known as Haseungseongyo. It is a relatively simple structure supported by a stone arch founded on a natural rock formation.

Unlike the larger and more refined Seungseongyo, this basic bridge has not been designated a cultural treasure, although it is situated within a Cultural Properties Protection Area.

Stone Arch Construction Arch construction technology, which originated in Rome, is said to have been transmitted to China, via Persia. Countless ancient arched structures can still be seen at various historical sites in the Western world, including the hanging gardens of Babylon and the Roman sewage systems. The stone arch bridge was introduced from China to Korea, which then transmitted it to Japan. It is presumed that Korea received this technology during the Silla Kingdom (57 B.C.-A.D. 668) from China’s Tang Dynasty.

The earliest account of bridge construction in Korea is recorded in Samguksagi (History of the Three Kingdoms) that includes

references to the Judaegyo and Ungjingyo bridges in Pyeongyang, which were completed in 414 and 498, respectively. However, the references are general in nature, with few details about their style and building materials. Korea’s oldest remaining stone bridges include Cheong­ ungyo, Baegungyo, Yeonhwagyo and Chilbogyo, all at Bulguksa Temple, which were completed in 751 (10th year of the reign of Silla King Gyeongdeok).

Along with Seungseongyo, the former two are often mentioned as the foremost examples of stone bridges in Korea. Located at the base of a mountain, the lecture halls of Bulguksa are built along a stone-lined embankment. To access these lecture halls, you must scale the steep embankment by using stone stairways, which are in the form of a bridge, although there is no actual stream below. Cheongungyo and Baegungyo are two arched bridges that are connected together to form a lengthy stone stairway leading to Jahamun Gate, which leads to the main sanctuary.

All over the world, you can find examples of beautiful arched bridge structures of historical significance. With variations in style and construction method by individual region, the arched bridge remains distinctive, in terms of its attractiveness and function.

As compared to the more basic bridges in Korea that simply join together long stone slabs, the arched bridge stands as a representative structure, featuring aesthetic refinement as well as architectural innovation. Specifically, Seungseongyo at Seonamsa Temple is a large structure built with heavy stones, which must have been difficult to handle without the aid of advanced machinery. Apart from its size, its elegant lines, structural perfection, and harmony with the surroundings all contribute to its status as an ancient architectural masterpiece.

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ART REVIEW

A New Home in Seoul for Korea’s Contemporary Art In 2009, Korea’s art community had cause to celebrate as it secured a site in downtown Seoul for a new museum, tentatively called National Museum of Seoul, affiliated with the National Museum of Contemporary Art. Last year, the government agreed to support the development of a museum facility on the site of the former Headquarters of the Defense Security Command and Seoul District Armed Forces General Hospital in Sogyeok-dong, Seoul.

Chung Jae Suk Reporter, Art and Culture News, The JoongAng Ilbo

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s for the National Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA), the primary home of Korea’s contemporary art, its out-of-the way location, in Gwacheon, Gyeonggido Province, has long been lamented. To the extent possible, an art museum should be centrally located for the convenience of visitors. But in order to visit MOCA, a majority of Seoul residents would have to make specific plans for this journey.

Because MOCA’s remote location seems better suited for some kind of research institute, people have often wondered why it cannot simply switch locations with any number of research institutes in Seoul, which do not necessarily take full advantage of their centrally located sites.

Museum Site in Seoul For some time, artists and leading figures of Korea’s artistic community have long had their eyes on the site of the former Headquarters of the Defense Security Command (HDSC) and the Seoul District Armed Forces General Hospital (SDAFGH), in Sogyeok-dong, as a possible location for the development of an affiliate museum of MOCA in central Seoul. In particular, these advocates emphasized that the presence of a new contemporary art museum in Sogyeok-dong, nearby Samcheongdong, would perfectly complement the area’s high concentration of art galleries and museums, along with providing a new focal point in Seoul that would help to revitalize Korea’s art scene.

Last year, the Korean government publicly announced its plans to build a new national museum, affiliated with Gwacheon’s MOCA, which had celebrated the 40th anniversary of its foundation in 2009, at the site of the former HDSC in Seoul. In conjunction with this, MOCA organized a “Beginning of a New Era” exhibition that was presented within the existing HDSC complex, from October 22 to December 6, 2009, prior to the start of the actual construction work.

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1 For his work Riot Felice, Lim Ok-sang had numerous police shields, pink in color, applied to the exterior of the building.

2 The exhibition opened with Angel Soldiers, a performing arts work by Lee Yong-baek

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Dark Shadows The “Beginning of a New Era” exhibition made effective use of the building spaces, which had previously served as an operational center for the military’s strategic command and counter-espionage activities. During the dark period of Korea’s authoritarian regimes, HDSC personnel also engaged in covert investigations and interrogations that targeted anyone thought to pose a threat to the powers that be. The site is thus integral to Korea’s modern history and a vivid reminder of the suppressive reign of its military dictators. When President Park Chung Hee was shot by one of his closest aides on October 26, 1979, he was quickly rushed to the military hospital, which was housed within the HDSC compound.

As a result of this real-life background, the opening of this once forbidden site to the general public generated widespread interest, well beyond that of a typical art exhibition. This “exclusive space,” associated with such painful memories, is thus being transformed into an “open space” for the public’s benefit.

Among the visitors who entered the exhibition area, there were those that did so with a sense of trepidation, as it had been off limits in the past. The same was true for the artists whose works were on exhibit. The space stood in stark contrast to the usual exhibition hall with white walls, high ceiling, and lighting systems to help create an atmosphere of openness. The buildings bore traces of the military regimes and soldiers. There was not only a lingering scent of weaponry and metallic furnishings, but also the vivid memories of those suppressed by the men then in power. The vacant rooms conveyed a kind of despair, while the building, which itself could be thought of as a work of installation art, seemed to radiate an eerie sense of ruthlessness.

Future-oriented Outlook The exhibition featured three sections: “Museum Project: For a New Art Museum,” which displayed artworks of the participating artists along with the MOCA’s collections; “Space Project: The 58 Koreana | Spring 2010

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New Beginning of Art” that accentuated the spatial, historical, social, and physical significance of the site, by highlighting elements of the HDSC building; and “Documentary Project,” which sought to document the transformation of this once exclusive realm of the power elite into an open space fully accessible by the general public.

A noteworthy feature of the exhibition layout was the use of the existing rooms for the showing of an individual artist’s works.

This format created a wholly different impression as compared to the usual exhibition hall with a vast display area, or with a few partitions forming large open spaces. To view the artworks, visitors needed to enter and depart each individual room, while following along the arrow markings on the floor. One could imagine hearing the echoing footsteps of people who had walked there in the past. In light of this building’s notorious past, the artists earnestly sought to engage viewers in a new conversation through their thought-provoking creations.

To open the exhibition, media artist Lee Yong-baek staged a performance, titled Angel Soldier , at the HDSC assembly hall.

For this, 100 men and women performers appeared in militarystyle uniforms that were adorned with floral designs, covering the stage with thousands of flowers. The uniforms bore the names of renowned late artists such as Nam June Paik, Korea’s famed video artist, and John Cage, the composer of impromptu music.

Life and death, peace and war flourished on the uniforms of the angel soldiers, whose camouflage created a large flower bed. The title Angel Soldier revealed the artist’s keen wit in condemning the violence of humankind.

Jheon Soo-cheon’s Imagining Three Dimensional Space , an expansive installation work that was displayed in seven rooms, seemed to offer an epic poem. By replicating the office setting of a military commander, exactly as it might once have been, Jheon’s artwork enabled viewers to return to the past. In the shower area, the water was running, as if the commander might appear at any

1 F or the National Safety, by Kim Taejun, symbolizes the abusive practices, including surveillance and intimidation, which past authoritarian regimes had used to suppress the general public.

2 T he Sublime–The Space of Heterotopia, by Kang Airan, is an installation work that encourages viewers to pick up one of the books displayed outside the room, as an interactive process.

3 W ith round faces covered with convex lenses, Attention, by Kim Ji Min, expresses human desires in a materialistic world.

4 1 025: With or Without Person, by Yun Suknam, is comprised of 1,025 wooden sculptures of abandoned dogs.

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To publicize the launch of this long-awaited project, a “Beginning of a New Era” exhibition was staged within the existing building, which for many people is still a dreaded site where Korea’s dictatorial regimes had perpetrated rampant human rights abuses against their own citizenry.

1 Gun, Germs, and Steel, by Choi Jeong Hwa, is composed of hundreds of florescent-colored plastic baskets piled up high on the rooftop of the former Headquarters of the Defense Security Command. As viewers look beyond this work at the surrounding neighborhood, the nearby Gyeongbokgung Palace naturally attracts their attention.

2 Above W, Above X, Y, Z, by Won Dayeon, features chairs made with wood and plastic-coated wire for viewers to sit on.

moment, while the bathroom obliquely suggested the nightmare of torture. Other scenes included a bed in a spacious room that reflected an erotic, yet emotionless, setting, along with the garbled conversations being emitted by wiretapping equipment. Amid real stories that no one dared to speak of, and a past that seemed to exist only in the imagination, this installation served to delve deeply into a repressed reality.

Meanwhile, Lim Ok-sang used the building for military drivers as the foundation of his large-scale work. In cooperation with architects, he had numerous police shields, pink in color, applied to the building exterior. The title, Riot Felice, a play on the words “riot police,” was provocative as well as whimsical. By introducing a joyful aspect to protest, this masculine realm took on a feminine character. The interior, reminiscent of a brothel, encouraged viewers to reflect upon the vicissitudes of life, which can suddenly turn in various directions.

The boundless imagination of young artists and their profound works are capable of turning the world on its head. For example, Kim Kira effectively challenged social conventions. With concern for minority groups and marginalized sectors of society, she 60 Koreana | Spring 2010

stands up for the disadvantaged. In Coca Killer, she tweaked the marketing propaganda of Coca Cola, an icon of today’s consumercentered capitalistic society. Her work seemed to challenge viewers to think about whether it made sense to simply continue to drink coke, which she depicted as a highly addictive drink that posed a health risk for people worldwide.

Beginning of a New Era What fundamental message did the 63 artists, which included established veterans and little-known newcomers, hope to express at the “Beginning of a New Era” exhibition? A representative example was Park Yongseok’s installation, See You Again in the Newer Appearance , that used satire to describe the public’s desires. Florescent lights collected from the HDSC building were stacked up in the basement and turned on, to the musical accompaniment of Choi Tae-hyun’s Florescent Lamp . These florescent lights that had illuminated the rooms and halls of the HDSC were now doing the same thing, in a different way—lighting an empty space destined to be reborn as a museum facility. What kind of future were these lights shining upon? The artist presented the

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3 The Fossil of Fear, by Ahn Kyuchul 4 Memory of Wind;Cloud-like Scenery,

by Kim Yun Soo

lights as a metaphor for the conversion of this space into a venue for the public’s enjoyment.

The spacious exhibition area was filled with art works. Using an audio guide to better understand the various works, a full-scale tour took more than two hours. The “Beginning of a New Era” exhibition was similar to a gift set with an assortment of items as it comprised a variety of modern art types in a compressed format, ranging from Art Informel of the 1970s to the Single Channel Video of the 2000s. Ironically, the military regimes behind the HDSC are now being recognized for their vital contributions to the remarkable success of Korea’s rapid economic development.

For any visitors in need of a respite or diversion, they could make their way to the rooftop level. There, along with the fresh air and views of the cityscape, you could also ponder a work by Choi Jeong Hwa, who looks to the marketplace for artistic inspi-

ration. While ignoring concepts of lowbrow and highbrow, he uses the ubiquitous plastic baskets of the market as his favorite material.

His personal motto is: “What’s art?

What I do is also art!” He thus insists that art be directly connected to life. Gun, Germs, and Steel , a work 4 composed of hundreds of red and yellow plastic baskets, piled up high, causes viewers to look at the distant Inwangsan Mountain from a new perspective, along with bringing the nearby Gyeongbokgung Palace up close, like a backyard garden.

Converting the HDSC into an art museum involves much more than the physical construction work. It will be the manifestation of the ardent dreams of those courageous individuals who endured personal sacrifice so that Korea’s democratization might eventually be realized. The new National Museum of Seoul will thus stand as a lasting tribute to these true heroes, largely unheralded but not forgotten.

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DISCOVERING KOREA

Korea:

How Did I Get Here?

Many of life’s opportunities come when least expected. In the spring of 2008, I found out that the Korean Language Education Department at Seoul National University was recruiting a tenure-track foreign professor to teach classes on teaching Korean as a second language. I applied for and was offered the position, returning to Korea. It was a big yet glorious move. I was home, really home. And then there was the language. More than learning Korean anew, I enjoyed learning the language as an insider, a participant, in the life of the university.

Robert J. Fouser Associate Professor, Korean Language Education, Seoul National University Ahn Hong-beom Photographer 62 Koreana | Spring 2010

Professor Robert J. Fouser has noted: “Each day brought new discoveries as I came into contact with a world of new words and expressions.”

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ou may find yourself in another part of the world…and you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?” The famous Talking Heads song “Once in a Lifetime” from 1980 begs an answer that is often hard to construct. For me, the answer to the question that Koreans often ask—what brought you to Korea?—comes easy: language and culture. Like yin and yang, the two elements form an ever-churning whole of what fascinates me about Korea. Over the years, one has attracted me more than another, punctuating my relationship with Korea into three distinct phases: student, observer, and participant.

Korea in the 1980s The student phase started in 1982 when I was visiting Japan for a summer. I was majoring in Japanese language and literature at the University of Michigan at the time, and, like many college students, took the ferry from Shimonoseki to Busan and spent a week in Korea, taking the train from Busan to Seoul and back. I was pleased that I could read some Chinese characters in the newspapers, and when I asked Koreans about it, they told me that Japanese is easy for Koreans to learn. And the language sounded beautiful.

Nearing graduation in 1983, my curiosity about Korean didn’t go away, and I decided to spend a year in Korea for language study before going to graduate school. The Korean Embassy in Washington sent me information on two universities that taught Korean: Seoul National University and Yonsei University—learners of Korean language now have many more choices. I chose Seoul National University, and studied Korean there intensively for a year. My Japanese ability certainly helped me learn Korean, particularly the similar word order and large common vocabulary from Chinese. I learned a lot and went back to the United States more or less fluent in Korean.

After finishing an M.A. in applied linguistics, I decided to teach English in Korea so that I could live in Korea and learn more Korean.

Japan was in the middle of bubble and was the place to be, but Korea was more compelling. I taught English skill classes, first for the Korean Army, and then at KAIST and Korea University for seven years before making the difficult decision to leave Korea to work on a Ph.D. in 1993.

When I look back on the time, I think it was the spontaneity in daily life and rapid social change that fascinated me. Each day brought the unpredictable. In the morning I never really knew what I would be going on at five o’clock in the afternoon. Korea in the 1980s was in the Spring 2010 | Koreana 63

midst of great change, moving from a rigid nationalistic dictatorship to a democratic society. The economy was booming, and Seoul was a vast construction site in preparation for the 1988 Olympics. A great cultural awakening was occurring as Koreans rediscovered their own culture while discovering foreign culture through travel and foreign study. It was the age of the “386 generation,” the generation that was born in the 1960s and that was the first generation of Koreans not to know colonialism, war, and grinding poverty. The anti-Americanism of the day rarely affected me personally, and I took it as part of the process of democratization and cultural awakening. Through it all, I remained a student, learning more Korean, learning about Korean culture, and wondering how a society could stay together in such a whirlwind of change.

Deepest Dive into Korean Culture In 1993, I began work on a Ph.D. at Trinity College Dublin.

The transition marked the beginning of my observer phase. I kept in touch with Korea through e-mail (not many users back then) and a magazine subscription. After several years of studying in Ireland, I was offered an associate professor position in English in Japan, and this made it easier to stay in touch with Korea. For some reason, perhaps the moves to Ireland and then Japan, I developed a strong interest in Korean art and literature. Or perhaps it was because these are easily observable outside Korea. Or perhaps it was because I felt a “dynamism” about Korean art and literature long before “Dynamic Korea” became a buzzword. Whatever the reason, I was prolific during this period, writing many journalistic articles, art reviews, and a weekly column in The Korea Herald that ran from 1996 to 2002.

I made my deepest dive into Korean high culture with my translation of a scholarly introduction to Korean literature by Kim Heung-gyu, a noted professor of Korean classical literature at When he returned to Korea in 2008, it felt like he had come home. Many of the shops and restaurants that he used to visit were no longer around, but the streets felt familiar.

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In 2006, Kagoshima University hired me to start a Korean language program and develop university-wide e-learning. This took me out of English teaching for the first time in my career and marked the beginning of the third phase of my relationship with Korea as a participant.

Korea University, under the title Understanding Korean Literature.

The Internet boom, the miraculous recovery from the economic crisis of 1997-98, and the excitement of the World Cup all reflected the same spontaneity and dynamism that I found so attractive about Korea in the 1980s. The election of the late Kim Dae-jung as president in 1997 brought home the extent of change in Korea: When I first went to Korea in 1983, Kim Dae-jung was in exile; 14 years later—a short time as political struggles go—he stood victorious in a fair presidential election. I could see the roots of the Hallyu boom because Korea had made the historically rare transition from culture-follower to culture-producer. And for all the ups and downs in politics and the economy, a more stable and secure society was emerging among the headlines.

Learning Korean as an Insider As my time in Japan stretched on into the middle of the 2000s, my writing about Korea gradually tapered off, leaving me unsettled. English education was wearing thin in middle age. Perhaps out of a sense of urgency, I looked for and found the improbable: a Korean teaching position at a Japanese university. In 2006, Kagoshima University hired me to start a Korean language program and develop university-wide e-learning. This took me out of English teaching for the first time in my career and marked the beginning of the third phase of my relationship with Korea as a participant. The Korean program was my show. The work was thrilling: I developed the curriculum, chose the textbook, hired a part-time teacher, and bought books for the library. I remember a frisson of joy every time I had to speak up for Korean language education in a meeting. Teaching Korean in Japanese was curious at first, but I got used to it quickly. The languages are close enough that they blend easily, and I remember forgetting which language I was speaking at times. After fading into the background somewhat since the early 1990s, language came to the fore again.

Many of life’s opportunities come when least expected. In the spring of 2008, I found out that the Korean Language Education Department at Seoul National University was recruiting a tenuretrack foreign professor to teach classes on teaching Korean as a second language. Teaching future researchers and teachers of Korean as a second language was a natural extension of my work in Kagoshima. I applied for and was offered the position, returning to Korea in September 2008. It was a big yet glorious move. I was home, really home. Many of the shops and restaurants that I used to visit were gone, but the streets felt so familiar. And one by one, old friends and former students got in touch, turning the first year into an extended homecoming party. Teaching Korean in Kagoshima caused linguistic confusion, but living in Korea again caused temporal confusion. At times, it seemed like I had never left, as if the 15-years hiatus had been a long vacation.

And then there was the language. Each day brought new discoveries as I came into contact with a world of new words and expressions. But more than learning Korean anew, I enjoyed learning the language as an insider, a participant, in the life of the university. I advised students, reviewed M.A. and Ph.D. theses, attended faculty meetings, applied for grants, all in Korean. It was a new world and the learning still goes on, making each day different.

For all the changes and new discoveries, I was struck by how things have remained the same; the spontaneity and dynamism that enchanted, first as student and then as an observer, is alive and well. Korean students are still polite, and average Koreans still have dreams—some great, some small, but all real. Each day brings surprises and thought provoking turns. So, as I look out at Seoul, so endearingly jumbled, from the terrace of my house in Nuha-dong next to Gyeongbokgung Palace, I look forward to the many surprises that life in Korea offers. My Korean journey goes on, and I smile, knowing that I will never be bored.

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ON THE GLOBAL STAGE

Bae Bien-U’s Photographs Resemble Korean Ink Painting As a result of his worldwide renown, Bae Bien-U was awarded a commission by the Spanish government to photograph the Alhambra and Generalife Gardens, which were designated a World Heritage Site in 1984.

He has also taken photographs of Changdeokgung Palace and pine trees in Gyeongju, Korea, and exotic flowers and trees in Tahiti. Though he has traveled far and wide during his career, Bae’s favorite subject remains the seascape nearby his hometown of Yeosu, Jeollanam-do Province.

Yoon Seyoung Editor-in-Chief, Sajin Yesul

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n 2010, the main stage of Bae Bien-U’s activities will be the European region. His trademark pine-tree photographs are being featured in the posters and postcards of a music festival to be staged in Salzburg, Austria, in the summer of 2010. Bae will present an exhibition of his works during the festival. In addition, he is also scheduled to lecture at the University of Zurich as a guest professor, and hold another exhibition in November in Paris.

During the late 1990s, Bae started to exhibit his photographic works abroad. In recent years, he has held more exhibitions in faraway places such as New York, Paris, London, Zurich, Berlin, and Madrid, than in Korea. Moreover, Bae’s global status as a distinguished photographer has been further highlighted by the inclusion of his works in the collections of world-famous institutions, including the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston, Museum of Contemporary Photography, and The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo along with Sol Le Witt’s Collection, Elton John’s Collection, and the Sisley Collection.

An Eye for the Horizontal A large-scale retrospective exhibition of Bae’s photographic career was presented at the National Museum of Contemporary Art, Deoksugung, in November 2009. The organizing committee stated that the exhibition was intended to provide the public with an opportunity to appreciate the pictorial essence of Bae’s photographic world. The 97 selected works included photographs of the exquisite seaside and landscape scenery around Bae’s hometown, pine trees, graceful ridgelines of Korean mountains and hills, and Biwon Garden of Changdeokgung Palace, as well as the Alhambra and Generalife Gardens in Spain. The photographs capture the wondrous harmony of the natural and man-made realms. The National Museum of Contemporary Art noted that Bae’s use of visual art expressions has made it possible for peoples from different historical backgrounds and cultures to engage in two-way communication based on the Korean traditional sense of beauty, while this impressive exhibition marked another milestone in Bae’s rise to the upper echelon of world-class photographic professionals.

Bae’s works combine feminine delicacy and masculine boldness. While being captivated by the allure of the boundless sea, he can be equally charmed by a simple flower or tree. In large part, it is the combination of his delicate and metaphorical expression with his magnanimous character that enables audiences to experience the masculine and feminine aspects which permeate his works. Moreover, it is the encounter between his frank personality, unbounded style of expression, and intense emotions, which elevates Bae’s photographs of pine trees, the seas, Tahitian flowers, and the magnificent architecture of Jongmyo Shrine, into true works of art.

Kim Jong Ku, a professor at Ewha Womans University, has cited Bae’s unique eye for the horizontal as the key reason his works can resonate with the sentiments of Eastern audiences and those of the Western world as well. As such, Bae’s photographs

Images of Bae’s trademark pine-tree series

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of pine trees and seascape scenery exude a sense of calm, presence, and deepness among viewers. Of course, landscape scenery is a favorite subject of countless photographers; however, in the case of Bae, his scenic photographs manage to strike a deep chord within Korean and foreign audiences because of the magnificent beauty and profoundness that are revealed through his tranquil and quiet expression.

Seascape and Pine Trees Bae is widely known at home and abroad for his highly acclaimed pinetree series. However, Bae has indicated that the first and final photographs he intends to take during his career will be of the Yeosu seas, not pine trees. Born in Yeosu, Jeollanam-do Province, Bae was fond of drawing pictures from the time he entered elementary school. While studying Visual Communication Design at Hongik University, he was introduced to the world of photography by an upperclassman. His passion for photography, together with what he describes as an unquenchable wanderlust, charted a path into the world beyond Korea.

“When I was a child, I didn’t have a camera so I would instead draw pictures of the seaside. Thus, I have always said that I started taking pictures of the sea from when I was in the first grade. To me, the sea is my hometown, my inspiration, and the place where I feel most comfortable. I regard the south coast of Korea as my home, and it will continue to be my primary theme until I retire.”

An ardent traveler, Bae has visited a number of coastal areas with picturesque scenery, including the Mediterranean. However, he claims that such journeys have only served to confirm his regard for the wondrous beauty of 68 Koreana | Spring 2010

2 1 Photograph from Bae’s seascape series that showcase the seaside scenery nearby his hometown of Yeosu

2 Bae once remarked: “Cameras are the paintbrush of the modern era.”

3 3 Photograph of the seas of Tahiti, from Bae’s seascape series

4 Photograph of Bae’s Hyangiram Hermitage series. While working on this project, Bae would walk daily from his home to the hermitage, over a distance of about 20 kilometers each way.

Korea’s south coast. He is thus driven by an intense desire to make the gorgeous seascape of the South Sea better known to the world. For Bae, who says that he is happiest when gazing out at the seas of Yeosu, he derives immense pleasure from simply wandering around the camellia and pine trees found on any of the numerous small islands scattered about the waters off Korea’s southern coast.

Contrary to his outgoing nature, Bae has a greater interest in plant life than in the animal world. In fact, while on a tour of Africa, he preferred to view the savanna landscape instead of venturing about on a safari expedition. Bae recalls that he was particularly impressed by the baobab tree. He is especially curious about native trees, flowers, and open plains. His affection for flora is reflected in his photographs of the pine trees of Gyeongju, mountain ridges of Jejudo Island, and the forests of Tahiti. As a result of an exhibition of his famed pine-tree series held at the Thyssen Art Gallery in Spain in 2006, Bae was awarded a commission by the Spanish government to photograph the Alhambra buildings and natural scenery of Generalife Gardens.

Bae’s photographs adeptly integrate the graceful beauty of Korea’s traditional form of painting, known as sumukhwa (ink painting). In his photographs, the shades of black and gray used in an ink painting are replaced by gradations of darkness and lightness. Moreover, the elegant hand-rendered partitioned spaces of the ink painting are replicated through a salient use of blank space in his photographs. The appeal of his works does not originate from the vertical or curved trunks of the pine trees that crisscross his images, but rather from the blank spaces between the pine trees that create an impression of coming upon a forest emerging from a shroud of mist.

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According to Bae, the best approach to taking outstanding photographs is simply to “take as many photos as possible.� When I asked him whether he was still taking photographs of pine trees after 25 years, Bae said that the pine trees, like his career, have undergone considerable change over time.

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1 Photograph from Bae’s Tahiti series 2 An example from Bae’s Orum series 3 Photograph of Buyongjeong Pavilion from Bae’s Changdeokgung Palace series

His photographs of the mountain ridges of Jejudo Island and seascape scenery reveal similar effects. The contoured mountain ridges create blank spaces at the point where the sky and mountains intersect, but such spaces are never empty voids. Rather, the viewer is free to complete the space with his own desires and dreams. In the traditional Korean form of ink painting, the blank space is equally important as the painted areas, in regard to the overall composition. As such, Bae’s ability to apply this traditional principle to his photography is the reason his works have managed to catch the eye of even the most discriminating viewers in Korea and abroad.

Continuous Clicking These days, Bae’s professional fame has reached a height that he probably thought might never be possible at the time when he first took up photography some 30 years ago. However, his feet remain firmly planted on the ground, while his passion for photography has not diminished in the least over the years. Still, never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined, while taking photographs of pine trees, that a single photograph of his would command a price of 100 million won (about $90,000). The presidents of renowned brands, such as Sisley, Mango, and Cartier are now fans and collectors of his works. During the Korea-U.S. summit held in June 2009, President Lee Myung-bak presented President Barack Obama with an album of Bae’s works, entitled The Beauty of Korea. It can be said that his photographs are a kind of universal language.

He does not believe that this remarkable success has resulted solely from his own doing. That being said, Bae feels that in all probability anyone who is willing to pursue a career over the long term and remains committed to his principles is likely to experience a moment when the planets fall into perfect alignment. But such fortuitous circumstances, which can appear out of the blue, can also disappear just as quickly. In any case, this is of no concern to Bae, since he simply loves everything about photography itself, regardless of whatever ups and downs his career might experience.

While reflecting on his future, Bae notes: “If I ever take all the photographs of the south coast scenery, I will probably wrap up my career as a photographer. I do not know how long I will be able to keep taking photographs, but it seems that I should be able to make my way to the seashore for at least another ten years, don’t you think?”

During his 30-year tenure as a professor at the Seoul Institute of the Arts, Bae has constantly admonished his students with a basic credo: “There are no shortcuts. Just work hard and a path will open up for you.” This can be taken to mean that there are no secrets to success; it ultimately results from the commitment of your time and effort. According to Bae, the best approach to taking outstanding photographs is simply to “take as many photos as possible.” That is exactly what he does. When I asked him whether he was still taking photographs of pine trees after 25 years, Bae said that the pine trees, like his career, have undergone considerable change over time.

The same is true for the sea as well. Although the seaside is a constant presence, it is forever changing—from high tide to low tide, morning to evening, from season to season. But even in the case of an unchanging subject, there are always different ways for it to be viewed. It is for such reasons that he feels the need to continuously take photographs.

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ON THE ROAD

© Yun Ki-jung

Daejeon,

Where People Embrace a Slow-paced Life The city of Daejeon, whose name means “big field,” is crisscrossed by Korea’s primary expressways and railway lines. It has long been associated with the nearby Yuseong hot springs, but it has now established its own identity as a center of research and education as well.

Kim Hyungyoon Essayist | Ahn hong-beom Photograper 72 Koreana | Spring 2010

Uam Historical Park at the base of Mt. Gyejoksan is a tribute to the renowned Confucian scholar Song Si-yeol of the Joseon Dynasty, who studied at this site.

It features an elegant garden area where he contemplated matters or simply relaxed amid a scene of tranquility.

Don’t be sad, I’m leaving now Without saying good-bye The first train from Daejeon leaves at dawn, at 0:50 On this quiet night when everyone is sleeping Who knew I would be crying out loud Ah…the one-way train to Mokpo just keeps on going These are the opening lyrics of a song entitled “Daejeon Blues,” a true Korean classic. Since its release in 1959, it has

been performed and played countless times. For even someone like me, who can hardly carry a simple tune and thus remains in the background when I might be dragged along to a karaoke room (noraebang ), the lyrics to this song are familiar. So it would be unthinkable for a Daejeon native not to know it by heart.

This song, which is always played at home games of the Daejeon-based Hanwha Eagles baseball team, remains an enduring and poignant symbol of Daejeon.

Mountains and Streams Daejeon is a city of trains. It stands at the center of transportation networks that connect all corners of the country.

The two longest train lines in Korea, the Gyeongbu and the Honam, pass through the city. In “Daejeon Blues,” it tells of someone who slinks away, headed for Mokpo, the southern terminus of the Honam line. The Gyeongbu line, between Seoul and Busan, was completed in 1904, while the Honam line, which connects Spring 2010 | Koreana 73

Daejeon with Mokpo, began operation in 1914. Along with the railway lines, most of the country’s major expressways, from north to south and east to west, also pass through Daejeon, making the city a vital hub of Korea’s ground transportation system.

Koreans will often refer to Chung­ cheong-do Province, where Daejeon is located, as a “land of the slow.” Indeed, it is home to mild-mannered people who tend to speak and act in a leisurely way, along with rarely showing flashes of anger or excitement. On the other hand, the people of Gyeongsang-do Province, to the south, are known to be so impulsive that they are said to reveal their lifestory in the first ten minutes after meeting someone. They are often contrasted with Chungcheong-do people to highlight the stark differences. The character of the Chungcheong people is aptly portrayed in “Daejeon Blues.” First, the song’s deliberate tempo moves along limply. Then, one person departs, unable to say “goodbye,” while the other is left behind, crying in the dark.

In Daejeon, even its nature seems to embrace you. The fields are broad, surrounded by rather low-lying mountains topped with graceful ridges. Winding their way through the wide expanse of land that the city occupies are three streams: Daejeoncheon, Yudeungcheon, and Gapcheon, which flow from south to north

and eventually merge into the Geumgang River. I took a walk along the banks of Gapcheon Stream. It was almost sunset, but I walked until darkness surrounded me. I walked along the pathway’s cushioned surface and across grassy open spaces. I also made my way over a path of stepping stones to reach the opposite bank. A number of people were also out and about, including joggers, walkers, and bicycle riders. The wide banks easily accommodated this traffic, coming and going. A young man with a rod and reel strode toward the water and cast his line into the stream, even as the darkness took hold.

The next day, I ventured out to Yudeungcheon Stream for a peaceful, leisurely walk. It is wonderful indeed for the city to have such pleasant waterside areas right alongside the downtown area.

In the past, I had visited Daejeon on occasion, but always for work, without a real chance to get out of the city center. I was thus determined to fully enjoy the natural environment. So, after walking along the streams, I gazed toward the mountains.

I had never realized how this wide, flat transportation center of Korea was surrounded by 11 mountains. They were hardly imposing, reaching heights of 400 to 500 meters. In fact, Mt. Jangtaesan, in the city’s western area, stands no more than 374 meters high. It seems that these mountains take after the local residents,

who are inclined to not create a difficulty or obstacle for others.

I made a visit to Mt. Gyejoksan, in the east, which is 429 meters in height. Its name means “chicken’s foot mountain,” because its ridges extend outward in various directions, like the toes of a chicken’s foot. According to legend, the rain that falls after a dry spell are tears from the mountain. Atop the mountain, you can find an ancient fortress. It is said to have been built by the Silla Kingdom in the sixth century (though others believe it is Baekje in origin), and was used as a military base by the succeeding Goryeo and Joseon dynasties through the 19th century. From the mid-slope level, a 20-minute walk up a steep path takes you to the fortress, a structure of piled-up stones circling the peak. While looking out from the fortress, it is evident that while the mountain might be of a low height, it stretches out in all directions like “chicken toes.”

My plan was to climb up to the mountain top and then back down again. But the zigzag ridges stretching out into the distance beckoned me. And the glistening blue waters of Daecheongho Lake, viewed from the east gate of the fortress, attracted my interest as well. The path through the forest was pleasant. When a mountain path is wide enough for two or three people to walk abreast, I sometimes worry about bumping into someone coming from the opposite direction. But

1 Daejeon Station. On a daily basis, the highspeed KTX (Korea Train Express) passes through Daejeon 50 times, to and from Seoul, with a one-way journey taking about 60 minutes.

2 The Gapcheon area is a popular spot for Daejeon residents to enjoy water sports.

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2 © Yun Ki-jung

the paths, though wide enough for one person, are too narrow for two people to pass, so everyone walks in single file. One problem that I did encounter was a lack of directions where a fork created two separate paths. Moreover, the few signs that I did come across only provided confusing directions which were not helpful enough for a visitor. I was afraid that a foreign visitor in this area would have to somehow fend for himself as those signs do not carry translations.

From the mountain, I walked eastward to Daecheongho, arriving at an open area in front of the lake. By this time I was hungry. It was well past lunchtime, but there was no sign of any food in the area. My hunger would have to wait. A

picturesque view does not always require a full stomach for its appreciation. But I was disappointed to come across barbed wire strung along the lake’s edge, which made it impossible to reach the water.

Earlier in the morning, before heading to Mt. Gyejoksan, I took a quick tour of the dam built upstream from the lake, but had failed to reach the water’s edge as well.

The closest that you can get to the water is from the observatory, situated well above the lake. As I descended the mountain, I hoped to reach the lake’s shore, where its waters could lap gently at my feet. But I had to be satisfied with observing groups of winter birds frolicking along the water’s edge, while peering through the barbed wire. Of course, since the lake serves as

a main source of drinking water for area residents, it seems that barbed wire is needed for security purposes.

Aside from Mt. Gyejoksan, I have yet to visit the other mountains of Daejeon.

Internet sites and guidebooks, however, indicate that each of the 11 mountains around Daejeon is attractive in its own way, while suggesting that Bomunsan, Sikjangsan, Jangtaesan, and Maninsan are well worth a visit and can be easily reached from the downtown area. Judging from my day at the “chicken’s foot” mountain, I agree with them.

Hot Springs Experience I spent a night at Yuseong. Located about 11 kilometers west of Daejeon, Spring 2010 | Koreana 75

Yuseong is a popular hot springs resort area. During the Archaezoic era, it is said that alkali-radium waters broke through the granite layers here, supposedly the oldest-known stratum on the Korean Peninsula, to form a natural reserve of heated water, with a temperature of about 40°C. Known to cure all manner of skin ailments and an effective treatment for neuralgia and related maladies, written accounts of the Yuseong hot springs first appeared more than 1,000 years ago. But it was only after the Gyeongbu and Honam railway lines began passenger service in the early 20th century that Yuseong began to attract the public’s interest. After the Chungcheongnam-do Provincial Office was relocated from Gongju to Daejeon in 1932, the Yuseong area came to be developed into a tourist resort.

The name of Daejeon, which means “big field,” gained recognition in 1904 when the Gyeongbu railway line opened, with the Daejeon Station being a midway stop. Thereafter, this sleepy agricultural area, which outsiders took little notice of, began to develop into a major city. Previously, Gongju had been the largest city

in the province, and was thus the leading candidate for a middle stop of the Gyeongbu railway line. But Gongju’s conservativeminded yangban (aristocratic class of the past), who resisted the introduction of new cultural influences, opposed the construction of a Gyeongbu-line railway station, which was instead built in nearby Daejeon.

The dawn of railway transportation, which helped to spawn the industrial age, brought a gust of wide-ranging change to the “big field.” As a transportation center that facilitated the exchange of people and goods, the city flourished. Indeed, Daejeon soon assumed Gongju’s former function as the commercial center of the Chungcheong region, and later its administrative function as well. Daejeon’s rapid development brought prosperity to the Yuseong area as well, which became one of the earliest areas in Korea to be developed into a hot springs resort. With the launch of railroad service, people from all over the country began arriving on trains.

The hot springs area in Yuseong is surrounded by a number of lodging facilities, restaurants, drinking establishments, and karaoke businesses, concentrated within

a compact district that can be easily navigated on foot, in just one hour.

Records indicate that there are some 145 lodging facilities in Yuseong, including hotels and numerous motels. The city is like a “motel expo” at night, with individual establishments hoping to attract guests with their distinctive exterior and flashing neon signs. Based on my travel experience, I have found a large majority of the motels in this area to be reliable and with adequate accommodations. Moreover, with rates about a quarter of hotels, the motels are every bit as clean and comfortable as four-star hotels in New York or London. Here there are no creaky floors as in some of the old hotels in London.

Oftentimes, visitors will have good things to say about their lodging in Yuseong. Not all hotels have a refrigerator in a regular room, but the motels here provide a refrigerator as well as toothpaste, toothbrush, soap, shampoo, aftershave, and towels, free of charge. Foreign visitors should thus have no reservations about stay at a motel in Yuseong.

Yuseong motels often advertise that guests can watch movies in their rooms.

Daejeon’s central location enabled the Yuseong area to prosper as a visitor destination. With the launch of railroad service, people from all over the country began arriving on trains. The hot springs area is surrounded by a number of lodging facilities, restaurants, drinking establishments, and karaoke businesses, concentrated within a compact district that can be easily navigated on foot, in just one hour.

© Yun Ki-jung

1 Expo Park of Daejeon 2 Gyejoksanseong Fortress was built atop a mountain sometime in the sixth century, during the Three Kingdoms period.

3 Visitors to Yuseong Hot Springs can enjoy a foot sauna. While dressed in winter clothing, you can soak your feet in the hot spring water, which is said to be ideal for relieving stress.

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© Yun Ki-jung

Having some time, I wandered about while looking over the varied motels, and finally decided on a 24-hour jjimjilbang, a kind of sauna-spa-bathhouse complex. Indeed, this can make for a definitive Korean experience. Northern Europe and Germany are known for their sauna facilities, but only Korean saunas are open and have customers around the clock. The jjimjilbang culture is unique—not only can you enjoy the sauna and spa, you can also have a snack or meal, and nap or slumber in a large rest area for both genders. Of course, outfits are supplied and must be worn in public areas and you must show consideration for other guests. Foreign visitors, who are 78 Koreana | Spring 2010

willing to put up with the sound of someone snoring away nearby, should have a memorable experience. Many foreign residents in Seoul have come to enjoy the varied attractions of a jjimjilbang. Paying an admission fee about one-fifth the cost of a motel room, I spent the night at a jjimjilbang, where the radium-infused water was nice and hot, leaving me with a comfortable sense of smoothness.

Learning from Past Experience Nearby Yuseong is Daedeok Innopolis. Encompassing an area of 27.6 square kilometers, its facilities include the National Science Museum, EXPO Park,

Daedeok Center for Science and Culture, and a medical center, along with some 60 research institutes and apartment buildings for the area employees and their families. In the early 1990s, when I first visited this area, I recall thinking: “It’s so huge!”

The research institutes were scattered across a vast area, with wide roadways.

Although the cars are few and far between, you need to drive defensively because the open roads encourage speeding. Today, some 20 years later, the science town’s appearance is little changed, except for heavier traffic.

Daedeok Innopolis is home to 19 educational institutes, including the notable

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1 The waters of Geumgang River accumulate behind Daecheong Dam, forming a vast lake at the foot of the surrounding mountains. The roadway along the lake’s shoreline offers spectacular views of natural scenery.

2 The distinguished Joseon scholar Song Jun-gil (1606-1672) resided in Dongchundang, not far from Daejeon.

KAIST (Korea Advanced Institute of Science and Technology), which boast an enrollment of almost 170,000 students.

Accordingly, Daejeon has come to be known as a city of education and R&D. Above all, this has resulted from Daejeon’s central location, convenient transportation access, and the availability of vast areas of undeveloped land. In addition, the character of Daejeon has been shaped by its rich history as well.

In 2004, Korea’s oldest mummified remains were discovered at the foot of Mt. Bomunsan, in Mokdal-dong, Daejeon. It was recovered from the family gravesite of the Song clan, descendants of Song Hyo-sang, a scholar of the Joseon Dynasty, along with a collection of ancient clothing items. Forty items of clothing were restored and displayed at a recent exhibition held at the Daejeon Prehistoric Museum. The exhibition attracted the keen interest of folklorists as the clothing articles shed new light on the everyday lives of Hoseo Sarim, a group of Confucian scholars based in the Chungcheong region.

Hoseo Sarim belonged to the Giho School of scholars who carried on the teachings of Yi I, a foremost Neo-Confucian scholar of the Joseon Dynasty. The group’s leading members included Song Si-yeol and Song Jun-gil, who have long been revered by the people of Daejeon for their spiritual guidance, integrity and exemplary life style.

East of Daejeon, in a forested area of Gayang-dong, is Uam Historical Park, on

the site where scholar Song Si-yeol (pen name: Uam) lived and studied. He was born in 1607 and lived to an age of 82. He was a typical Korean scholar, known for his stubborn ways. The exhibits include buildings in which he studied, along with examples of his writings and various artifacts. The relics of Song Jun-gil can be seen at a park area developed around Dongchundang, the house where Song Jun-gil once resided, whose name means “always like spring.” The name board of the house was written by his friend and associate, Song Si-yeol, who lived much longer.

In front of Daejeon Railway Station is the local subway station, which includes an underground shopping center. Whereas the traditional markets, which have offered everyday goods for sale to local residents for years on end, are slowly dying off, the underground shopping center is crowded till late at night, with young people shopping for the latest fashions and new electronic devices. This contrast demonstrates the potent energy that has turned this once quiet country town into a bustling urban city. In Daejeon, a city where the people have long embraced a slow-paced life, change seems to have come more quickly and widely than expected. Still, many simply take all of this in stride. Taking one last glance at a monument inscribed with the lyrics of “Daejeon Blues,” standing in a corner of the station plaza, I went to catch my train with my mind at ease.

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CUISINE

Stir-fried Squid Rice: Flavorful, Healthful and Economical Squid has long been a favorite ingredient of Korean cuisine, while more recently it has attracted attention for its nutritional value as well. A popular offering made with squid is ojingeo-deopbap , a kind of stir-fried squid and rice dish, which is flavorful, nutritious, and inexpensive.

Shim Young Soon Director, ShimYoungSoon Korean Food Research Institute | Author, Best Tastes of Korean Food Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

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here are about 500 species of squid (or calamari) in the world, but only about 15 to 20 types are suitable for human consumption. Korea’s squid fishing grounds are evenly distributed in waters along the eastern, western and southern coasts. Squid is harvested year-round, but their numbers hit a peak during August through October. These days, commercial vessels are equipped with freezers for storing the catch as soon as it is brought aboard, assuring a steady supply of squid in the marketplace all year round.

Nutritional Value

Stir-fried squid with rice is a favorite Korean dish thanks to its savory flavor and high nutritional value.

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Squid is a rich source of protein, along with containing trace amounts of vitamins A, E, B1, and B2, as well as niacin, potassium, iron, zinc, and copper. Vitamin E, zinc, and potassium activate cellular function and promote the body’s absorption of iron. The protein content is especially high in dried squid, about three times greater than that of beef. As for its high content of phosphoric acid, this can be offset by serving squid with alkaline vegetables. Some people had avoided squid because it was known to contain 180 milligrams of cholesterol per 100 grams, but more recent research has found that the cholesterol of fish and shellfish is related to the “good” cholesterol, which does not pose a health risk and is actually beneficial for controlling cholesterol levels.

In addition, as compared to other fish and shellfish, squid contains two to three times more taurine, which helps to reduce cholesterol, and 25-60 times more than any kind of meat (327-854 milligrams per 100 grams). When squid is dried, the taurine appears on the surface as a white residue. Squid is low in fat but rich in fatty acids, such as EPA and DHA. It also contains a high content of selenium, which is indispensable for normal cellular function, and also helps to extract

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Squid is often cooked without removing the skin, which adds to its nutritional value.

Lightly scoring the flesh with a trellis pattern will keep the skin intact and result in a decorative effect when served.

toxic elements and prevent the intake of cancerous agents. Moreover, squid ink includes melanin pigment, which is said to deter harmful bacteria and prevent the development of ulcers.

Fresh Squid Fresh squid has a clear bluish-brown color, protruding eyes, and a transparent, glossy skin. The suckers should be firmly attached to the legs, and the stronger the sucking motion, the fresher they are. Over time, a squid will develop a darkish red color, which indicates that they are not so fresh. Among the popular squid varieties, firefly squid is flavorful in summer while cuttlefish and far eastern arrow squid taste best in the winter. After being caught, squid can live in sea water for two or three days. Live

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squid has a softer, more pliable flesh after cooking, as compared to a squid that had been flash-frozen at minus 35째C and then thawed out.

Squid is more nutritious when cooked without removing the skin. However, the skin will shrink and can become rather tough after cooking, along with turning a darker color. Usually the skin is left on when the squid is cooked with a dark sauce or when it is stuffed with vegetables or other ingredients. The skin is removed for dishes when clean, light colored flesh is desired. Lightly scoring the flesh with a knife will help to keep the skin intact and result in a decorative effect when served.

Variety of Preparation Squid can be cooked in a variety of ways. The simplest method is to parboil the squid and eat slices with a dipping sauce of red pepper paste and vinegar.

Parboiled squid is tasty with a pleasant firmness. The sauce can be made by combining five tablespoons of red pepper paste (gochujang ), with two tablespoons vinegar, one tablespoon sugar, and two tablespoons Sprite.

Another favorite dish is deep fried squid, made by first removing the insides, patting the squid dry, and dredging pieces in a flour batter. The pieces are deep fried in oil and eaten with a soy sauce dip. Fried squid is one of the most popular foods available at street-side stalls, along with tteokbokki, rice cake with red pepper sauce. Roasting live squid whole,

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Ojingeo-deopbap Ingredients A. 2 ½ cups rice, a dash of salt 1 teaspoon cooking oil,

⅓ teaspoon sesame oil B. 1 squid (head, legs), 5 grams kelp, 30 grams anchovies, 1 tablespoon hyangsinjeup* 2 cups water, 1 teaspoon salt

with the insides intact, is the most effective way to get the most out of a squid, in terms of tastiness and nutrition. As for a popular version of ojingeo-deopbap , the rice, which is topped with stir-fried squid and sauce, should be cooked with a squid stock for added flavor. However, to simplify the preparation, regular steamed rice can be used.

C. 1 squid (body) 30 grams prawns, 1 green chili 10 grams shiitake mushrooms, 20 grams green beans 30 grams eggplant 20 grams onions, 30 grams turmeric 1½ tablespoons cooking oil 1 tablespoon hyangsinjeup A dash of pepper and salt D. 1 teaspoon red pepper paste (gochujang) ½ tablespoon fine red pepper powder (gochugaru ) ½ tablespoon corn starch, ½ tablespoon soy sauce ½ cup stock made with ingredients from B. 1 tablespoon corn flour, or 1½ tablespoons glutinous rice flour * (Hyangsinjeup is an extract of various spices and ingredients. Grate radish (200 grams), onion (200 grams), garlic (200 grams), and ginger (10 grams). Squeeze the ingredients and collect the extract. The preparation of hyangsinjeup is optional and can be omitted.)

Preparation 3 1 Kelp, anchovies, and salt are essential ingredients of Korean cuisine that are combined to make a stock for various soup dishes.

2 The prepared ingredients are quickly stir-fried over high heat.

3 Carefully scoring the squid flesh will help to keep the skin intact

1. Rinse rice and heat in a pan with ingredients from A. 2. Boil together ingredients from B. and then pour liquid through a sieve. Cook the rice with this liquid.

3. Score flesh with trellis marks at 1-centimeter intervals, and parboil.

Cut the cooked squid into thin slices along the diagonal.

Parboil unpeeled prawns, then peel and cut into thin slices.

After removing stalks, slice mushrooms, and marinate in soy sauce.

Cut eggplant into thin slices and lightly season with salt.

Parboil green beans, green chili, and onion, and cut into slices.

Slice turmeric and parboil.

Quickly stir fry ingredients with cooking oil, hyangsinjeup, and salt and pepper, over high heat.

4. Boil together ingredients from D. to make sauce and combine with C. Place the squid and ingredients over the cooked rice and top with sauce.

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LIVING

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number of news stories garnered attention in 2009, among which no item was more unexpected than the emergence of makgeolli as the No. 1 alcoholic beverage of Korean consumers. That this long-humble rice wine would be named the top hit product of 2009 in Korea was indeed a surprise.

Moreover, because its production and distribution processes generate lower carbon dioxide emissions than imported liquor, a Korean environmental organization selected makgeolli as a “Contributor to the World in 2009” award winner, under the “Environment and Climate Change” category.

Although makgeolli’s consumer popularity surged dramatically in 2009, it has always been an integral aspect of Korea’s alcohol culture. In fact, it is Korea’s oldest alcoholic drink and the one most familiar to Korean people. Practically without exception, middle-aged Koreans have at least a few personal experiences related to makgeolli. An all too common incident involves being sent to a local brewery to pick up makgeolli for your father or family, then, while wondering why adults enjoyed this drink so much, taking a swig or two along the way, and finally arriving home in a somewhat tipsy condition.

Common People’s Choice Up to the time of the 1988 Seoul Olympics, makgeolli was the most consumed form of alcohol in Korea. However, after the Olympics, Korea experienced a sharp jump in overseas travel and heavy inflow of imports due to the government’s push for liberalization measures. Amid this change, makgeolli began to be seen as out-dated and rapidly gave way to beer. During the period of Korea’s rapid urbanization and modernization, makgeolli began to fall out of favor, and was largely forgotten before its meteoric rise in 2009, when it captured the fancy of not only Koreans but also foreigners with an exposure to Korean culture. Despite an overall downward trend for exports, makgeolli export sales increased 20 percent as compared to 2008. What factors enabled makgeolli to realize such a phenomenal resurgence among Korean consumers?

Makgeolli is the mainstay alcoholic beverage consumed by working-class Koreans. It is also known as takju , meaning “cloudy alcohol,” because of its milky appearance, as well as nongju , or “farm alcohol,” as a result of its longtime association with Korea’s agrar-

Out from the Shadows, Makgeolli Takes Center Stage Makgeolli , a milky-white rice wine, was selected as the hit product of 2009, by the Samsung Economic Research Institute (SERI), ranking ahead of the H1N1 vaccine (second) and the figure skater Kim Yu-Na (third). How was it possible for this long-humble rice wine to suddenly emerge as the No. 1 fermented alcoholic drink in Korea?

Huh Shi Myung Headmaster, Makgeolli School/Researcher, Korean Traditional Alcohol Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

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Giuseppe Barone (right), an Italian chef visiting from Sicily, enjoys a toast with guests attending the 2009 Makgeolli Nouveau Gala Dinner, at a restaurant in Seoul.

ian roots. Traditionally, makgeolli was brewed at home, but in the 20th century, it became subject to taxation, whereby only licensed breweries were allowed to produce makgeolli, as of 1934. However, in 1995, legislation was enacted that allowed households to brew their own wine. Nowadays, an increasing number of people are learning about and brewing makgeolli. Much like growing your own vegetables, people will take the time to brew their own wine for self-satisfaction and quality control. And ever more foreigners have shown an interest in its home brewing, which can be seen in their growing numbers at the courses about makgeolli and brewing techniques offered by specialized institutions, such as our Makgeolli School.

Makgeolli is made with nonglutinous rice, the staple of the Korean diet. Sticky rice, barley, or millet are added at times, but nonglutinous rice is the basic ingredient. First, the rice is cooked with a minimal amount of water so that the grains remain drier and less sticky. A fermenting agent, called nuruk, is added to the cooked rice, along with more water. Although yeast alone might be used when making regular wine, makgeolli requires nuruk, ground whole wheat combined with yeast and a diastatic enzyme, to enhance the fermentation. The cooked rice, water, and nuruk are combined in proportions of about 5 to 7.5 to 1, respectively. The mixture is stirred vigorously by hand in a large container, and then stored in a crock to ferment. Fermentation takes five days in summer and seven days in winter. The fermented mixture then must be strained, with any residue that collects on the Spring 2010 | Koreana 85

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surface being pressed through the strainer to extract the elements that create makgeolli’s cloudy liquid. If consumed in this form, it is known as raw makgeolli. When the milky liquid is heated to 65°C for 30 minutes it results in a pasteurized makgeolli.

Young Consumers and Foreigners The popularity of makgeolli has been boosted by people’s virtual obsession with any product related to wellness or good health. The alcohol content of makgeolli is about 150 percent higher than that of beer, but only half the level of wine. Because of its lower alcohol content, it also appeals to women, who find it easier to drink. Makgeolli’s liquid is as white as milk, prompting the Japanese to call it milky sake. The white color results from various dietary fibers, amino acids, and organic compounds of the rice. As the healthfulness of these components has become common knowledge among the public, Koreans have increasingly sought to include makgeolli in their regular diet.

The pairing of makgeolli with forms of recreational activity has been one of the factors that contributed to its popularity. For long, makgeolli was known as the drink of choice among farmers and common laborers. Taking large gulps from a bowl of makgeolli gave farmers in the field a warm sensation, along with providing a boost of energy for their demanding work. A low-alcohol drink, it left people refreshed yet clear-minded. Recently, makgeolli became popular among golf and hiking enthusiasts. And even more so than in the past, hikers developed a habit of including makgeolli in their backpacks before departing for their favorite mountainside. If stored in the freezer, the makgeolli will thaw out in about two hours, providing ice-cold refreshment and an energy boost. The 86 Koreana | Spring 2010

1 Combined with various fruits, new-style makgeolli cocktails are popular among women and younger consumers.

2 Huh Shi Myung (second from right), headmaster of the Makgeolli School, offers a toast to Japanese journalists who visited Korea to gather information about makgeolli.

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The popularity of makgeolli has been boosted by people’s virtual obsession with any product related to wellness or good health.

The white color results from various dietary fibers, amino acids, and organic compounds of the rice. As the healthfulness of these components has become common knowledge among the public, Koreans have increasingly sought to include makgeolli in their regular diet.

demand for makgeolli among hikers can be readily seen by the many vendors who hawk this rice wine at the base of popular mountains, and along the upper trails as well.

In addition, there are specialty restaurants that cater to mountain trekking groups, where a serving of makgeolli is accompanied by a dish of dubu kimchi (tofu and kimchi). In this case, the makgeolli is known as hasanju, or “alcohol for coming down the mountain.” Meanwhile, following a round of golf, golfers have come to prefer makgeolli, rather than the more expensive liquors that had once been favored. This trend has gained momentum due to a growing appreciation among consumers of makgeolli’s exceptional ability to quench your thirst and provide a sense of revitalization, especially when winding up an afternoon of golf or hiking.

Indeed, the low-key image of makgeolli had been wholly transformed in 2009. Nowadays, at drinking establishments around college campus areas, makgeolli is sold in smartly designed packaging to entice young consumers. Moreover, makgeolli cocktails are now made with fruit blends, such as strawberry, pineapple, black raspberry, and peach, which have struck a chord with female students. The hotel industry has also introduced an inexpensive makgeolli priced at 1,000 won per 750-milliliter bottle. In addition, hotels serve makgeolli, in stylish celadon wares, in their restaurants.

Meanwhile, the expanded availability of makgeolli has encouraged Koreans to introduce this new icon of Korea’s drinking culture to their foreign associates and visitors.

Japanese Embrace Makgeolli Recently, Japanese visitors have taken a particularly keen liking to makgeolli. During the latter half of 2008, as a result of the yen’s appreciation, to take advantage of the favorable exchange rate,

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hordes of Japanese visitors made their way to Korea, where one of their favorite Korean products was makgeolli. Asked why Japanese tourists have come to embrace makgeolli with such enthusiasm, Tanaka Hiroshi, a journalist of the forthcoming magazine Korean Dietary Culture, explained: “Some middle-aged Japanese women are so fascinated by Korean TV dramas and films that they visit Korea four or five times a year. Their knowledge of Korean culture is both broad and deep, and they are not satisfied with the usual tourist fare. They are looking for something more traditional than bulgogi [barbecued ribs], naengmyeon [cold noodles], Chuncheon dakgalbi [stir-fried chicken and vegetables], and bibimbap [rice mixed with vegetables], which have long been served at restaurants in Japan. This is how they came to discover makgeolli.”

Kim Hyo-seop, a representative of Yidong Japan, the leading makgeolli retailer in Japan, said that Japanese interest in Korean food has shifted from kimchi, galbi (grilled, marinated meat), gim (dried seaweed), and yuja cha (citron tea) to makgeolli. Today, there are even makgeolli breweries in Japan operated by local Japanese.

Makgeolli Nouveau

1 Makgeolli undergoes a brief period of fermentation at a commercial brewery.

2 The widespread popularity of makgeolli has led to the emergence of a variety of brands now available in the marketplace.

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In fall 2009, “Makgeolli Nouveau” debuted on the Korean market, causing a further stir among consumers. In contrast to its long-held image as a low-cost drink, the new makgeolli version was priced three times higher than regular brands. In recent times, makgeolli has been made from lower-priced imported rice, which might have been in storage for two years or so, along with imported whole wheat flour often being used for the nuruk. However, the new makgeolli is made from recently harvested locally-grown rice, which appealed to the sentiments of Korean consumers. Because the fresh rice cost three times more than imported rice, the price of the new makgeolli was roughly three times higher as well.

This new makgeolli was launched on the third Thursday of November, to coincide with the annual release of the Beaujolais Nouveau 1 wines. The wines from the Beaujolais region of France are highly regarded by wine drinkers in Korea and worldwide; however, the new makgeolli managed to outsell the French wines. The marketing strategy provided Korean consumers with an opportunity to compare the so-called Makgeolli Nouveau with Beaujolais Nouveau, a standard of the wine market.

All of this has led to the emergence of makgeolli schools, which offer courses on brewing homemade makgeolli. The fact that people are now seeking to understand Korean culture through makgeolli, while searching for new tastes and experiences, seems to offer clear evidence that the recent interest in makgeolli is more than some passing fancy.

A favorite pastime of Koreans is to enjoy makgeolli with pajeon, a fried pancake-like dish made with flour, eggs, green onions, and additional ingredients, such as seafood. As for dubu kimchi, it is a simple dish of plain tofu (dubu) with a garnish of fried kimchi. The mild flavor of the tofu and spiciness of the kimchi are a perfect complement to the unique taste of makgeolli, which includes a complex blend of sweet, sour and bitter tones that can satisfy even the most discriminating palate.

In fact, if you want to make friends with a Korean, all you need to do is suggest that you stop by somewhere to enjoy makgeolli with dubu 2 kimchi.

Journeys in Korean Literature

Jeong Ji A While in her mid-20s, Jeong Ji A made her literary debut with her novel The Daughter of a

Communist Partisan , in which she retold the experiences of her parents during the Korean War. In 2004, she published her first collection of short stories Happiness , for which she received the Lee Hyo-Seok Literary Award for “The Landscape.” “Light of Spring” is the title story of her second collection of short stories published in 2008.

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CRITIQUE

“Light of Spring“ Reveals the Burden of Korea’s Aging Society Kim Kyung-soo Literary Critic

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eong Ji A grew up in the countryside, giving her a distinctive background among the contemporary writers who have carved out a niche in Korea’s literary scene. A fondness for nature and its soothing pleasure, which forms a backdrop of Jeong’s works, are seldom found in most of the writers of her generation, who were born and grew up in the city. The influence of Korea’s rapid modernization on these writers is evident from a flood of novels based on urban settings. Jeong Ji A, however, is noticeably different, as a result of her personal attachment to stories of the country as well as her affection for the elderly generation and Korea’s rapidly aging society.

“Light of Spring” is about a middle-aged son and his relationship with his elderly parents. In the story, the man’s mother calls to inform him of his father’s worsening symptoms of likely dementia. The story line is quite simple: the son returns to his hometown, where his parents still live, to drive his father to the hospital for a diagnosis of his condition, and then returns his parents back to their home. Although seemingly uneventful, the story is relevant for raising a timely question about the elderly generation and the challenges of dealing with an aging society, like that in Korea. By delving into the thoughts of a son as he observes the aging of his parents and the deterioration of their physical and mental capacity, readers are compelled to ponder what measures that middle-aged children might undertake in this difficult situation, to reestablish a relationship with their aged parents.

In the story, the father’s symptoms are not yet debilitating—mainly sluggish movement, forgetfulness, and a stubborn insistence on getting his way, which perturbs his wife to no end. These changes alone do not amount to a life-threatening situation; but the problem is that it causes marital strife between the old couple, who had spent their life together in considerable harmony. Their constant dissatisfaction creates mental anguish for the children. The fierce exchanges over trivial matters leave the son in a state of bewilderment as to what he should do. Of course, this kind of scene is being increasingly experienced in ever more households these days, reflecting a kind of social problem created by the aging of their parents.

When the son witnesses how the absence of his father’s favorite dish on the dinner table sparks a bitter argument between his parents, he is at a loss of what to make of this, because of his memories of their compatibility and caring for each other in their earlier years. In fact, the son’s bewilderment is rooted in his failure to acknowledge the inevitability of old age, and eventually death, of his parents. The shock of this realization, however, leads to a deeper understanding of his parents’ situation. It finally dawns on him that his parents are no longer the indomitable people who had cared for him throughout his life. They are now in the twilight of their life, and he should

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accept, and be prepared for, the imminence of their passing. Finally, the story concludes with a heart-rending moment that occurs when the son notices his parents asleep in his car.

When things suddenly got quiet, he stole a glance into the rearview mirror only to find that they had fallen asleep head to head, as though they had never argued. They were an elderly couple in their eighties, after all, and it must have exhausted them, rising so early and traveling such a long way... And just as he had fallen asleep in his parents’ arms on long road trips as a child, Mother and Father were now asleep in his car, having surrendered to the exhaustion of the journey. As they had helped his life blossom, he should now watch over them, shelter them under his wing, until they let go of their grip on life, their debt to time, and leave for death.

Seeing his elderly parents sleeping so peacefully, the son, now well into his midlife, feels clearly that it will not be long before he must forever part with his parents, and finally accepts that it is time for him to take care of his helpless parents. The inevitability of death, presented in striking contrast to the blooming scenery of spring, makes this moment especially poignant and heartfelt.

Today, with people having a longer life expectancy, it has become commonplace to see parents and their children growing old together. However, this unprecedented extension of life can well leave both generations without the resources to enjoy the remainder of their time together in harmony, along with adding to the difficulty of respecting each other’s own wishes. In this regard, the author has done a valuable service by focusing attention on our aging society and the painful burden that this can create for family relations.

In response to today’s aging society, it is helpful for literature to ponder what it means to live a longer life amid a loss of self-sufficiency. Unlike decades ago, when extended households were the norm in Korea, children tend to form their own family unit soon after getting married. Aged parents can no longer rely on their children to look after them in their old age. They are left to make do with their own resources and adopt a new lifestyle. Nowadays, life in old age is not a personal matter for those fortunate people blessed with a long life, but a basic concern for our society as a whole.

Each of the stories in Jeong Ji A’s Light of Spring is a variation of its namesake short story. That is, they tell the stories of middle-aged people who find themselves searching for ways to adjust their relationships with their elderly parents.

When a society collectively undergoes a dramatic shift, such as the aging of its population, it is meaningful for a writer to detect and shed light on the change. In this sense, Jeong Ji A is faithfully doing her duty as a writer.

Spring 2010 | Koreana 91