dear dead arts by EUNJAE KIM
Rise from the dead, beloved spirit of the arts, and fill the world once again with your soul and song. layout KELLY KIM photographer GRACE ALEXANDER stylists ANDREA MAURI & JILLIAN SCHWARTZ hmua BASIL MONTEMAYOR & LANE RICE models KRISTEN GUILLEN & JACOB TRAN
I
n the midst of the Renaissance, an artist poured his soul into his palette of colors and whispered a prayer with every stroke of his paintbrush. A poet stepped outside to meet dawn’s chilly embrace, her feet bare and mind eased, drawing inspiration from the distant sun that gleamed like a candle flame in the dark. They shared their art with the world, and the world received them with open arms and lips that whispered praises of their genius. However, when the Renaissance reached its end, the spirit of the arts died with it, leaving artists with only echoes of when they were celebrated by all.
In the last year of the 20th century, I was dressed in my multicolored hanbok to commemorate my first birthday with dol, a Korean tradition. The curious gazes of a hundred guests followed me as I was seated in front of a rosewood table, covered from corner to corner with a collection of trinkets that would foretell my future. Would I pick up a piece of string, which meant a long life? A set of bow and arrows that prophesied my destiny as a warrior? Sticky sweet rice cakes, which symbolized good fortune for eternity? Perhaps by fate or chance, my hands clasped clumsily around the shaft of a pencil that my parents had purchased amuse-bouche
89
