Koreana Spring 2015 (English) by The Korea Foundation

SPRING 2015

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS

SPECIAL FEATURE

MODERN KOREAN PAINTING

Pioneers of Modern Korean Painting

VOL. 29 NO. 1 ISSN 1016-0744

IMAGE OF KOREA

Flowers of the Heart Bloom on High Kim Hwa-young

Literary Critic; Member of the National Academy of Arts

he first signs of spring in Korea appear on its southern islands. In late February, against the background of the cerulean blue sea, deep pink camellias bloom between the shiny, dark green leaves, extending their yellow stamens. The heart, wrapped up for the winter, begins to flutter. Next to bloom on trunks that can be hundreds of years old are the plum blossoms so dearly beloved by the Confucian scholars of the past. From late March to early April, the yellow forsythia, a welcome friend of children and ordinary people, cornelian cherry trees, and azaleas in every shade of pink appear in turn, blanketing woodlands and hillsides in vibrant colors. But while the mind races ahead, the weather is still rather chilly at this time. Spring has really come only when the trees lining the streets

are laden with cherry blossoms bursting forth in profuse bunches. All this leads up to the highlight of spring — the lotus lantern parade on Buddha’s Birthday in mid-May when the rhododendrons bloom. This is when the light in people’s hearts shines and puts the finishing touch on the beauty of all the spring flowers nurtured by nature. Lotus lanterns, called yeondeung in Korean, are paper lanterns in the shape of lotus blossoms. They are hung high on Buddha’s Birthday to pray that the heart, filled with darkness and anguish too often, might be brightened by the wisdom of Buddha, and that the warmth of love will spread out like rays of light and fill the world with the Buddha’s wisdom and compassion. When I was a child, just before Buddha’s Birthday, my grandmother would suddenly

turn into a Buddhist believer. She would cut out and paste pieces of paper dyed yellow, green and pink onto a bamboo frame, rolling the edges over to create a lantern in the shape of a lotus. Then, taking that lantern in hand, she would hike up to a big temple in the mountains as far as 20 li away. From that time, the long road to the temple, the flower-covered road that I walked with my grandmother, was a festival in itself and the most dazzling path of spring. I knew that the love and blessings inside the lotus lantern that grandmother would offer to the Buddha would lift my heart up into the blue sky, making me blissfully happy. When the lantern, its light now gone, turns into a handful of ashes and floats away, it is already summer and spring is like a daytime dream from which one suddenly awakes.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 1

SPECIAL FEATURE

SPECIAL FEATURE 1

Pioneers of Modern Korean Painting

04 From an Era of Turmoil the Spirit of Artists is Born 26

Kim Young-na

SPECIAL FEATURE 2

08 Kim Whanki’s Transcendental Landscape and Aesthetics of Sublimity

Park Mee-jung

SPECIAL FEATURE 3

12 Letters, Signs and People: Lee Ungno’s Quest for Humanism in Ink and Brush

Mok Soo-hyun

SPECIAL FEATURE 4

18 Park Saeng-kwang Revives the Esprit of Color Painting

INTERVIEW

26 Lee Ja-ram: Youthful Diva of Pansori

Park Young-taek

SPECIAL FEATURE 5

The Lyricism of Park Soo-keun, Korea’s Most Beloved Artist Choi Youl

IN LOVE WITH KOREA

How to Have Your Kimchi and Eat It

72 Gimbap: No-frills Favorite Joins

Ben Jackson

Kim Soo-hyun

ART REVIEW

32 ‘Bulssang’: Hybrid Movement in Search of Identity

Shim Jeong-min

GUARDIAN OF HERITAGE

ON THE ROAD

he Song of Life Rings True T on Geomundo

Gwak Jae-gu

38 Preserving Korea’s Traditional Living Culture

Chung Jae-suk

MODERN LANDMARKS

44 Myeongdong Theater Redux Roh Hyung-suk

the Upscale Trend

Park Chan-il

ENTERTAINMENT

76 Passion of ‘Hidden Singers’ Revives Favorite Oldies Wee Geun-woo

66 Kim Sung-kun: The High-flying

LIFESTYLE

Park Dong-hee

BOOKS & MORE

ALONG THEIR OWN PATH

73-year-old Baseball Coach

70 “ Pathways to Korean Culture: Paintings of the Joseon Dynasty, 1392–1910”

48 Surge in Chinese Tourism: Its Upside and Downside

‘Cultural Translation’

FOCUS

“The Square”

A Man’s Odyssey in Search of Elusive Space for Full Life

Kim Bo-ram

LTI Korea Library Online Archive of Korean Literature in Translation

Charles La Shure

Selfie Stick Syndrome Koo Bon-kwon

JOURNEYS IN KOREAN LITERATURE

82 Largo,

From Darkness to Light

Significant Case Studies of Joseon Paintings as

GOURMET’S DELIGHT

Chang Du-yeong

Light’s Escort

Cho Hae-jin

SPECIAL FEATURE 1 Pioneers of Modern Korean Painting

From an Era of Turmoil

Kim Young-na Director-General, National Museum of Korea

the Spirit of Artists is Born Western painting was first introduced to Asia in the mid-19th to early 20th century. Though it came as part of the influx of new culture during the Japanese colonial period, as diverse ways of thinking and methods of expression came into fashion, Korea was not immune to the rapid changes in painting. In the various streams of the history of painting from modern to contemporary times, the efforts of the masters to express both modernity and Korean sentiment gave birth to Korean painting as it is today.

“Sunset” (1916) by Kim Gwan-ho, oil on canvas, 127.5 x 127.5 cm, Tokyo School of Fine Arts. When Kim Gwan-ho (1890 –1959) had his work accepted by Japan’s official salon, Bunten, a Korean newspaper proudly trumpeted the feat but carried no photo as nudes were at the time considered to transgress traditional Confucian ethics.

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n 1916, the Korea Daily News (Taehan Maeil Sinbo) carried an article announcing that Kim Gwan-ho’s painting “Sunset” had been accepted by Japan’s official salon, sponsored by the Ministry of Education. However, the newspaper carried no photo of the painting because it depicted two women in the nude. East Asian painting was long dominated by ink and brush landscapes and portraits, and the female nude was a new genre altogether. Along with nudes, portraits of ordinary people and everyday life had emerged as subjects for art around the early 20th century, when Western painting was introduced to Asia as part of the wave of new culture. But, in Korea’s Confucian society, paintings that depicted naked women could not yet be shown in public. Nude paintings at the Korean Art Exhibition, established in 1921 by the Japanese government-general as part of its cultural policies, could not be featured in any of the newspapers on the grounds that “they carry the risk of inciting indecent behavior among ordinary people who do not understand them.” Among the artists who specialized in Western painting or sculpture, however, sketching nudes was simply part of their training. Also, by the 1930s, the horizons of Korean modern art had expanded enough for experimentation with abstraction.

Early Modern Painting Led by Artists Educated in Japan During the Japanese colonial period (1910–1945), no formal art school was established in Korea. Any-

2 1. “Portrait of Father Kim Dae-geon” (1920) by Chang Bal, oil on canvas, 60.5 x 50 cm, Liturgy Museum of the Catholic University of Korea. Chang Bal (1901–2001) was a devout Catholic who painted many religious pictures and greatly contributed to art education after liberation from Japanese rule. Kim Dae-geon was Korea’s first Catholic priest. He was martyred in 1846. 2. “Portrait of a Friend” (1935) by Ku Bon-ung, oil on canvas, 62 x 50 cm, National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. Ku Bon-ung (1906–1953) was a painter, strongly influenced by the Fauves, as well as a sculptor and art critic. The portrait is of Ku’s best friend, the poet Yi Sang, who died at a young age. Yi’s widow, Kim Hyang-an, later married Kim Whanki, a pioneering abstract painter. In modern Korean art history she is remembered as the life companion of two great artists.

one who wanted to receive formal art education had to go to Japan. Though a handful of artists, such as Pai Un-soung (1901–1978), Lee Chong-woo (1899– 1981) and Chang Bal (1901–2001), went to study in Europe or the United States, any artist going overseas to study had to first obtain a Japanese passport, which naturally led most of them to study in Japan. These early overseas art students enrolled mainly at the Tokyo School of Fine Arts. Then, from the 1930s, they ventured into other institutions like Nihon University (a private school at the time), Imperial School of Fine Arts, and Bunka Gakuen. Some of these Koreans joined local artists’ groups or took part in their exhibitions. After they returned to Korea they would teach art at schools and hold exhibitions, thereby helping to nurture Korea’s next generation of artists. At the time, most of those who were fortunate enough to study art in Japan were from well-off families. This meant that they did not have to worry about selling their paintings since they could make a decent living by teaching alone. They also took a certain pride in being engaged in new art. From long ago, the social status of professional artists in Korea was rather lowly, but this situation began to change when artists who had received formal Western-style education appeared on the scene. In their eyes, artists were “lonely geniuses,” a select few endowed with special talent. This would have been the influence of Western elitism that followed on the heels of Romanticism. It was perhaps inevitable that early Korean modern art would be led by artists who had studied in Japan.

An Era of Experimentation Korea’s liberation from Japanese rule in 1945 was followed by ideological clashes between the left and the right, and the outbreak of the Korean War in 1950 and tumultuous upheaval due to national division made it next to impossible for most artists to continue painting. It was not till around 1955 that people began to slowly overcome the shock of the war. As for artists, they began to look beyond Japan and take note of international art trends. During the difficult postwar years, some artists like Park Soo-keun (1914 – 1965), who began painting during the Japanese colonial period, managed to make a living by painting portraits on the U.S. army base. Other artists who were in better circumstances took off for France, considered

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1. Lee Ungno held his first solo exhibition in Paris in 1962 at the Galerie Paul Facchetti. The artist and his wife, Park In-kyung (in hanbok ), center, with guests at the opening. 2. In 1959 the West German newspaper Neue Presse carried a highly favorable review of Lee Ungno’s exhibition of ink wash paintings in Frankfurt. The portrait of Lee was drawn by the journalist.

From long ago, the social status of professional artists in Korea was rather lowly, but this situation began to change when artists who had received formal Western-style education appeared on the scene. In their eyes, artists were “lonely geniuses,” a select few endowed with special talent. This would have been the influence of Western elitism that followed on the heels of Romanticism. 2 3

3. Kim Whanki and his wife, Kim Hyang-an, walk the streets of Paris. In Paris, Kim searched for the roots of his art and explored ways to express this. 4. After the Korean War, Park Soo-keun eked out a living painting portraits on the American army base and selling his works to soldiers.

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had come before. Abstract Expressionism also began to influence the traditional-style painters who worked with brush and ink. They began to use their brushes to experiment with abstraction. Sculptors too eschewed realistic works made of bronze or wood and began to experiment with scraps of steel by employing new welding techniques to craft expressionistic works. This was partially influenced by the easy availability of scrap iron and steel during the postwar years.

the center of the art world at the time. Among them were Lee Ungno (1904–1989), Kim Whanki (1913 – 1974), Kim Heung-soo (also known as Kim Soo, 1919– 2014), and Kwon Ok-youn (1923–2011), who rose to prominence during the years of Japanese occupation. In those days, it was a big deal for an artist to go abroad to study and this news was reported by the newspapers. The artists who made their way to France saw and learned much there, and thought seriously about how they could paint in the Western style and yet distinguish themselves from Western artists. Lee Ungno’s encounter with Art Informel led him to begin working with hanji (traditional mulberry paper) glued onto the canvas, while Kim Whanki concentrated on the expression of Korean themes and sentiments. The young artists of the 1950s belonged to another generation altogether. Mostly art school graduates of Seoul National University or Hongik University, established after liberation, they were not satisfied with simply producing academic figure paintings or landscapes and winning awards at the government-sponsored national art competitions. A generation who had personally experienced the horrors of war, they broke away from formalism and pursued freedom of expression. They eagerly embraced Abstract Expressionism introduced from America and Art Informel from Europe, art movements characterized by passionate brushwork that seemed to ignore all the rules that

“Dreams” (1960) by Kwon Ok-youn, oil on canvas, 73 x 100 cm, National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. Kwon Ok-youn (1923–2011) studied in both Paris and Tokyo. His work deals with Eastern mystery and fantasy expressed with Western sensibility and techniques.

Art Education and Exchange in the Global Era From the 1960s, artists began to turn their eyes from Europe to the United States where new developments in art were taking place. The United States had played a key role in the Korean War and was a lead aid provider for the country’s reconstruction. Of course, support for art was negligible compared to the support for agriculture, health care, and education. Still, exhibitions such as “Eight Modern Painters and Sculptors” held in 1957 at the Deoksu Palace Art Museum, featuring the works of such artists as Mark Tobey, Morris Graves, and David Hare, sparked keen interest in American art among Koreans. Artists such as Kim Whanki, who was educated in Japan during the colonial period and lived in France for three years from 1956 to 1959 before returning to Korea to teach art at Hongik University, also went to the United States, driven by an interest in American art which was at the forefront of the contemporary art world. For many years thereafter, the United States, as a hub of contemporary art, would serve as a vital training ground for Korean art students. Art schools in New York, such as Pratt and Parsons, still have many Korean students to this day. But from the 1980s, art students began to show diverse interests, heading for Germany, England and other countries around the world. They no longer accepted one-way transmission of Western art, but embraced the concept of exchange. For them, the United States and Europe were not so much places for learning new things but places that were necessary to experience in the global era. Since the 1990s, Korea has hosted major international art exhibitions, such as the Gwangju Biennale, hence the arts of other countries are no longer the objects of awe and curiosity. Rather, studying in a foreign country is considered a way of expanding one’s horizons and scope of work.

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SPECIAL FEATURE 2 Pioneers of Modern Korean Painting

Transcendental Landscape and Aesthetics of Sublimity

Kim Whanki, a pioneer of Korean abstract art, established a lyrical world of art with a subtle and sophisticated formative language. The outcome of diverse experimentation, his works reveal a poetic spirit that praises the spiritual and the eternal. They are echoes

Park Mee-jung

Director, Whanki Museum

of moonlight and sunshine, and the expression of the artist’s yearning for the unknown.

hen his mother conceived him, she dreamed of brilliant flags of all colors flying in the sky. As if to realize the message of the dream, Kim Whanki (1913-1974) became an artist. He was drawn to abstract art in his 20s, and later led the Korean modern art movement. His interests ranged wide from art and literature to many other fields of culture, and he mixed with many cultural figures, which not only enriched his life as an artist but led him to meet the woman who would become his wife, Kim Hyangan. As his artistic companion, supporter and lifelong partner, Kim’s wife had a substantial influence on his career. She carried out research, and organized exhibitions and publications that introduced his work to the world. After Kim’s death, she established the Whanki Foundation for the proper preservation of his works. She also founded the Whanki Museum, through which she supported other artists and helped to shape Korea’s artistic environment.

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Capturing the Essence of Art Kim Whanki allowed for no compromise in his art. He loved to take up a chal-

1. “10-X-73 #322 Air and Sound II” (1973), oil on cotton, 264 x 208 cm 2. “Immortal Natures” (1956-1957), oil on canvas, 128 x 104 cm

lenge, so he abandoned the privilege and reputation that he enjoyed in Korea and started from scratch in Paris and New York — centers of the international art scene. In the 1940s, he formed an artists’ group called the New Realists, believing that deconstruction and internal expression of natural objects would reveal “a new reality that goes beyond what is real and what is illusionary.” He thought that an artist should capture the essence of art through the discovery and unrestrained expression of his true self, and that this would be the way to find his place in the international art scene. Described as “a visual poet who sang of nature” or “a minstrel who glorified eternity,” Kim Whanki forged a career that can be broadly divided into two periods with the year 1963 as the dividing line. In the earlier period, Kim was a young artist searching for the roots of his creative style, and then a member of the New Realists, trying to be faithful to his artistic ideals. This was followed by the Paris days (1956 –1959), when he persistently explored his artistic identity and searched for the essence of art. In this period, he sought to become one with nature by interpreting the world in nature’s way. In 1963, Kim participated in the Sao Paulo Art Biennial in Brazil, which led to the latter part of his career corresponding with

his New York days (1963-1974). In this period, he experimented extensively and acquired a contemplative and objective view of nature, which progressed toward full-blown abstraction.

Singing of Nature Kim Whanki had been inclined toward avant-garde and abstract art as a young man, and over time developed an individual style featuring natural objects on abstract backgrounds. With mountains, the moon, plum blossoms, and the “moon jar” as his favorite motifs, he painted nature expressing Asian ideals of harmony with nature and the lyrical beauty of forms. As he discovered the beauty of Korea’s traditional culture and ancient art, he began to collect antiques including old paintings and calligraphy works. He especially loved the moon jars, large white porcelain vessels as round as the moon. Collecting them was more than a hobby, as the jars had a great influence on his work. Many of the paintings predating Kim’s arrival at complete abstractionism feature the natural scenery of Korea and traditional objects that represent his identity and poetic spirit. Even in his abstract paintings, the simple lines and soft colors are reminiscent of the elegantly restrained lines and the refined light tones of Korean white porcelain. With graceful lines and softly color-

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ed planes overlapping and repeating, the paintings depict nature’s creation and extinction using a seamless blend of abstract and figurative expression. Adding a lyrical and dreamlike quality to his paintings, the various shades of blue that he liked to use represent the natural environment of his homeland or positive energy as the origin of all creation. Also a symbol of life itself, the color blue was the expressive medium that highlighted the themes of his works. During his days in Paris, Kim’s naturalistic pursuit of form led to his exploration of emotional and artistic identity as well as his search for the essence of art. In Paris, encountering the actual works of the masters and their intense “poetic messages,” Kim began to wonder what he was trying to say in his own works. A letter sent to an acquaintance from Paris in 1957 reveals this state of mind: “My art has not changed a bit. What I’ve felt here is the poetic spirit. I think art should have music in it, and the works of the masters all convey powerful music. My stay in Paris seems to have given me a clear idea as to the kind of music I’ve played in my works so far. I feel as if I hadn’t really seen the sun until I came to Paris.” In Paris, Kim identified the root of his artistic spirit and learned how to express it. He realized it was not the appearance but the essence of his works that would enable him to survive in Paris as an artist, and that he should be true to his poetic spirit rooted in his native culture. In this period, he produced several masterpieces featuring his favorite motifs — mountains, the moon, birds, moon jars, and plum blossoms — against a characteristic blue background, reinterpreting these subjects symbolizing his Korean identity and the nature of his homeland. For Kim, the Paris era was a creative time when his work was fueled by passion and intensity.

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Every single one of the dots, which seem to proliferate like living cells, is a fragment of the artist’s meditations. The dots represent the flow of powerful solar energy, the rhythmical flickering light of a constellation, the nightscape of a metropolis, the beautiful scenery of his homeland and the faces of his loved ones. They also express the unfathomable abysses of the sea and the universe. Singing of Eternity In 1963, Kim Whanki received the Honorary Award at the Sao Paulo Art Biennial. Meeting artists from all over the world and seeing their works, he found himself wishing to go to New York, the center of international art, to refresh his artistic vision and review his work. When he made the move, he was 50 years old. Enjoying the creative energy and free atmosphere of the city, he once again explored his artistic direction. Immersed in the new environment, Kim began experimenting again. After the two world wars of the 20th century, New York was a complex social milieu comprised of people from diverse ethnic and cultural backgrounds, which gave rise to an open and objective perspective that everyone could share. Just as the abstract expressionist artists of the New York School demonstrated, the city embraced diversity that enabled artists to move toward common goals in their own unique ways. To Kim Whanki, New York was not a battlefield where he had to fight for survival but a new world that stimulated his curiosi-

ty and inspired him to press ahead with his quests. It was also the optimal place for uninterrupted creation. Without the social obligations that he had in Korea, he was free to devote himself fully to his work. The city brought him into contact with all manner of art styles and opened his horizons, inspiring him to create paintings with a broader appeal rather than sticking to figurative lyricism based on his love for nature. His stylistic quest continued, his art changing in both content and style. As he experimented with various materials and compositions, images of nature gradually evolved into abstraction with condensed dots, lines and planes. Kim’s experiments with dots and lines, which had started to appear in his paintings in the 1950s, continued with his creation of diverse compositions and eventually reached complete pointillism. His earlier style with concise, evocative compositions and generally blue tones developed into poetic works, internalized and yet more universal, composed of such basic elements as dots, lines and planes. In this process, he conducted a variety of original experiments on forms (abstraction of mountains and the moon, cross composition, abstraction of colors and planes, pointillism) and on materials (paper clay, objects, collage, oil colors on newspapers). In the 1970s, he began to use only dots, lines and planes, which later developed into his highly individual “dot paintings” where the entire canvas is covered with countless dots. Every single one of the dots, which seem to proliferate like living cells, is a fragment of the artist’s meditations. The dots represent the flow of powerful solar energy, the rhythmical flickering light of a constellation, the nightscape of a metropolis, the beautiful scenery of his homeland and the faces of his loved ones. They also express the unfathomable abysses of the sea and the universe.

By Art and With Art Kim Whanki’s quintessential dot paintings include the series of “Where, in What Form, Shall We Meet Again?” (1970) and “Universe” (1971), that are masterpieces of modern Korean art. In these works he created a meditative space with the depth and mystery of cerulean blue, ultramarine blue and Prussian blue. Expressing the myriad emotions that he must have felt in a foreign land, the delicate shades of the colored dots transcend time and space to reach closer to eternity. Painting the numerous dots was not mechanical reproduction of the same pattern, but transcendental contemplation on his life in relation to nature, other people, and art. Kim’s dot paintings are the result of his inquiry into the poetic spirit transformed to the realm of fantasy. Using oil on canvas — typical materials of Western painting — he controlled the concentration of the paints to achieve the effect of Asian ink painting, as if the thin, light and translucent colors had gently spread on mulberry paper or cloth. His Asian sensibilities rise above the properties of the Western materials to take his art from the phys-

1. Kim Whanki’s New York era began in 1963. He developed his original style of pointillism in this period. 2. Kim Whanki at work. The artist was interested in traditional culture and ancient art, collecting antiques, old paintings and calligraphy. He especially loved “moon jars,” and collecting them was not just a hobby but something that had a great influence on his work. 3. “16-VII-68 #28” (1968), oil on canvas, 177 x 128cm

ical to the spiritual, from the material world to the mental realm, transcending time and space to reach beyond reality to eternity or non-being. These were the ways of nature, humans and the universe that he sought to understand through art. As he painted, Kim came to realize that an artist had to live “in art, by art, and with art.” The world of creation was a transcendental realm that he would struggle to reach in real life in company with art, which could not be attained without his work suffering the pains of birth. It was a sublime world reached by burning his soul to feed his creative impulses and by moving people with his “aesthetics of transcendence.” While Kim Whanki of the Paris era depicted nature with contemplative brush strokes, Kim Whanki of the New York era expressed his purest lyricism by opening himself up to the new face of nature and metaphysical space that he found in the cold urban civilization. His paintings thus produced are still relevant today and cherished as profoundly moving works of art.

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SPECIAL FEATURE 3 Pioneers of Modern Korean Painting

Mok Soo-hyun Visiting Researcher, Kyujanggak Institute for Korean Studies, Seoul National University

From the days of his early ink-wash bamboo paintings to his later masterwork “People” series, Lee Ungno never departed from his literati roots in ink and paper. He was a pioneering artist, active and influential at home and on the international scene, even as he remained mainly based in Europe. He produced not only ink works on paper but was prolific with diverse materials and techniques, including oils on canvas and paper collages. His oeuvre covered a wide spectrum, comprising print, sculpture, and illustration, and as a result he left behind a vast collection of more than 10,000 works and made an indelible mark on the history of abstract art.

n 1958, at the age of 55, Lee Ungno (1904–1989) took off for Paris, leaving behind a solid career as an artist and university professor. Apart from his three years in prison (1967–1969) after the so-called East Berlin Incident, a consequence of Korea’s national division, Lee spent the rest of his life in Paris, working on the international stage. There, he created his own unique world of art that crossed over the past and present, East and West.

Ceaseless Experimentation At the time Lee reached Paris, the art world was in the midst of the Art Informel movement. Thanks to a recommendation from the influential critic Jacques Lassaigne, Lee made a successful debut on the Paris art scene in 1962 with an exhibition of his collage works at the Galerie Paul Facchetti. From artists around the world, such as Pierre Soulages, Hans Hartung, and Zao Wou-ki who had converged in Paris, he discovered another way to express the world around him. Earlier in Korea, Lee had studied the ink wash techniques concentrating on the “four gentlemen” (plum blossoms, orchids, chrysanthemums and bamboo) of literati painting under the leading calligrapher and painter of the day, Kim Gyu-jin. From 1935 to 1945, he underwent formal training in art at the Kawabata Painting School and Hongo Painting Institute in Tokyo, and under the influence of Matsubayashi Keigetsu opened his eyes to realism. But from the latter half of the 1940s to the early 1950s, he con-

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centrated on abstract expression in ink and brush painting before heading to Paris, where he encountered Art Informel. While other artists of the ink and brush tradition continued to paint the conventional subjects, Lee explored ways to adapt this tradition to contemporary art. In doing so, he did not abandon his artistic roots but used them as a firm foundation for absorbing the contemporary trends. Grounded in the spirit of calligraphy, which derives its forms from the shape of real objects, and the world of ink and brush painting, which seeks to reveal the principles of all things with ink on paper, he began to explore the world of his contemporaries who sought to express the devastation and horror of war as they had experienced it. Lee did not confine himself to Art Informel, however. He found that his deconstruction of the calligraphic forms he had mastered from childhood fell in line with the “unformed” aspect of Art Informel, and went beyond experimentation with form to create works using paper and Chinese script. In the 1960s, Lee focused on creating forms with collages consisting of hand-torn pieces of paper as well as deconstructing forms in abstract ink and brush works. Though the pieces of paper torn and stuck together could be regarded as “unformed,” they are recomposed on the canvas representing the strokes and other elements of the original written characters. With the addition of cotton on the surface, these works acquire a unique texture and matiere . In Lee’s ink and brush works, the abstract forms sometimes come across

“Su” (Longevity, 1972), ink on hanji and collage, 274 x 132 cm. In the 1970s, Lee showed a strong constructivist leaning in his abstract ideographic works composed of symbols with clear outlines.

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as signs, sometimes as trees or mountains, and sometimes as animal or human forms. Lee described his works from this period as “interpretative abstract” (saui , or xieyi in Chinese), meaning abstract works that express one’s inner thoughts. Another of Lee’s noteworthy achievements in Paris was his founding of the Academie de Peinture Oriental de Paris (Oriental Painting Academy of Paris) at the Musée Cernuschi in 1964. Around this time, Europeans were showing a budding interest in the Eastern psyche and many wanted to learn about the Eastern spirit from Lee Ungno, the Korean artist known for fusing European modernism into his work. Into his later years, Lee taught students at the school how to paint with brush and ink, the techniques of ink wash painting, and how to make use of empty space. Through his students, the Eastern ways of thinking and formative language have been disseminated throughout Europe.

Dark Portrayal of Korea’s Modern History The most painful episode in Lee Ungno’s life was his threeyear imprisonment in Korea from 1967 to 1969. This came about from his involvement in the “East Berlin Incident,” a Cold Warera espionage case contrived by a Korean intelligence agency that ensnared South Korean students studying in Europe as well as artists and cultural figures who had been in contact with North Koreans. Lee’s son had been drafted into the North Korean military during the Korean War and taken to the North, never to return. Lee had traveled to East Berlin to try to get information about his son. During his time in prison, Lee, having obtained permission to use a paintbrush, created some 300 works with soy sauce, soy bean paste, cooked rice grains, and the wooden lunchboxes in which his meals were served. His “Self-Portrait” series, which shows Lee crouching down, come from this time. These works featuring a coagulated spot of ink looking like a lump of soot, perhaps reflected Lee’s inner world in the informel style more aptly than any of his other works. In his later years, he made use of this experience to probe deeper into the human spirit and history. Abstraction of Letters and Human Shapes Lee’s works from the 1970s are described as “calligraphic abstraction,” achieved by a process of deconstruction and reconstruction of letters to embody their original meanings; in reinventing the traditional script, he revived the spirit of Eastern painting. Compared to his works from the 1960s, his abstract works from this time are composed of symbols and signs with clearly defined outlines, showing a tendency toward constructivism. He created a new calligraphy resulting from modern deconstruction and transformation of the traditional grammar of calligraphy. One example is his “I Ching” series in which he recon-

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figured the 64 hexagrams of the “Book of Changes” as Chinese characters with definite forms. Lee’s major works from the 1980s include the series featuring human beings and crowds. Though he had been working extensively on human shapes since the 1960s, Lee’s paintings from this time feature hundreds and sometimes thousands of human figures captured in movement, sometimes as if marching in a procession and sometimes as if dancing, rendered in ink on a huge canvas. His “People” series depicted scenes of the democratization movement in Korea, including the May 18 popular uprising in Gwangju in 1980. These paintings that reflect a great master’s introspection on humanity are also imbued with his deep love for Korea and painful longing for his homeland, which he could not freely visit due to political ramifications. In 1977, when Lee’s wife was implicated in North Korea’s attempt to kidnap pianist Paik Kun-woo and his actress wife Yun Jung-hee, the Korean art community again shunned Lee Ungno. With this incident, Lee had to give up his long-cherished desire to return and quietly live out his final years in Korea. Before leaving the country in 1958, Lee had been a preeminent figure in the Korean art scene for more than 30 years, and he then went on to earn wide recognition in Europe as well. But due to the bitter politics of national division, his name was not that well known in Korean society. Even as the focus of his works shifted from abstraction of letters to people, from totems to calligraphic abstraction, Lee never stopped painting bamboo. After the East Berlin Incident, his bamboo works became “dancing bamboo leaves,” which then evolved into people in motion. Human figures, which emerged as his main subject from the 1980s, were actually variations of the bamboo leaves that he had been painting all his life. In his “Crowd” paintings, the figures seem to be moving about synchronously. But with a closer look, one can see that each figure is making a distinctive movement. They are all going somewhere together, nevertheless. And “we” or “I” can be found among those countless figures. In 1988, on the wave of democratization, the South Korean government lifted its ban on the works of writers who had defected to North Korea and at the same time restored Lee Ungno’s rights as a citizen. Finally, in 1989, a retrospective of his works was held in Korea, enabling a rediscovery of his work by the domestic art community. Lee was scheduled to visit Korea during the exhibition, but on January 10, 1989, the very day the retrospective opened in Seoul, he died of a heart attack in Paris. Since then, several exhibitions have been held in Korea to acknowledge the Korean people’s newfound respect for Lee’s world of art. Today, his life and work are commemorated at the Lee Ungno Museum in Daejeon and the Lee Ungno House and Memorial in the artist’s hometown of Hongseong in South Chungcheong Province.

Human figures, which emerged as his main subject from the 1980s, were actually variations of the bamboo leaves that he had been painting all his life. In his “Crowd” paintings, the figures seem to be moving about synchronously. But with a closer look, one can see that each figure is making a distinctive movement. They are all going somewhere together, nevertheless. And “we” or “I” can be found among those countless figures.

1. “ People” (1986), ink on hanji , 167 x 266 cm. 2. In 1964, Lee Ungno founded the Academie de Peinture Oriental de Paris (Oriental Painting Academy of Paris) at the Musée Cernuschi where he taught students how to use brush and ink, the techniques of ink wash painting, and the function of empty space in composition. Altogether, he taught some 3,000 students. 3. The Lee Ungno Museum located in downtown Daejeon was opened in 2007 as a place to make Lee’s work known to the world. It holds exhibitions and carries out various research efforts.

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Two Matriarchs of Modern Painting

Choi Youl Art Critic

Park Re-hyun (1920-1976) and Chun Kyung-ja (1924-), two artists who lived completely different lives and had different dreams and different ways of depicting the world, are fascinating souls who will always be remembered in the feminist art history of Korea. Both were masterful innovators in the field of traditional ink-and-color painting (chaesaekhwa ), producing works imbued with the enigmatic sentiments of women and 2

Park Re-hyun was born in Chinnampo, South Pyongan Province (now in North Korea), but grew up in Gunsan, North Jeolla Province. In her 20s, she went to study in Japan at the Tokyo Women’s Art School to realize her dream of becoming an artist. She was still a student when she won the grand prize at the Korean Art Exhibition, which foretold of her bright future. Park’s art can be largely divided into three types: paintings with a geometric composition created by dividing the picture plane based on Western cubist techniques to depict traditional Korean rural scenes; paintings featuring abstractions of folk motifs such as strings of old coins and round straw mats; and a series of reliefs made of woven textiles attached to the canvas. Park’s approach to her subjects is not simple. Her subject matter mainly consisted of women and pre-modern scenes of Korea. But she revealed an experimental spirit and, with an interest in form for its own sake, she adopted the styles of Western Modernism to make innovations with lines, planes, and colors. She thus pursued a fusion of East and West. Her textile relief works, started while she was studying in New York in her 50s, were the artistic manifestation of her quotidian reality as a woman. Affixing old Joseon1 16 KOREANA Spring 2015

suffused with dreamlike colors to make their own distinctive mark on 20th century Korean art.

period coins onto her textile reliefs signified an attempt to blend the traditional and the modern, women’s everyday life and work, and the ambience of the marketplace. Moreover, the plain colors, delicate textures, and restrained yet imposing compositions turn her canvases into graceful, dreamlike spaces. Chun Kyung-ja was born on the Goheung peninsula in South Jeolla Province. She entered the Tokyo Women’s Art School at the age of 18 and while still a student had one of her works accepted by the Korean Art Exhibition. After Korea’s liberation from Japanese rule, she became an art teacher and began her own career as well. At first she concentrated on faithfully depicting her subjects, but the Korean War (1950-53) brought about significant changes to her work. A woman artist in her 30s, Chun started to break free by using color boldly to express subjects both from real life and dreams. Her paintings, highly decorative and strikingly imaginative, convey fantastical moods. Taking “sensual femininity” as her foremost theme, Chun created a fantasy utopia, a unique world that fused together nature and humanity which could only be possessed by women. Breaking the rules of perspective, she applied the traditional

4 1. Park Origin Re-hyun, mezzotint “The B” (1972) by etching, 50.5 x 37 cm, National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. Park adopted the forms of Western Modernism and produced profound, innovative works composed of lines, planes and colors. 2. husband, the painter Park Re-hyun and herKim Kichang, in their home studio. 3. own work “Beautiful Woman” Chun Kyung-ja explains her (1977). 4. Legend” colors on “Page 22(1977), in My Sorrowful paper, 43.5 x 36 cm, Seoul Museum of Art. With her feminine sensitivity, Chun created a fantasy utopia fusing nature and humanity.

method of having multiple points of view, which was in vogue during the Joseon Dynasty, filling the entire canvas with diverse objects. In Chun’s skilled hands the bright coloring lent her works not only sensuality but elegance and grace as well. Though Park Re-hyun and Chun Kyung-ja sought different themes and ways to express their messages, they were similar in their free transformation and reconstruction of human figures and objects according to their own thought process and imagination. While faithfully following the postwar art trends, Park achieved a highly individual style marked by her own feminine outlook and reconstruction of subjects. In contrast, Chun rejected the art fashions of the day but with her personal instincts she also created a highly original style characterized by an outburst of bold colors and imaginative fantasy. In this sense, the two artists can be seen as companions headed along separate paths in the same direction.

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SPECIAL FEATURE 4 Pioneers of Modern Korean Painting

Park Young-taek Art Critic and Professor, Kyonggi University

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“Empress Myeongseong” (1984), colors on paper, 200 x 330 cm. In the 1980s Park Saeng-kwang began to develop his own individual style based on exploration of Buddhism, shamanism and historical figures.

Park Saeng-kwang walked an extraordinary path in life as an artist, living through chaotic times when the nation suffered under Japan’s harsh colonial rule and its art world was inundated by Western painting styles. As such, for his paintings brimming with originality and the spirituality of traditional Korean images, Park is revered as one of the most laudable Korean painters of the 20th century.

hortly after the introduction of Western painting to Korea in the early 20th century, the country was occupied by Japan and forced into the modern era. Severed from tradition, Korean artists had to write their own history of art, and amid confrontation between traditional and Western styles they tried to create an independent “national art.” However, many artists tended to ignore tradition in blind admiration of Western art, and in their efforts to imitate Western artworks, they lost the spiritual aesthetics that had been inherent in traditional Korean art for thousands of years. Amidst the confusion of modern and contemporary Korean art history, the majority of artists dismissed tradition, but some chose to go their own way. Notable among these free spirits was Park Saeng-kwang (1904–1985).

Study in Japan Born to a middle-class family of an agricultural village in Jinju, South Gyeongsang Province, Park Saeng-kwang studied the Chinese classics at the local village school until his early teens. He then moved on to Jinju Jeil Primary School and Jinju Agricultural School, where he received a modern education. In 1920, he went to study fine art in Japan, enrolling at the Kyoto Municipal Special School of Painting in 1923, presumably as a trainee rather than a regular student. There he studied for two years under Takeuchi Seiho (1864–1942), the leading figure of the Kyoto School of Japanese-style painting, and other prominent painters such as Murakami Kagaku (1888–1939) and Tsuchida Bakusen (1887–1936). In Japan, it was the age of the so-called Taisho Democracy (1912–1926), characterized by a liberal atmosphere that was open to Western culture and modernization. Artists in Kyoto attempted new styles of Japanese painting, opening an era of rampant experimentation. Greatly influenced by this trend, Park developed his own style of color painting based on the realist perspective that he had learned at school: faithful depiction of forms and structures, line drawing techniques, and use of vivid colors in the tradition of the Northern School of Chinese painting. After completing his course at the Kyoto art school in 1926, Park left for Tokyo at the age of 22 and studied under Ochiai Rofu (1896–1937). Park’s new teacher was a leading figure of the

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hyper-realistic school of Neo Japanese-style painting, renowned for works that emphasized flatness while using bright pure colors to give perspective. In Tokyo, Park was a member of the Meiro Art Institute and exhibited his works at its exhibition. He also presented his works in Seoul, and in 1930 won a prize for a painting, titled “Sketch,” submitted to the Western art section of the 9th Korean Art Exhibition. And in the following year, he earned a prize for his painting “Vegetable Garden” in the Eastern art section. The artist, however, paid little heed to distinctions between Western and Eastern art and went about producing realistic and decorative paintings with soft colors.

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Expression of ‘Asianness’ After 25 years in Japan, Park Saeng-kwang returned to Korea in 1945 as a middle-aged father of two sons. But suffering from poverty at home, he moved back to Tokyo in 1974 in order to “test himself.” “With my whole being, it is Asia that I want to express, not Japan. This is the motivation for my work,” he said. “As an Asian, I want to make paintings that embody the Asian spirit, without being confined to Korea or Japan. Japanese-style painting is simply my means of expression.” In 1975, Park held three solo exhibitions in Tokyo and one each

Inspired by the primeval elements of Buddhist and shamanic art, he used strong colors and bold outlines to infuse his paintings with spiritual vitality … He was especially keen on shamanism, which was firmly embedded in the subconscious of ordinary people.

1. colors on paper, “Shaman” (1981), 136 x136 cm. Inspired by shamanic and Buddhist paintings, Park incorporated primitive techniques such as bright colors and thick outlines in his works, imbuing them with spiritual power. 2. whose work was Park Saeng-kwang, strongly influenced by modern Japanesestyle painting, returned to Korea in his later years and spent the last lonely days of his life devoted to his art.

in Osaka and Nagoya. Although he had hoped to make enough money for a longterm stay in Japan, his works did not sell all that well. So in 1977, Park returned to Korea for good. But having spent most of his life in Japan, he was fated to be an outsider in the Korean art world, which was eager to clear away the vestiges of Japanese rule. After Korea’s liberation in 1945, Eastern-style painters blindly disparaged color painting for its association with traditional Japanese painting, which had become widespread in Korea during the colonial period. Instead, they favored the scholarly ink wash painting, believing it was the only alternative. Park was essentially excluded from the Korean art circle, since he was not well known locally and the Japanese influence in his works was readily evident. Ironically, this sense of alienation motivated Park to create his own individual style.

Bold Lines, Vibrant Colors, Resonant Spirituality From the 1980s, Park began to create his own style based on his study of traditional Korean Buddhist and shamanic paintings as well as paintings of historical figures, giving motifs from these genres a modern reinterpretation. Park’s interest in folk paintings, Buddhist hanging scrolls, and antiques in particular appears to have been influenced by the mood of the art world of that time. By the late 1970s, the issue of building on tradition had come to the fore and Park was no exception to the trend. Indeed, his realistic expression and vivid coloring showed a clear affinity with ancient religious and folk paintings, which enabled him to establish an unprecedented style marked by powerful colors and iconography, bold expression, and harmony between the message and the composition, as found in traditional Korean paintings. Inspired by the primeval elements of Buddhist and shaman-

ic art, he used strong colors and bold outlines to infuse his paintings with spiritual vitality. Also, by blending Buddhism, shamanism and folk beliefs, his art presented a kaleidoscope of imagery. He was especially keen on shamanism, which was firmly embedded in the subconscious of ordinary people. Park Saeng-kwang’s paintings present distorted abstract images or a random assemblage of fragmented images. They are highly decorative with a juxtaposition of flat images that have broken free of the principles of perspective. If traditional Western art sought to overcome flatness and reflect human-oriented views with the illusionistic device of perspective, traditional Asian painting was intended to stimulate the mind and spirit while respecting the intrinsic flatness of painting. Following tradition, Park freely arranged transcendental objects on a decorative flat picture plane, where these seemingly crude images constructed his profound art world. In particular, the orange lines, which serve to create a vibrant space by bringing together heterogeneous images, are unique elements of Park’s style. Park did not see tradition as a mere source of iconography. Instead, he tried to convey the true meaning of tradition and recover the magical power of traditional symbolism. His paintings restored the power and values of traditional religious and folk paintings, which had been underappreciated or even forgotten altogether. Struggling with long years of poverty and solitude, Park consistently broadened his own unique world of art. His masterpieces that mark a milestone in the history of contemporary Korean art, with vivid colors dancing in harmony with Buddhist, shamanic and folk motifs, were all produced in the 1980s. His work was a true blessing for Korean art, if it was a shock to other painters who were repeatedly producing stylized color paintings of beautiful women and flowers. As more artists came to acknowledge Park’s paintings, Korea’s traditional painting circle took a step forward in the mid-1980s, breaking away from conventional ink-wash paintings and their clichéd motifs. Just before reaching the age of 80, Park surprised many people by producing a number of masterpieces. Not long thereafter he died of cancer at the age of 82. His untimely death meant that he could not enjoy the recognition that finally came after a lifetime of hard work. Park’s masterpieces, produced not long before his death, were enough however to ensure his status as a trailblazer of modern Korean color painting.

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SPECIAL FEATURE 5 Pioneers of Modern Korean Painting

Choi Youl Art Critic

Korea’s Most Beloved Artist

A self-taught artist, Park Soo-keun practiced ceaselessly to attain artless simplicity and archaic beauty in his works. His inimitable style, which appears to fathom the secrets of the universe, represented the acme of Korean art in his day and offers meaningful insight into the period.

ark Soo-keun (1914–1965) passed away at the age of 51, well before his time. In 1957, eight years before his death, he had failed to have his work accepted by the National Art Exhibition. Of course, by then Park was a well-recognized artist whose works had previously been accepted to this exhibition several times. At the news of the unexpected rejection, Park is said to have burst into tears. In hindsight, the snub was even more difficult to understand considering that two years later, in 1959, he was named a recommended artist and in 1962 as a judge for the same competition. Park Soo-keun was a self-taught artist with no more than an elementary school education. His selection as a recommended artist and a judge for the National Art Exhibition undoubtedly attests to his status as a leading figure in Korean art. But in truth, such recognition only came grudgingly from the elite figures who were dominating the country’s art circle at the time, and with no small measure of condescension. The grown man’s tears came from this knowledge and a soft heart. In torment, he turned to drink and thereafter succumbed to its ravages: the loss of vision in one eye, kidney disease, and hepatitis. The poverty that he never managed to escape throughout his lifetime and the exclusive cliques in the domestic art circle remained a constant thorn in the side of Park, who had no regional or other connections to rely on. In the end, he passed away far too early.

Dreams of Portraying Everyday Life As a young boy, Park roamed the mountains and fields and painted everyday scenes of rural life, such as women working in the fields or villagers gathering wild greens. When he happened to see Millet’s “L’Angelus,” he began to harbor dreams of becoming a great artist like Millet. Millet’s desire to paint things as he saw them and to express his subjects as naturally as possible became the young Park Soo-keun’s dream also. Park was mes-

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merized by the work of the French artist, and like him sought to honestly capture the natural scenery of his rural hometown and the everyday lives of the ordinary people who lived there. Despite Park’s earnest aspirations, his family could not afford to send him to art school so he learned to paint on his own. At the age of 18 he had a painting accepted by the Korean Art Exhibition, sponsored by the Japanese government-general, at that time the only way for an artist to debut on the national art scene. Park devoted himself to art from that time on, but when his circumstances did not improve, in 1953 he was hired to paint portraits for the U.S. Army Criminal Investigation Command and the PX at the U.S. Army base in Seoul. Consequently labeled a “billboard artist,” he was largely snubbed, but with his earnings he managed to settle into a shanty in Changsin-dong, on the outskirts of Seoul. In later years, however, Park attracted the attention of some notable foreigners residing in Seoul, such as Maria Henderson, the wife of the vice-consul at the United States Embassy; Margaret Miller, the wife of another U.S. diplomat; and Celia Zimmerman, a prominent American art dealer and collector. These patrons proved to be Park’s greatest supporters. At the age of 48 he had never exhibited his paintings, and in 1962 his American patrons and admirers organized his first solo exhibition at the U.S. Air Force base in Pyeongtaek. Though it was a modest affair held in a library on an American military base, it was the first — and would be the last — solo exhibition in Park Soo-keun’s life.

A Self-made Artist, Tenacious and Alone In 1958, the year after failing to be accepted by the National Art Exhibition, Park’s works were shown at the “East and West Art Exhibition” held in San Francisco, sponsored by the U.S. National Commission for UNESCO, and the “Modern Korean Painting Exhibition” held at World House Gallery in New York. Then in 1959 he was named a recommended artist by the National Art Exhibition

1. Jackstones” “Girls Playing(1960s), with oil on hardboard, 22 x 30 cm 2. at home with his Park Soo-keun paintings, his wife, Kim Bok-sun, and his second daughter, In-ae, in 1959.

He had no teacher or tradition to follow. He was free to set his own direction and paint the way he wanted to paint. Having no illustrious art school background, he could take no part in the politics of the art establishment, and indeed had no desire to do so … He painted only what he wanted to paint and captured honestly the tough but beautiful lives of ordinary people.

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and was also invited to participate in the 3rd Chosun Ilbo Exhibition of Modern Artists. Thanks to his recognition abroad, Park was able to overcome barriers at home. In some ways, it could be said that Park actually benefited from not being tied to the local art community’s prevailing trends. He had no teacher or tradition to follow. He was free to set his own direction and paint the way he wanted to paint. Having no illustrious art school background, he could take no part in the politics of the art establishment, and indeed had no desire to do so. On the other hand, he eked out a basic livelihood as he roamed from Gangwon Province to Seoul to Pyongyang, but with tenacity alone managed to forge his way ahead as an artist. He painted only what he wanted to paint and captured honestly the tough but beautiful lives of ordinary people. Almost all young artists of the 1930s, living under colonial rule, sought to capture the local color or flavor of the countryside in their works, since this was one of the key criteria of the judges in all sorts of art competitions. In those days, Park was a young artist in his 20s struggling with the harshness of life. Never dreaming of winning the grand prize, all he hoped for was to have his work accepted to the national exhibition. Always an outsider to the art scene, he had nowhere to turn to assuage his loneliness and it was not until the 1940s that he finally began to mingle with other artists. Park got a job as a clerk at the South Pyongan provincial government office in Pyongyang, where he met contemporary artists Choi Young-lim (1916–1985), Chang Ri-sok (1916– ) and Hwang Yu-yop (1916–2010). In 1940, he also married and had a son, and although his pay was quite meager, he was able to enjoy a somewhat stable life. It is thought that the period from 1940–1944 was the happiest in the artist’s life. Together with his wife, Kim Bok-sun, his only model and lifelong companion, Park overcame all sorts of hardship.

1. oil onPiggybacking canvas, 28 x 13 cm (1953), “Girl a Baby” 2. 20.5 xWay 36.5Home” cm (1965), oil on hardboard, “The

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An Artist of His Times Park was a painter who treated tradition with a wholly modern urban sensibility. Having transplanted himself from the country to the city and then finally settled down after drifting on the fringes, suffering all the while, his subject matter shifted from the past to the present and from the classical to the modern. The art critic Lee Kyung-sung (1919–2009) noted: “It is a testament to Park Soo-keun’s talent that he has been able to take the ‘hometown’ theme, one that easily becomes trite, and rather than degrading it has transformed it into a pure and noble lyrical ode to the common people. More than talent, this may be a manifestation of his character which is wholly without affectation. The unpretentiousness of his works can be attributed to the fact that no matter how long he paints, he will always be, to a certain extent, an amateur in constitution and in his ways. His works have a primitive health-

iness, untainted by technique or artifice. An artist such as this is not born from the effort of an individual alone but is the result of the times or the environment.” Park Soo-keun started out as an amateur who knew nothing of academic theory or techniques, and would inevitably have sought his subject matter in the hometown (of colonial times), even if unconsciously. Few of Park’s early works from the 1930s and 1940s remain extant, however. The paintings from that time, which can only been seen in photographic images, are dominated by curved lines that seem unrefined, though executed with care. From the 1940s, he began to use thick paint and chunky outlines, revealing a strong desire to recreate certain scenes in terms of shading and composition. This can be seen in such paintings as “Women Gathering Greens” from 1940, which features the same composition as his 1937 watercolor “Spring,” as well as “Woman Grinding Grain in a Millstone,” assumed to be from the late 1940s. In the 1950s, Park began to develop a style that was clearly his own. The subjects were rendered flat, his outlines growing simpler and thicker, and his lines straighter overall. Some good examples are “Woman Pounding a Mortar” and “Washing Place,” both from 1954, and “Two Women and a Tree” from 1962. He created a rough textured surface by applying multiple layers of paint in a methodical way, like the woven threads of cloth. He succeeded in recreating the texture of traditional granite sculptures. In those days, Park perceived an indefinable source of beauty in traditional artworks, such as stone Buddha images and pagodas,

and wanted to give that feeling to his paintings. Regarding his own works and painting style, in 1962, Park said, “These days I am using the techniques of symbolism and Impressionism. I am trying to create beautiful canvases.” Surely, what he sought to symbolize was the life of the times. For Park, who had experienced both war and life in the city, rusticity and simplicity had become subjects for symbolism. The lives of ordinary people on the city fringes, a theme that he had begun to embrace anew, also became subjects of symbolism like the myths and legends imbued in the stone Buddhas. At some point, Park’s interest had shifted to creating paintings in which one can feel “the origin of beauty,” or in other words, beautiful paintings. Park imbued his paintings, strongly stylized, with the modern city ambience under capitalism. No other artist of the day could match him, and in that sense he was at the center of the avantgarde. He was not only peerless, he also achieved the greatest modern style of the day. “With grey as his main tone, the white, black, and occasional touches of blue-green shine like stars on canvases suffused with melancholy… Using solid compositions, one by one he applied his own distinctive colors, simple yet subtle and sophisticated,” said the art critic Lee Kyung-sung. Park Soo-keun was more highly acclaimed after his death and is today Korea’s most beloved artist. In the margins between the primitive and the civilized, the country and the city, realism and abstraction, and tradition and modernism, Park discovered and bequeathed us pure lyricism as he ultimately achieved the faraway world of Nirvana.

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INTERVIEW

LEE JA-RAM

Youthful Diva of Pansori

Kim Soo-hyun Performing Arts Columnist Cho Ji-young Photographer

Lee Ja-ram, 36, is a pansori prodigy. She has reignited the popularity of the uniquely Korean opera genre to be enjoyed by audiences of all ages, young and old, in Korea and everywhere she performs. Tickets for her performances are invariably sold out, a rare phenomenon for traditional Korean performing arts. She has wowed audiences and critics alike, including those overseas as well. In late January, I met Lee who had just returned from the Sydney Festival 2015, where she gave tour de force performances of “Ukchuk-ga: Pansori Mother Courage,” her own adaptation of the German dramatist and poet Bertolt Brecht’s anti-war play “Mother Courage and Her Children.”

other Courage cries out sorrowfully over her dead daughter’s body. The audience at the jam-packed Sydney Opera House Drama Theatre erupts in applause, electrified by her mournful and pathetic singing. Again and again throughout a show of two hours and 30 minutes, the audience showers applause and cheers upon Lee, spurring on her solo performance of 15 characters, including Mother Courage, in “Ukchuk-ga,” her rapturously received transnational retelling of Brecht’s trenchant tale. “It was not an easy decision to put this play on the stage in Sydney, where this music genre is completely unknown. But it received wide acclaim and more rave reviews from critics than expected,” said Fiona Winning, the head of programming at the Sydney Festival. Lee also said in recalling the audience’s response that it felt as though “they were heated up.” Lee was the scriptwriter, composer, art director, and sole performer of “Ukchuk-ga,” which straddles the traditional lines between pansori and theater. She used African percussion instruments, a guitar, and a double bass, as well as traditional Korean musical instruments, to create dramatic tension, while maintaining the distinctive characteristics of traditional pansori, a one-person opera, in which a single performer spins an epic tale by singing, acting,

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reciting lines, and providing narration, accompanied by a drummer. In every way, she owned this telling of the harrowing life story of a hard-bitten woman and her struggles to survive the horrors of war. The story has been adapted from “Jeokbyeok-ga,” one of the five surviving classics of the pansori tradition, derived from the Chinese historical legend of the Battle of Red Cliffs. “Ukchuk-ga” leads up to the decisive confrontation that ended China’s Han Dynasty; the Brecht drama unfolds during the European Thirty Years’ War. Lee was also the creator of “Sacheon-ga,” an earlier production of so-called creative pansori, which premiered in 2008 (“Ukchuk-ga” premiered in 2011), based on another Brecht play, “The Good Person of Szechwan.” Set in 21st century Korea, “Sacheon-ga” revolves around Lee’s portrayal of Sun-deok, the lead character, whose kindness makes a mockery of the absurdities and debilitating aspects of contemporary society — obsession with physical appearance, fetishistic credentialism, and unrelenting competition. Rewarded and tested for her innate kindness, she struggles to “Do good!” notwithstanding her unattractiveness, poverty, and vulnerability to the predations of others. Lee received the Best Actress Award for this work at the International Theatre Festival KONTACT, held in Poland in 2010.

Young pansori diva Lee Ja-ram connects instantly with her audiences, captivating even those unfamiliar with Koreaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s traditional art of epic musical storytelling with her uniquely mellow voice and unaffected performance style.

“Sacheon-ga” and “Ukchuk-ga” shed new light on contemporary times by applying classical storytelling and confronting common issues of the times through the medium of pansori. Lee’s renditions of these works received rave reviews at home and abroad: in France, Poland, Romania, Brazil, and Uruguay. Since 2011, France’s Théâtre National Populaire in Lyon has invited Lee every year.

‘Things local are things global’ Kim Soo-hyun I understand that the Sydney Opera House Drama Theatre allows only those artists who are dedicated to original art works to perform on its stage. Your pansori performance at the theater, which made headlines here and abroad, was quite exceptional. The Sydney Morning Herald, in its January 20 issue, called your performance “a percussive interpretation Brecht would have approved of.” “The effect was devastating,” the daily added. I’m curious about what actual response you felt you received there. Lee Ja-ram I felt that I had told the audience, in a country where pansori was totally unknown, that “this is pansori and this is a cultural heritage of Korea.” In fact, I was nervous and scared because it was my first performance in an English-speaking country, although I had traveled to many European and Latin American countries. In Sydney, there were bursts of applause in the middle of my performance that I had to stop once in a while. I was really happy because it was a “banging success,” as you might say. The stage director said that he had rarely seen so many standing ovations for a performance in the over 26 years he had worked in the field of performing arts in Australia. KS What parts of “Ukchuk-ga” surprised them? LJ Be they Koreans or foreigners, audiences marvel at the fact that a solo singer can play several characters and maintain dramatic tension for quite a long time, performing with such rich sound textures and

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clrear intensity. Above all, they are surprised at our achievements in adding something new to our long tradition. Some of the critical reviews about my performance wrote of the need to discuss the future direction of their own opera. KS Koreans have long felt it necessary to publicize our traditional arts widely in the international community. What do you think of the slogan “things Korean are things global”? LJ I’d like to say like this: Things most natural for me are things most global. If you ask people on the street what it is they think is the most quintessentially Korean, they will answer differently. I think the things most natural for me are things [that are] most contemporary. In turn, I, in depicting social phenomena, am reflecting the most contemporary images. I’m often mentioned as a conspicuous example of “popularization and globalization of traditional culture.” But I’ve never been conscious of such a role myself. I’ve just found clues, with which I can communicate with more people, after a process of raising questions within myself and trying to find answers. KS In Korea, audiences respond spontaneously to pansori performances with loud exclamations like “Eolssu! Eolssigu! ” “Jotta! ” (Good!), or “Jalhanda! ” (Good job!). So, I want to know how foreign audiences respond to your performances. LJ Before my performances, I tell them, “Shouts of interjections from the audience are an important part of pansori. If you give a performer such shoutouts during pauses, it cheers her on and energizes her even more. I’ll show you how to do it. Let’s do it together!” Then, they clap instead of shouting interjections, delivering the same effect to me. I now remember saying to an audience at the end of a performance some time ago, “I now feel that I’ve become your friend. This is pansori. Whether you had knowledge of pansori before or not, you’ve now experienced it.”

Performing alone on stage, Lee Ja-ram plays 15 different characters telling the story of “Ukchuk-ga: Pansori Mother Courage” for two hours and 30 minutes.

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With her childlike smile and face free of makeup, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not easy to summon the image of the diva who enraptures audiences with her charismatic presence on stage.

“ I’m often mentioned as a conspicuous example of ‘popularization and globalization of traditional culture.’ But I’ve never been conscious of such a role myself. I’ve just found clues, with which I can communicate with more people, after a process of raising questions within myself and trying to find answers.”

‘My duty is to keep tradition alive’ Last year, Lee introduced “An Ugly Person/Murder,” a pansori adaptation of two short stories by Joo Yo-seop (1902-1972), to the public. “An Ugly Person” is a story about an ugly woman who has been treated as a monster since her birth, while “Murder” is a story about a prostitute who looks back on her life after falling in love by chance. She also premiered a pansori adaptation of “Bon Voyage, Mr. President,” a short story by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, at the Tongyeong International Music Festival. As an artist who has been undertaking so many creative ventures without a pause, Lee believes that it is her duty to keep traditional pansori alive. A talented child singer since age four, Lee began learning pansori in earnest at 11. After participating in a children’s traditional music program, she became the first full-time student of the late pansori master Eun Hee-jin, from whom she learned the basics of the genre. She studied pansori at middle and high schools of traditional arts and earned bachelor’s and master’s degrees in pansori from Seoul National University’s Department of Korean Music. In 1999, when she was 20, she was listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the youngest pansori artist to perform “Chunhyang-ga” (Song of Chunhyang) for eight hours straight. She has also recorded albums of her performances of other pansori works such as “Sugung-ga” (Song of the Undersea Palace), “Jeokbyeokga” (Song of Red Cliffs), and “Simcheong-ga” (Song of Sim Cheong). KS I saw a change in the works you released after “Sacheon-ga” and “Ukchuk-ga.” LJ To be honest, there was a time when I hated my success in “Ukchuk-ga.” I felt a very heavy burden of responsibility for giving solo shows in a big theater like the LG Arts Center. So, I tried to avoid performing in such a big theater for a while. The pansori I like is the one in the environment of a small theater. I can find myself full of emotions even if I stand on an empty stage, simply wearing a cotton skirt and a T-shirt and holding a traditional fan in my hand. This

I found out belatedly. “An Ugly Person/Murder” and “Bon Voyage, Mr. President,” the works that I performed on small stages, were part of my efforts to come closer to the original pansori style. Of course, I’m still young, which means I should be ready to perform either on a big or small stage. Fortunately, a play that I’m currently adapting is “Our Town,” by the American playwright Thornton Wilder. I’m envisioning it in a somewhat bigger picture, which I can’t properly present to the audience in a small theater. KS “An Ugly Person/Murder” won three prizes, including the New Concept Theatre prize at the Donga Theatre Awards in 2014. What do you think of the term New Concept Theatre? LJ I’m really thankful for that, because it means that Korean theatrical circles have come to accept pansori as one of their genres. In fact, I’ve [always] felt that I belong neither to traditional music nor to theater in the full sense of the word. This prize gave me both encouragement and official recognition. I also hope that this occasion will pave the way for many young pansori students to work in a bigger arena called theater. KS Some people point out that the sphere of traditional pansori is dwindling gradually, whereas the boundaries of creative pansori are expanding. LJ I think it’s important to find a balance between the traditional and creative pansori genres. Indeed, I’ve kept working on traditional pansori, even though I’ve often been considered active mainly in the creative pansori genre. For example, I’ve given traditional pansori performances at Café Yiri near Hongik University every autumn, where the seats are filled with young viewers. I want to see hope there. I hope a change will arise, if I keep trying hard despite any difficulties. KS What are your plans for the future? LJ First of all, I’ll give a performance of “Bon Voyage, Mr. President,” which I premiered in Tongyeong last year, in Seoul soon. I have plans to perform in Okinawa this summer and in Lyon next year. I hope I can finish writing my script of “Our Town” by the end of this year.

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ART REVIEW

‘Bulssang’

Hybrid Movement in Search of Identity

Shim Jeong-min Dance Critic

The Korean National Contemporary Dance Company’s signature production “Bulssang,” created by Ahn Ae-soon, the choreographer and head of the company, has received high acclaim at home and abroad since its premiere in 2009. Its exotic stage art and eclectic combination of dance movements, which cross over various cultures and genres, have created a playful hodgepodge of a hybrid dance form.

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hen the curtain goes up, the audience comes face to face with an installation of gilded busts and seated Buddha statues on the stage. A multiplicity of religious iconography, in addition to Buddha figures, appears and disappears. They include representations of Jesus and others not so familiar, some wearing clownish expressions, providing an exotic backdrop to dancers wearing masks of Astro Boy, Shrek, Smurf, Ultra Man, Bart Simpson, and other comic book characters as they weave their way freely between the statues while making enigmatic gestures. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Bulssangâ&#x20AC;? draws parallels in its deployment of religious icons and popular characters of comic literature: all are man-made creations but larger than life, some supernatural or possessing super powers; they cast an outsize shadow in the popular imagination and come to represent the human

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desire and aspiration to rise above weakness and insignificance, the good struggling against evil, thereby to win ultimate affirmation. The dancersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; movements are also hard to categorize. There are traces of Asian traditional dance, such as those from Korea, China, and India, added to which are body movements from the West, like b-boying, as well as maneuvers rooted in the martial arts. Boundaries are blurred between the sacred and the profane, East and West. The stage itself becomes an intriguing hodgepodge. To navigate this innovative, exhilarating, and bewildering playground of the imagination, it would be helpful to deconstruct the provenance and the creative forces behind the work.

1. The Korean National Contemporary Dance Company’s “Bulssang” is an eclectic production incorporating sensual installation art and live DJed hip-hop, lounge, and soul music. This scene is from the 2013 performance at the CJ Towol Theater of Seoul Arts Center. 2. Clad in masks of comic book characters, the dancers put on a bizarre performance, a combination of Asian traditional dance and western movement.

“ I got the motif from the Buddha statue, long considered a symbol of Asian culture and a religious icon, which has been turned into a pop art sculpture with its origin untraceable to be used as a decorative interior design work.”

Inspiration: The Buddha Bar The title “Bulssang” comes from the phonetic transcription of the Korean word referring to a statue of the Buddha. This describes the main theme of the performance which aims to shed new light on traditional Buddhist iconography. Ahn Ae-soon, the art director of the Korean National Contemporary Dance Company, was inspired by the Buddha Bar, a trendy French boutique hotel and watering hole with elements of Orientalism, mostly Buddhism, as its primary theme, from obscure interiors and subdued lighting to elusive lounge music. Ahn observed that in this Parisian hot spot the Buddha statue has lost its original meaning and been turned into a consumable trend. “I got the motif from the Buddha statue, long considered a symbol of Asian culture and a religious icon, which has been turned into a pop art sculpture with its origin untraceable to be used as a decorative interior design work.” As the acts of “Bulssang” unfold, the performance shows how, over time, the Buddha statue is transformed from symbol to object, which is emulated, adapted, and wantonly discarded. Behind all this is the fundamental question about our own identity, as we live in a bewildering jumble of Asian and Western cultures. In its premiere, “Bulssang” featured the images of celebrities such as James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, and Barack Obama, along with brand logos of Starbucks, Ford, and Nike on the stage. The constant message of the performance has been the search for oneself in the midst of ubiquitous symbols of today’s culture and consumption trends. Hybrid Art Contemporary dance is an innately hybrid genre. Hybridity, which can be interpreted as heterogeneity, mixture, and diversity, is the most dynamic attribute that distinguishes contemporary dance. “Bulssang” highlights a hybrid of such fecundity that breeds a virtually endless array of movements. Based on contemporary dance, it adopts stylistic aspects of Indian classical dance Kathak as well as that of Chinese martial arts fostered by Bodhidharma, together with Korean traditional Jindo drum dance and free-style dance, incorporating to spectacular effect such disparate elements as the romance of social dance like the tango and waltz, combined with the physicality of breakdance, with b-boying choreography building up

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to a mesmerizing club dance intensified by the movements of martial arts, gymnastics, and sports. Just as novel is the collaboration of music, art, costumes, and visual imagery, including the installation of gilded Buddha images and colorful plastic baskets. As the dancers converge and collide between the worlds represented by the installations, their movements punctuated by the live DJing of hip-hop, lounge, and soul music create even more of a spectacle. World-renowned installation artist Choi Jeonghwa was in charge of the stage art and DJSoulScape arranged the music. Choi’s stage art vividly materializes the world view contained in “Bulssang.” For example, the colorful baskets thrown about the stage remind us of the numerous visual signs that inundate today’s modern society. Toward the end, statues, baskets, umbrellas, bath stools, and monitors left abandoned on the stage convey a pointed statement: once objects of worship and desire are consumed, they are discarded and strewn about, having lost their original meaning.

Ahn Ae-soon’s World of Dance Ahn is at the forefront of the Korean contemporary dance scene, creating a buzz. She has built her own dance world by harmonizing traditional Korean dance with modern dance. She gained recognition at

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the International Choreographic Competition in Bagnolet, France, in 1998, with her work “The 11th Shadow.” She is listed as one of Korea’s leading dancers on the “Oxford Dictionary of Dance” and the “International Dictionary of Modern Dance.” Since the early 2000s, she began to break away from the traditional boundaries of Korean-style contemporary dance and sought answers in current trends. Her works combine elements of play, disintegration, spontaneity, and audience participation, of which “Gut-Play” and “Circle — After the Other” are outstanding examples. Ahn’s brand of dance boils down to an effort to seek coexistence between traditional Korean cultural identities and contemporary dance, and to put into use the world’s dance trends through collaboration with other genres of art. This effort is well expressed in “Bulssang,” which is steadily gaining exposure on world stages. It was featured at the Art Summit Indonesia 2013 in Jakarta and received a standing ovation. Following its Sydney performance in January this year, it has received invitations from prestigious European contemporary dance festivals, including Italy’s Fabbrica Europa in June and Germany’s Tanz im August. “Bulssang” is also slated to take the stage at Theatre National de Chaillot in Paris in November, where it seems certain to win over another audience abroad.

1. The “Bulssang” costume designer was fashion designer Lim Sun-ok, known for her Modernist Oriental lines and silhouettes. 2. Toward the end of the performance the statues are abandoned in a pile of trash to convey a pointed statement: once objects of worship and desire are consumed, they are discarded and strewn about, having lost their original meaning. 3. The solo dancer amidst the gilded statues throws a question at the audience about their identity in a world affected by Eastern and Western cultures.

2 3

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GUARDIAN OF HERITAGE

Preserving Koreaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Traditional Living Culture Chung Jae-suk

Culture Editor, The JoongAng Ilbo

Hwang Gyu-beck, Cho Ji-young Photographers

Chyung Mi-sook, director of the Korea Furniture Museum, is wholly dedicated to preserving and displaying authentic artifacts of Koreaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s living culture from past centuries. In this endeavor, she is in fact striving to safeguard the soul of Korea.

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hyung Mi-sook is almost always seen wearing a hat, sometimes with work gloves on also, since she spends many hours a day working outdoors. She carefully attends to every nook and cranny of her 7,000-square-meter museum, located in Seongbuk-dong, an old upper-class neighborhood in Seoul. Not a single clump of grass or stone object in the garden is left neglected, and every corner of the museum reflects her tastes and meticulous care. It has been 20 years since Chyung first planned to build the museum. This treasure trove of traditional Korean living culture has been appreciated mostly by those who discovered the museum by word of mouth.

Must-visit Place for Foreign Dignitaries Recently, however, the Korea Furniture Museum has been frequently featured in the media. Its fame has soared since President Park Geun-hye hosted a state luncheon for Chinese President Xi Jinping and his wife there in July 2014. Over the past few years, it has become a must-see attraction for foreign dignitaries visiting Seoul, and an essential stop for the wives of foreign diplomats to learn about Korean culture.

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Many celebrities from abroad have also managed to find the time to visit this place despite their arduous schedules. On his visit to the museum in 2013, American actor Brad Pitt is said to have exclaimed, “Amazing!” Martha Stewart, the American businesswoman and lifestyle guru, was especially fascinated by the small portable dining tables, called soban , marveling at how Koreans of the past were able to capture nature in their furniture, which they kept close by for their everyday enjoyment. The museum complex is comprised of 10 traditional houses (hanok ) that were relocated from various parts of the country just ahead of demolition, which showcase 2,500 pieces of wooden furniture from the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910). The exhibits are unique and functional objects, modest but well crafted, elegant rather than extravagant. In 2011, CNN introduced the place as “the most beautiful museum in Seoul.” So, what motivated Chyung to undertake such a grand project? “My parents brought me up to have pride as a Korean. We always had a lot of antique furniture in the house, and this opened my eyes to the beauty of traditional artifacts. I also wanted to be like my industrious and hardworking mother,” she said. Chyung’s mother was Dr. Lee Tai-young (19141998), Korea’s first female lawyer and human rights activist; her father, Dr. Chyung Yil-hyung (1904-1982), was an influential political figure who served as foreign minister, member of the National Assembly for eight terms, and leader of the opposition party during Korea’s military dictatorship. Her mother would always tell her youngest daughter three things: “Read extensively.” “Travel as much as you can afford.” “Do something for your country and compatriots, especially something that has been overlooked or neglected by others.” This daughter broadened her horizons through reading and traveling, and then set out to accomplish the third mission as if it had been her mother’s last wish. Another person who played a key role in giving birth to the museum was Chyung’s father-in-law. Due to the difficulty of caring for all the antique furniture pieces that she had collected since her college days, Chyung considered donating her collection to the city of Seoul. But in discussing the matter with her father-in-law, he suggested that she build a museum to properly preserve the pieces, and even offered her the use of his valuable property in Seongbuk-dong.

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“In high school, I went to Nashville, Tennessee, in the U.S., as an exchange student. Some of the questions the students kept asking me were ‘What do your people eat?’ ‘What do they wear?’ ‘Where do they live?’ … I realized I knew very little about how my ancestors had led their everyday lives.” Her husband’s family owns Seongnakwon, one of the few remaining upperclass villas from the Joseon period. In this sense, the furniture museum was launched as a joint enterprise of the two families.

Love of Rice Chests Chyung’s most beloved piece of traditional wooden furniture is the rice chest, or dwiju , burnished by the touch of countless women of the past. It is an ordinary household item used to store grain and other foodstuff. So why the rice chest rather than the more elegant pieces of wooden furniture, such as the open shelves (sabang takja ), book chest (chaekgwe ), document chest (mungap ), or reading table (seoan )? “The rice chest gives me the greatest pride. Although it was usually kept in a hidden corner of the house and has such a modest appearance, it was a primary household item in the past, vital for storing various grains and other food products and keeping the family alive and healthy,” Chyung explained. She then pointed out some related proverbs: “Generosity comes from a full rice chest”; and “Rice tastes better when it is scraped up from the bottom of the rice chest.” “After all, the rice chest was the stalwart friend of the working people,” she added. “That’s why we use it for the museum’s logo.” Chyung’s image of the rice chest represents her philosophy of life. Her operating principles for the museum, such as limiting the number of visitors to protect the facilities — no more than 10 visitors per day, only five days a week, with reservations accepted online — are also consistent with the meaning she finds in the rice chest as something that stands firm just doing its job. Complaints that the museum is “snobby” most likely stem from Chyung’s insistence on sticking to her principles. But by eliminating large crowds, visitors can better appreciate the gracious beauty of hanok and traditional Korean furniture with the assistance of a knowledgeable guide.

1. Director Chyung Misook has managed and maintained the Korea Furniture Museum with the utmost care for 20 years to protect relics of traditional Korean living culture. 2. Since traditional Korean furniture is usually small and simple, it neither takes up much space nor is too imposing in style. Whether standing alone against an empty wall, or placed with other household articles, a piece of old furniture is in natural harmony with the rest of the room.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 41

1 2

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1. The Korean Furniture Museum makes it a rule to accept no more than 10 visitors a day, who are taken on a guided tour. The rule is intended to create the optimal environment for visitors to appreciate the gracious beauty of the traditional buildings and furniture. 2. Consisting of 10 traditional buildings, the museum showcases 2,500 pieces of wooden furniture from the Joseon Dynasty. 3. The low wall on one side of the garden is decorated with delightful motifs of the turtle and the “four gentlemen” (plum blossoms, orchids, chrysanthemums and bamboo).

After a guided tour around the compound, it is easy to understand the director’s “obstinacy” in striving to create the ideal museum environment. One rediscovers the hanok’s human-centered environment for a lifestyle that embraces nature. Chyung thinks that the time spent in her late teens studying abroad offered her an opportunity to discover the true value of hanok. She looked back on the time, saying: “In high school, I went to Nashville, Tennessee, in the U.S., as an exchange student. Some of the questions the students kept asking me were ‘What do your people eat?’ ‘What do they wear?’ ‘Where do they live?’ In those days there were few Asians living in the U.S. What they were most curious about was the way Koreans lived. I realized I knew very little about how my ancestors had led their everyday lives. As soon as I returned to Korea I started to collect traditional furniture. My heart swelled with pride for things Korean. Our old houses, antique furniture, and traditional clothing are rich in artistic inspiration and beauty, unparalleled by modern art. The realization that they were disappearing all too quickly made me impatient to do something about it.”

For the ‘Third Renaissance’ These days, Chyung is spending time on learning more about seowon , the Neo-Confucian academies of the Joseon Dynasty. She visits the academies in the countryside and meets the elders who are working to preserve them. She is planning to survey all the furniture of Oksan Seowon, piece by piece, and have it cleaned in preparation for an event scheduled for April to reenact the academy’s traditions. Chyung is deeply concerned about Korea’s education system, which she believes is facing “a major crisis that could shake the foundations of this country.” In her mind, one possible solution for this problem is the restoration of seowon.

“For the past century, Korea has been too keen on emulating advanced countries. When the brightest young minds are bent on finding a job in a business conglomerate, how can we look forward to a bright future with such a mentality?” Chyung asks. “Without changing that kind of value system, we won’t be able to sustain the development that we’ve achieved so far. All over the country, there are about 670 seowon and 230 hyanggyo (local schools annexed to Confucian shrines). In their heyday, the seowon were institutions for higher education on par with contemporary universities in Europe. But we’ve abandoned and forgotten about them so easily. I hope to see these historic academies restored so that their traditions can be passed on to today’s students. They could be affiliated with secondary schools so that students can learn the traditions and spirit of the academies by doing small things first, such as cleaning the grounds. Besides, when they are properly restored, the seowon can be used for cultural tourism.” Another thing that is taking up a great deal of Chyung’s time and energy is the Seongbuk-dong Project. It was on Chyung’s initiative that the City of Seoul and Seongbuk-gu District Office launched a master plan to develop Seongbuk-dong as a “cluster for traditional living culture.” This historic neighborhood has rich resources in this respect. It was the site for the Joseon-era altar where the queen held a rite to promote sericulture, picking mulberry leaves and weaving cloth, and boasts tourist attractions such as Buddhist temples, restaurants that specialize in authentic Korean cuisine, and a collection of old hanok buildings. It is also home to many museums, including Kansong Art Museum, with more art museums set to move in. Chyung dreams of developing Seongbukdong into a “museum district” by proposing a policy to attract museums that specialize in various themes, like silk, brassware, earthenware, folk painting, and regional cuisine. “In the Joseon Dynasty, there were two periods of remarkable cultural advancement, three hundred years apart, during the reign of King Sejong in the 15th century and during the reigns of King Yeongjo and King Jeongjo in the 18th century. Now, three hundred years later, I see signs of a third renaissance in the 21st century,” Chyung said. “Although the Korea Furniture Museum is just a small institution, I believe it is helping to pave the way for a larger movement.”

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MODERN LANDMARKS

Roh Hyung-suk Staff Reporter, The Hankyoreh

Cho Ji-young Photographer

Through most of the 20th century, alongside Koreaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s modernization and economic boom, Myeong-dong reigned as the high street at the heart of its capital Seoul. The fashion boutiques of famous designers as well as the numerous bars, tea shops, and music rooms frequented by denizens of cultural and artistic circles are no longer around, but a visitor today would still notice throngs of fashion-conscious locals and tourists crowding its narrow pedestrian-only streets and alleys. Myeongdong Cathedral is by far the most notable landmark in this bustling fashion retail neighborhood, but halfway along the thoroughfare from the Catholic Center near the cathedral to Namdaemun-ro, there is another renowned legacy of early modern architecture: Myeongdong Theater.

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1. Named Meiji-za at the time of its construction, Myeongdong Theater was a movie house catering mostly to a Japanese clientele. With four floors above ground and one floor below ground, the building was designed by Japanese architect Tamata Kitsuji. It was modeled after a style of theater architecture then in vogue in Japan, which was an eclectic blending of the Renaissance and Baroque styles. 2. The building was sold to a financial company in the early 1970s, completely changing its use and nearly condemning it to demolition for a new skyscraper. It was saved by a concerted campaign for the government to purchase and preserve the historic building; in 2009 it reopened as a 500seat theater with the exterior of the original building intact and the interior reconstructed.

he main entrance of Myeongdong Theater is, quite unusually, located at the eastern corner of the building. The entrance portico is defined by an ornate frieze in the Baroque style, from which decorative pilasters rise up to meet the cornice that crowns the building’s richly ornamented round turret façade. Neat rows of rectangular windows and frieze-framed roundels create a delicate harmony with the pilasters sculpted with oval patterns in relief. The rounded corner façade and walls accentuate the uniqueness of the building. Symmetrical rows of arched windows on the southern and eastern walls facing the streets are surmounted by arcades of lancet windows under pulvinated entablatures running the length of the flat roofline. The building’s stylish period looks proclaim its function as a cultural facility. The history of the building, which was once a central stage for Korean performing arts, has unfolded in parallel with that of Myeong-dong itself.

Tumultuous Period for Culture and Arts Myeongdong Theater was built in 1936 during the period of Japanese colonial rule in Korea (1910-1945). The reinforced con-

crete structure, built on a site of 1,653 square meters at the heart of Myeong-dong (then called Honmachi by the Japanese), has four floors above ground and one underground. Named Meiji-za at the time of its construction, it was a fashionable movie house that catered mainly to a Japanese clientele. It was designed by Tamata Kitsuji, a Japanese architect from Tokyo, who modeled it after a style of theater architecture then in vogue in Japan, which featured an eclectic blending of Renaissance and Baroque styles. Since the 1920s, Honmachi had been the capital’s showcase of modern consumerist culture represented by shopping and entertainment. In the 1930s, wealthy Japanese expatriates residing in Gyeongseong (the colonial-era name of Seoul) and Koreans working in cultural and artistic fields enjoyed shopping and socializing in the tea shops, noodle bars, and Japanese or Western restaurants near Meiji-za. Even in sorrow for the loss of their national sovereignty, Korean writers, artists, and intellectuals were unable to repress their longing for modern cultural fare and flocked to this area. In time, the area established itself as the city’s No. 1 cultural hotspot, where a new cultural landscape started to take shape as one after another, movie houses and theaters for per-

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1. On the original flat rooftop, two semi-circular structures clad in glass and metal plates now stand like interlaced flower petals, and an open lawn in the middle serves as a rest area. 2. The inside of the performance hall has been reconstructed, bringing the stage and the stalls closer to eye level to increase rapport between the players and the audience.

The restored building’s exterior remains much like its former self, but the interior has been completely transformed. The space surrounding the performance hall is designed to symbolize “a large bowl in which culture is embraced and recreated.” forming arts began to attract audiences to the trendy district — Hwanggeum Theater (later renamed Gukdo Theater) in Jingogae (today’s Chungmu-ro) as well as Yakcho Theater (renamed Scala Theater) and Jungang Theater (now Jungang Cinema). After liberation in 1945, Meiji-za continued to play a major role in promoting the performing arts in Korea, notwithstanding several changes to its name and offerings — Gukje Theater, Sigonggwan (Seoul Public Hall) and the National Theater of Korea. In 1946, the showing of “Hooray for Freedom” (directed by Choe Ingyu), the first feature film to be produced after liberation, attracted a large audience. In 1948, “La Traviata,” the first opera to be performed in Korea, was staged here, with soprano Kim Chakyung in the lead role. Although almost half of Myeong-dong was destroyed during the Korean War (1950-53), the theater survived the rampage as did the nearby Myeongdong Cathedral. The theater was repaired and continued to stage dramas, operas, concerts, films, and dance performances. Notable figures in cultural and artistic circles frequented popular socializing spots near the theater, including Dolce Tearoom, Eunseong Bar, and Dongbang Salon, which

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became a vital backdrop for Korea’s contemporary cultural history. In 1962, after the municipal theater that had been housed in the same building was relocated to the Citizens’ Hall at Gwanghwamun, which evolved into today’s Sejong Center, Myeongdong Theater enjoyed its heyday as the National Theater of Korea for the next 11 years.

Swept Up in the Swirl of History Until 1973, when the National Theater moved to its new home at the foot of Namsam, Myeongdong Theater provided stage for a great number of playwrights, directors and actors. It has also witnessed several memorable events in the political history of Korea: In 1955, the Democratic Party was inaugurated here to mount a protest campaign against the dictatorial regime of the Liberal Party’s Syngman Rhee; in 1956, during the national convention of the Democratic Party, Chang Myon, the then vice president who was South Korea’s first ambassador to the United States, was shot and wounded by a would-be assassin; and later in the year, the Progressive Party was founded as the first political group to integrate various groups of disparate political inclinations in the country.

After the National Theater’s departure, a drastic twist of fate befell the building as it was sold off to a financial company. The theater with over a thousand seats suddenly vanished, replaced by the offices of a financial firm. It seemed headed for certain doom when the company announced in 1994 that it would pull down the building to erect a skyscraper in its place. However, relief came through the persistent campaign by the country’s cultural circles to preserve the historic building, which led the government to purchase it in 2003. After four years of renovation, Myeongdong Theater was returned to the citizens, reopening its doors in June 2009 with over 500 seats. The restored building’s exterior remains much like its former self, but the interior has been completely transformed. The space surrounding the performance hall is designed to symbolize “a large bowl in which culture is embraced and recreated.” It was one of the major points emphasized in the renovation process. The new performance hall is separated from the framework of the original building, which is meant to highlight the function of the renovated area as a whole new space for the promotion of culture and the arts. It might have been a well-meant attempt, but ended up completely erasing every trace of the original lobby, stage, and seating area. In addition, two semi-circular structures clad with glass and metal plates, resembling interlaced flower petals, have been added on the original flat rooftop, which now has a garden as well.

Due to these radical changes, the restored version of Myeongdong Theater has failed to qualify for inclusion on the state’s registry of modern cultural heritage.

Depository of Memories In terms of architectural value, the Myeongdong Theater building, as it stands today, might not quite measure up to exacting standards. Various scholars have criticized it for being a “fake,” a mere imitation of the Taishokan Theater built in Asakusa, Tokyo, in 1935. However, as a remnant of early modern architecture in Korea, the building’s significance is not based on who designed it or in what style, but rather on what events took place there, and with what effects to posterity. That said, Myeongdong Theater is a notable work of architecture embedded with historical, political, and social significance related to Korea’s modern and contemporary era. In spite of the considerable controversies and complications surrounding its reopening in 2009 as a venue exclusively for theatrical performances, the theater has been well received by the general public. But it is truly lamentable that the building’s noteworthy legacy and history have not been preserved properly. In its early days, the theater and its vicinity abounded with the energy and passion that people of the time had for culture and arts. It is hoped that the restored Myeongdong Theater will evolve into a manifestation of this legacy and a depository of the public’s fond memories.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 47

FOCUS

Surge in Chinese Tourism Kim Bo-ram Reporter, Hankyung Magazine

Its Upside and Downside

In 2014, 100 million Chinese tourists traveled around the world. This included some 6 million visitors to Korea, making the country the No. 1 overseas travel destination for Chinaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s outbound tourists. Hearing Chinese-speaking visitors is nothing new at popular tourist spots in Seoul, such as Myeong-dong, Namdaemun Market, and the streets along Cheonggye Stream. Store signs and notices written in Chinese are commonplace these days. 48 KOREANA Spring 2015

A recent survey showed that the majority of Chinese tourists visited Korea mainly for shopping. They bought designer goods at duty-free shops at the airport, downtown, or at department stores, and inexpensive products in bulk at traditional markets like Dongdaemun Market.

he most popular destinations for Chinese tourists in 2014 were Hong Kong, Macau, and Korea, in that order, according to the China National Tourism Administration. But since Hong Kong and Macau are special administrative regions of China, Korea emerged as the most visited overseas travel destination for Chinese tourists. Recently, there has been a huge surge in the number of Chinese tourists visiting Korea, thanks to the timely combination of various factors, such as the popularity of Korean pop culture in China, geographic proximity, a cap on the number of mainland visitors to Hong Kong, and tensions between Beijing and Tokyo.

Driving Growth in Korea’s Tourism Industry With the rush of Chinese visitors, Korea’s tourism industry and domestic market are regaining vitality. And as the number of Chinese tourists continues its upward trend, a new term for them has

been coined: youke , which means “traveling guest.” A recent survey by the Korea Tourism Organization shows that these traveling Chinese guests devoted a whopping 82.8 percent of their time here to shopping. In other words, they do little more than shopping during their stay, buying low-cost goods in bulk in Myeongdong or at Dongdaemun Market, and luxury goods at duty-free shops or department stores. The most popular items include cosmetics, clothing, foodstuff, and herbal medicine. Korean brands and Dongdaemun merchants are also enjoying robust sales growth, putting the domestic tourism account in the black for the first time in two years. Chinese tourists are no longer just a group of foreign visitors but an important pillar of Korea’s domestic distribution and tourism industries. Despite these positive effects, there are also downsides. A number of travel agencies have been criticized for selling cheap tour packages that only encourage shopping, thus treating youke

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 49

In the past, most Chinese tourists traveled in groups, following flag-waving tour guides around the major attractions of Seoul. But now, they are increasingly traveling throughout Korea as individuals or in much smaller groups to better experience Korean culture, thereby enhancing the overall quality of tourism.

merely as customers with fat wallets. Interested only in making easy money, these agencies provide only rudimentary services, making little effort to guide them to experience Korean culture in any substantive way.

Demand for New Experiences Under these circumstances, signs of change are evident as a growing number of Chinese tourists seek to experience Korea in more diverse ways. Notably, theatrical plays and musicals are becoming increasingly popular among these visitors, especially non-verbal performances, which rely on dance, music, and body movements. By overcoming the language barrier with nonverbal communication, these performances are also attracting audiences abroad without the involvement of hallyu celebrities as in the case of K-pop and TV dramas. With word-of-mouth promotion, a stage performance is now included in most Chinese package tours. According to PMC Production, the producer of “Nanta,” a nonverbal comedy show depicting kitchen staff, more than 80 per-

50 KOREANA Spring 2015

1. A change is occurring in the travel patterns of Chinese tourists, who used to rush from one major tourist attraction in Seoul to another led by a guide carrying a flag. 2. Non-verbal performances using only body movements and dance are growing popular with Chinese tourists who want to have more diverse experiences in Korea. This is a special street performance of the non-verbal show “Jump.”

cent of seats at its dedicated theater in Myeong-dong, Seoul, were filled with youke during the Chinese national holidays last year, including the ten millionth viewer on December 29. A year or two ago, a large part of the audience would be group tourists, but nowadays individual visitors are showing a steady rise. In many cases they purchase tickets before boarding their flight to Korea on www.hanyouwang.com, a popular Chinese website providing special offers for visitors to Korea. Notably, more Chinese tourists are traveling these days to places outside of Seoul, a new trend led by younger tourists who like to travel on their own. Popular new destinations include Jeju Island, Haeundae Beach in Busan, and Gangwon Province. In particular, Jeju and Gangwon are emerging as tourism resort areas with newly built facilities, specialized museums, recreation facilities, and shopping malls, amidst a beautiful natural environment.

Enjoy Local Culture and Lifestyle In the past, most Chinese tourists traveled in groups, following flag-waving tour guides around the major attractions of Seoul. But

now, they are increasingly traveling throughout Korea as individuals or in much smaller groups to better experience Korean culture, thereby enhancing the overall quality of tourism. With a rise in the number of repeat visitors who want to do something new, cookie-cutter tour programs focused on shopping in Myeongdong or at duty-free shops are quickly falling out of favor. Individual Chinese tourists are now seeking out places where they can truly experience the Korean lifestyle, wherever that might be. These days, it is not uncommon to see them milling about at such weekend hot spots as Itaewon, trendy Garosugil in Sinsadong, and popular neighborhood eateries that have long been the exclusive domain of locals. Such changes are in accord with global travel trends, which encourage interaction with the locals, rather than simply visiting tourist attractions. With Chinese tourists making their way to every corner of Korea, there is an urgent need for domestic tourism infrastructure and services to be upgraded. Indeed, for individual travelers who have to make hotel reservations, get from one place to another, select their destinations, and find restaurants all on their own,

everything is naturally more difficult than it is for the group tourists with a guide. To make things more convenient, tourism infrastructure outside the capital needs to be dramatically improved, including public transport systems and road signs, and communication tools should be developed, such as smart phone applications, to provide tourist information. Not a few travel agencies have indeed made earnest efforts to attract more Chinese tourists to Korea by offering â&#x20AC;&#x153;airtelâ&#x20AC;? (flight and hotel) packages for those who want to steer clear of conventional tour packages, designing theme tours for those seeking medical services, and providing visits to traditional markets and even arranging wedding events. Above all, in response to the increasingly diverse demands of Chinese tourists, it is imperative to develop unique programs with high-quality services providing genuine hospitality so that they can return home with wonderful memories of Korea. Prudent investment and thoughtful effort are needed to assure that they have a pleasant and enjoyable stay in Korea and, hopefully, want to visit again.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 51

IN LOVE WITH KOREA

How to Have Your Kimchi and Eat It Ben Jackson Freelance Writer / Cho Ji-young Photographer

The Eat Your Kimchi empire has grown over the past four years. A lot. The search for its studio in Seoul’s Hongdae neighborhood is ended by a giant, unambiguous “EYK” logo on the flank of a building. In the car park behind it is a Kia hatchback plastered in visible-from-outer-space Eat Your Kimchi livery. Somewhere nearby is the You Are Here Café, opened by EYK in conjunction with the language learning site Talk to Me in Korean in August 2014. What has been going on? 52 KOREANA Spring 2015

ack in late 2010, EYK creators Simon and Martina Stawski posed for the cover of another Seoul-based English magazine. Wearing 3D glasses and eating popcorn, they sat on a bench in a field of reeds at Seoul’s Noeul Park as the sun set behind them. At this time, the relentlessly upbeat Canadian couple and their enigmatic dog, Spudgy, were just beginning to generate serious momentum with a new and distinctive style of video blogging. Their comical spotlight shone a beam of quirk on each new aspect of Korean culture they encountered; their on-screen chemistry and lack of inhibition were beginning to intoxicate viewers around the world. Simon had boldly quit his English teaching job in a bid to develop the Eat Your Kimchi website and the couple’s YouTube channel; Martina was still breadwinning in the classroom as his “sugar mama.”

Simon and Martina Stawski have captured the hearts of viewers in Korea and worldwide with their YouTube videos that humorously introduce the Korean lifestyle and pop culture to foreigners in a distinctive way.

Into the Lake of Fire It all started in 2008, when the Stawskis landed at Incheon International Airport. Ahead of them lay new jobs teaching English. Behind them lay other teaching stints and terrified parents in Canada, plunged into fear by North Korea’s latest threat to turn the South into an “ocean of fire.” “Later on, we realized that North Korea is just fond of metaphors with oceans, lakes and fire,” says Martina. “Liquid destruction,” adds Simon. To put their families at ease, they filmed themselves eating sundubu jjigae , a popular soft tofu stew dish. Thus began a series of videos that now number around 2,000, taking in everything from food to K-pop to answering questions from fans. The couple’s target audience has evolved from family members to fellow English teachers (they realized nobody else was providing videos about practical topics like using a Korean washing machine or throwing out rubbish correctly), to viewers interested in Korea in general, and, eventually, to those logging on to see Simon and Martina themselves. “I remember our very first watcher, a guy called Steve, from England,” Simon recalls. “He sent us an email saying ‘Hey, I’m coming to Bucheon as well, and I’d like information about this and that.’ Do you remember Anti-English Spectrum [a Korean group notorious for harassing foreign English teachers in Korea at the time]? We thought it was Anti-English Spectrum pretending to be a foreigner. Why would

anybody give a shit about our videos and why on earth would they be so nice? They must be trying to lure us somewhere outside so they could murder us. Fortunately he wasn’t a murderer, he was just a cool guy from England.” Viewer numbers steadily increased, passing some serious milestones on the way. In the EYK studio is an official YouTube award for passing the 100,000-viewer mark. At the time of writing, their three YouTube channels have been viewed a total of 241,033,279 times. The Stawskis profess bewilderment at their own success. “It’s baffling,” says Simon. “Why does anybody give a shit? I have no idea.” “We’ll never know,” says Martina. “We’re just enjoying it while we can.” They are a singularly well-balanced couple when interviewed together. Both are witty and enthusiastic but neither dominates the other. Their jokes bounce back and forth naturally and they always seem to have fun. Indeed, their perpetually positive rapport appears partly responsible for their success: some fans comment on how seeing a happily married couple makes a comforting contrast to their own experiences growing up in a difficult family or in a rocky relationship.

In Control Fame, especially in the online world, can be fickle and short-lived. But while others would have hit the rocks by now, the Stawskis are skillfully surfing their wave of popularity even as it reaches epic proportions. Their lighthearted on-screen banter lies on a bedrock of cold, hard number crunching. Self-described tech geek Simon constantly monitors and analyzes the viewing figures that indicate what kind of content people like to watch, and how long they typically watch it before getting bored and moving on. EYK adjusts its output accordingly. Fans are now offered videos in six weekly categories, from Sunday’s “K Crunch Indie Segment,” which introduces Korean indie music, to Saturday’s “WTF Korea” (Wonderful Treasure Find, Korea), where the couple apply their well-developed sense of the absurd to the various unusual products and objects they discover (Hello Kitty foot-warmers, or soju glasses featuring markings for mixing optimum quantities of beer and soju to create the perfect glass of somaek , for example). YouTube videos are short and punchy;

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 53

website entries offer more depth.

1. (Opposite page, top to bottom left) Simon and Martina enjoy a water slide in a water park, a favorite summer spot for Koreans, and explain how to beat the summer heat without even leaving the city center. 2. (Opposite page, top to bottom right) Simon and Martina describe the ingredients and taste of the cold noodle dish naengmyeon , a Korean summer specialty.

International Following After seven years, their following is huge. They have made several international tours: Europe twice, Australia, Singapore and elsewhere. An American tour is in the pipeline. “It’s touching and confusing,” says Simon. “Some people wait in line for hours when we do an event. Last year when we had our studio open house for one day before the coffee shop opened, a guy flew in from Australia to come to this one-day event. He’d missed our visit to Melbourne, so he was determined to see us this time.” The couple’s tours offered some insight into what made their shtick tick with fans. “One thing we forgot is that we’ve been doing videos for about seven years in Korea,” says Martina. “People have grown up with our videos. They started out in high school and ended up at university, and saw us grow as they grew. So it’s almost like reality TV in that sense. They’ve watched us struggle through not knowing Korean, reviewing stuff in Korea that we didn’t originally like; I hated banana milk and “soseji ” [plastic-wrapped industrial solidified-cheese-meat-gunge marketed as sausages] or odeng [boiled fish cake] at the tteokbokki stall, and then five years later, we’re like, ‘This is the greatest thing EVER!’ So they’ve seen us change and grow. Our hair, our weights, our style, everything.” Simon adds that online media breeds an even closer relationship with viewers: “The camera’s right up in our face, we’re looking at the lens, we’re talking to people, we’re addressing them by name in a lot of our videos. We do live chats, there’s that sense of communion that’s lacking in traditional media.” “The weirdest thing was doing our own home city, because they held the event at the University of Toronto, from which we graduated,” says Martina. “In the same room. To have people in that room that you had lectures in, watching you at an event, and to find yourself on stage: that’s baffling. Our parents came, and Simon’s were crying their eyes out in the front row.” Who’s Eating EYK’s Kimchi? Foreigners frequently pop up in Korean media for being ... foreign. If they speak Korean, the paradethe-Wonder-Monkey effect is magnified exponentially and they are likely to become major celebrities until

54 KOREANA Spring 2015

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 55

they cause a scandal by getting caught in an extramarital affair or referring to the East Sea as the “Sea of Japan.” A look at Simon and Martina’s viewing figures, however, shows that they lie well outside this stereotype. “Of our audience, 98 percent is outside Korea,” says Simon. “Seventy-five percent are female, and the biggest percentage by age is between 20 and 29 years old, followed by 13 to 18. Thirty-five percent are from the United States, 10 percent from Canada, 9 percent from the U.K., and lots from Southeast Asia.” Many fans have turned out to be ethnic Koreans in places like small towns in America, who felt isolated from their ancestral culture and were fascinated to find an uninhibited Canadian couple filming their own attempts to come to terms with it. While the world is full of wannabe celebrities desperately trying to climb the slippery marble walls of fame, Martina and Simon have found themselves unexpectedly propelled upwards by a large and devoted body of fans. When, in 2012, they launched a bid on crowdfunding website Indiegogo to raise $40,000 to open a studio, their target was met in barely seven hours. “We started it at night before we went to bed and found we had reached our mark when we got up the next morning,” says Martina. The studio, where they sit talking on giant beanbags, feels like a solid embodiment of EYK’s online content: all primary colors and fake mustaches on the surface, it is also full of thoughtful elements such as a sleep room (complete with a galaxy of glow stars), a standing desk (“They say sitting down the whole time is as unhealthy as smoking,” says Martina), a wall printed with names of all EYK’s Indiegogo donors. Another room is full of merchandise to be sold through the EYK online store, while several walls are plastered with gifts, letters, and drawings by adoring fans.

Sponsorship Success The Eat Your Kimchi-mobile in the car park outside was another landmark in EYK’s evolution. Hitting Korea’s roads in May 2014, it was the product of more than a year’s worth of pitching to Kia Motors. “It was an amazing feeling of a company acknowledging us,” says Martina. “Bloggers and YouTubers don’t enjoy that

56 KOREANA Spring 2015

much recognition in Korea yet, unlike those in other countries. They’re not regarded as legitimate companies and they have a harder time getting sponsorship.” The car makes frequent appearances in EYK videos and helps the protagonists travel the length and breadth of the country. “We send Kia all the videos that feature the car and they love the way we make use of it,” Martina continues. “We don’t just do the stereotypical advertising thing where you point out all the features and say how great they are.” Other major landmarks in EYK history so far include the pair’s world tours, and the opening of You Are Here Café, a short walk away from the studio, last August. On the café menu are several items created by Simon and Martina themselves, including milkshakes, zucchini brownies and healthy “powerballs.” Most interestingly, it features an anonymous video booth in which guests can freely express and record their opinions on various controversial issues, in Korean or English (EYK has an army of volunteer subtitles staff).

The Future Four years ago, Simon and Martina were already eyeing Japan as a new source of adventure. Their rapid rise in Korea saw Japan pushed to the back burner, but they finally headed there this year, shortly after speaking to Koreana . The popularity of their European videos proved that many fans were after content featuring them, not necessarily in connection with Korea. “I want to be surprised,” says Martina. How have the last seven years changed them? “I miss the old naiveté and spontaneity,” says Simon. “These days, we have to think so much more about everything we upload, and how it will be viewed by so many more people. Things don’t feel so new and fresh.” But that doesn’t mean the ideas are drying up. “We have two video editors, but we still need more,” says Simon. “We have so much that we want to do. I just wish we had more time, or cyborgs.” With its unrelenting weekly schedule, strong supply of inspiration and enduring search for novelty, Eat Your Kimchi looks set to maintain its run of success for some time to come.

Martina shows how to make kimchi by doing it herself while visiting with a Korean family.

“So it’s almost like reality TV in that sense. They’ve watched us struggle through not knowing Korean, reviewing stuff in Korea that we didn’t originally like; I hated banana milk and “soseji ” [plastic-wrapped industrial solidified-cheese-meatgunge marketed as sausages] or odeng [boiled fish cake] at the tteokbokki stall, and then five years later, we’re like, ‘This is the greatest thing EVER!’ So they’ve seen us change and grow.”

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 57

58 KOREANA Spring 2015

ON THE ROAD

All inlets are located where the land ends. For any traveler who arrives at the dockside of an inlet there is nowhere further to go. But for the fishing boats, this is their point of departure. Fascinat-

Gwak Jae-gu Poet Lee Han-koo Photographer

ing, isn’t it? Where the road ends for human footsteps, the journey starts all over again.

ome ten years ago, when I was about to pass from my forties into my fifties, I once spent time wandering from one seaside village to another. If I couldn’t find a house in which to lodge for the night, I would stop by the village hall and ask the elderly villagers there if I could stay the night. They would not hesitate to say, “Of course, go ahead.” They would smile and hold out their hands, and the feeling when I clutched their hands in mine … these could be the hands of someone who has spent a lifetime working in the cities, shuffling from factory to market, and has come back to his hometown, or they could be the hands of someone who, accepting the seaside village as the center of his

universe, has grown old and wrinkled fishing and gathering seaweed for a living. The hands, rough and hard but warm, mirrored the sadness and longing, dreams and despairs, experienced in the life of the individual. In those days when I drifted from one village to the next, my feet would always lead me to the ferry port. As I watched the fishing boats cleaving through the water, chugging off somewhere with their engines going putt , putt , putt , I would suddenly feel an ache in my heart. Then crouching down in a corner, as I watched the boats depart and return when the sun went down, my heart would grow warm again.

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Three Islands Embracing the Sea On the boat from Yeosu to Geomundo (Geomun Island), my heart began to beat faster. Yeosu is a port city with a population of some 300,000. In 2012, this port city, abounding with intrinsic beauty, hosted the International Maritime Exposition. The year the expo was held, I traveled around a few small seaside villages of Yeosu with some friends from Europe. Among them was Eric, a light aircraft pilot, from Nice, France. He said he became a pilot because he loved the coast of his hometown, Nice, and wanted to stay in sight of its shoreline for the rest of his life. When we passed the village of Gajeong-ri, he said to me, “This sea here is like the sea in Nice. I mean Nice before it was tainted by civilization.” Geomundo is part of a maritime national park located 114.7 kilometers from Yeosu Harbor. It consists of three little islands — Dongdo (East Island), Seodo (West Island) and Godo (Old Island) — arranged in a kind of oval that resembles an egg. The water surrounded by the islands is called Donaehae, meaning the “sea within islands,” and the shores are dotted with tiny villages with an old history. The outer cliffs of the islands block rough waves, making the water on the inner side so calm that in the past they called it Samho, meaning a “lake made by three islands.” It is said that Geomundo became known to the world when it was mentioned in the journey log of the British warship Samarang in 1845. The British called this blissful island Port Hamilton, named after the then secretary of the Admiralty, Captain W. A. B. Hamilton. In those days, the Qing Dynasty also showed its interest in the island by dispatching a warship commanded by Admiral Ding Ruchang to its waters. The Chinese, in an effort to communicate with the islanders in writing, wrote down three characters, “菊花發” (“chrysanthemums in full bloom”), but no one could read the message. So the villagers took it to an elderly scholar living on the island, named Kim Yu, who told them to present the Chinese with a case of dried persimmons. The Chinese had arrived on the island in autumn, when the island was covered in chrysanthemums. They had meant to say, “The chrysanthemums have bloomed beautifully all over the island.” The scholar, who was moved by this sentiment, wanted to show his gratitude by presenting the Chinese a gift of sweet dried persimmons. After the scholar and the admiral’s men communicated in writing, they were greatly impressed by the scholar’s wisdom. Thereafter, the Chinese called the island Geomundo, which means “island of the great scholar.” Previously, the island was known as Geomado, which means “island surrounded by giant rocks.” On April 5, 1885, Geomundo was occupied by the crew of three ships of the British royal navy, who raised the British flag on the island. The British set up camp, built forts and laid electric lines. Through this project, the residents of Geomundo came to be the first Koreans outside the royal palace of Gyeongbokgung to see

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1. Geomundo is part of a maritime national park, located 114.7km south of Yeosu Harbor in South Jeolla Province. The ferry that shuttles between fishing villages on the eastern and western islands (Dongdo and Seodo) is an important means of transportation for the island residents. 2. Mackerel fishing is a major source of income for residents of Geomundo. Tourists delight in the local delicacies of sea-fresh mackerel served raw or broiled. 3. The “Geomundo Boat Song,” Important Intangible Cultural Property No. 1 of South Jeolla Province, is a work song that reflects fishermen’s rough lives and their joys and sorrows.

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electricity and witness the coming of modernization. Though the British claimed their occupation of the island was in preparation for a potential war with Russia, it was clearly a violation of international law. Geomundo was caught in a power struggle between the world’s great powers in the late 19th century, but the Joseon court, though aware of the usurpation, had little means to fight back. The British finally left in February 1887, only after receiving Russia’s assurances that it would not enter Geomundo. Remaining on the island are the graves of three British sailors who died there.

Sinjikki Mermaid, Guardian of the Island’s Fishermen As soon as I had dropped off my bags at my lodgings in the seaside village of Geomun-ri, I went out again to trek around Seodo. The largest of the three islands, Seodo boasts two lighthouses, the Noksan lighthouse at its northern end and the Geomundo lighthouse at the southern end. The trekking course from one lighthouse to the other passes through the villages of Seodo-ri, Byeonchon-ri, and Deokchon-ri. As one walks through the villages where the islanders live, along the seaside roads and mountain paths, all the cares of the world are forgotten. Along the path to Noksan lighthouse here and there were fields covered in something that looked like green netting. I questioned one of the women working in the fields and she told me it was “sea breeze mugwort.” A specialty of Geomundo, it breathes in the fresh breezes of the sea. The islanders cook it in soup for its fresh aroma or dry the leaves to make tea. Just before going up to the lighthouse, at the maritime park I found the statue of a mermaid. Called Sinjikki, or sometimes Sinjikke, legend has it that the mermaid, who has fair skin and long black hair, would appear on moonlit nights or at dawn to throw rocks at the cliffs or make other sounds, guiding fishermen away from the reefs or saving them from typhoons. It only seems natu-

62 KOREANA Spring 2015

1. The well-tended walking trail leading to the Noksan lighthouse at the windswept northern tip of Seodo, the western island, is one of the highlights of touring Geomundo on foot. 2. In February when the camellias are in full bloom, the trails on Mt. Suwol on Seodo are strewn with vibrant red camellia flowers that have fallen whole from the trees.

The course to Geomundo lighthouse, going past the “dragon-patterned cliff” and the “rock of the immortals,” is the highlight of my trekking route. It follows the cliffs along the lovely shore looking out at the sea, leading you up to a forest of camellia trees … The forest path is vibrant with the fallen red camellia blossoms strewn about and the song of birds echoing through the forest.

ral that this island, so far away from the mainland, should have a legend about a mermaid. The novelist Han Chang-hoon, who was born and spent his childhood on this island, wrote a book titled “Sometimes the Sea Looks at the Shadow of the Islands,” in which he fondly recalls memories of his youth and thrills readers with scary ghost stories that he heard from his friends. In one of the stories, on a pitch-black night, Han’s friend went fishing on a rocky slope on the island’s flank when he felt something tug strongly on his line. He tweaked his line and pulled up what turned out to be a woman with his hook caught in her mouth, staring at him. The woman approached and attacked him. Han’s friend said he fought for his life with the water fiend who had unbelievable strength. Han says he never for a minute doubted his friend, a simple honest man who did not have much formal education but never told a lie. If stories about the Sinjikki mermaid are charming fantasies about life, the accounts of a ghost dressed in white mourning clothes

coming up at the end of a fishing line are realistic stories about the hardship of island life. The course to Geomundo lighthouse, going past the “dragonpatterned cliff” and the “rock of the immortals,” is the highlight of my trekking route. It follows the cliffs along the lovely shore looking out at the sea, leading you up to a forest of camellia trees. The forest path at times looks like a cave or at times like a tunnel. People call this path the “lover’s road” and it is heartwarming to just imagine couples in love holding hands and strolling along this path surrounded by countless camellias. The forest path is vibrant with the fallen red camellia blossoms strewn about and the song of birds echoing through the forest. It’s an enchanting sign of the lighthouse ahead, its beams illuminating the dark sea. Boatmen who have lost their way will wave their hands when they see the light and get back on course. Opened in 1905, the Geomundo lighthouse has now been retired but still stands peacefully alongside the new 33-meter-high lighthouse, built in 2006. With fiber

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1. The inner sea of Geomundo is surrounded and protected from wind and waves by three islands and hence the water is gentle and the atmosphere serene. 2. Geomundo is a small island with a population of some 1,400 (or 590 households). The villagers welcome visitors from other places with gentle smiles.

optic technology, it sends out powerful beams every fifteen seconds that can be seen from as far as 42 kilometers out at sea.

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Mother’s Lullaby from the Sea When the sun went down, I made my way to stay the night at a small house by the quayside. For my overnight lodgings, I have one need: there has to be a window that looks out over the sea. No matter if it’s big or small, clear or not. I’m fixated with the idea of staying the night at a small seaside village house with a window in my room because I want to listen to the waves. It doesn’t matter whether it’s night or day, spring, summer, autumn or even the coldest time of winter — I always sleep with the window open so that I can hear the sound of the waves. It’s not a far-fetched idea in a Korean house, which usually has a heated ondol floor. For me the sound of the waves is like a lullaby sung by my mother. The waves sing to me my mother’s lullaby, which is now a part of my body’s DNA, bringing up warm memories of my mother cradling me in her lap and singing gently. Likely it’s the same for other people. Those who can remember lullabies cherish their dreams for a long time. Geomundo, an island filled with such people, will remain a warm and peaceful place for a long time to come.

The Way to Geomundo Gimpo International Yongsan Station Seoul Airport

Yeosu Airport

Yeosu EXPO Station Yeosu

Geomundo Jejudo

Airway High Speed Railway Expressway

Seoul to Yeosu Car The trip from Seoul to Yeosu takes about four hours by car. An express bus from Kimpo the Central City Terminal in Banpo-dong, Yongsan Seoul takes about 4 hoursStation and 15 minutes, International Seoul with buses leaving every half hour from 5:30 Airport a.m. (hticket.co.kr). The fare is 20,700 won for a regular bus and 30,800 won for a preone of her favorites and wrote it down to send mium-class bus. to her son. He noted that his mother had been a Train The KTX high-speed express train year younger than he was now when she wrote from Yongsan Station to Yeosu Expo Stathe letter. tion runs nine times a day at roughly twoThat night, back in my room, I opened the hour intervals. The trip takes 3 hours and 40 window wide and lay down. The sound of the minutes. For details, check the KTX website waves reached my ears softly like the sound of (korail.com). my mother singing me to sleep. I found it hard Air Korean Air (koreanair.com) and Asito sleep as I thought of meeting the guitarist’s ana (flyasiana.com) both offer regular flights mother the next day. I have spent more than 40 from Gimpo to Yeosu. Flights leave three or years writing poems. And of course, I have always four times a day and prices vary according to hoped that the poems I write might be spoonfuls the day of the week. Travelers are advised to of nourishment for the soul, but if you asked me check times and make reservations on the what poem could do that for me I would not be respective airlines’ websites. able to answer. Tomorrow, I’ll ask her which of my poems she had sent to her son. The thought that Yeosu Passenger one of my poems could be food for the soul for Terminal one lonely person made me feel that my past 40 Yeosu years had not been in vain. I took the boat to Seodo and called the guitarist’s mother on the phone. “It’s Gwak Jaegu, the person who writes poems. Can I come and see you?” I spoke with all my heart. Then Geomundo By Ship came her answer: “I’m an old grandmother now. Yeosu Passenger Terminal to Geomundo When I was young I loved poetry. But these days The ferry from Yeosu Passenger Terminal to I spend my days picking mugwort in the fields Jejudo Geomundo runs twice a day at 7:40 a.m. and gathering seaweed from the water. I’m too and 1:40 p.m. The return ferry departs from old and embarrassed now. I can’t meet you.” I Geomundo Passenger Terminal at 10:30 felt numb. In the end, I did not go to meet her a.m. and 4:50 p.m. The trip takes 2 hours that day. I thought it would be best to respect her and 10 minutes each way, and the round-trip wishes. Gone was my dream of catching hold of a fare is 72,000 won. poem that had nourished another’s soul but I felt Departure times may change due to weather a sense of gratitude. Indeed, there was something conditions so it is advised to call the Yeosu heart-stirring about the life of a woman who Passenger Terminal (1666-0920) to confirm had loved poetry in her youth and now picked the schedule. Although there is no special mugwort in her old age. guide service for foreign tourists, general From the boat heading back to Yeosu, I waved information on Geomundo is provided on the my hands as I looked at Seodo. Ten years from City of Yeosu website (ystour.kr) in English, now, I would be that woman’s age. I’ll come back Chinese, Japanese, and French. to Geomundo then and take her hand in mine.

Amateur Band ‘Deungdae’ and a Mother Who Loved Poetry It was a stroke of luck that I met an amateur band of Geomun-ri at the village hall. Formed last year, the band is named Deungdae, which means “lighthouse.” Though they have yet to stage a proper public performance, they practice as earnestly as any professional band. What makes this band so special is the fact that all 13 members are village residents who devote their days to their respective jobs and then gather at night to practice and fulfill their dreams. The leader of the band and its drummer is an architect and designer, who constructs buildings on the island and decorates interiors. He has wanted to be a drummer since junior high and is only now seeing his dream come true. The lead singer, aged 42, is the baby of the group. During the day, he drives one of Geomundo’s two taxis. During practice, he belts out old favorites like Cho Yong-pil’s “Let’s Go Traveling” and Kang Sane’s “Raguyo.” Now and then, onlookers might give a shout to cheer him on. The bass player is the owner of a guesthouse. After several business failures on the mainland, he suffered from severe depression, but after three years on Geomundo he says he has regained his health, thanks to nature’s gifts of the wind, the sun, and the waves. The saxophone player gives a fabulous performance. A soldier for 32 years, his real-life experience and discipline can be felt in his music. My conversation with the group’s guitarist turns out to be a heart-stirring experience. He works at an office in Yeosu and was visiting his hometown. He told me that 26 years ago, while he was in the army, his mother sent him a letter. With her letter she had enclosed a poem — one of my poems. He kept checking my name and from opposite ends of each other’s memory, we shook hands. As a schoolgirl his mother had been a book lover. She read poetry through the night and from the works she had read she selected

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ALONG THEIR OWN PATH

Kim Sung-kun The High-flying 73-year-old Baseball Coach

Park Dong-hee Sports Columnist

Cho Ji-young Photographer

Baseball has been one of the best-loved sports in Korea since its introduction to the country in 1905 by Phillip Loring Gillette, an American missionary who came here to found the Seoul YMCA. Numerous stars have been produced over the 110 years of Korea’s baseball history. Among them is Kim Sung-kun, who is known in Korea as the “god of baseball.” Remarkably, he earned his first championship crown more than 30 years after he became a professional coach. Why are baseball fans such enthusiastic fans and supporters of this man and his long road to success?

im Sung-kun was born in Kyoto, Japan in 1942. He took up baseball when he was in elementary school after hearing someone say, “You can make big money if you become a pro baseball player.” He started out as a pitcher for Katsura High School in Kyoto, and not long thereafter his outstanding talent was recognized. But as a high school senior, he almost gave up the sport because he realized that no Japanese professional baseball team would be interested in recruiting a Korean player. Though he turns 73 this year, this bitter memory still brings tears to his eyes. “In 1960, when I told my mother I was planning to go to Korea to play baseball, she hid my passport under the blankets. She didn’t want me to go and suffer in a place where no one would welcome me. We parted tearfully, and I decided right then that I would fight to the bitter end in Korea, win or lose,” Kim recalls. In Korea, Kim played for the Dong-A University and Ministry of Transportation baseball teams. When he was named a member of the national baseball team, he became a rising star. But misfortune soon befell him. He was overworked on the mound, which led to serious shoulder problems. In the end, shoulder injuries forced him to retire in 1968, when he was still young. Right after retiring as a player, he started to train to become a coach. With nowhere to turn, he spent most of his time studying baseball theo-

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ries and coaching skills with a firm resolve to survive as a coach, while sleeping just three hours a day. His coaching career began the following year when he agreed to lead the Masan Commercial High School baseball team. In 1982, when the Korean professional baseball league was launched, he began his professional coaching career with the OB Bears. Over the years, Kim has served as the head coach for six professional teams: OB Bears (1984), Pacific Dolphins (1989), Samsung Lions (1991), Ssangbangwool Raiders (1996), LG Twins (2002), and SK Wyverns (2007). He is known as a “team rebuilding” specialist, in light of his remarkable leadership capabilities for boosting the performance of low-ranking teams. In 1988, he helped the Pacific Dolphins, at the bottom of the league in the previous year, to finish in third place. He then trained the Ssangbangwool Raiders so rigorously that the team was able to reach second place for the first time ever. The LG Twins reached, but lost, the Korean Series championship in his first year as its head coach. And he helped the SK Wyverns to win the Korean Series title three times, thereby cementing his reputation as a legendary baseball manager. Kim is called a “tiger” for his rigorous and even harsh training regimen. He trains his players from 6 a.m. until 10 p.m. every day under the motto “There is no success without overcoming limitations.” When necessary, he will work them overnight to make up for

Kim Sung-kun, once a rising baseball star, had to give up the sport due to shoulder injuries. But he turned his attention to baseball strategies and coaching skills and is now a respected manager.

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Kim is a strict coach who trains players with harsh methods. But he is respected by them as he leads by example: he always arrives at training before them, stays with them in the ballpark all day, and is always the last to leave.

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ly motivated. For this reason, he never sends any star player out into the ballpark, no matter how talented he might be, if he does not give his best effort. On the contrary, he sends out players who are more highly motivated, though not so talented. “Players who have already tasted success tend to pay more attention to their personal records than to the team’s success, and will often become lazy. That’s the pitfall of success. But how can they play hard tomorrow if they don’t work hard today? In contrast, lesser-known players will do anything to help the team win, because they know that they will benefit if their team wins and comes into the spotlight. They fight as if today’s game was going to be their last hurrah. The leader should aim for ‘one for all,’ not ‘all for one,’ to achieve close teamwork,” Kim said.

“ And, above all, a coach should try to achieve a proud victory for the millions of baseball fans. In this sense, if people call me a ‘high-flyer who thinks only of winning,’ and if it’s true, then that’s not criticism but the highest praise.”

any lack of training time. Naturally, his players complain: “Are you trying to kill us?” But he never relents. On the contrary, he pushes them even harder, saying, “You can overcome a really tough situation only when you have endured hard training.”

Leadership Requirements Nevertheless, the players respect Kim because they know where his heart is. He leads by example. He arrives at the baseball park before his players, works out with them throughout the day, and is still there after they leave. Seeing this, the players are motivated to push themselves to do their best. “You have to sweat more than the players if you want to earn their respect as a leader. Otherwise, what the coach says will fall on deaf ears,” Kim said. He knows as much about the “power of motivation” as the “value of sweat.” He contends that players can realize their full potential only if they are strong-

‘Baseball is like running water’ Many Korean baseball fans respect and support Kim Sung-kun. But there also are many others who regard him with certain reserve, calling him a “highflyer who thinks only of winning.” And he does not deny this. “Normally, each team has about 200 personnel in its employ, including players, coaches, and administrative staff. Including their families, that comes to roughly more than 1,000 people. Their livelihoods could be jeopardized if I, as their leader, show weakness and succumb to the limitations of reality. This is one of the reasons why I’m so thirsty to win. And, above all, a coach should try to achieve a proud victory for the millions of baseball fans. In this sense, if people call me a ‘high-flyer who thinks only of winning,’ and if it’s true, then that’s not criticism but the highest praise,” he said. Since last year, Kim has been at the helm of the Hanwha Eagles, the league’s perennial cellar dweller. Many people are wondering if he can drag the team out of its losing ways. It will be a blow to his reputation if he fails. To this, Kim noted: “Baseball is just like running water. Once it’s gone, the water won’t come back again. Who can say he knows from where the water flows and to where? All we can do is live today and prepare for tomorrow.” When our interview came to an end late at night, he left, saying, “I have to take a look at the second-tier players.” That means “today” has not yet ended for the septuagenarian baseball coach.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 69

Charles La Shure Professor, Department of Korean Language and Literature, Seoul National University

BOOKS & MORE

Significant Case Studies of Joseon Paintings as ‘Cultural Translation’ “Pathways to Korean Culture: Paintings of the Joseon Dynasty, 1392-1910” By Burglind Jungmann, 392 pages, £40.00, London: Reaktion Books (2014)

hile painting of the Joseon Dynasty has proved to be fertile ground for art history research in Korea, Western scholarship in the field has lagged far behind. It is this gap between Korean research and Western knowledge that “Pathways to Korean Culture” seeks to fill. Five hundred years is, of course, a rather long period to cover, even in a volume that runs to nearly 400 pages; as such, Burglind Jungmann has sought to provide not comprehensive coverage of the entire dynasty, but “pathways,” or case studies that will serve as starting points for future research. As a result, there are some areas that do not receive as much attention as they deserve, but the topics that are covered are placed within their socio-cultural contexts rather than being treated as independent phenomena. It is, necessarily, a compromise, but it is a successful one. Jungmann acknowledges the challenges of conducting such a survey, from the fact that much of Joseon painting prior to

the 17th century has been lost, to the lack of discussion regarding many of the paintings that have been handed down, and even the seemingly prosaic — but, as every researcher or translator knows, extremely frustrating — reality of inconsistent Romanization systems. Jungmann has attempted to overcome these difficulties where possible. In terms of methodology, the author approaches her subject guided by two principles: she calls into question the concept of “influence” and offers the alternative concept of “cultural translation,” first proposed by Stuart Hall. That is, while it has been assumed by many that Chinese art influenced Korean art throughout its history, Jungmann finds this idea untenable, choosing to instead see inspiration and interpretation, focusing on the process by which elements were adapted for use in Korean art. The book is structured in three parts, the first of which covers the early Joseon Dynasty, from the 15th to the late 17th century. It deals with subjects such as Chinese traditions and how they were interpreted by early Joseon artists, the aesthetics of the literati in the 15th century, and the role played by women both as producers and consumers/supporters of art. The second and third parts deal with the latter half of Joseon, namely the 18th and 19th centuries, covering numerous themes and topics that include changes in the style of landscape paintings, efforts to explore new trends, works by professional painters outside literati circles, and the relationship between court art and folk painting. Both physically and visually speaking, the book is a pleasure to read and peruse. In addition to the effort devoted to the research and analysis that went into making this volume, it is apparent that much care was taken to make it aesthetically pleasing as well. It is a welcome addition to the field of Korean art history, making up for a deficit in accessible English-language scholarship.

Online Archive of Korean Literature in Translation LTI Korea Library http://library.klti.or.kr

The Literature Translation Institute of Korea has worked tirelessly for nearly 20 years to bring Korean literature to the world. The LTI Korea Library began its life

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as an archive within the institute in 2001 and was then established as a separate library in 2007. The library first gained an online presence in 2009, and January 15 this year marked the site’s latest incarnation to go live, making a wealth of information about translated Korean literature available to the public. The bibliography lists over 4,000 books translated into 37 languages. There are also links to DVDs, e-books,

A Man’s Odyssey in Search of Elusive Space for Full Life “The Square” By Choi In-hun, Translated by Kim Seong-kon, 158 pages, $14.95/£10.95, Champaign: Dalkey Archive Press (2014)

he famed Bengali poet-philosopher Rabindranath Tagore once wrote that “nationalism is a cruel epidemic of evil that is sweeping over the human world of the present age, and eating into its moral vitality.” After turning the last page of “The Square,” the reader will be hard-pressed to believe it is mere coincidence that the Indian ship taking former prisoner-of-war Lee Myongjun to a neutral country after the Korean War bears the name of this thinker. We first meet Lee Myong-jun on this ship, the Tagore , and it is there that we part with him as well, but much of the story that takes place in between is told in flashbacks. We learn that Myongjun lived in South Korea after the end of World War II and liberation from Japan. His father, however, went north and became an important political figure in North Korea, and this connection leads to Myong-jun being beaten by the South Korean police. Ironically, it is this very beating that seems to awaken his political consciousness, and he eventually sneaks into North Korea to be a part of what he envisions as the people’s revolution. He is captured during the subsequent Korean War and spends time in a POW camp, and upon his release at the war’s end he is given the choice of returning to North Korea or going to live in a neutral country. While the timeline of the story is not difficult to piece together, author Choi In-hun seems to have little interest in establishing specific points in history. There are, for example, no dates men-

videos, and websites, as well as information on events, news reports, and magazine articles. The lists of writers, translators, and publishers allow users to find out who’s who in the world of Korean literature translation. The LTI Korea Library website’s greatest strength is its ability to not only bring together a multitude of discrete pieces of information but to show the connections between those pieces of information.

tioned in the book. It becomes clear that, while time certainly flows as one would expect in this story, the primary principle of organization is not temporal but spatial. There is, of course, Myongjun’s journey from south to north, but there is another spatial concept that plays an even greater role. In fact, it gives the novel its title: “The Square.” In a way, Myong-jun’s journey is more about his evolving understanding of this particular spatial concept than it is a mere chronological sequence of events. What, then, is “the Square”? In Choi’s novel, it is used to represent one side of the open/closed, public/private dichotomy. “Mankind cannot live in a closed room,” rants Myong-jun early on. “Mankind belongs to the Square.” This, however, is simply his ideal, and in a moment of quieter self-reflection he later admits: “He was not a Square. He was a room.” His journey, then, is one of seeking a Square where he may live life to its full potential. Yet despite his efforts, his Square continues to shrink. Ultimately, Myong-jun spends his life wandering, seeking out this elusive Square. He cannot find it in South Korea, which is a “Square for people who did not exist, borrowing from Kierkegaard,” but neither can he find it in North Korea: “In the Square of North Korea, there were no people. There were only marionettes.” In the end, the two systems are no more than different expressions of the same problem. The reference to Kierkegaard is telling. Kierkegaard believed that life had no intrinsic meaning, that it could only be given meaning by the individual who lived life “authentically,” by being true to him/herself. First penned in 1960, “The Square” was a voice of raw, honest social criticism at a time when the wounds of war and division were still fresh. Although critical of what he saw as the emptiness of the South, Choi was equally harsh in his criticism of the North, and he chose to turn his gaze outward, expressing the belief that the future of Korea lay beyond the ideological struggle that still defines relations on the Korean peninsula to this day. As such, “The Square” occupies an important place in the history of modern Korean literature, and it is hoped that this new translation will serve to introduce the novel to a new generation of readers with an interest in Korea.

Look up a writer from the writers list and you will not only get biographical information on that writer, you will also find links to translations of this author’s works, any events they might be involved in, articles about their work, or any other relevant pieces of information. The Database of Romanized Names looks to be particularly useful, considering the lack of consistency with which names are often Romanized. Unfortu-

nately, the database does not seem to be directly accessible yet, and searches in the writers list still require an exact match to the preferred or recommended Romanization. This minor issue — which will hopefully be addressed soon — aside, the LTI Korea Library website promises to be a useful tool to anyone wanting to cast their line into the growing pool of knowledge about Korean literature in translation.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 71

GOURMET’S DELIGHT

Gimbap

Park Chan-il Chef

Lim Hark-hyoun Photographer

No-frills Favorite Joins the Upscale Trend

From the gimbap of childhood memory, made by mother for school picnics, to the one-dollar foil-wrapped roll, daily sustenance for those without deep pockets, to the newfangled premium types swept in by the “welbing” (well-being, transcripted) trend, let’s learn more about one of Korea’s best-loved dishes, its history and its surprising diversity.

y mother often sent me to the store to get things for her when I was a child. The reason I became a cook probably comes from those times of running errands to bring her ingredients home. Cooking starts with finding out what ingredients are needed, how good the ingredients are, and how much they should cost, which I learned during my early childhood. I was especially happy when my mother sent me to get laver seaweed. Excited about having gimbap the next day, I bought spinach, carrots, pickled radish, fish cake, and sausage for the filling along with two cheop of dried laver (a cheop is a package of 10 sheets of the seaweed). On the way home, I would tear off a little piece from the corner of a sheet of the seaweed to have a taste. At the time, dried seaweed was precious and expensive, and just by itself was so delicious. As the tiny piece of laver on my sweaty finger drew close to my mouth, I could smell the strong odor of the sea.

Best Box Lunch for a Picnic Early in the morning on a picnic day, my mother would cook the rice for gimbap. If the rice is too dry, the gimbap can come apart, but if the rice is too soggy, the gimbap can lose its shape, so she took great care in cooking the rice perfectly. Seasoned with salt and a little vinegar to prevent the rice from going bad during the day, the rice was carefully cooked and then made ready for gimbap. The next step was preparing the filling. Mother would have already started doing all that around four or five in the morning. The aroma of beaten eggs frying as a thin pancake and

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carrots being stir-fried would wake me and my siblings, and we’d all get up to watch our mother making our favorite gimbap. The best part to watch was rolling the gimbap. This consisted of positioning a laver sheet onto a bal (flexible mat of bamboo strips), spreading the seasoned rice on it evenly, and placing the prepared filling in the middle before rolling it all up, ever so gently but firmly. Roll too hard and the laver will break; not firm enough and you end up with too loose a roll, with the filling falling out. Cutting the rolled-up gimbap into edible pieces also calls for much care. If not done properly, the thin laver sheet can tear, making “the side burst,” an expression sometimes used humorously to describe one’s befuddlement when unexpected things happen. Cutting is thus a delicate process, requiring a sharp-edged knife, moistened from time to time. My mother had a “big hand” and would cut the gimbap into large pieces, too big to easily put into my mouth all at once. If a picnic day was rainy, we had to eat our gimbap in our classroom or the school auditorium, which made for the least enjoyable gimbap lunch since there was neither the fragrance of grass nor the warmth of May sunshine.

Variety of Flavors and Shapes A dictionary would define gimbap as a Korean dish of rice and vegetables rolled in a sheet of dried laver. It can have different flavors based on the ingredients used for the filling, such as kimchi, tuna fish, cheese, anchovy, and pickled vegetables, among oth-

ÂŠ Baruda Kim Sunseng

A roll of gimbap is a complete meal, the perfect finger food for a party, a boxed lunch, or a picnic. On a sheet of dried seaweed, fillings of rice, pickled or seasoned vegetables, fried eggs, and cooked meat are arranged, rolled up and cut to bite-size pieces.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 73

Some say that gimbap was derived from the Japanese makizushi or futomaki during Japan’s colonial rule of Korea (1910-1945), or even earlier, during the time when Korean ports were first opened to foreigners in the late 19th century. However, others point out that dried seaweed laver had long been found on the Korean dining table and so wrapping rice with a sheet of it would simply have been a natural thing to do.

ers. It can also come in a great variety of kinds, shapes, and sizes these days; there is the triangle gimbap, tiny-size gimbap for small children, or “nude” gimbap, a version with rice on the outside. There is also a local variation popular nationwide, Chungmu gimbap, which originated in Chumgmu (now Tongyeong) in South Gyeongsang Province. This gimbap is made simply of rice wrapped in laver and served with kkakdugi (cubed radish kimchi) and spicy squid on the side. The story goes that the dish was prepared with only basic ingredients so that it would not go bad since fishermen’s mealtimes are unpredictable. How long then have Koreans been eating gimbap? Whether gimbap came from Japan or is a unique Korean dish handed down from ancient times remains a point of contention. Some say that gimbap was derived from the Japanese makizushi or futomaki during Japan’s colonial rule of Korea (1910-1945), or even earlier, during the time when Korean ports were first opened to foreigners in the late 19th century. However, others point out that dried seaweed laver had long been found on the Korean dining table and so wrapping rice with a sheet of it would simply have been a natural thing to do.

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1. Making gimbap is a mouth-watering process. The best part is rolling the gimbap using a bamboo mat after arranging prepared fillings of various colors, flavors and textures on top of rice lining a sheet of laver. 2. The new premium gimbap breaks the stereotype of gimbap as merely a poor man’s dish. It is popular among young people, who enjoy sampling the different tastes and cosmopolitan touches added to their all-time favorite snack.

Jeong Mun-gi (1898–1995), the first Korean to receive a doctoral degree in marine product studies, wrote in his “Marine Products of the Joseon Era” that the history of gim dates from some 200 years ago, when the seaweed was first found clinging to bangnyeom , bamboo fish traps set up in the seas around Wando island of South Jeolla Province. This led to farming of the edible seaweed. Regardless of the origin of gimbap, gim farming itself is native to Korea. Even earlier than Jeong’s dating of gim, an engraving on a stele from the 1640s to commemorate the Joseon scholar Kim Yeo-ik states: “As one of the Righteous Army activists during the Second Manchu Invasion, he also farmed gim during King Injo’s reign to feed the villagers.” Gim is also mentioned in Gyeongsang jiri ji (The Geography of Gyeonsang Province) from the time of King Sejong (r. 1418-1450) and Dongguk yeoji seungnam (Augmented Survey of the Geography of Korea) from the time of King Seongjong (r. 1469-1495); these references indicate that gim gathered from the sea was being enjoyed by Koreans long before its cultivation. In Hadong, South Gyeongsang Province, there is a well-worn story about gim farming. About 300 years ago, an old woman was

collecting shellfish where the Seomjin River flows into the South Sea when she happened to pick up a piece of driftwood that was covered with gim. Getting an idea from this, she began to attach gim to bamboo poles that were placed into the sea so that the seaweed could grow on them. This is said to be the oldest known method of growing gim in Korea.

Gimbap Today: Price vs. Value In my time, gimbap was a kind of luxury dish, a special treat for only a school picnic or a family outing; it has now become one of the cheapest and most popular convenience foods in Korea. A low-cost roll of gimbap has long been priced at only 1,000 won (just under $1), much cheaper than the price of a regular meal. As a food industry professional, I always try to keep track of the prices of ingredients, and I wonder how the cheapest gimbap, sold for only a dollar, could generate any profit at all. A bowl of rice alone will often cost more than a dollar in most restaurants, yet gimbap made with various ingredients and gim, served with side dishes of kimchi and soup, can cost only one dollar! In any case, it is clear how much people with limited means really

appreciate this affordable repast. At the other end of the spectrum, there is premium gimbap as well. Appealing to today’s health-conscious consumers, this “well-being gimbap” can be pricey indeed. Some critics who are turned off by the steep prices call it “emperor’s gimbap”; others say its supposedly healthful attributes are merely a sales gimmick, prompting the retort by well-being defenders that gimbap can be more than a low-price dish. The idea itself is refreshing: gimbap can be enjoyed at an upmarket restaurant with a nice ambience, breaking the stereotype of gimbap simply being an affordable fare for low-income consumers. Still, I wonder how many people can afford, psychologically and financially, the expensive gimbap costing 5,000 – 6,000 won per roll. We’ll have to wait and see whether this premium gimbap is only a brief trend arising from misgivings about the low-priced gimbap’s quality or simply a passing fancy for something new. Perhaps — and why not — this is a meaningful trend to rediscover and affirm the special place in our hearts for the unforgettably sumptuous and nutritious gimbap that we enjoyed so dearly in the past.

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ENTERTAINMENT

Passion of ‘Hidden Singers’ Revives Favorite Oldies Wee Geun-woo

Reporter, Web Magazine IZE

In November 2014, JTBC made headlines by licensing the format of its survival program “Hidden Singer” to NBC Universal of the United States. Previous program format sales included MBC’s “Daddy, Where Are We Going?” to China’s Hunan TV, and tvN’s “Better Late Than Never” to NBC, the first such transaction for a Korean TV entertainment program. However, Mnet’s “Superstar K” had adopted the format of Fox’s “American Idol” while its other survival program, “The Voice of Korea,” was based on the format of the Netherland’s English-singing competition “The Voice of Holland.” Therefore, it has been generally believed that Korea’s survival singing programs were imported from overseas. In this respect, the export of “Hidden Singer” marks a notable milestone for Korea’s TV industry.

t is famously rumored that Charlie Chaplin, the legendary English comic actor and director, fared poorly in a Charlie Chaplin look-alike contest. No one remembers the name of the winner, however, for it is generally believed that an imitation remains just a shadow of the original, at most. “Hidden Singer,” enjoying ratings of 4-5 percent, exceptionally high for a cable program, does away with such belief.

Original Singer vs. Impersonators The program format is simple. A popular singer and several imitators, each singing a few measures of a selected song in turn from their booths, are hidden from the audience’s view. When each round of singing is over, the 100 people in the audience press a button to eliminate the singer who is thought to be least like the original. Then, the singers emerge from their booths and the audience finds out who received the most votes. In each of three rounds, the singer with the most votes is eliminated, and the winner of the final round receives a prize of about $10,000. The program might seem only to have applied a survival format to an ordinary mimic singing competition. But the competition includes the song’s original singer. In other words, under the elimination format the original can be beaten by an imitator. This innovative twist was a big hit from the start. Viewers raved when the program’s pilot episodes, the first featuring Lena Park and the second Kim Kyung-ho, were broadcast in late 2012. Three

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months later, when the featured singer was Sung Si-kyung, “Hidden Singer” reached a viewer rating of 2 percent, an unusually strong showing considering that cable channel programs struggle to register even one percent.

Imitator Beats the Original The key ingredient to enjoyment of the program is clear. Nowhere else can you see a singer sweating it out in competition against impersonators who are “more real than the real.” In particular, during the session with Kim Kyung-ho, a contestant named One Kill showed off a piercing, high-pitched tone to match Kim’s. In the bout with Lee Moon-sae, a contestant surprised everyone with not only a singing voice exactly like Lee’s but an identical speaking voice as well. The possibility that the original singer might fail creates anxiety for the original singers as well as the viewers. In a large majority of cases, over the program’s three seasons, the original singers did manage to survive and win the competition, but sometimes only narrowly while viewers nervously awaited the final outcome. In the second season, which started in September 2013, this streak was broken when one of the imitators defeated the original singer. It happened in the episode that featured Shin Seung-hun, a legendary singer with album sales to match his fame. As the contest focused on his hit songs from the 1990s, when Shin was in his prime, the imitators had the advantage over the original whose

“At first I thought having the original singer and the imitators sing with their faces hidden was a way to make the show more fun. But going through the preliminary stages and recordings, I realized that the participants were not just talented mimics — they had put in so much time and effort into imitating a certain singer because they loved the songs so much.” voice has changed somewhat over the years. The result was a shock, nevertheless. Before this shock had dissipated, in the very next episode Jo Sung-mo was also eliminated before the final.

Songs Evoke Memories and Emotions The popularity of “Hidden Singer” extended into its third season, bringing together the original singer, the contestants, and the audience with an emotional bond. Most of the imitators are devoted fans who deeply love and admire the songs of the featured singers. In the session with Lim Chang-jung during the second season, some of the contestants were close to tears when they recalled Lim’s retirement. When Lim and his imitators sang together, the generation who grew up listening to Lim’s hits was carried back to the past. Jo Seung-wook, the program’s production director, explains that the competition aside, the underlying theme of the program is the emotional and senti-

The competition between the original singers and the mimic singers in “Hidden Singer” creates a jubilant mood, no matter who wins or loses.

mental bonding between the singers, the contestants, and the audience. “At first I thought having the original singer and the imitators sing with their faces hidden was a way to make the show more fun. But going through the preliminary stages and recordings, I realized that the participants were not just talented mimics — they had put in so much time and effort into imitating a certain singer because they loved the songs so much. In them, I discovered a level of fan devotion that goes well beyond the usual,” Jo said. But this very point may also reveal the limits of “Hidden Singer.” There are not many singers with a string of hits that has made them beloved beyond a generation of 10 years or more. Most singers of such legendary status have already been featured on the program, so it is increasingly difficult to find viable candidates. Can “Hidden Singer” overcome this fundamental limitation and enjoy another successful season? Perhaps the answer can be found in the words of program director Jo: “Another main ‘character’ of the program, besides the original singer and the imitators competing against each other, is the song itself. It belongs to the singer when it first comes out, but over time, the song changes and gains new meaning, as if it has a life of its own. It can be remade, or received anew by a new audience. It makes me happy to hear that people are taking out and dusting off their old CDs at home to listen to their favorite oldies again after watching our program.”

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LIFESTYLE

The selfie stick topped various consumer surveys as a hit product of 2014. Korea’s high distribution rate of the smartphone, along with the country’s hyperactive digital social networking culture, accounted for the sudden popularity of this simple gadget accessory — a metal rod extendible up to one meter — that is attached to a smartphone to take a better photo of oneself, or a selfie. Koo Bon-kwon Director, Human Digital Research Institute, The Hankyoreh

eople visiting Korea were asked recently for a quick rundown of their impressions of the country, like what sights they found the most impressive; it turned out to be, hands down, the popularity of the selfie stick among Koreans. A travel agency’s survey of 466 foreign tourists last year found “taking pictures using a selfie stick” in first place, cited by 48 percent of respondents. Indeed, the sight is ubiquitous: everywhere, one can see Koreans wielding camera phones mounted on selfie sticks at popular tourist destinations, and pretty much anywhere else downtown. An Australian participating in the survey said, “Stretching one’s arm with a long stick in the hand to take a picture is hardly seen in other countries.” (Just for the curious, two other common sights in Korea that the survey noted were “city cyclists wearing special outfits” and “locals wearing colorful hiking clothes.”)

Have Stick, Will Travel Actually, the selfie stick is not a fad confined to Korea alone. The U.S. news magazine Time has listed the selfie stick as one of the 25 best inventions of 2014, noting, “If 2013 was the year in which selfie became a buzzword, then 2014 was the year selfies became a cultural phenomenon.” As the magazine explained, this was all made possible by the selfie stick. “Sensing a new market, several companies

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have launched devices designed to streamline the selfietaking experience.” It went on that “the selfie stick …, which enables users to position their smartphone beyond arms’ reach to get better photo angles, adds genuine value.” Considering that the other 24 best inventions include the wireless charger, the Apple Watch, the 3D printer, and the Blackphone, all products of cutting-edge technology, the selection of the selfie stick is particularly interesting because it is neither new nor all that innovative; it exploded onto the scene as less an invention of innovative technology than a harbinger of a new cultural phenomenon. Actually, the idea of the selfie stick came initially from Japan in 1983, and it was first officially issued a United States patent in 1985. It evolved from the monopod, a simpler version of the photographer’s tripod. A retractable pole that could be set on the ground to stabilize a camera when shooting with a slow shutter speed or a self-timer, the monopod could also be anchored on one’s belt to hold a camera aloft for a self-photo. The Japanese device’s basic concept and patent content are not much different from today’s selfie stick. It simply failed to spark popular demand for 30 years. The selfie stick has been seen in Korea for the past three or four years. At first, holding a stick with a smartphone attached on the end and striking a pose looked a little awk-

Far better than taking a picture by just stretching an arm to get an eoljjang angle (best-face view), the selfie stick advantage of broader angles and more dynamic photos made it an instant hit among young people.

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ward, but the advantage of capturing a wide-angle view for more impressive photos came to be quickly favored by young people. This was beyond compare to taking a picture by simply extending one’s arm to get an eoljjang angle (best-face view), so the selfie stick became enormously popular in no time. It is especially popular among people on sightseeing tours. Snapshots aided by selfie sticks can catch the background and travel companions in a single frame, which would be impossible with an armstretch selfie. For solo travelers, asking a stranger to take their picture is no longer necessary; the selfie stick allows people to take their own pictures anywhere and from any angle. In Korea, the TV reality show “Youth Over Flowers,” which follows a group of celebrities backpacking abroad, greatly contributed to the popularity of the selfie stick. As the program showed TV celebrities enjoy using it on their trips, the selfie stick became a must-have gadget for travelers.

A Nation of Early Adopters Let’s look a little more deeply into the background behind the sensational popularity of the selfie stick in Korea. A primary factor is the country’s leading-edge telecommunications environment, which has propelled it into a global IT powerhouse. According to the Ministry of Science, ICT and Future Planning, Korea boasts the world’s highest distribution rate of smartphones, reaching 79.4 percent as of 2014, some 4.6 times higher than the average for advanced industrialized countries. Ownership of the latest LTE smart-

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1. Since the reality show “Youth Over Flowers” followed a group of celebrities backpacking abroad and showed them using the selfie stick on their trips, the stick has become a must-have travel gadget. 2. Selfie sticks are especially popular among travelers because they catch the background view and one’s companions in a single frame, a feat impossible with an arm-stretch selfie.

phone model, above 55 percent, is also the highest in the world for such phones. The average amount of time Koreans spend using smartphones per day amounts to 3 hours and 39 minutes, with social networking services (SNS) eating up the bulk of that time. The reason for the selfie stick’s immense popularity in Korea can be explained by Koreans’ extensive use of both smartphones and SNS, far exceeding that in most other countries. Furthermore, Koreans tend to quickly adopt and enjoy the newest trends. They are always on the lookout for something new and consume it passionately. That is why many multinational companies consider Korea the premier test market for new products. Before entering the global market in earnest, they often test consumer reaction in the Korean market to assess a product’s likelihood of success. In Korea, cultural products, such as movies, pop music, popular literature, and entertainment fare can become a “public trend” in an instant as soon as they become big hits. Individual tastes, such as a young woman’s clothing and hairstyle, make-up, and accessories, often follow the dominant trend. Such sensitivity to trends has certainly driven the selfie stick’s popularity as well. A third factor behind the gadget’s ubiquity is related to Koreans’ meticulous attention to physical appearance. Young people’s strong desire for self-expression and concern for appearance have contributed to the selfie stick craze. Nowhere is this trait more pronounced than in the well-documented penchant for cosmetic surgery for physical enhancement across Korea’s social strata. In a 2013 article, The Economist, a weekly news magazine published in London, reported that Korea was leading the world in cosmetic surgery per capita, citing data from the International Society of Aesthetic Plastic Surgery. An article that same year in the Financial Times, also based in London, remarked that even in the market of cosmetics for men, Korea accounted for 20 percent of the worldwide total, again claiming the No. 1 position. Although better capturing one’s face and surroundings in a photo image is the original idea behind the selfie, its real purpose in Korea turns out to be about personal relationships — wanting to share one’s experiences with others — rather than a purely self-centered desire. Thus has the phenomenon of the socalled shared selfie come about, conquering all in its path.

Although better capturing one’s face and surroundings in a photo image is the original idea behind the selfie, its real purpose in Korea turns out to be about personal relationships — wanting to share one’s experiences with others — rather than a self-centered desire. Thus has the phenomenon of the so-called shared selfie come about, conquering all in its path.

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JOURNEYS IN KOREAN LITERATURE

CRITIQUE

From Darkness to Light Chang Du-yeong Literary Critic

The Italian-derived word “largo” is a fitting description for Cho Hae-jin’s fiction: like musical pieces, her narratives advance broadly, fully, and slowly. Cho Haejin’s work is slow-moving, its words chosen with precision and no superfluous rhetoric, but it develops a steadily flowing narrative. It is not the kind of writing that depends excessively on new themes or ideas. Neither does it indulge in humor, wit, or irony. Building up a skillfully calculated sequence of slow movements, it succeeds in leaving a lingering echo of deep poignancy when the end is reached. In this way, Cho Hae-jin’s work can be said to adhere faithfully to the aesthetic characteristics of the short story — capturing delicately with a keen eye a slice of people’s daily lives.

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he story “Light’s Escort” abounds with largo elements. This can be sensed clearly from the opening scene. It begins with the narrator “I” arriving at an airport in New York, heading for the immigration gate, then stopping for a moment. The airport, full of people, each one rushing headlong toward his own destination, is a symbolic representation of modern city-dwellers’ daily reality. The narrator stops in the middle of this commotion and turns toward largo time. He stops because of the sight of snow falling outside the windows. The snow covering the airport’s runways is a crystallization of the largo — slowly, silently falling earthward from the sky above. Matching the languorous descent of the falling snow, “I” halts briefly, abandons the flurry of his everyday life and in largo time encounters a dim scene in his memories of a distant past. There the story slows down but with unyielding consistency still advances toward the secrets of the past. The melody that rings in the narrator’s returning memories at that moment is also a slow one. There is no knowing who sings it, or what the title is; it is simply one of those songs one sings all day long, the kind of song no one else can hear, that rings in one’s ears alone. In the story, the narrator vaguely recalls a melody. Filtering slowly through the nebulous mists of a lifetime, that melody takes the narrator back to buried memories of long, long ago, to places such as a small cold room, a playground covered in snow on a Sunday, a sickroom redolent with the smell of chemi-

cals. Following the melody, a series of broad, slow, and carefully measured steps constitute the story’s narratorial rhythm. The narratorial rhythm that begins in largo time, by means of discreetly calculated hints, skillful control of pace in the narrative’s development, and a well-knit plot produce a complex variety of meanings. Slow, calm, at times provoking awe, the story’s unique atmosphere evokes, stitch by stitch, an embroidery being made by a highly skilled master. This story binds together several processes, an accumulation of small hints that elicit admiration and then produces clues leading to insight into human empathy and civilization. First, this story is a process that involves solving riddles. Readers participate willingly in the narrator’s efforts to leap beyond the gaping gulf of forgetfulness and confront the truth of the past. Hints are given one by one, of which “I” contemplates each one at length. These hints emerge slowly, “step by step, like footprints dotted over a snow-covered playground.” The melody heard from the far side of memory is not something we know about as soon as the narrator says he is trying to recall it; it comes gradually, bit by bit, slowly. As the narrator surmises, that melody “had all the while been occupying a part of my mind.” Second, this story is a process of attaining a true understanding of another individual. It suggests how we should speak to those around us who are isolated and the splendor of the moment when a ray of light comes bursting forth. The feeling of close-

ness between the narrator and the other has to pass slowly through an awkward process of hesitation. The narrator thinks for a moment of going up to the other and offering to share an umbrella, but finally holds back, feeling that the silence certain to envelop them beneath the umbrella would be burdensome. “I” perceives sympathy or communication as an intrusion, and confesses to “not wanting to share another person’s inner drama rashly.” This kind of slow, difficult process makes us realize what genuine sincerity true communication with another demands. Third, this story is a process of showing the nature of the greatness that is demanded of us. As we follow the narrative that develops using a technique of detailed metaphors, there emerges an image of that other, isolated from the world because of our lack of concern, confined in a cold, dark room. At times it has a personal dimension, at times a historical dimension. In any case, what counts is introducing a ray of light that enables the other to escape from that lonely, desolate room. This tale quietly but eloquently indicates that saving others, or introducing “light’s escort,” is a noble act that not everyone can perform but at the same time it is a human obligation that anyone can and must undertake. In the story, we find the words: “There’s light inside those footprints. Don’t they look like little boats loaded full with light?” In actual fact, there is always, everywhere, light in our surroundings. But in order to discover that light, truth must be restored, hands must reach out. To overcome hesitation, courage is required. Through such efforts, that trivial light can become a great light escorting those around us out of their loneliness and isolation. The author’s deliberate, full voice eventually concentrates on the possibility of true communication with others. Such is the human ethic expressed in this story.

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