2019 Koreana Winter(English)

WINTER 2019

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS

SPECIAL FEATURE

BUSAN

Port of Poetry and Passion My Hometown, A Lyrical Potpourri; Hub of Maritime Exchange; Din and Quiet of Jagalchi Market; Memories of the Wartime Capital; City of Film with Vibrant Infrastructure

BUSAN

VOL. 33 NO. 4

ISSN 1016-0744

IMAGE OF KOREA

Kimjang Kimjang

The Herald of Winter Kim Hwa-young Literary Critic; Member of the National Academy of Arts

A

round the time when only a handful of red autumn leaves would remain on the branches, my childhood home began buzzing with winter preparations. Cabbages solid to the core were brought in from the vegetable garden and stacked in the yard. Then they were cut in half, their yellow insides proudly showing, and placed in a big basin to be sprinkled with salt. The festivities of kimjang, the winter kimchi making, began with the pungent scent of spicy seasonings wafting around the house.

Kimchi is a symbolic food on the Korean dining table and an icon of Korean culture. It is a fermented food devised by our ancestors as a way to eat vegetables throughout the winter. Rich in lactic acid bacteria, kimchi develops a range of distinct flavors as it ripens.

When napa cabbages (baechu) are salted, they retain their freshness while the enzymes in the briny water stimulate a chemical response with the fiber to start fermentation. The seasoning, a combination of vegetable and animal ingredients, including thin radish strips, garlic, scallions, red pepper powder, salted seafood, fresh squid and pine nuts, transforms kimchi into a perfect preserved food. Kimchi thus prepared is stored in earthenware crocks that are buried in the ground and taken out to eat during the winter months. These days, however, kimchi is stored more conveniently in high-tech kimchi refrigerators.

There are over 200 kinds of kimchi, differing according to region and family recipe. Red peppers were added to kimchi recipes in the mid-18th century and the napa cabbage used today as the main ingredient is an improved variety that was introduced to Korea in the late 19th century. Kimchi became a renowned international food after the 1988 Seoul Olympics. The export of kimchi began in 2000, and in December 2013, the time-old kimjang culture of making and sharing kimchi in late autumn to early winter was inscribed on the UNESCO List of Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

Nowadays, however, rather than making kimchi themselves, many people buy kimchi packed in plastic bags at the supermarket or order it online. But whenever the kimjang season comes around, I still miss the old days when I would bend my head so far back that it faced the sky, waiting for my aunt to drop a dollop of freshly-made kimchi right into my mouth. Š imagetoday

Editor’s Letter

PUBLISHER

Lee Geun

Busan: From 1950 to 2020

EDITORIAL DIRECTOR

Kim Seong-in

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Lee Kyong-hee

EDITORIAL BOARD

Han Kyung-koo

Benjamin Joinau

Jung Duk-hyun

Kim Hwa-young

Kim Young-na

Koh Mi-seok

Charles La Shure

Song Hye-jin

Song Young-man

On June 25, 1950, when the Korean War began with North Korea’s unprovoked invasion across the 38th Parallel, South Korea’s military was unable to deter the North’s massive attack. The United States immediately came to aid but the ROK and U.S. troops were repeatedly pushed back. They continued to withdraw to make a final stand from behind the Pusan Perimeter.

The Pusan Perimeter was a 140-mile (230 km) defensive line around the southeastern tip of South Korea, about one-tenth of its territory, including the port of Pusan [Busan]. The Nakdong River roughly overlapped with the more vulnerable western line. There, the ROK and U.S. troops and a small number of British soldiers waged bloody battles against the North Korean People’s Army over six weeks until the UN forces landed at Incheon on September 15.

“The amphibious landing at Incheon that reversed the direction of the war could not have been launched had the Nakdong River line collapsed.

Indeed, the nation itself would have collapsed, and the Republic of Korea would not exist today,” recalls General Paik Sun-yup in his wartime memoir, “From Pusan to Panmunjom.” Paik led the ROK Army’s First Division in the battles that he describes as “a scene straight from hell.”

This issue’s special coverage of Busan is timed with the 70th anniversary of the outbreak of the Korean War in 2020. Busan took on a pivotal role for the nation’s survival in the devastating conflict as the wartime provisional capital and the UN forces’ lifeline. Through its port and airfields vital supplies and reinforcements arrived to overwhelm the enemy in troops, equipment and logistics. Back then, Busan was South Korea’s only port capable of handling any sizable amount of cargo. Now it is the world’s sixth-largest port in terms of total cargo volume.

Our authors, all Busan natives or its long-time residents, will take readers to a journey to contemporary Busan — to explore a city brimming with energy and imagination. The short story “Mildawon Days” is a carefully chosen epilogue offering a glimpse of Busan as a wartime shelter for writers and artists.

Lee Kyong-hee Editor-in-Chief

Yoon Se-young

COPY EDITOR

Matthias Lehmann

ASSOCIATE EDITOR

Ji Geun-hwa

ASSISTANT EDITORS

Cho Yoon-jung

Ted Chan

CREATIVE DIRECTORS

Kim Sam, Kim Shin

EDITOR

Ham So-yeon

ART DIRECTOR

Kim Ji-yeon

DESIGNERS

Kim Nam-hyung

Yeob Lan-kyeong

LAYOUT & DESIGN

Kim’s Communication Associates

44 Yanghwa-ro 7-gil, Mapo-gu

Seoul 04035, Korea

www.gegd.co.kr

Tel: 82-2-335-4741

Fax: 82-2-335-4743

TRANSLATORS

Chung Myung-je

Hwang Sun-ae

Min Eun-young

Park Hyun-ah

Suh Jung-ah

SUBSCRIPTION/CIRCULATION Price per issue in Korea 6,000 won Elsewhere US$9 Please refer to page 104 of Koreana for specific subscription rates.

PRINTED IN WINTER 2019

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS Winter 2019

Samsung Moonwha Printing Co. 10 Achasan-ro 11-gil, Seongdong-gu, Seoul 04796, Korea Tel: 82-2-468-0361/5 © The Korea Foundation 2019 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

Published quarterly by THE KOREA FOUNDATION 55 Sinjung-ro, Seogwipo-si, Jeju-do 63565, Korea https://www.koreana.or.kr

reproduced in any form without the prior permission of the Korea Foundation.

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

“Red Mountains” Choi So-young 2019. Denim on canvas.

46 × 46 cm.

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

SPECIAL FEATURE

Busan: Port of Poetry and Passion 04

SPECIAL FEATURE 1

22

SPECIAL FEATURE 3

My Hometown, A Lyrical Potpourri

Din and Quiet of Jagalchi Market

Kim Soo-woo

Lee Chang-guy

16

28

SPECIAL FEATURE 2

Memories of the Wartime Capital

Park Hwa-jin

Choi Weon-jun

42

68

Monsters, Cyborgs and Failed Utopian Dreams

IN LOVE WITH KOREA

A Border Rider Choi Sung-jin

Moon So-young

48

INTERVIEW

Bringing Nature into the City

GUARDIANS OF HERITAGE

Dance of a Scholar as Graceful as a Crane Kang Shin-jae

58

ART REVIEW

Brutal History and Warm Hearts Ryu Tae-hyung

64

TALES OF TWO KOREAS

Training Young People for Unification Kim Hak-soon

City of Film with Vibrant Infrastructure Jeon Chan-il

82 AN ORDINARY DAY Palace Guide Narrates the Past for Tourists Kim Heung-sook

72

ON THE ROAD

Miryang: Ancient and Universal Lee Chang-guy

Lim Hee-yun

52

SPECIAL FEATURE 5

SPECIAL FEATURE 4

Hub of Maritime Exchange

FOCUS

36

86 ENTERTAINMENT Fact vs. Fiction in Period Movies Lee Hyo-won

80

BOOKS & MORE

‘Mixed Korean: Our Stories’ A Touching Anthology of Raw Honesty

88

JOURNEYS IN KOREAN LITERATURE

Wounds and Hopes Brought by War

‘The Rabbit’s Tale 2020’

Choi Jae-bong

‘Soompi’

Kim Dong-ni

A Modern Retake of a Beloved Folk Tale A Must-visit Site for Korean Pop Culture Fans Charles La Shure

Mildawon Days

SPECIAL FEATURE 1

Busan: Port of Poetry and Passion

My Hometown, A Lyrical Potpourri Busan, Korea’s largest port and second-biggest city, is a popular tourist destination with vibrant vistas and colorful activities. It is also a festival city with a rich offering of art and cultural events. The charm of Busan is an open and hybrid DNA forged over the ages.

Kim Soo-woo Poet

4 KOREANA Winter 2019

Haeundae Beach is Korea’s most popular summer holiday destination with more than 10 million annual vacationers. Besides the sun and surf, beachside walking trails, festivals, and leisure and entertainment facilities attract visitors all year round. On the edge, ritzy high-rise condominiums comprise the most expensive residential property after Seoul. Š Busan Tourism Organization

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 5

Oryuk Islets

Haeundae Beach

6 KOREANA Winter 2019

Suyeong Bay Yachting Center

UN Memorial Cemetery

Gwangan Bridge

Bookstore Alley

Gwangalli Beach

Yeongdo

Busan Cinema Center

Busan Harbor Bridge

Gamcheon Culture Village

Provisional Capital Memorial Hall

Chinatown

Jagalchi Market

Š Ahn Hong-beom

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 7

T

he Busan coastline, meandering over 300 kilometers along the southeastern edge of the Korean peninsula, is both delicate and rough. The cobalt blue waters of the East Sea become more relaxed as they drift into the South Sea. Along this lyrical curve of land, nature bestowed gifts for the ages, luring people who in turn have responded by entrusting their hearts and bodies to the shores. Sensitivity and imagination inspired by the ocean never lacked. So, Busan elicits a collage of dreams and beckons with sundry voices.

The Many Faces

Busan has seven beaches with chalk-white sands. At the eastern end of the city is Imnang Beach. Toward the western end, Songdo Beach, Korea’s first man-made beach, opened more than a century ago, and there also is Dadaepo Beach, home to the world’s largest musical fountain. The most crowded beach is Haeundae, which fills up calendars with its images and keeps the surrounding residential area the second-highest in property value after Seoul.

Also awaiting visitors are Igidae, Taejongdae and Morundae, all magnificent rocky cliffs washed by the sea. Retaining their primitive aura, these cliffs are covered with forests inhabited by rare and precious plants and animals. Viewed from the lush greenery, the sea seems even deeper and its beauty more intense. A leisurely sea cruise to absorb the night views of Busan is a romantic interlude that is not to be missed.

Sixty estuaries trickle into the sea along the coast of Busan. Finding a fishing spot where the horizon generously sprawls out is a special delight for anglers. And no foodie’s visit to Busan would be complete without locating the experienced women divers in the middle of the city and getting a taste of their catch fresh from the sea.

Then there are the splendid bridges. Spanning the ocean, they promise drivers an enchanting ride. If you drive across the Gwangan Bridge, the Busan Harbor Bridge and the South Harbor Bridge in succession, you will reach Songdo, the southern end of Busan. Then you will find the Busan Port that is bustling with giant cranes and containers, a safe anchorage and stopover for inbound and outbound freighters. Driving further, across the Eulsuk Bridge, will lead to the city’s western end.

Hybridity and Individuality

The whispers of the sea evoke a myriad of images in our minds. For the sea endows us with an imagination tailored to our own experiences. Thus, when we stand at the shore, we come face to face with our own waves. For the young, the sea represents heart-pounding thrill; for the lonely, a lover; for the weary, sustenance of life; and for the angry, tips on tolerance. For workers, the sea means the source of livelihood, for writers a repository of stories, and for ship captains a journey to places far away. Then it comes across as the laws to follow for the wise, and as excitement for those who still have much to learn. In the morning, the sea may be a girl with long hair flying in the wind, and in the evening, an old lady with creased hands.

The scattering of Neolithic remains throughout the city attests to Busan’s deep roots as a fish-

1. Suyeong Bay Yachting Center was completed in 1986 and officially opened in 1988. The yachting events of the 1986 and 2002 Asian Games and the 1988 Olympic Games were held here.

2. Oryuk Islets (meaning “five-six islets”) at the mouth of Busan Bay are a symbolic landmark of Busan and statedesignated Scenic Site No. 24. Among the islets, only Deungdaeseom (Lighthouse Islet) is inhabited.

1 © imagetoday

8 KOREANA Winter 2019

2 Š Busan Metropolitan City (Photographer Kwon Jeong-uk)

ing town. The villages dotting the serpentine coastline still retain the age-old customs of shaman rituals, as well as faith in Magohalmi, or Grandmother Mago, the giant goddess who created all nature, and faith in the Dragon King. As Busan evolved to become a metropolis, the serene villages were transformed into places crowded with people striving to earn a living.

Most notably, Busan has heaved and rolled with major events in Korea’s modern and contemporary history. During the Japanese occupation (1910–1945), it was the departure point for ferries shuttling to

and from Japan. With the outbreak of the Korean War in 1950, the city became the tearful destination for refugees from around the country. Later, troops dispatched to the war in Vietnam and countless deep sea fishing boats used the Busan Port as the point of departure and eager return.

Whenever people flooded in, Busan was obliged to find them food and shelter. And each time, the city gave everything it had to give.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 9

Whenever people flooded in, Busan was obliged to find them food and shelter. And each time, the city gave everything it had to give.

Throughout its long history, Busan thus acquired openness and liberalness. And when immigrants were accepted, disparate cultures intermingled, turning Busan into a cultural melting pot. The resulting hybridity is the true “spirit of Busan.”

Hybridity and tolerance are the two sides of the same coin. The capacity to tacitly cope with all the grueling historic events comes from Busan’s generous spirit. Such generosity has formed the character of its residents, and consequently sown a flourishing local culture.

The energetic and creative nature of Busan natives drives its thriving popular culture, encompassing traditional folk arts, pop songs, movies and festivals.

Hillside Dreams

The hillside neighborhoods are another lyrical facet of Busan.

Through the Korean War and subsequent industrialization, the city expanded, and needy people built their shanties high on the hillsides.

Peering past the overlapping layers of roofs and water tanks, a different Busan emerges below. To those who led honest lives in the neighborhoods, the sea was like a faraway door that had to be opened. They opened that blue door onto their lives, onto their dreams, and onto the Pacific and Atlantic oceans.

Born in the hillside neighborhood of Yeongdo, I grew up gazing at Busan’s nocturnal sea through a cracked window. At night, a gigantic ship lay in anchor. The light spilling out was glorious, like threads of gold and silver strewn over the dark water. After the ship departed, another one would replace it. That is how I learned about the depth and breadth of the world. The imagination that the sea taught me to use enabled me to live as I do now, as a poet and wanderer, roaming the world lugging a backpack.

In Busan, the sea is not something that comes to those who wait but a door that one must reach out and open. In the seaside atmosphere to which the blue door leads, a rich offering of cultural festivals awaits: the Busan International Film Festival, the Busan Biennale, the Sea Art Festival, the Busan International Rock Festival, the Busan International Performing Arts Festival, or the International Sea

10 KOREANA Winter 2019

Literature Festival. Among this growing number of festivals are some that have gained international renown.

Dynamic Culture

Busan also hosts assorted festivals with a strong regional flavor. The Busan Jagalchi Festival is a reminder of the city’s infinite connection to the sea.

The festival includes a rite to pray to the Dragon King (yongsinje) for safe journeys and an abun-

A 14.15km² island lying off the southern coast of Busan, Yeongdo sheltered refugees of the Korean War. In 2011, renovation work on the island created Huinyeoul Maeul (White Rapids Village), which is now a well-known location in movies and TV shows. The Japanese island of Tsushima is visible from a 3-meter-high embankment here. © Busan Metropolitan City (Photographer Kwon Gi-hak)

dant catch of fish as well as a rite to appease the souls of fish. At the Haeundae Sand Festival, artists from numerous countries sculpt sand into statues and structures. And every autumn, the Busan Fireworks Festival embroiders the night sky with color and light. The Anchovy Festival is as lively as the thrashing waves; the Busan Sea Festival opens simultaneously on five of the city’s beaches; and countless other events with a maritime theme offer fun and romance all year round.

On another note, the B-boy (break dancing) competitions at Mt. Yongdu Park exude the passion and wildness of Busan. The temper-

ament that has molded the spirit of Busan has also turned the city’s culture into the people’s power.

Non-mainstream fields of art and culture, such as indie art and art criticism, have become firmly established as a source of the creative strength behind Busan’s identity.

All of this occurs against a backdrop of shimmering waves. The iridescent waters embrace invisible but constantly rolling ripples that become a poem ringing out in a deep voice, warm and strong.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 11

Heart-Warming Landscapes Depicted on Denim Kim Soo-woo Poet

C

hoi So-young is recognized as one of the fore-

using jeans as my material. I also like to express na-

most artists capturing the scenic and aesthetic

ture-friendly themes such as the sea, mountains and

characteristics of Busan. In her hands, a pair of

houses with cloth that has the feel of handiwork. I

faded blue jeans becomes the material for her next

first tried using denim from a worn-out pair of jeans

project. Thus, the sea, the mountains and the roads

when I was in my second year of university, and

of Busan are pieced together in a heart-warming

gradually moved on to bigger pieces.

landscape on denim.

1 Š Yonhap News Agency

What do you consider Busan’s most distinguishWhy do you work with denim?

ing feature?

Jeans look good on everyone, irrespective of age

The sea, of course. I love my hometown, Busan.

or gender. Transcending the gap between rich and

The great thing about this city is that there is always

poor in any country, in any place around the world,

somewhere to go, even if you walk around all day

jeans are worn by so many people. Of course, there

long. The mountains, rivers and the sea all welcome

are luxury brand jeans but in general, denim jeans

people with open arms. I grew up playing on the

have no class distinctions. So, I believed it would

sand at Haeundae Beach and from childhood I have

be possible to communicate with the world simply

loved the infinite blue of the horizon. Although the

2

12 KOREANA Winter 2019

3

work that goes into my paintings is minutely detailed and complicated, I want the final work to be round and humble and full of feeling — like the sea that I love.

What value should people seek the most today?

I think people need to protect themselves and keep themselves whole. That is, we need to become our true selves. Although you may seem insignificant and trivial to others, it is important to be true to who you are.

Those who protect themselves will also protect others.

When you have a world of your own, that’s when your light shines and shows on your face. I’m happy when I think, “I can do this, I just have to go ahead and do it.”

Your achievements, whether it’s getting into university or opening a solo exhibition, these things are your own world.

What are your plans for the future?

I plan to travel for a while. Then I intend to seek enhanced quality of life through yoga and meditation, a vegetarian diet and hiking. Material things and accumulating fame are not that important to me. I am slowly and deliberately adopting ways to be true to myself without getting caught up in fame or achievements.

1. Using denim rather than paint as her main material, Choi So-young captures her hometown of Busan on canvas. More than 10 years ago, when she was in her 20s, one of her denim collages fetched hundreds of thousands of dollars at a Christie’s auction in Hong Kong.

2. “Opening the Skies.” 2019. Denim on canvas.

73 × 53.3 cm.

3. “Food Alley II.” 2014. Denim on canvas. 116.5 × 91 cm.

4. “Yeongdo Bridge II.” 2013. Denim on canvas.

160 × 81.5 cm.

4

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 13

S

ay Sue Me is a Busan band with a surf rock sound.

What musicians were influential or role models?

Over beers in 2012, four musicians — Choi Su-mi

There’s no need to go into each member. All of us were

(vocals and rhythm guitar), Kim Byung-kyu (lead guitar),

influenced by Pavement and Yo La Tengo. We recently

Ha Jae-young (bass) and Kang Se-min (drums) — decided

met Yo La Tengo and since then, we are admiring them

to form a band. They have progressed from a practice

more than ever.

studio near Gwangalli Beach to Busan bars and now to global gigs. Along the way, drummer Kang Se-min had a

How does Busan’s indie music scene compare to oth-

fatal accident shortly after the group started to work on

er regions?

its second album. The current drummer is Lim Sung-wan.

It has its own unique character. Bands here don’t worry about trends. We play what we like, without thinking

What influence has Gwangalli Beach had on your

about what kind of music other bands are playing or the

music?

latest trends in the indie scene.

When composing or performing music, there are times when you hit a wall. At those times, we go for a walk

What did you think when Elton John introduced your

along the beach or take some fried chicken and beer and

song “Old Town” on radio?

sit on the sand and rest for a while. Although it’s prob-

At first, we didn’t realize what an amazing thing it was.

ably the same for all kinds of work, in creative work the

It was only after we looked up the program later and

most important thing is airing out your emotions, and in

listened to him that we were suddenly overcome with

that respect we’re really quite fortunate.

pride and happiness.

Say Sue Me Thanks Elton John Ryu Tae-hyung Music Columnist

14 KOREANA Winter 2019

1

2 © Yonhap News Agency

© Hung Shu Chen

Could you explain your song-making process?

are very different from the Korean scene. It made us

First, Byung-kyu makes a demo tape and everyone lis-

think how good it would be if our concert scene changed

tens to it. Then we decide which songs are worth devel-

to that one day, so that more people would come with

oping and Su-mi writes the lyrics for them. Then we do

their parents.

the guide recording and work on the arrangement until What are your future plans?

we feel the song is finished.

Our new album came out in October. It’s a double single, What are your reactions when you get overseas invi-

with the tracks “Good People” and “Your Book,” and we’ll

tations?

be playing in various cities with these songs. From De-

In most of the cities where we performed, we found that

cember 3 to 13, we’ll be touring North America, starting

people came to the concerts regardless of whether it

with Toronto and moving onto Chicago, San Francisco

was a weekday or weekend, and that the audience was

and Seattle. Next year, we plan to release our third stu-

a mixture of all generations. These are two points that

dio album.

1. Say Sue Me perform at SXSW, one of the world’s largest music festivals, held in March 2018 in the U.S. state of Texas.

2. Singer and rhythm guitarist Choi Su-mi on stage at the Megaport Music Festival held in March 2019 in Kaohsiung, Taiwan.

3. Say Sue Me’s recordings (from left): first studio album “We’ve Sobered Up” (2014), EP “Big Summer Night” (2015), second studio album “Where We Were Together” (2018), double A-side “Just Joking Around / B Lover” (2018), EP “Christmas, It’s Not A Biggie” (2018), and double A-side “Your Book & Good People” (2019).

3 © Electric Muse

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 15

SPECIAL FEATURE 2

Busan: Port of Poetry and Passion

Hub of Maritime Exchange It was from Busan that Joseon Tongsinsa, the Korean missions to Japan launched in the early 17th century in the wake of Japanese Invasions, departed to promote peaceful bilateral relations. The history of Busan as an active hub of international exchange continues to this day.

Park Hwa-jin Professor, Pukyong National University

16 KOREANA Winter 2019

B

usan Port is Korea’s biggest gateway for imports and exports and consequently has major influence on both the local and national economy. At the frontier of the Eurasian continent, facing Japan across the Korea Strait, it has tremendous potential as East Asia’s logistics and distribution hub.

Busan handles more than 60 percent of Korea’s import and export cargo. According to the Busan Port Authority, Busan handled 21,663,000 TEU in 2018, taking sixth place in the world in terms of total cargo volume for two consecutive years.

The city’s history of international exchange through maritime routes dates back to ancient times.

Dadaepo, a small coastal town in today’s Busan, is referred to in the eighth-century source “The Chronicles of Japan” (Nihon Shoki) as “Tadairagen” or “Tatara,” suggesting that it already played a central role in Korea-Japan trade and cultural exchange at the beginning of the historic period. Tatara also refers to the traditional Japanese furnace used for smelting iron and steel, so it is associated with the introduction of iron-working technology.

Northeast Asian Trade Center

© Busan Metropolitan City (Photographer Jeong Eul-ho)

The first port to be opened in the Joseon period under the Korea-Japan Treaty of Amity, or the Ganghwa Treaty of 1876, Busan is now the world’s sixth-largest port in terms of total cargo volume.

Busan Harbor Bridge, completed in 2014, stretches 3,368 meters across the port area.

“Memorabilia of the Three Kingdoms” (Samguk yusa), a 13th-century collection of legends and historical accounts, depicts the Busan area as a place of seaborne international exchange early on in history. Legend has it that in the area close to today’s Busan, King Suro, founder of Geumgwan Gaya (Gold Crown Gaya, 43–532), welcomed Heo Hwang-ok, believed to be a princess of an Indian kingdom called “Ayuta,” to be his wife. The story of Queen Heo is generally accepted as historical fact today. Historians propose the twin-fish pattern painted on the gate to the graveyard of King Suro in Gimhae as evidence of the queen’s Indian origin, on the basis of its iconographic association with the Indian civilization.

As proved by the number of Gaya sites and relics excavated in the Busan and South Gyeongsang area, Gaya’s overseas relations were not limited to India, however. After the disintegration of the Former Gaya Confederacy in the early fifth century, a large number of Gaya people migrated to Japan. They introduced skills for making ironware and unglazed pottery, called sueki, contributing to the development of ancient Japanese civilization.

As its geographical name Gimhae (literally, “Sea

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 17

1 © Ahn Hong-beom

of Iron”) denotes, the heartland of the Former Gaya Confederacy abounded in iron ore. The Gaya states located along the beautiful shores of the South Sea and the Nakdong River emerged as a major center of Northeast Asian trade, thanks to their rich iron ore reserves. As the Northeast Asian community diversified after the collapse of the Chinese Han Dynasty, Gaya gained significance as a stopover connecting the Japanese archipelago and the Chinese continent. Located along a major trade route where seaways from different Asian countries intersected, Gaya provided iron to neighboring countries.

“The Chronicles of Japan” records that in the mid-fourth century, King Geunchogo of Baekje sent an assortment of goods to Japan, which included 40 iron nuggets. Made by striking iron ore into thin bars, iron nuggets were an important base material for manufacturing diverse kinds of ironware. Similar iron pieces have been found in Baekje and Silla tombs as well as ancient tombs across Japan. Specifically, the dozens of iron bars excavated in the old Gaya regions indicate that they were not only used as burial objects but also as currency

18 KOREANA Winter 2019

and ironware materials.

Busan’s Chinatown was formed when the Qing Dynasty opened a consulate here in 1884. It remains to this day across the street from Busan Station. The roads here are lined with Chinese restaurants, groceries, currency exchange counters and other businesses run by Chinese Koreans, as well as schools for their children.

Chinatown and Japanese Quarters

Korea’s southernmost Chinatown was created by Chinese people who arrived in the 17th to 18th century during the late Joseon period, in order to work on the reclamation of Busan Port and the construction of the Chinese Maritime Customs Service. Its current residents are their third- and fourth-generation descendants. In the early days, Chinese residents received support from their home country to settle down in Busan. A large portion of the ethnic Chinese population in Busan moved here after the Korean War. In 1953, the Chinatown went through a major change when Busan Station was destroyed by a great fire and the adjacent brothels moved into this area. They eventually were forced out, however, when Korea and China established diplomatic relations in 1992 and Busan and Shanghai became sister cities the next year. In celebration of this special relationship, the district was named “Shanghai Street,” and since 2004, the Busan Chinatown Culture Festival has been held here.

In the Joseon era, Busan also had Japanese quarters, called

waegwan. The Joseon government built these quarters at open ports for the Japanese to live in and engage in trade and diplomatic exchanges, as well as to help drive off Japanese pirates who had infested coastal areas since the 14th century, toward the end of the Goryeo period. Waegwan were built at three ports: Busanpo and Jepo in Jinhae in 1407, and then at Yeompo in Ulsan in 1426. Together, they were called the “Three Waegwan Ports” (Sampo Waegwan). In 1544, however, the Japanese quarters were dismantled, except that in Busan, after incidents of plunder in Tongyeong committed by Japanese people.

Diplomatic relations between Joseon and Japan, severed after Japan’s two invasions in 1592 and 1597, were restored under the “good neighborly diplomacy” of Tokugawa Ieyasu, the first shogun of the Edo Bakufu. Subsequently, Japanese quarters were rebuilt in a few places along the southeastern coast, with the one in Busan accommodating some 500 Japanese men. Another one in Choryang, built in the late 17th century, covered 100,000 pyeong (approximately 82 acres) with individual homes, accommodations for visiting envoys and trade facilities. The buildings were provided by the Joseon government, but the interiors were decorated in Japanese style with tatami floors. Although the perimeters had checkpoints that prevented residents from freely leaving, they were allowed to create a little Japanese community inside Korean territory, walking around in their traditional clothing with a Japanese sword slung from the waist.

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Base for Cultural Exchange

3 © Naver blog “Outing on a Lovely Day”

1. Located along the side streets across from the city’s main train station, Busan's Chinatown originated in 1884. A popular tourist attraction, it has an interesting series of murals based on the characters and stories from “Romance of the Three Kingdoms” (Sanguo yanyi). Many ethnic Chinese live in the area.

2. “Texas Street” at the entrance of Chinatown is lined with souvenir shops and nightclubs for foreign sailors. When ocean freighters come to port, the street is crowded with seafaring men.

3. A stone marker showing that a waegwan, or Japanese quarters, was located in Dumopo. Built in 1607, the Japanese quarters in Dumopo lasted for over 70 years before it was closed and a new one built at Choryang.

Since ancient times, there had been repeated armed conflicts between Korea and Japan. However, during the 210 years of the Edo period, which corresponds with late Joseon in Korea, the two countries enjoyed peaceful relations mediated by Joseon emissaries to Japan.

Following the restoration of bilateral relations in 1607, Joseon dispatched large-scale diplomatic missions to Japan on 12 occasions.

Such systematic exchange to promote peace and cultural understanding between two neighboring countries is rarely found in the history of the world.

In 2014, two non-governmental organizations — the Busan Cultural Foundation and Japan’s Liaison Council of All Places Associated with Chosen Tsushinshi — embarked on joint efforts to compile the “Documents on Joseon Tongsinsa/Chosen Tsushinshi: The History of Peace Building and Cultural Exchange between Korea and Japan from the 17th to 19th century,” which was inscribed on the UNESCO Memory of the World Register in 2017. Consisting of 63 documents and records (124 items) from Korea and 48 documents and records (209 items) from Japan, the body of materials is especially significant as the first documentary heritage of Busan to be included in the UNESCO archive. It is also the first UNESCO recognition gained jointly by Korea and Japan, made possible through the collaboration of civic groups from both countries.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 19

After leaving Seoul, the procession arrived at Busan and stayed there for a while to prepare for diplomatic activities and wait for the right time for the sea journey.

Each mission to Japan usually consisted of some 400 to 500 members, including envoys, assistants, scribes, military officers and musicians, among others. After leaving Seoul, the procession arrived at Busan and stayed there for a while to prepare for diplomatic activities and wait for the right time for the sea journey.

They had to be mindful of weather and wind conditions as the Korea Strait was often hard to navigate. When good days for sailing came, they held sacrificial rites for the sea gods at Yeonggadae pavilion and departed from the nearby dock in six ships.

Peacemaking Missions

Entering Japan at Tsushima Island, they continued their journey to Edo (modern-day Tokyo) passing through 53 stations. To welcome the Korean missions, Japan shouldered huge expenses, mobilizing 338,500 workers and 77,645 horses in the case of the eighth mis-

sion in 1711 — a procession of immense scale even by today’s standards.

This was before Japan opened its doors to the West, maintaining a policy of seclusion. The Japanese regarded the visit of the Korean envoys as an occasion for celebration and welcomed them with grand events. The missions received great attention not only from government officials but people from all walks of life, including soldiers, commoners, merchants and farmers.

The Japanese people considered it an honor to meet Korean writers and artists, so they would visit their lodgings to exchange poems, critiques, writings, paintings and calligraphic works. Members of the delegation were kept so busy responding to such requests that it was hard for some to find time to sleep. Documents and paintings describing those scenes remain in both Korea and Japan. Japanese artists of the Edo period were quite keen to adopt Joseon’s culture, and these interactions are considered to have propelled the development of Japan’s arts and culture during the period.

Over one hundred books recording the exchanges were published in Japan. Joseon writers and officials also produced numerous reports after their return.

These served as valuable literature aiding mutual understanding between the two countries.

“Busan” from the “Sea Route of Scenic Beauty” (Saro seunggu do) by Yi Seong-rin (1718–1777). 1748. Ink and light color on paper. 35.2 x 70.3 cm.

Yi Seong-rin, an artist with the Royal Bureau of Painting (Dohwaseo), depicted the long trip that the Joseon emissaries took from Busan to Edo, Japan.

Consisting of 30 scenes, it is the only painting remaining in Korea documenting the journey of the Joseon mission of 1748.

© National Museum of Korea

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Bridging Human Distance Alok Kumar Roy Professor,

Busan University of Foreign Studies

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their skills and talents to Busan, of which around 12,000 are international students. Among them, the ASEAN population forms one of the largest communities. Functionally incorporating them into Busan becomes easier when Korean citizens are actively involved, and the ACH takes a lead role in engaging foreign residents and

usan buzzed with activities on November 25–26, 2019, as it

students in efforts for mutually beneficial togetherness.

once again hosted the Commemorative Summit of the As-

The pursuit of urban diplomacy is a major focus for any glob-

sociation of Southeast Asian Nations and the Republic of Korea.

al city. The Busan Metropolitan City and the Busan Foundation for

The gathering marked the 30th anniversary of ASEAN-Korean

International Cooperation (BFIC) endeavor to fulfill this task with

relations and set the stage for the First Mekong-ROK Summit the

a global mindset, building bridges and connecting geographies

following day. The talks on fostering peace and prosperity were

through human networks. Today, their activities transcend links

a reminder that dialogue among heads of state also augments

with partner cities, expanding to new areas to strengthen coop-

cultural diplomacy, where “one plus one” equals more than two.

eration with people throughout the world.

In recent years, Busan’s global visibility has remarkably

Private Sector Interactions

grown through its capacity-building training programs. In 2019,

In Busan today, the ASEAN Culture House (ACH) is emblematic

the Colombo Plan Staff College (CPSC) sent a 20-member dele-

of the city’s people-to-people spirit, sparking the imagination and

gation from Nepal, consisting of medical and technical profes-

interest in the cultures of places that once seemed remote. From

sionals, to explore human resources development in polytechnic

introducing traditional garments and cuisines of Southeast Asian

and healthcare education. In 2020, CPSC plans to do the same

countries to offering language and cultural courses, the ACH’s

in finance and banking. In 2019 alone, Busan facilitated training

diverse programs initiate meaningful and vibrant dialogues pro-

in the fields of smart farming, ocean and fisheries development,

moting cultural and diplomatic ties from the grassroots level. The

cardiopulmonary resuscitation (exclusively for Laos) and road

ACH’s involvement with academic and professional institutions

safety (exclusively for Ecuador).

among the 10-member ASEAN has significantly strengthened interactions in the private sector.

Global Visibility

The integration of demographic diversity is another task of

For the last four years, Busan has steered the Citizen’s Eurasia

Busan as a global city. Today, some 65,000 immigrants contribute

Expedition to raise awareness about the city’s economic potential and cultural affinity to the Eurasian continent. The 2019 journey, which took them to 10 cities in five countries, including China, Mongolia, Russia, Poland and Germany, had two additional missions: retrace the history of Korea’s March First Independence Movement on the occasion of its 100th anniversary, and learn about the complex task of Korean unification from the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989.

At the same time, the BFIC-operated Global Center supports immigrants and expatriate residents by providing information, translation services (in 13 languages) and professional consultations regarding issues including laws, immigration, labor, international marriage and family relations, taxation, and others.

At a tumultuous time when globalization is often seen as a challenge, the experience of Busan offers a fresh perspective.

Busan has, in many ways, reshaped our sense of the “distance”

“ASEAN Crafts: From Heritage to the Contemporary,” a special exhibition marking the 30th anniversary of dialogue relations between South Korea and the Association of Southeast Asian Nations, attracts visitors at the ASEAN Culture House in Busan. The exhibition will continue until January 15, 2020.

between countries and cultures, serving as a testament to open-mindedness and innovative planning that can bridge the separation.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 21

SPECIAL FEATURE 3

Busan: Port of Poetry and Passion

Din and Quiet of Jagalchi Market 22 KOREANA Winter 2019

Jagalchi Market is the largest traditional fish market in Korea and a tourism hotspot that bustles with visitors year round. The market’s location, Nampo-dong, used to be a beautiful fishing village. Its waterfront was covered with fist-sized pieces of gravel, called jagal, from which the market’s name derived.

Lee Chang-guy Poet and Literary Critic Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

I

n an interview with a Korean daily, Jacob Fabricius, the recently appointed artistic director of the 2020 Busan Biennale, revealed his aspirations for transforming the urban space of Busan into a gallery. The centerpiece would be Jagalchi Market.

He explained: “The market’s pulsating energy, the port bristling with the comings and goings of large vessels, the narrow, sloping alleyways, and fishmongers busy filleting and selling their goods are as thrilling as watching life behind the stage.”

The biennale’s organizing committee gave him high marks for his acumen in capturing Busan’s identity from its dynamic scenes of life and taking art outside the confines of exhibition halls. Fabricius approached the biennale as an opportunity to rediscover the city through participatory and experimental exhibits, with the locals’ living space as the setting. An exhibition curator from Aarhus, Denmark, who had only been to Busan a few times, obviously grasped what the city’s over 3.4 million residents wanted. He knew how to win them over.

Imagine what Fabricius saw and what he discovered in Busan.

Most likely, he would have started out as an ordinary traveler, constantly self-correcting his preconceptions along the way to broaden his perspective of the city. Let’s follow the route of his journey.

Jagalchi Market, located south of Busan Port, is housed in a seagull-shaped building with an area of 4,841m² and has some 700 indoor and outdoor stalls. The stores on the ground floor sell the freshest seafood, while the second floor has restaurants. The market’s origins can be traced back to unlicensed stalls set up on the gravelcovered coast. Street vendors raised funds to build the market, which officially opened in 1972.

The Way to the Market

When visiting an unfamiliar city, it is best to first look over the whole city from somewhere high rather than wasting energy peeking around. It gives you an idea of the geography and culture of the area at a glance. Probably taking this advice, Fabricius would have climbed the Busan Tower, which stands 118 meters high on Mt. Yongdu. Appreciating the view from the lighthouse-shaped observatory and feeling a little light-headed from the height, he

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 23

would have been overwhelmed by the sight of Yeongdo, an island off southern Busan resembling a huge mountain. Having heard that Tsushima, a Japanese island lying approximately 50 kilometers from Busan, can be seen to the right of the island on a clear day, he would have gazed intently at the distant ocean. Perhaps the view of the narrow roads crisscrossing the steep hills tightly clustered with houses reminded him of the village he used to live in.

Next, he would have walked down the mountain, taking cautious steps, and headed toward the wharf where boats of all sizes come and go all day. His destination was most likely the Jagalchi Market. After all, it is the most popular tourist spot in Busan. On his second visit, he would have taken the subway to get to the market like the denizens of the city; from Busan Station, it is only three stops. He might have thought that the best way to soak up the city’s ambience was to immerse himself in the crowd to observe people’s expressions and listen to them speak, though he didn’t understand the language.

Although he knew the market was only a 30-minute walk from Busan Station, perhaps it was only on his third visit that he decided to walk there. Steering clear of the main street, I imagine him walking about a block in order to enter an alleyway in Chinatown and taking the uphill path stretching all the way to Daecheong-dong.

For tourists in search of picturesque places, the area would seem too shabby, if not drab. However, Fabricius would have been engrossed in taking pictures while strolling along the path, aware that the place harkened back to tougher days.

Whichever road he took, it was not the road signs but the inevitable smell that told him the market was not too far away. The distinctive fishy smell awakens the olfactory senses common to humankind. Jagalchi Market encompasses the line of stores and street vendors between the main road and the port, from the dried seafood market located under the Yeongdo Bridge to the early morning market in Chungmu-dong.

Every autumn, the market hosts the Busan Jagalchi Festival under the slogan “Oiso! Boiso!

Saiso!” (“Come! See! Buy!” in the Busan dialect), which encapsulates the festival’s character. A fun-filled, boisterous affair, the merchants organize a host of events that include dancing and singing, catching fish with bare hands and free seafood tastings.

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24 KOREANA Winter 2019

1. An auction is in full swing at the joint market of the Busan Fishery Cooperative, located adjacent to Jagalchi Market. Two rounds of fresh seafood auctions are held here every night, at 10 p.m. and 4 a.m., except on Saturdays.

3 © Busan Metropolitan City (Photographer Ahn Jun-kwan)

2. Merchants usually start the day at 8 a.m. and work until late at night. The market became the livelihood for many women who, after the Korean War, were left to fend for their families. These “Jagalchi ajimae” have become a symbol of hardiness and tenacity.

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As a first-time visitor to Korea’s largest seafood market, Fabricius would have started from the edge of the eastern section, where the dried seafood market is located. The pungent fishy odor in the air would have told him that this was the source of the smell that had wafted to him from afar. The already dried seafood, ranging from anchovies, squid, shrimp and fish fillets to laver, seaweed and shellfish, is laid out to dry some more in the warm sun and wind. The joint market of the Busan Fishery Cooperative would have greeted him as he exited the market.

Pulsating Energy

This market bustles around the clock. But it is after nightfall, when the fish vendors have closed their stalls and gone home, that it becomes even busier, with trucks unloading endless boxes of seafood for two auctions to be held before dawn.

The place brims with energy, with all kinds of fresh fish straight from the sea lined up in rows on the wet floor, and exuberant motions of merchants and the gleaming eyes of curious tourists

3. Jagalchi Market is crowded with vendors and shoppers both inside and outside the building. It is one of Busan’s top tourist attractions.

craning their necks to get a better look at the action. The annual consignment sales here are known to exceed 200 billion won.

Standing next to the joint market is a building so big that it blocks the view of the sea. To get an idea of what the architect had in mind, you need to pass through the building and go out the exit on the other side facing the water; only then does the entire building come into view, in the shape of a huge seagull looking out to the sea with its back to the city. The sight that unfolds before your eyes when first setting foot inside the building is surprising. Some may think of the inside of a whale, like the one Pinocchio’s father, Geppetto, was trapped in, and others, of the well-compartmentalized interior of a giant submarine. Stretching along both sides of the narrow passageways are seemingly endless lines of shops identical in size and interior, the total number reaching 300.

Even more fascinating are the squirming fish and shellfish in the fish tanks in front of each store. Once merchants and customers have negotiated a price, the fish is slaughtered on the spot. The wildly thrashing fish on the chopping block, breathing its last, and the dexterous motions of the fishmonger gutting and filleting the fish are probably the very essence of the “pulsating energy” Fabricius was drawn to.

Customers can have their fish served to them at one of the restaurants on the second floor, along with a lavish spread of side

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 25

The silence and tranquility the artist discovered in materials such as stones and iron plates, commonly encountered in Busan, are not the transcendental, spiritual awakening achieved deep in the mountains.

26 KOREANA Winter 2019

“Relatum – Narrow Gate”

by Lee Ufan. 2015. Iron plates, 220 × 320 × 3 cm; stones, 100 × 100 × 100 cm.

Lee Ufan’s “Relatum” series juxtaposes artificial and natural materials as a metaphor for industrial society versus nature.

dishes. Fabricius may have struck up a conversation with the person sitting at the next table. If he was lucky, he might have met a native of Busan who would have recommended other local seafood delicacies, such as grilled eel and shellfish. A curious female restaurant owner with a strong love for her hometown might have joined in and told him that the place is the original site of Jagalchi Market, whose beginnings can be traced back 100 years to the gravel-covered coast, and that 50 years ago, amid hardships, street vendors raised funds to build the market. “If you can’t get it here, you can’t get it anywhere,” she might have said proudly.

New Home for Displaced People

Fabricius would have found out the source of her pride by visiting the Busan Modern History Museum nearby, which shows how Busan was plagued by Japanese aggression and exploitation after the opening of its port in 1876. What words could describe the lives the people led under colonial rule, mourning the loss of their country’s sovereignty? Noteworthy is the fact that the origins of Jagalchi Market can be traced to the local fishermen selling their catch at makeshift stalls at Mongdol coast, some distance away from the large fish market run by Japanese colonial money. Among them, there were no small number of haenyeo, female divers, who had come all the way from Jeju Island to harvest seafood with their bare hands. This past autumn, a much-belated statue was erected in their memory at Yeongdo, the first stopover on their journey to Busan.

Following Japan’s defeat in World War II and Korea’s liberation, many Koreans who had gone over to Japan returned and settled here, while in the throes of the Korean War, countless refugees flocked to this region. Why did they choose to make this place their new home?

For one, the coastal waters off Busan were known from days of yore for their rich fishery; people used to joke that all you had to do was cast a net and wait. Although the fish species have changed since then, in the winters during the 20th century, when cod and herring made large migrations, the waters were crowded with fishing boats from all over the country. Records in “Fresh Jagalchi, Vivid Stories,” issued by the Jagalchi Market Promotion Association, show that between 1903 and 1904, prior to the Japanese occupation, 862 Japanese fishermen, or 227 households, emigrated and settled in Yeongdo alone. Equipped with advanced technology and gear, they engaged in excessive fishing, even exporting their catch to China.

There is another reason why many chose to put down roots here.

From pre-modern times, unlicensed markets that did not pay taxes thrived in Korea. Fish markets, in particular, expanded exponentially in scale and power due to the surge in demand and supply, and the relative ease in handling the merchandise. So, for many people who had been displaced by the Korean War and the division of the peninsula Jagalchi Market became their livelihood.

Notably, there is a conspicuously large number of female mer-

chants in the market. Busan people call them “Jagalchi ajimae,” the Busan word for ajumeoni, meaning “middle-aged woman.” They have spent their lives sitting crouched behind the stalls, braving the harsh wind blowing from the sea, so they can put food on the table and their children through school. With strong accents, they tout their goods and haggle with customers over prices, sometimes pleading, at other times raising their voices as if ready to fight. The “performances” they put on every day leave an indelible impression in visitors’ minds. The market’s history and its distinct ambience coupled with the activity of the ajimae have made the market one of the city’s iconic attractions. This is probably the “dynamic scene of life” that Fabricius referred to, best encapsulating Busan’s character.

Sense of Comfort and Shame

Busan is not a city of nobles, but a city of commoners. It is not a city of victories, but a city of refugees. More pressing than upholding order or authority is addressing the urgent needs and desires of ordinary citizens who struggle each day to earn a living. In a city where people constantly strive to satisfy their wants rather than seek perfection, the emotions that come when they lay their bodies in bed at the end of a long, hard day are not comfort or peace, but rather a sense of burden, vulgarity and shame — probably even more acute, if you are an artist.

The entrance of the Busan Museum of Art has an installation that looks like wooden scaffolding. World-renowned installation artist Tadashi Kawamata created this work with scrap wood collected from all over Busan. Though it represents the city well enough, I would recommend taking the time to carefully contemplate the works of Lee Ufan, also on exhibit at the museum. The silence and tranquility the artist discovered in materials such as stones and iron plates, commonly encountered in Busan, are not the transcendental, spiritual awakening achieved deep in the mountains. I am instantly reminded of Jagalchi Market. Lee Ufan speaks of “relationship” and “dialogue” amid the hustle and bustle of an entropic city. It is tranquil, extremely tranquil.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 27

SPECIAL FEATURE 4

Busan: Port of Poetry and Passion

Gamcheon-dong in the southwestern part of Busan is a village formed in the 1950s, when the followers of Taegeukdo, a new religion rooted in Daoism, moved in large groups to the hillsides. The terraced rows of houses on the hills and the labyrinthine alleys meandering through them create an extraordinary landscape.

28 KOREANA Winter 2019

Memories of the Wartime Capital Busan served as the de facto capital of the Republic of Korea during the Korean War, from August 18, 1950 to August 15, 1953. The evacuated government used the South Gyeongsang provincial government building as its headquarters, and war refugees swarmed to this location. They had to start a new life away from home, not knowing when they would return.

Choi Weon-jun Poet and Professor, Center for Continuing Education, Dong-eui University Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

Š Busan Metropolitan City (Photographer Jeong Eul-ho)

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 29

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usan’s title as Korea’s second largest city after Seoul is owed to one of the greatest tragedies in the nation’s history. The city’s population, which was about 470,000 in 1949, skyrocketed during the Korean War as refugees from all over the country flocked to the provisional capital. In 1955, two years after the war ended with an armistice, the population reached one million when most of the refugees settled down in the city.

The refugees struggled to survive day after day, living in temporary shelters. Jungang-dong, near the city’s main station and port, was filled with makeshift homes. Even today, this area and its distinctive 40-step stairway are steeped in an aura of the adversities and sorrows of that time. The sculptures erected here in memory of those difficult days depict the refugees as a cross-section of society: a young mother breastfeeding her baby, a peddler operating his grain puffing machine, or a porter taking a rest alongside his A-frame carrier used to haul heavy loads on his back. For these people, the stairway was a borderland between work and rest. In the area below the stairway, dayworkers, gum peddlers, longshoremen and other laborers would work their fingers to the bone; above was a shantytown of tents and shacks.

During any spare time, the workers would sit on the steps, stretching their legs, napping, or perhaps shedding tears at the thought of their families that had been torn apart.

Another area associated with the pains of these war-stricken people is Yeongdo Bridge. For the refugees, much worse than poverty was not knowing the whereabouts of their own flesh and blood. They began putting up notices on the railing of the bridge in hopes of finding their lost family members, waiting for a reunion that might never come. Yeongdo, a small island to the south of Busan, was connected to the mainland when the bridge was built in 1934, the nation’s first bridge connecting an island to the mainland and its only drawbridge.

As it was a landmark of Busan, the refugees dreamed of being reunited with their family on the bridge.

Temporary Seat of Government

The Seokdang Museum at Dong-A University testifies to Busan’s role in the turmoil of contemporary history. The building was constructed in 1925 when Japanese colonizers moved the South Gyeongsang provincial office from Jinju to Busan to make use of its port and transportation infrastructure. It then accommodated the evacuated central government during the Korean War, once more became the seat of provincial administration after the armistice, and finally was turned into the Busan District Court after the provincial government moved to Changwon. Since 2009, Dong-A University has used the building as a museum and a venue for historical education.

Recently, a street running from Dong-A University’s Bumin Campus to the Provisional Capital Memorial Hall was refurbished to commemorate Busan’s historic role as a wartime provisional capital.

Along the street are sculptures depicting Busan in that bygone era,

30 KOREANA Winter 2019

and a streetcar which used to operate there.

The building housing the Provisional Capital Memorial Hall was also constructed during the colonial period, as the provincial governor’s residence. During the Korean War, it served as the presidential residence for the central government in exile. Today, it is a memorial hall showcasing the city’s historic identity as the wartime base of the nation’s efforts for survival. The exhibition within features a life-size wax figure of the then President Syngman Rhee and a recreation of his office, as well as a range of items providing a glimpse of people’s lives at the time, including household articles, replicas of a shack, a classroom for refugee children, and stalls from Gukje Market.

Busan has an unusually large number of hillside roads, reaching a combined length of 65 kilo-

1 © Busan Heritage Night

1. This building served as the presidential residence during the Korean War when Busan was the provisional capital of the Republic of Korea. It was built in the 1920s as a Japanese provincial governor’s residence and was transformed in 1984 into the Provisional Capital Memorial Hall.

2. The bookstore alley in Bosu-dong emerged during the Korean War as a refugee couple from North Korea began selling old magazines and used books obtained from the U.S. military base and junk shops. The alley was occupied by over 70 bookstores in the 1960s and 1970s, but now about 40 stores remain dealing in both new and used reads.

3. The refugees living in the shantytown of Jungang-dong would go up and down the 40-step stairway every day carrying water jars on their shoulders. The sculptures erected here depict the lives of the war-torn people.

2

In the area below the stairway, dayworkers, gum peddlers, longshoremen and other laborers would work their fingers to the bone; above was a shantytown of tents and shacks.

3

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 31

meters. Back in the days of the war, more and more roads went up, scaling the hillsides as refugees in urgent need of shelter had to go higher and higher up to find space to set up their tents and shacks.

These sites of hardship have been turned into popular tourist attractions.

Hillside Roads

Starting from Pusan National University Hospital, the road going up Gamcheon Hill opens on the right to a view of terraced rows of small houses in Gamcheon Culture Village. The village was first shaped by the followers of a new religion called Taegeukdo (meaning “The Way of the Ultimate Supreme”) who moved their headquarters there during the war. The locals used to call it the “train village” because

32 KOREANA Winter 2019

the lit-up windows of the shacks aligned horizontally on the hills made the homes look like a train chugging through the night. The extraordinary hillside scenery, crowded with small houses with colorful roofs, looks as if it were created with Lego bricks.

Narrow alleys meander through the village in all directions, punctuated by steep stairways.

The alleys connect the houses horizontally and the stairways vertically. Recently, the old village was remodeled into a creative community, with eye-catching murals painted and street art installed as part of an urban regeneration project. It has

house of fashion, selling secondhand materials sent from other countries as relief goods. The market earned the name Gukje (“International”) as it was known that almost any kind of foreign product could be found here. After the war, illegal transactions of military supplies took place in Bupyeong Kkangtong Market, Korea’s first public marketplace. The name Kkangtong (“Tin Can”) came from the fact that it sold a lot of canned food smuggled from the U.S. military base installed in the city during the war. The vendors dealing in U.S. military supplies here were called “Yankee merchants” and they profited greatly from the resale of drinks, cigarettes and food products bought from women living with American soldiers.

Some of the regional dishes of Busan were created at this market. Busan’s famous eomuk (fish cake) was born here, and so was its dwaeji gukbap (pork rice soup). In addition, merchants would prepare a sort of thick stew with leftover food taken from the U.S. military base, putting everything in a pot and boiling it all together. Called “piggy stew” or “UN soup,” it would have been the predecessor to today’s budae jjigae (literally “military stew”).

Bookstore Alley

Created by the United Nations Command, the UN Memorial Cemetery is dedicated to the UN Allied Forces who fought and lost their lives in the Korean War. Built in April 1951, the cemetery attracts visitors from home and abroad, with the flags of the United Nations and of the 21 participant countries raised all year round.

become a must-visit place highly recommended by foreign press outlets such as Le Monde and CNN.

Open-Air Markets

Thanks to markets, war refugees sustained hope amid extreme adversity. Formed by people with all sorts of heartbreaking stories, the open-air markets provided a precious source of livelihood. Among others, Gukje Market and Bupyeong Kkangtong Market were referred to as dottegi sijang, meaning a “chaotic marketplace,” as they were jam-packed with makeshift stalls and shoppers.

Gukje Market emerged as the country’s power-

The bookstore alley in Bosu-dong is a narrow backstreet with some 40 stores along its 150-meter length. During the war, college students gathered to continue their studies in temporary classrooms built with planks and tarp. These makeshift classrooms were built everywhere — on Mt. Gudeok, dotting the low hills behind Bosu-dong, and on the island of Yeongdo. The Ministry of Education used these facilities, integrating most of the Seoul-based universities into the “Wartime Union University.” The bookstore alley naturally formed in Bosu-dong as college students frequently passed through the area on their way to school.

With the publishing industry hit hard by the war, it was difficult for students to buy any books at all, let alone textbooks. Consequently, secondhand book sellers began to appear along the street. One by one, the street vendors set up shop. Impoverished intellectuals earned their daily bread by selling their treasured volumes. The books collected in this way turned the alley into a repository of knowledge and a cultural hotspot of present-day Busan.

The UN Memorial Cemetery is dedicated to the UN Allied Forces who fought and lost their lives in the Korean War. Buried here are 2,297 soldiers from 11 countries, including Australia, Canada, the Netherlands, Turkey and the UK. Just like the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial and Museum in Poland and the Hiroshima Peace Memorial in Japan, the cemetery is a precious place that advocates the value of peace and liberty for everyone who lives with scars of the war in their hearts. The UN Peace Park, the UN Sculpture Park and the UN Peace Memorial Hall, all located in the vicinity of the cemetery, also promote the harmony of our global village and the peace and well-being of humankind.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 33

LOCAL WARTIME DISHES

When asked to name their city’s more famous dishes, Busan locals do not hesitate to count milmyeon (wheat noodles) and dwaeji gukbap (pork rice soup) among them. In spite of their fame as foods local to Busan, these dishes do not have a long history; they were invented during the Korean War, adopting and integrating the varied tastes and habits of refugees from across the country.

Milmyeon

This noodle dish is a variation of naengmyeon (cold buckwheat noodles) that refugees from North Korea

had eaten back in their hometowns. Because buckwheat flour was hard to come by while wheat flour was received as aid, buckwheat noodles served in cold broth were replaced by plain wheat noodles.

About half the price of naengmyeon, wheat noodles were initially considered an alternative for those who could not afford the original, satisfying two people for the price of one dish. The recipe changed over time with the addition of the distinctive flavors of the local cuisine — spicy, salty, pungent and rich — turning it into one of Busan’s specialties.

Although each restaurant has a slightly different recipe, milmyeon basically consists of noodles made with wheat flour and potato starch and a meat broth made by boiling beef leg bones, vegetables and assorted medicinal herbs. Just like naengmyeon, milmyeon is served either in cold broth or mixed with a spicy sauce. The former version, soaked in a cold broth frozen just until thin ice forms on the surface, is soft and chewy with a refreshing flavor. The latter, mixed with a spicy sauce containing chopped scallions, garlic and onion, is as hot as the temperament of Busanians. Spicy and sweet, the dish is a summer treat for Koreans who like to fight fire with fire.

© Busan Metropolitan City

34 KOREANA Winter 2019

Milmyeon, one of Busan’s specialties, was invented by refugees from North Korea during the Korean War. The noodles made with wheat flour and potato starch are served in cold meat broth.

Dwaeji gukbap is a famous local dish developed by adopting the varied tastes and habits of war refugees from across the country.

Cooked rice and meat slices are served in pork bone broth with sauce on the side.

Š Busan Metropolitan City

Dwaeji Gukbap

Another famous local dish is dwaeji gukbap, which is cooked rice in a pork broth generously topped with boiled

pork slices. With the addition of chives, garlic, red pepper, onion and kimchi to taste, a bowl of the hot soup with rice is a filling meal in itself.

The current recipe for dwaeji gukbap reflects the dietary customs of other regions. At first, it was served with the broth, rice and meat slices in a single bowl, but as more people from other parts of the country settled down in Busan, the recipe evolved to satisfy their tastes.

There are three versions of the broth: cloudy, translucent and clear. Produced by boiling down pork bones, the cloudy broth is rich and flavorful. It is similar to momguk of Jeju Island, a pork broth boiled with gulfweed, and tonkotsu ramen of Kyushu, Japan, noodles in a thick pork bone broth. The translucent broth is made by boiling a pig’s head and intestines. This is the original form of dwaeji gukbap, known for its deep flavor and based on a recipe developed by war refugees from North Korea. The clear broth, obtained by boiling only meat in water, is lean and light, its origin being the western part of South Gyeongsang Province.

Then there are a number of different ways of serving the dish. The basic version uses only pork meat for both broth and topping, while variations include a different assortment of ingredients: boiled pork slices and stuffed pig intestines (sundae gukbap ); plain pig intestines (naejang gukbap ); boiled pork slices and plain intestines (seokkeo gukbap ); or boiled pork slices, stuffed intestines and plain intestines together (modum gukbap ). The rice and broth may be served separately (ttaro gukbap ); or rice, broth and boiled pork slices may be served as a set (suyuk baekban); and sometimes noodles replace rice in the broth (dwaeji guksu). This wide variety suggests that diverse regional recipes for cooking pork have been boiled down into this special Busan soup dish.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 35

SPECIAL FEATURE 5

Busan: Port of Poetry and Passion

City of Film with Vibrant Infrastructure

The 24th Busan International Film Festival opens on October 3, 2019, at the Busan Cinema Center.

The festival’s exclusive venue and the core of Busan’s remarkable film infrastructure, the center is a complex of two four-story buildings and a nine-story building. It was completed in 2011.

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Busan is known as the “City of Film” — but not simply because it plays host to the Busan International Film Festival (BIFF). The city has built a robust cinema infrastructure that includes numerous film-related facilities and organizations.

Jeon Chan-il Film Critic; President, Korean Cultural Content Critics Association

C

an Busan become a cultural hub? This question was posed in the 2017 book “The Cultural Infrastructure and Festivals of Busan,” published by Pukyong National University’s Institute for Humanities and Social Sciences. As one of the contributing writers, I was skeptical at first. However, while conducting research and writing for the book, my thoughts changed dramatically — at least with respect to the film scene.

Before the book, I had not given serious thought to Busan’s film infrastructure. The phrase “Cinema Busan” sounded as if it referred solely to BIFF. But I realized this was a misconception: the city offers so much more in the way of film-related facilities and public institutions.

First on the list are the Korean Film Council and the Korea Media Rating Board, which relocated to Busan from Seoul in 2013. Although they function on a national scale, their presence has undoubtedly raised the stature of Busan on the Korean movie scene. The impact of more local assets cannot be overlooked, either: Cinematheque Busan, the Busan Cinema Center, the Busan Film Commission, and the Busan Film Critics Awards are all invaluable pillars.

Pioneering Role

A cinémathèque is a film archive that also holds screenings of movies in its collection. Founded in 1999 at the Suyeong Bay Yachting Center in Haeundae District, Cinematheque Busan was the first of its kind in Korea. It mostly screens rare classic films, art movies and independent films that are not shown in commercial theaters. Since 2007, it has also offered a wide array of cinema-related educational programs for the general public. © NewsBank

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 37

Cinematheque Busan is now housed in the Busan Cinema Center, which opened in 2011. Famous for its architectural design by the Austrian firm Coop Himmbelb(l)au, the center has been pivotal in the evolution not only of Cinamatheque Busan but of BIFF as well.

The Busan Film Commission (BFC) also emerged in 1999, the brainchild of the metropolitan government of Busan. It was the first film commission in Korea and the second in Asia. At the time, the Korean movie industry was enjoying a renaissance and the commission was tasked with providing one-stop administrative support services. Other municipal governments followed suit and there are now 12 more regional film commissions in Korea.

By the end of 2018, some 1,300 movies and other visual content had received BFC support. The commission has also helped to expand the infrastructure of the local film industry.

Some of the BFC’s notable initiatives include the Cinema House Hotel in Busan and the Busan Cinema Studios, which provide a more convenient shooting environment; the Busan Cinema Venture Center, which houses film and visual media firms; the Busan Asian Film School, which offers a curriculum in filmmaking; and the Busan Visual Industry Center, which nurtures human resources and attracts film-related companies from the Seoul metropolitan area.

Well before these institutions and initiatives, however, came the Korean Association of Film Critics (KAFC), known today as the foremost film critics’ organization in Korea. The KAFC was founded in September 1950 in Busan, then the wartime provisional capital of the Republic of Korea.

It was followed in 1958 by the Busan Film Critics Association (BFCA), the first independent regional critics’ group in the country.

Blazing an Independent Path

The BFCA set out to promote a rich, vibrant film culture through its review of both domestic and foreign films, guiding the public to develop a discerning eye and engaging in research and other activities. The association hosted the first Buil Film Awards, created by local daily Busan Ilbo in the same year. The group’s thorough and objective reviews and recommendations of quality films have contributed to the development of Korean cinema and significantly enhanced public appreciation and understanding of films.

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© Busan Metropolitan City

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In 2000, the BFCA began holding its own film awards, known for their strong regional flavor and unconventional bent. This can be interpreted as an intentional tilt toward regional or non-mainstream works, sharply contrasting with the more establishment-oriented KAFC Critics Choice Awards.

The difference between the two associations became apparent at the first Busan Film Critics Awards. The Best Film award went to director Hong Sang-soo’s “Virgin Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors,” which depicted a love triangle between two men and a woman. That year, at the KAFC’s 20th Critics Choice Awards, Hong’s movie went home empty-handed while Best Film went to “Peppermint Candy.” Directed by Lee Chang-dong, the movie intertwined an anguished personal history with the tragic modern history of Korea. Lee also won Best Director at the same ceremony but his counterpart at the Busan Film Critics Awards was Bae Chang-ho. Bae’s movie, “My Heart,” was largely unknown to the general public.

This trend repeated in 2018 when the Critics Choice Award for Best Film went to “1987: When the Day Comes” by

log ver b © Na i" hoxx "Eun

The phrase “Cinema Busan” sounded as if it referred solely to BIFF. But I realized this was a misconception: the city offers so much more in the way of film-related facilities and public institutions.

2

1. Movie fans attend a screening of the 24th Busan International Film Festival at BIFF Square, an outdoor venue in the old city center of Nampo-dong.

The square hosted the festival’s major events until 2003 when the main venue was relocated to Haeundae.

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2. “Lady-Bird Transformation (Mirage)”

by Ralf Volker Sander. 2012. Stainless steel, 10.2 × 4.6 × 2.6 m.

The sculpture at the Busan Cinema Center’s Dureraum Square was selected from among many international submissions. Viewed from the front, the sculpture is shaped like a woman, but from the side, it resembles a seagull.

3. Crowds cheer at an outdoor performance held at the Busan Cinema Center as part of the 2017 Busan Food Film Festa.

© Busan Cinema Center, Busan Food Film Festa

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 39

1 © Busan Cinema Center

1. Students of the Busan Cinema Center’s film academy learn about video production. The academy offers more than 50 courses every year for aspiring filmmakers.

2. Director Yeon Sang-ho’s 2016 hit movie “Train to Busan” is shot at the Busan Cinema Studios. Managed by the Busan Film Commission, the location has two indoor studios with floor areas of 826m² and 1,653m².

3. Busan is home to many movie locations. Beomil-dong appears in many popular films, including Kwak Kyung-taek’s “Friend” (2001), Im Kwon-taek’s “Low Life” (2004) and Bong Joon-ho’s “Mother” (2009).

4. A scene from “Nameless Gangster: Rules of the Time,” a 2012 film directed by Yoon Jong-bin. It was shot at Yeongdo Shipyard owned by Hanjin Heavy Industries & Construction.

2 © Next Entertainment World

Jang Joon-hwan. It told the stories of pro-democracy activists who sparked the June Democracy Movement in the eponymous year. The Busan Film Critics Awards presented Best Film to “The Remnants,” a documentary about embattled residents of a Seoul neighborhood designated for demolition and redevelopment. Several died in a fire while resisting eviction by the police.

Though it has not always been the case, these distinct differences in inclination between the two associations serve to demonstrate the legitimacy of the BFCA. It may be incomparably smaller in terms of size and membership, but the BFCA have consistently remained steadfast to its principles while the KAFC could be said to have lost direction.

Many other film-related associations and insti-

40 KOREANA Winter 2019

tutions in Busan are worth mentioning. Among them are the Busan Independent Film Association founded in 1999 and its Independent Film Festival Busan, which celebrated its 21st edition in 2019; the Buil Film Awards, which emphasize fairness and transparency in the selection process; and the Busan International Short Film Festival, which began as the Korean Short Film Festival in 1980 and has since transformed significantly.

More Festivals

And that’s not all. Cinema Street in Haeundae District attracts local visitors as well as tourists from around the country and the world.

The Chinese restaurant Jangseonghyang on Texas Street across from Busan Station, which became famous for its fried dumplings as featured in Park Chan-wook’s 2003 hit “Oldboy,” bustles with customers. And the Busan Museum of Movies on Daecheong-ro in Jung District draws many visitors year round. Indeed, Busan is deserving of its title, “City of Film.”

On the 24th BIFF The year 2019 marked the 24th edition of the Busan International Film Festival (BIFF), yielding both impressive results and valuable insights on its future direction. Once again the festival proved its © Moon Jin-woo

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prominence as Asia’s premier film event with screenings of 299 films from 85 countries, among which 118 were world premieres (95 feature films, 23 short films) and 27 were international premieres (26 feature films, 1 short film).

The most noteworthy among the festival’s numerous programs was a retrospective of cinematographer Jung Il-sung. It expanded and deepened the range of Korean cinema retrospectives, previously confined mainly to the oeuvres of directors or actors.

Several major international film festivals are expected to benchmark this pioneering endeavor.

Also deserving of attention was “The Horse Thieves. Roads of Time,” which opened the festival, a first for a Central Asian film. It was co-directed by Yerlan Nurmukhambetov, recipient of the New Currents Award for “Walnut Tree” at the 20th BIFF in 2015, and Japanese director Lisa Takeba. The brilliant storytelling of a simple but dramatic incident that the title portends, unaffected characters and realistic performances, and a Western mise-en-scéne

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reminiscent of John Ford’s “The Searchers” (1956) or Clint East-

© Showbox

wood’s “Unforgiven” (1992) raise hopes for the future of Kazakh cinema.

It cannot be denied that BIFF has attained remarkable status on the international film scene. Still, misgivings over its future do exist. The 2019 BIFF was the second after the reshuffling of its executive committee in 2018. But the number of viewers declined by Director David Michôd (far right), lead actor Timothée Chalamet (second from right) and other crew members of “The King,” the much-talked-about movie at the 2019 Busan International Film Festival, pose for a picture with moviegoers.

some 6,000 to 189,116 from 2018, when a typhoon badly hit the venue. Probably this means that BIFF has still not fully emerged from the shadow of political conflict surrounding its independence from government interference.

In 2014, BIFF scheduled a screening of “The Truth Shall Not Sink with the Sewol” (Korean title: “Diving Bell”), a documentary that criticized rescue efforts after the capsizing and sinking of the Sewol passenger ferry six months earlier. A total of 304 passengers died, most of them high school students. The central government and the city of Busan called for the screening of the controversial documentary to be canceled but BIFF proceeded to show it.

It is hard to determine for sure whether this is a temporary decline or a portentous signal of a prolonged slump. But needless to say, a thorough diagnosis of the cause and appropriate measures are necessary.

© Busan International Film Festival

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 41

FOCUS

Monsters, Cyborgs and Failed Utopian Dreams Lee Bul weaves personal narrative into biting social critique, historical references and exploration of utopian ideals, earning her broad international recognition.

Themes of her sculptures, installations and performances, appearing grotesque and ghastly but overwhelming and majestic at the same time, have included the marginalization of women and technology’s potential.

Moon So-young Culture Editor, Korea JoongAng Daily

“Willing To Be Vulnerable – Metalized Balloon V3.” 2015–2019.

Nylon taffeta cloth, polyester with aluminum foil, fan, electronic wiring, polycarbonate mirror. 230 × 1000 × 230 cm.

Installation view at “Encounters” sector, 2019 Art Basel Hong Kong.

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Courtesy of Studio Lee Bul and Lehmann Maupin, PKM Gallery, Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 43

I

nternational recognition of the multifaceted Lee Bul remains unwavering. Lee’s most prominent project in 2019 was at the 58th Venice Biennale. It marked the first time a Korean artist has participated twice in the main exhibition. In 1999, she was the principal artist featured in the Korean Pavilion and was awarded an honorable mention. Both awe and appreciation of her thought-provoking critique and seemingly boundless creative energy have earned her global attention.

Also in 2019, Art Basel Hong Kong, the biggest art fair in Asia, invited Lee in March to showcase a silver zeppelin hanging from the ceiling at the ground floor entrance of the Hong

Kong Convention and Exhibition Centre. The colossal installation was immensely popular with visitors, who eagerly photographed themselves with it, reportedly the inspiration for the theme of the show, “Still We Rise.”

The zeppelin, titled “Willing To Be Vulnerable – Metalized Balloon,” also appeared in London, in a special exhibition at the Hayward Gallery, during its 50th anniversary celebration in 2018. The exhibition, “Lee Bul: Crashing,” was a large-scale retrospective that included some 100 works spanning three decades, starting in the late 1980s. The retrospective continued at Martin-Gropius-Bau in Berlin under the title “Lee Bul: Crash,” which ran from September 2018 to January 2019.

I first encountered Lee’s work in the late 1990s. A fashion magazine had a double-page photograph of a woman wearing a bodysuit with three baby doll heads attached, fishnet stockings, silk robe, leather boots, and bead ornaments dangling from her head. The sight was bizarre, but sensual and funny. And the woman was Lee herself. The photograph was used in what became one of her representative works, “Hydra: Monument.” Referencing the multi-headed water monster of Greek mythology, Lee infused cultural elements of the East and West and oriental fantasy. The powerful image fiercely challenged the stereotype of Asian women being docile.

Radical and Innovative

Another provocative presentation, “Majestic Splendor,” at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York in 1997, created quite a sensation, solidifying Lee’s presence in the international art scene. It consisted of slowly rotting raw fish adorned with bead flowers — and suffocating stench. The smell caused the fish to be removed just before the opening of a famous American artist’s exhibition on the floor above. The next year, Lee was

1. “Hydra II (Monument).” 1999. Photo print on vinyl, air pumps. 1200 × 700 × 600 cm.

Installation view at “Hot Air,” Shizuoka Convention & Arts Center GRANSHIP, Shizuoka, Japan.

1 Photo by Yasunori Tanioka, Courtesy of Nanjo and Associates

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2. From left: “Cyborg W1.” 1998. Cast silicone, polyurethane filling, paint pigment. 185 × 56 × 58 cm; “Monster: Pink.” 1998. Fabric, fiber filling, stainless steel frame, acrylic paint. 210 × 210 × 180 cm; “Cyborg W2.” 1998. Cast silicone, polyurethane filling, paint pigment. 185 × 74 × 58 cm; “Cyborg W4.” 1998. Cast silicone, polyurethane filling, paint pigment. 188 × 60 × 50 cm.

Installation view at “Lee Bul,” Art Sonje Center, Seoul.

2 Photo by Rhee Jae-yong, Courtesy of Art Sonje Center.

A unique juxtaposition of beauty and horror, weakness and strength runs throughout her works.

They do not suggest a defeatist attitude, but rather stand for the coexistence of continued hope and despair.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 45

1. Armed with extraordinary social and historical insight, Lee Bul has developed a distinctive artistic style that has earned her global recognition as one of the most prominent artists of her time.

2. “Majestic Splendor” (detail).

1997. Fish, sequins, potassium permanganate, mylar bags.

1 Photo by Le Pan, Courtesy of Studio Lee Bul

selected as a finalist for the Hugo Boss Prize awarded by the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum.

“Majestic Splendor” was not displayed again until 2016, when it was recreated for the “Connect 1: Still Acts” exhibit held at the Art Sonje Center in Seoul. I was beguiled by the work’s combination of the provocativeness of postmodern art and the deep roots of Eastern and Western art traditions. The concept of decomposing fish decorated with dazzling bead flowers shared a common thread with vanitas still life paintings produced in Europe during the 17th century, as well as kusōzu, or the pictures of the nine stages of a decaying body, in Japanese art. Vanitas commonly feature symbols of wealth, such as luxury items, with symbols of death or ephemerality, such as skulls, candles, or hourglasses, which signify the futility of material goods and the brevity of

46 KOREANA Winter 2019

life. Portraying the nine stages of the decomposition of a woman’s corpse, kusōzu also illustrate the transient nature of earthly existence.

“Majestic Splendor” left such a powerful impression because the decomposition of the fish and its foul smell was brought inside MoMA, a virtual shrine. The putrid odor was the true essence of the work.

Lee explains that she was inspired to use bead flowers by her childhood memories of her mother stringing beads. Born in 1964, Lee grew up in an era of military dictatorship and rapid economic ascension. Her parents were political dissidents; hence, the family was forced to lead a mostly itinerant life. They had to work from home to earn a living, making things like beaded handbags.

Underlying Lee’s work up until the 2000s was a desperate attempt to shatter preconceptions and old notions

related to her identities as a woman and Asian. The human body was her principal medium. The sculpture series “Monster” (1998) featured tentacle creatures with a soft flesh-like texture and a shape that appeared to be a hybrid of animals and plants — the human body, octopuses, sea anemones, ginseng roots, etc. The impression is highly sensuous and seductive, yet also repulsive.

Hybrid Blurring Boundaries

The sculptures were a variant of a monster costume Lee wore for a 12-day outdoor performance in 1990, titled “Sorry for suffering — You think I’m a puppy on a picnic?” Lee walked the streets of Tokyo dressed in a monstrous bodysuit, a soft wearable sculpture with dangling limbs and tentacles, all covered in red and white skin that resembled raw meat. It was a scathing critique of the conventional dichotomy

between human and monster, reason and sensibility, man and woman.

The “Cyborg” sculpture series (1997–2011), which also featured anthropomorphic figures, continued this theme. It was displayed alongside the “Monster” series during Lee’s retrospectives in London and Berlin. With a wasp waist and prominent breasts and buttocks, the shape of the female robotic figures in the series resembled the sexualized characters in Japanese anime. The pure white, goddess-like figures also recalled ancient Greek sculptures, but they were imperfect, hanging from the ceiling missing a head, arm and leg.

Lee drew inspiration for the series from “A Cyborg Manifesto” (1985), a famous essay written by American biologist and feminist science philoso-

pher Donna Haraway. Short for cybernetic organism, a cyborg is a fusion of machine and organism. In contrast to the dystopian worldview of most science fiction movies, Haraway views the cyborg identity in a positive light.

Her explanation is that the concept of the cyborg allows us to expand our sensibilities, dismantling the discriminatory boundaries and divisions of gender and race, and build a new politics. She also contends that the direction feminist politics should pursue is rebuilding the conventional boundaries that we encounter in our daily lives through cyborgian coalition and affinity, and ends the essay with the famous line, “I would rather be a cyborg than a goddess.”

The tentacle-laden monster costume that Lee donned for her street

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performance was an amalgam that blurred boundaries, and in a broader sense, a representation of cyborgian identity.

Reflections on Eras

From her exploration of the themes of social oppression and the human body through the cyborg and monster sculptures, Lee began to show a notable shift in the ongoing series, “Mon Grand Récit” (2015– ). It includes large-scale models of landmark modernist structures of the early 20th century that represented the pursuit of utopia. But the setting for them is a desolate dystopian landscape; Lee aims to convey dashed hopes for a utopian future.

In this series, Lee weaves her personal narrative into Korea’s social landscape that has undergone tumultuous transitions. She reflects on history and the times, noting the words of the French philosopher JeanFrançois Lyotard who expressed skepticism and incredulity toward “grand or meta narratives” of the modernist age.

Ostensibly, the “Mon Grand Récit” series marks a departure from Lee’s earlier works up until the early 2000s, most notably the “Cyborg” series. However, there is an inextricable connection in their central theme — the frustrated hopes of harnessing the power of technology to overcome human limitations and contradictions, and ultimately realize a utopian world. As Stephanie Rosenthal, curator of Lee’s London and Berlin retrospectives, pointed out, a unique juxtaposition of beauty and horror, weakness and strength runs throughout her works. They do not suggest a defeatist attitude, but rather stand for the coexistence of continued hope and despair.

Photo by Robert Puglisi, Courtesy of Studio Lee Bul

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 47

INTERVIEW

Bringing Nature into the City

1. Oh Kyung-ah looks out from her garden design institute, an annex of her home in Sokcho, Gangwon Province.

Award-winning broadcast writer Oh Kyung-ah left her career to learn how to design gardens. The move was her way to live a healthy and happy life. Now she plants gardens in tightly-packed urban areas, feeling fulfillment at the peace of mind her colorful oases give visitors.

Lim Hee-yun Culture Reporter, The Dong-A Ilbo Ha Ji-kwon Photographer 1

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2. In the annex, Oh conducts occasional classes on horticulture and garden design.

“I

have only been away for a month but everything’s in a muddle. I’d better get busy.”

Having spent a month away from home, visiting her daughter who works in Kenya, the first thing garden designer Oh Kyung-ah does when she returns is ready herself to work on her garden. The garden surrounding her home in Sokcho, a port city on the east coast in Gangwon Province, covers around 660 square meters and contains more than 100 different species of plants. She can easily recite both their Korean and Latin names.

Oh has turned an annex of her home into the “Oh Kyung-ah Garden Design Institute.” This is where she teaches garden design and horticulture. When she is not promoting her horticulture passion, Oh designs large-scale, high-profile projects. They have included the “Seed Bank Garden” for the Suncheon Bay International Garden Expo in 2013, and more recently a rooftop garden for a massive shopping mall in Bucheon, Gyeonggi Province.

Pursuing Health and Happiness

Lim Hee-yun: So, you used to be a writer for the radio?

Oh Kyung-ah: I majored in French language and literature at university and started work in broadcasting as soon as I graduated. Excluding maternity leaves, I worked without a break from 1989 to 2005.

Lim: I see that in 2003 you were awarded the “This Year’s Writer” prize at the MBC Entertainment Awards.

What made you suddenly turn to designing gardens at the peak of your career?

Oh: I was preparing up to 10 A4 pages of broadcast script each and every day. Over time, my emotional capacity and creativity really were exhausted. My body wasn’t coping either. I got sick more and more often, with sinusitis and constant coughing. And then, one day I was driving over the Mapo Bridge and I saw the sky above Yeouido all darkened with smog. At that moment I wished I could do work that would allow me to be healthier and happier until my old age.

Lim: And that led to working with gardens?

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Oh: Yes. I grew up in a house with a yard. Different flowers would bloom every season and there was a climbing rose that grew up a wall. After I got married, I began to really get into gardening. As soon as I returned home from work, I’d throw my bag down in the living room and go straight out into the garden. My husband told me, “You know what? When you’re doing broadcasting work, you’re all prickly and on edge, but when you’re in the garden your expression and the way you speak become calm and comfortable.” That’s when I thought I should pursue a second career in something connected with gardens. I was just absent-mindedly browsing online when I came across garden designing. I started putting together my application for a program in England right away. I was 38 at the time.

Lim: It can’t have been an easy decision. What was it like when you got there?

Oh: The subject suited me perfectly well, but it was incredibly hard to keep up with everything. My husband stayed behind in Korea and I had my two daughters with me who had just finished elementary school. My English was still clumsy, so it was a massive stress just trying to open a bank account, but having to send my kids to school and take care of their needs on top of everything else meant that every day was a stream of touch-and-go episodes. As soon as I opened my eyes in the morning, I’d be worrying about what could go wrong that day.

Lim: What was it like studying garden design?

Oh: I didn’t know enough about plants, so moving on to design was impossible. In consultation with my super-

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 49

1 © Wang Gyu-tae

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© Monthly Gardening

visor, I decided to do a one-year internship. So I joined the team at Kew Gardens in London, the oldest modern botanical gardens in the world, as an intern gardener. To this day, that one year is still my greatest asset. They don’t just grow plants there for show, they grow many different species for research purposes, too. I volunteered my way through a broad range of departments, working with everything from tropical plants in hot houses to herbaceous plants outdoors.

During that time, I was able to experience all the different things that you can only learn by doing them yourself, from watering to preventing insect damage and pruning.

Lim: Is there much difference between a garden designer and a gardener or landscaper?

Oh: Garden designers have a totally different role altogether. It’s a garden designer’s job to design all of the space apart from the building, which is the responsibility of the architect. From planning out the exact number of shrubs and plants, to contrasts between the colors of plants and the texture of leaves, the garden designer designs a space so that the materials of the building and the properties of the plants harmonize beautifully. When necessary, the garden designer may even request specially made pots or sculptures to go with the garden, giving potters and artists a specific design

brief. You can think of a garden designer as someone who works to bring together the whole look and feel of a dwelling and its surroundings.

Getaways of Calm

Lim: These days you are also giving talks. What are listeners most eager to learn?

Oh: I get lots of questions about how to care for plants so that they don’t die. But plants die for many reasons, even if the person tending them does nothing wrong. You see, first and foremost, plants being grown in the city have been taken out of their natural habitat. That means any given plant can’t complete the average lifespan cited in an encyclopedia.

People who want to grow plants at home I would encourage to just go ahead and give it a try without worrying that they might die. After all, plants are very reasonably priced in Korea.

Lim: But such a large proportion of the population lives in cities, and in high-rise apartments at that. Isn’t it a bit of an extravagance to grow plants in such an environment?

Oh: Not at all. Plants are absolutely necessary for our mental well-being. Judging by the comments people leave online these days, most people are extremely on edge emotionally. Mental health professionals around the world are strongly recommending people do more gardening. They say that watching new shoots sprout from the soil produces a healing hormone inside the body, the same kind of hormone that’s released when a parent sees their child taking their first steps. A few years ago, the British Medical Association even made gardening something that could be officially prescribed to various kinds of patients by their doctors.

For some conditions, working in a garden two times a week, two hours a day, can be more effective than taking multiple doses of painkillers or tranquilizers.

Lim: You have recently been working on a roof-

1. Oh Kyung-ah created this garden by repurposing a container discarded in central Seoul to provide citizens with a place to relax from the fast pace of a bustling metropolis.

2. A courtyard garden at the Joongang OB & GYN Clinic in Sokcho.

The space does not get any sunlight, so plants such as ferns, mosses and flowering hostas were carefully selected for the design.

3. A sketch for the Art Garden Rest Spot, which was entered into the 2014 Seoul Living Design Fair with the support of Hana Financial Group.

“ It’s not that there aren’t any bees or butterflies in the city, it’s just that the way we live in cities means that we never come face to face with them.” top garden for a mall in Gyeonggi Province. It seems as though roof gardens are becoming much more common these days.

Oh: The shopping mall has only just opened, so there are still construction materials around everywhere, but as soon as we planted a few plants, there were butterflies and bees flying around as though they had been waiting in hiding. It’s not that there aren’t any bees or butterflies in the city, it’s just that the way we live in cities means that we never come face to face with them. Recently, more and more commercial spaces are trying to attract customers by installing gardens. But the areas in most dire need of gardens are the most densely built-up parts of big cities, with high concentrations of tall buildings. Even if it’s only in the small, leftover spaces, bringing nature into the city is vital for everyone’s well-being.

Joyful Plans

Lim: Are there any particular gardens in Korea that you would recommend for people to visit?

Oh: There are so many. Among some of the best, there is the Garden of Morning Calm in Gapyeong, the Jade Garden in Chuncheon, the Seomi Garden in Namhae and the Oedo Botania in Geoje. Particularly interesting is the Seomi Garden, an English-style garden made up mainly of herbaceous plants, which is a real rarity in Korea, so I go there quite often.

Lim: Do you have any particular plans for the future?

Oh: I’d like to spend more of my time in Sokcho and be in my garden more. And I also want to devote more time into putting the finishing touches to “The Shed,” the garden café I opened earlier this year. I also want to write books aimed at young readers. I’d like to create a series that combines children’s stories with basic knowledge about gardens.

When it comes to gardening, the earlier you start learning about it the better.

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GUARDIANS OF HERITAGE

Dance

of a Scholar as Graceful as a Crane 52 KOREANA Winter 2019

“Dongnae Crane Dance,” performed in a group of at least three to dozens at most, represents the lofty spirit and ideals of Confucian scholars, symbolically expressed through mimicry of a crane’s movements.

Courtesy of Lee Seong-hun

A genre of traditional Korean folk performing arts, the crane dance (hakchum) expresses the solemn dignity of Confucian scholars of the Joseon period by simulating the movements of a crane. With no literary sources available on its origin, the dance presumably evolved from other forms of folk dance. “Dongnae Crane Dance,” designated as Intangible Cultural Property No. 3 by the city of Busan, is characterized by improvisation.

Kang Shin-jae Freelance Writer

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 53

D

ongnae is just another administrative district of Busan today, but back in the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910) it was a major regional center and a hub of arts and culture. The training institute for professional female entertainers (gisaeng), located adjacent to the local government office, was frequented by wealthy patrons of the arts, and its famous natural hot springs attracted seekers of leisure and entertainment.

“Dongnae Yaryu,” a local version of masked dance drama performed around the first full moon day of the lunar year, featured a variety of dancers. Local legend has it that one day, a man dressed as a nobleman (yangban) appeared and danced elegantly. The audience was instantly mesmerized by his graceful movements, which they thought resembled a crane dancing. The moment marked the birth of the “Dongnae Crane Dance.”

So said Lee Seong-hun, a “living cultural treasure” designated by the city of Busan in recognition of his peerless expertise in the dance, about its origin. But this also might be just a fragment of the whole picture.

“It is a folk dance. The details of its origin have never been formally documented, so it can only be conjectured relying on the memories of local elders,” Lee said. “Where intangible cultural heritage is concerned, there is no such concept as ‘the original form.’ Countless variations and alterations are inevitable. As ‘Dongnae Yaryu’ was banned during the Japanese colonial period in an attempt to annihilate our culture, the dance performed before that time was probably a different version.”

Spirit of the Confucian Scholar

Regardless of the dance’s debatable origin, the current form is similar to the folk mask dance of the Gyeongsang district in southeastern Korea, but modified with the mimicry of a crane’s movements. What is intriguing is that although it was, and still is, elegantly performed by dancers dressed in the Confucian scholar’s simple but dignified outfit, the dancers have never actually been scholars.

“Joseon’s scholars never danced as they were supposed to devote themselves to their studies. In other words, they considered themselves too dignified to dance,” Lee said. “Still, the crane dance has been known to embody their spirit, probably because the lofty character of a Confucian scholar was associated with the crane’s noble presence.”

Previously a solo dance, the crane dance is nowadays often performed in a group of at least three or even dozens at the most. The dance basically consists of 13 different movements and in its entirety lasts around 14 minutes and 30 seconds. For Lee, the quintessential movement is baegim sawi (bobbing in place), in which the dancer takes a long step forward and bobs up and down with the knees bent. Two other notable movements are the depictions of the crane taking flight, for which the dancer runs with his arms outstretched, with the wide sleeves of his robe flowing behind; and of the bird looking around searching for food, with the dancer raising his arms and then lowering them at the small of the back, bending forward at the waist and craning his neck from side to side.

Despite their seeming simplicity, these movements require a degree of proficiency to execute properly. “Ballet dancers stand on their toes and in

54 KOREANA Winter 2019

most traditional Korean dances performers land with their heels, but in the crane dance you tread the ground with the entire sole of your foot. You need to create an air of elation with the bending and straightening of your legs, imitating a crane strutting on the snow,” Lee said.

The most difficult part of the dance is the breathing. Lee explained that, if the intensity of breathing is measured on a scale from one to ten, other traditional dances like seungmu (monk’s dance) or salpuri (dance to expel evil spirits) gently move between levels four and seven, while the crane dance has more ups and downs, falling to two and then suddenly soaring to eight.

Another characteristic feature are the impromptu components inserted between prescribed movements as individual dancers improvise in a free but orderly manner, considering the condition of the stage and the number of dancers in the group.

“I’d rather call it ‘improvisation’ than ‘free dance.’ Similar as the two terms might be, I believe proper naming affects the dancer’s attitude,” Lee said. “Improvisation enhances the quality of ‘Dongnae Crane Dance’ as a combination of artistic and natural movements.”

Unique Accompaniment

The crane dance is accompanied by a typical ensemble of percussion instruments, including the kkwaenggwari (small gong), jing (large gong), janggu (double-headed, hourglass-shaped drum) and buk (barrel drum). Especially added to this dance is humming (gu-eum), that is, the human voice. The humming is a mixture of the mimicry of instruments like the gayageum (twelve-stringed zither), ajaeng (seven-

Lee Seong-hun believes the charm of “Dongnae Crane Dance” comes from the impromptu components inserted between set movements.

“Although not a tall or large man, Mr. Lee dominates the stage while dancing. It’s as if he carries a crane inside him.”

© Korea Cultural Heritage Foundation

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1 © Korea Cultural Heritage Foundation

stringed zither), or haegeum (two-stringed fiddle); the mimicry of natural sounds; as well as melodic humming and interjections.

Lee attunes his dance to the humming, not to the kkwaenggwari that provides rhythmic structure to the dance. “The human voice expresses emotions, so it’s easier for me to lose myself in the dance with good humming.

The percussion instruments support the human voice, which also softens any sound that falls out of harmony with the other instruments,” he said.

The vocalist does not utter any words with meaning or structure but hums melodiously or makes guttural sounds that support the dance movements or fill the voids between them. It cannot be done by just any singer.

Lee’s long-time collaborator is Kim Sin-yeong.

Singing was a mere pastime for Kim when she met her teacher, and she had no knowledge whatsoever of humming. “My teacher’s voice was quite different from anything I’d heard before, inexplicably delightful and moving,” said Kim. However, she could not have formal lessons from her teacher, but instead used every opportunity to listen to her hum or sing songs in public performances. She recollected, “I had to get accustomed to every regional variety of traditional songs, including those of the northwestern provinces (seodo sori), southern provinces (namdo sori) and the central province of Gyeonggi, to discover what I could do best. As I grew more experienced, I could identify the style of humming suitable for each of the

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various dance genres.”

The impromptu nature of humming makes it more of a skill that is acquired by intuition rather than learned through formal training. It is not like performing pansori (narrative song) or other folk songs because the dance has no story line, so the singer has to look to the dance itself to find inspiration for improvisation.

“While humming for dance, you might or might not feel that you can see through the dance, depending on how well you know it,” Kim said. “I feel at ease when singing for Mr. Lee. We’ve been collaborating for so long that I have a clear idea of his dancing style, of how I can match my music with every detail of his movements. It’s not been long since I reached this stage. There are other dancers who are excellent but with whom I find it hard to collaborate. In that case I can’t sing the way I want to.”

© Ahn Hong-beom

After listening attentively to Kim, Lee said with a firm voice, “After mastering all forms of singing, the singer must finally try to convey all human joys and sorrows in her voice. The sound lying within from the days of hardship, the days of happiness and the days of pain should rise to the throat and spill over. Since her sound reflects her life, the singer should also discipline herself with rigorous self-reflection, and in the process build up the identity of her sound.”

This may also be what Lee has said to himself repeatedly over the last 30 years, whenever he tried to draw dance from within his body. His dance must have been forged by all the moments of his life: the day he was thrown out of his home as a 15-year-old boy because of his longing to become a dancer; the 10 years of his youth living at a dancing institute while enduring the cold treatment of others; the time he turned from modern to traditional dance after suffering from muscular injuries; and the moment he discovered the crane dance while learning the various folk performing arts of his hometown area.

Kim responded to his advice with a nod of understanding. “A true singer, my teacher said, does not sing with the mouth only, but with the entire body and mind. You should cry a lot and study a lot to have the universe infused in your songs.”

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Envisioning a Beautiful World

Now, the dancer and the singer who have performed together for so long commented on each other’s art. “Although not a tall or large man, Mr. Lee dominates the stage while dancing. It’s as if he carries a crane inside him. I think his dancing is nearing perfection,” Kim said.

In his turn, Lee said, “The singer must also know the dancer’s character, and Kim Sin-yeong can cope with my fastidious character so well that I feel comfortable dancing to her humming. But she needs to leave her teacher behind. Even if she maintains the feel of her teacher, she needs to be bold enough to create her own sound.”

When asked about their individual work, Lee was more at peace. Lee said that he creates his own fantasy world the moment he stands on stage and hears the music start, envisioning himself roaming the Daoist paradise, and that in his world he is trying and improving each year.

On the contrary, the singer, who obviously thinks she has not yet reached the depth of her sound, gave a reply as modest as the way she was sitting next to the dancer. A humming singer plays a supporting role in the crane dance, Kim said, so she needs to follow the dancing and be absorbed in it.

She hoped one day to reach the state of total commune with the dancer on the stage.

Despite the apparent differences in their replies, the two artists were certainly of one mind as they envisioned a scene with a thousand people performing the crane dance together at Gwanghwamun Square in the heart of Seoul.

As the crowd moves with the dignity of a noble-minded scholar, their long white robes fluttering in the wind, and the humming sound resonates through heaven and earth, the world will become a more beautiful place — at least as much as the two artists try to make it so with their dancing and singing.

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1. Lee Seong-hun, center, leads a group of dancers performing “Dongnae Crane Dance“ at the Osan Culture and Arts Center on September 6, 2019, as part of an event entitled “Shall We Pungnyu?” (Pungnyu refers to “enjoyment of refined arts”).

2. Lee left home at 15 and pursued his studies in dance while living at a dancing institute. He started to perform ”Dongnae Crane Dance“ as a member of the Busan Municipal Dance Company in the early 1980s.

In 2016, he was designated as a cultural heritage title holder for his performance of the dance.

3. Kim Sin-yeong, a humming vocalist for the crane dance, endeavors to create her own sound, surpassing that of her late teacher Yu Geum-seon.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 57

ART REVIEW

Brutal History and Warm Hearts The opera “1945” was staged in 2019 by the Korea National Opera to mark the 100th anniversary of the March First Independence Movement and the subsequent establishment of Korea’s provisional government in Shanghai. Its musical achievements aside, the show seemed especially relevant amid the ongoing tensions between Seoul and Tokyo.

Ryu Tae-hyung Music Columnist

58 KOREANA Winter 2019

The opera “1945,” staged by the Korea National Opera from late September to early October 2019, is set in the gloomiest of times, but the producer adopted elements of humor and satire to deliver a sense of warmth to the audience. In this scene, right after World War II, the women at a temporary shelter for refugees in Manchuria make rice cake. © Korea National Opera

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 59

T

he sensation of the autumn 2019 opera season was the Korea National Opera’s “1945,” which ran from late September to early October at the Seoul Arts Center and the Daegu Opera House. This beautifully mounted show was adapted from a play of the same name that had been presented two years earlier by the National Theater Company of Korea. The production was first proposed by composer Choe Uzong, who was deeply moved by the original play by Pai Sam-shik.

Manchuria in 1945

The opera is set in Manchuria in the eponymous year, right after the end of World War II and Korea’s liberation from Japan. It depicts events taking place at a temporary shelter for displaced Koreans waiting for their chance to return home. The lead characters are Bunee, who is Korean, and Mizuko, who is Japanese; both women were forced into sexual slavery for the Japanese military. After Korea is freed from Japanese colonial rule, Bunee tells Mizuko, “Let’s go our separate ways.” But when she realizes she cannot just turn her back on the pregnant Mizuko, she tries instead to fool others into thinking that Mizuko is her mute sister and looks for a way to bring her to Korea. As the story of these two women unfolds, the audience is led to reconsider the black-and-white

logic of nationalism that often pits Korea and Japan against each other and to think about the value of tolerance.

The opera resonated deeply with the audience, not just because of its focus on human nature and the tragedy of life. The script, written by Pai himself, added depth to the story. Dramatic engagement was then further intensified by Choe, who recomposed diverse styles of popular music of the 1940s from a range of different backgrounds. Producer Koh Sun-woong, well known for his ingenious interpretation and eye for stage execution, infused sad scenes with wit and satire instead of making them melodramatic, thereby rousing greater empathy. And conductor Chung Chi-yong, noted for his delicate yet powerful orchestration, led a fine performance.

Music Elevates Language

Of all the aspects of the opera, the lyrics stood out most. The recitativo style, which focuses more on the delivery of the lyrics themselves than on the melody, was reminiscent of 20th century operas such as Alban Berg’s “Wozzeck” and “Lulu.” Subtitles were provided to help convey the lyrics more precisely.

Choe began writing the score with a question in

1. “1945” created the biggest buzz in Korea’s performing arts scene during the fall 2019 season. The key crew members are (from left): composer Choe Uzong, conductor Chung Chi-yong, producer Koh Sun-woong and playwright Pai Sam-shik.

2. A Korean woman pleads her case before the others at the temporary shelter who have condemned her for marrying a Japanese man. The opera challenges the black-and-white logic of nationalism, advocating tolerance which is all about understanding and embracing the pain of others.

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mind: “What kinds of songs were sung at the time and how did they come to be known?” He defined the 1930s and 1940s as historically fraught but rich in musical legacy. Before composing, he searched through the diverse genres of music that were popular at the time, including nursery rhymes, traditional folk songs, trot songs, Western-style songs (changga) and military cadences. His efforts resulted in an opera characterized by a fascinating mixture of musical styles, ranging from the nursery rhyme “Mother, Sister” and popular trot song “Tearful Manchurian Train” to jazz, changga and military songs.

However, the score is far from a simple pastiche.

Choe listened to the songs he chose over and over on a gramophone, reprocessing all but a few to make them fit the opera. He did not take a theoretical approach, studying aspects such as scale, pitch structure or form.

Instead, he familiarized himself with the songs until he was able to make the melodies sound fresh in a new context. As a result, the “musical fiction” running throughout the opera served as a mechanism that

allowed the audience to sympathize more fully with the sentiments expressed on stage, leading to a deeper engagement with the drama.

Choe is surely not the first to pioneer this method.

Bach, Mozart and Beethoven did not hesitate to make appropriations of the commonly hummed tunes of their era. Ultimately, it has been reaffirmed that directly citing music contemporaneous to the action of the opera can help heighten the sense of reality.

Choe had already stood by the notion that music can serve language through his work on the highly acclaimed opera “As the Moon Arrives on the Water,” which premiered in 2014. For “1945,” he enlarged the scale of his endeavor to elevate language through music by means of a much newer, larger vessel, providing a glimpse into his world growing deeper and wider.

Music Induces Immersion

By skillfully balancing painful history with humor and satire, “1945” created both tension and relaxation for

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 61

the audience. The song “Tearful Manchurian Train,” sung by the whole cast as they form a human train, narrowed the distance between spectators and the action on stage, inviting applause quite naturally. Meanwhile, the Japanese song performed by young children confused about their national affiliation because they were born during Japanese rule and the piece sung by Mizuko were as clear and pure as a full moon in an autumn night sky.

The commotion created by a character’s gift of dried pollack and the scene of women making rice cake together conveyed images of abundance rather than poverty. It implied that however dire their situation became, people’s dreams could not be taken away. The opera’s climax came with Mizuko’s identity being discovered, with deftly alternating scenes of conflict and catharsis working to create a natural dramatic composition. Ultimately, the fine script by Pai, mellow music

by Choe and excellent production by Koh made the whole show flow smoothly.

In Act 4, the curtain fell with people aboard the train on one side and Bunee and Mizuko, unable to board, on the other — a symbolic moment portending the upcoming division of Korea into north and south.

Interestingly, François Couperin’s music was employed here; it effectively prevented the act from ever becoming banal. In the epilogue that followed, Bunee and Mizuko sang a beautiful duet against a snowy back-

ground, creating a cinematic ambience likely to remain in the hearts of the audience for a long time.

An opera cannot succeed without good songs; this is all the more true for an adaptation of a stage play.

Soprano Lee Myung-joo played Bunee with a vocal finesse she had previously displayed on large stages, including a performance of Beethoven’s “Symphony No. 9” with the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra. Soprano Kim Soon-young, a proven musical actor, aptly portrayed Mizuko.

Commendable Cast

Other performers who stood out included tenor Lee Won-jong as Oh In-ho, who helps Bunee out of his special feelings for her, and mezzo soprano Kim Hyang-eun as Park Seop-seop, a very tough and tenacious yet likeable character. The Korean Symphony Orchestra, under the baton of Chung Chi-yong, maintained a subtle balance between tonal and atonal music, effectively supporting the rich lyricism of the Korean words being sung.

The second half of 2019 has witnessed aggravation in Korean-Japanese relations due to differences in how each nation perceives history. Apart from its notable operatic achievements, “1945” was significant for its two lead characters who, with shared wartime trauma, struggle to overcome the conflict between their nations with the warmth in their hearts.

The opera’s climax came with Mizuko’s identity being discovered, with deftly alternating scenes of conflict and catharsis working to create a natural dramatic composition.

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1

1, 2. The train arrives to take the residents of the temporary shelter back to Korea, but Bunee and Mizuko fail to get on board. Bunee chooses to stand by her Japanese colleague, Mizuko, who has shared her suffering, instead of returning home with her compatriots.

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 63

TALES OF TWO KOREAS

Training Young People for Unif ication

Father Ben Torrey is preparing young South Koreans to effectively reunify with North Korea.

His mission, using prayer and labor, continues a more than 100-year connection between his American family and Korea.

Kim Hak-soon Journalist and Visiting Professor, School of Media and Communication, Korea University Heo Dong-wuk Photographer

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H

igh in the Taebaek Mountains of Gangwon Province, Samsuryeong (literally, “Three Water Pass”) feeds tributaries sloping toward the east, west and south. At ground level, a far different tributary is being created for the remaining direction, north. It is the self-appointed “Fourth River” project of Father Ben Torrey, who envisions a stream flowing from the south to hydrate the reunification of the Korean peninsula.

Father Torrey is convinced that South Koreans in their 20s and 30s, or the millennial generation, will witness the unification of the two Koreas in their lifetime. He is also convinced that they are far from prepared. Thus, since 2010, he has operated “Fourth River” to equip this generation with skills and knowledge for the rebirth of a unified Korea.

The project is housed at the Samsuryeong Center in Taebaek, once a booming coal mining town, about 200 kilometers southeast of Seoul. The center includes the River of Life School, an alternative secondary education school, and the Three Seas Youth Center.

The school, which is administered by Father Torrey’s wife, Liz, focuses on cultivating “agents of reconciliation and unification.” Students are taught the importance of cooperation and helping others, a significant departure from the all-out competition in standard schools. The youth center is for middle-school to college-age students. It aims at cultivating their spirit and building up their physical fitness.

“It’s all the more important to train young people as future leaders that this country will need at a time when Korea is expected to emerge in the international community as a powerful unified country,” Father Torrey says.

“Of course, South Korea is full of bright young people.

But unfortunately, they lack not only interest in, but understanding of, North Korean youths,” he goes on. “Even after the two Koreas are unified, there will be various problems in the process of integrating two different societies, or risks arising from the differences between their worldviews, values, culture, and use of language. We need to make thorough preparations from now on as we’ve learned lessons from the German unification and the collapse of the Berlin Wall. We should carefully prepare for these problems now. Project

Fourth River is just for such a mission.”

Father Torrey is the fourth generation of the Torrey family connected with Korea. Reverend Reuben Archer Torrey, Sr. (1856–1928), his great-grandfather, visited Korea while working as a missionary in China. His grandfather, Reverend Reuben Archer Torrey, Jr. (1887–1970), also a missionary in China, helped restore Korean churches after the Korean War. And his father, Father Reuben Archer Torrey III, rebuilt the Saint Michael’s Theological Seminary, the predecessor of Sungkonghoe University, in southwestern Seoul, and established the Jesus Abbey, six kilometers from Taebaek, to create an ascetic community.

Family Legacy

Father Ben Torrey belongs to the Syro-Chaldean Church of North America but his father was a priest in the Anglican Church and his great-grandfather and grandfather were pastors of the Congregational Church and the Presbyterian Church, respectively.

Born in the U.S. state of Massachusetts in 1950, Father Torrey grew up in Korea from age seven to 19. Together with 10 young Korean men, he lived in a large military tent for six months while they assisted his father until the first building of the Jesus Abbey was dedicated in 1965.

His father had purchased the land outside of Taebaek on the advice of local Anglican Church parishioners.

Father Torrey went back to the United States in 1969 to attend college. Although he returned to Korea in 1978 and helped design and construct buildings in the Samsuryeong area for a year, he never intended to settle down in Korea.

He had an IT career until he founded The King’s School, a missionary school, in Connecticut in 1994, and served concurrently as chairperson of the school foundation and dean of the school until 2004.

The Calling

The inspiration for Fourth River came in 2002, at the funeral of his father, who was better known by his Korean name, Dae Chon-dok. A longtime friend of the late Father Torrey III said the Garden of Eden had four rivers but

Father Ben Torrey named himself Dae Young-bok after his father, Father Reuben Archer Torrey III, who called himself Dae Chon-dok. Father Torrey and his wife moved to Korea in 2005. Currently, he is focusing on cultivating “agents of reconciliation and unification” to work in North Korea, the essence of his “Fourth River” dream.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 65

Samsuryeong only had three.

Father Torrey immediately linked the remark to his father’s longtime dream of constructing a facility to train young people for the unification of the Korean peninsula.

He recalls how the thought stuck with him after the funeral, and he felt a burning sense of mission to fulfill that dream.

Determined to prepare for the opening of North Korea, he told the Jesus Abbey staff in 2003 that he would join the abbey community. The abbey immediately appointed him as director of the Three Seas Youth Center, and Father Torrey and his wife returned to Gangwon once again in 2005.

Their two sons and one daughter live in the United States.

The River of Life School’s curriculum includes North Korean studies in addition to regular secondary school subjects. It teaches the differences in language, history and social systems between the two Koreas and its library shelves are stacked with books on North Korea.

Father Torrey says South Korea’s highly competitive education system is ill-suited for understanding and empathizing with conditions in North Korea. “In the future,” he says, “those who can understand and share the pain of oth-

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ers and who can communicate with those who fall behind will be able to become leaders. We teach how to cultivate cooperative spirit and how to cooperate rather than compete. The very basic element for Korean unification is cooperation.”

Classes and Chores

Work is also a key curriculum component in accordance with the teachings of St. Benedict who stressed the need to “pray and work” (“ora et labora” in Latin).

Every Wednesday morning, a slew of tasks await at the Jesus Abbey, which serves both as Father Torrey’s residence and an interdenominational ascetic fellowship community, as well as at the school, the youth center and the Three Seas Ranch, which aims to eventually teach North Korean farmers how to raise cattle.

The work includes cleaning, gardening, weeding and pruning tree branches, pasture seeding, and washing clothes and blankets.

The ranch sprawls over some 500,000 square meters of land Father Reuben Archer Torrey III borrowed from

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“We teach how to cultivate cooperative spirit and how to cooperate rather than compete. The very basic element for Korean unification is cooperation.”

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1. Father Torrey speaks to a class in the chapel room at the Samsuryeong Center in Taebaek, formerly a booming coal mining town in Gangwon Province.

2. Father Torrey explains to students the meaning of the Samsuryeong (“Three Water Pass”) watershed, the source of streams flowing downward toward the east, west and south.

3. The Jesus Abbey, a 10-minute drive from the Samsuryeong Center, is an interdenominational Christian fellowship community built by Father Reuben Archer Torrey III in 1965.

Currently, Father Ben Torrey resides here.

the Korea Forest Service, serving as an outdoor classroom. Nature and work blend harmoniously. Father Torrey believes that people learn how to cooperate with each other through labor. When he was a teenager, he chopped wood for four years to help his father build the Jesus Abbey, and today he still chops fire wood.

He once ran a weeklong summer labor camp for students from other schools at the River of Life School. This

was also part of his efforts to increase young people’s understanding of North Korea and help them prepare for its opening. During the camp, the students were not allowed to use their cellphones. The priest is now constructing a school building with a dormitory wing in order to accommodate more students.

Some 60 people live together at the Jesus Abbey. Visitors can book a Monday-to-Wednesday stay, in which they will work and eat together; meditate more than three times a day; and pray for someone else, not for themselves. The visitors must also surrender their phones. The accommodation is free as the abbey is funded by donations but, of course, visitors may give as they wish.

In May 2019, Father Torrey started expanding the Samsuryeong community, and he is currently collecting money to expand Fourth River. He believes that God will give him as much as he needs. He worries more about conflicts and schisms within the South Korean churches and society. He emphatically says, “We need to restore unity in South Korean society first for the sake of national unification.”

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IN LOVE WITH KOREA

“A

close yet distant country” has long been a cliché for Korea and Japan to describe each other. Artist Hitomi Sakabe could hardly agree more. The two countries, as she sees them, are more different than most other neighbors in the world, and nowhere else is this more conspicuous than in their national characters.

This contrast is a key reason why Sakabe never returned to Japan even though Japan has a longer history of modern painting and greater public interest in the fine arts in general than Korea.

“Compared with Korea, Japan is a much more stabilized and predictable society, which rarely changes. Korea is far more dynamic and brims with vitality,” she says. “While Japan is complete and unique on its own, Korea is more open to the rest of the world and Koreans go along with foreigners better than Japanese.”

“I feel Japan is too closed and narrow,” she says, adding that if she lived in Japan, she may not even be working. “Most Japanese women, including my friends, have internalized the status quo and are less motivated to work, compared with their Korean counterparts.”

Considering Koreans’ mixed feelings toward Japan, including deep animosity, a Japanese expatriate living in Korea may feel uncomfortable. But having lived in Korea longer than in Japan, Sakabe feels

at ease. She is so attuned to Korea that she now has a culture shock whenever she visits her homeland.

Born in Tokyo, Sakabe grew up in a small seaside town near Nagoya in central Japan. She came to Korea in 1996 with her parents when she was a seventh grader. She graduated from Sunhwa Arts Middle and High School in Seoul, studied modern painting and design, and received a doctorate in design at Seoul National University’s College of Fine Arts.

Deepening Roots

Sakabe married a Korean man, an IT worker whom she met while attending the university, and they have two children, born in 2010 and 2015. After her first child was born, Sakabe began to draw illustrations for children’s books. She has produced a number of picture books and held painting exhibitions in several countries. Preferring hand-drawn soft lines rather than straight lines produced by a computer, her artwork features lumpy and fuzzy figures and colorful landscapes evoking childhood memories.

Calling herself a “border rider” or “marginal person,” Sakabe says the current era requires multiple skills. “In this age that demands multitasking, I try to expand the scope of the work I can do. An uncertain future forces me to take on new challenges.

“If I were a full-time painter, designer or illustrator, things would have been simpler because I would

A Border Rider Hitomi Sakabe arrived in Korea in her early teens and now has spent much of her life outside her homeland Japan. During her time in Korea, the artist-cum-professor has crossed many boundaries, maximizing each change in the course.

Choi Sung-jin Executive Editor, Korea Biomedical Review Heo Dong-wuk Photographer

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Hitomi Sakabe, who teaches graphic design at the Artech College of Keimyung University, also works as an illustrator for children’s books. Vacations, semester breaks and after-school hours are mostly devoted to her paintings and illustrations.

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only have to choose a theme and study it from diverse aspects. As I am not in a position to concentrate on one thing, I venture into different areas to develop myself.”

Sakabe defines her primary theme and interests as “archiving,” or preserving the present. People and bits of everyday life, such as clothing patterns, are her favorite subjects. She is an assistant professor at the Department of Visual Communication Design of Keimyung University, in Daegu, which she calls the “Nagoya of Korea.” The two cities share a similar historical and industrial importance for their countries.

“While I am at school, I try to teach my students as best as I can,” Sakabe says. “I always think about how I can use my strengths to help my students.”

Vacations, semester breaks and after-school hours are mostly devoted to her paintings and illustrations.

She notes her favorite artist is Henri Matisse; she loves the joyful and vibrant ambience of the French painter’s work.

Sobering Reality

Currently, relations between Korea and Japan are at a low ebb due to their ongoing disagreement over Japan’s redress for its wartime behavior. It is the latest imbroglio of the two countries’ traditionally uneasy relationship, in which painful memories and seething anger never seem far below the surface. When Sakabe was studying Korean history alongside her Korean classmates at high school, both teachers and students used to call Japanese people “Japs.”

Korea and Japan can hardly be just another foreign country to each other because of their unfortunate past, Sakabe believes. “Many Japanese people, including myself, who have lived in Korea for long, can’t help having a kind of sense of original sin.”

Sakabe admits that she sometimes feels like a stranger in a country where she has lived for more than two decades. “It is hard to generalize, but many Japanese people think Koreans are crude, while Koreans think Japanese hide their true feelings. As I see them, however, both Koreans and Japanese are delicate people, though in different ways.” She cites the relationship between the older and younger generations in the two countries. “For instance, Koreans

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regard age as quite important. In Korea, older storeowners often do not treat younger customers properly, whereas in Japan, even college professors try to approach their students with good manners.”

All said, though, Sakabe feels it is fortunate that her children are Koreans, who she believes are more dashing, down to earth and positive in responding to changes than Japanese children. Sakabe has become so accustomed to the Korean way that she sometimes feels perplexed when she visits Japan. “Japanese society has its own norms and people tend to feel embarrassed when they stray from such standards. In this regard, Korea tends to be more cosmopolitan.”

Straddling Cultures

Asked about the current diplomatic rift between the two countries, Sakabe says the problems cannot be resolved through politics alone. Some of her Korean acquaintances ask her children which country they would cheer for in a Korea vs. Japan football match, but Sakabe emphatically says international relations cannot be like sports that yield only one winner. “We are neighbors who have to live together. Individuals can move to other places if they don’t like their neighbors. Countries cannot.”

Whenever Sakabe’s family visits Japan, she has her children attend school near her parents’ home.

She believes it is important for them to learn about cultural diversity because one-sided, narrow-minded views can lead to prejudices.

Sakabe says she has no grand future plans but only hopes she will be able to continue what she is doing now. “I have crossed various borders and will do so in the future, which can work as a disadvantage,” she says. “On the contrary, my position as a border rider has become my advantage. Sometimes, we see people who appeared to be underdogs emerge as successful players. I consider myself one such dark horse.”

“We all want to be linked to others and form communities, large or small. We want others to recognize us. We are different but the same, and the same but different,” Sakabe wrote on the cover of her collection of illustrated essays, titled “Brick by Brick, Life Thus Goes On.”

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1, 2, 3. The picture book “Great Time at Mama’s Hometown,” published in summer 2019, depicts Sakabe’s children experiencing her parents’ place in Japan. Their memories are conveyed by her warm pictures.

“We are neighbors who have to live together. Individuals can move to other places if they don’t like their neighbors. Countries cannot.”

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ON THE ROAD

Miryang

Ancient and Universal

Miryang’s strategic role as local hub through its long history ensures it is not forgotten. Around its namesake river, artifacts of Paleolithic and Iron Age settlements as well as vestiges of a stronghold of Confucian scholars attract a constant stream of visitors.

Lee Chang-guy Poet and Literary Critic Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

Wiyang Pond, in the northwestern part of Miryang, is a 63,000m² reservoir that dates back to the Silla period, when it provided water to farmers. It lost its purpose when Gasan Reservoir was built nearby in the 1940s, but became a popular tourist destination, owing to its lovely scenery surrounding Wanjae Pavilion, built in 1900.

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I

n the opening minutes of the 2007 movie “Secret Sunshine,” the protagonist unwittingly initiates a discouraging exchange by asking, “Mister, what kind of place is Miryang?”

“What kind of place is Miryang? Well, what can I say…

The economy is awful, and… it supports the [conservative] Grand National Party, and… it’s close to Busan, and we use Busan dialect. It’s a bit fast, the dialect. The population used to be about 150,000, but now it’s dropped to around 100,000…”

“Do you know what the name ‘Miryang’ means?”

“What it means? Who lives here because of the meaning? We just live here.”

“In Chinese characters, the first syllable means ‘secret’

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and the second syllable ‘sunshine.’ It’s nice, isn’t it?”

The protagonist and her young son are at a service station on the outskirts of Miryang, the hometown of her late husband. Her car is being repaired.

“I guess you’re traveling?”

“No. I’m going to live in Miryang.” It is a fateful move: her son will be kidnapped and murdered.

A place where people gathered and formed a village long ago; a place where myriad conditions have consistently affected people’s fates; a place that gives hope but can also inflict unbearable pain, triggering a desire to flee at the soonest opportunity; and a place where most people just live, unable to move one way or the other… In this sense, Miryang is the name of all cities.

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1. Yeongnamnu, one of the oldest traditional elevated pavilions in Korea, sits on a high cliff overlooking the Miryang River. Many renowned poets, painters and calligraphers of the Joseon Dynasty sang praises of the surrounding landscape, which were written on plaques hung in the pavilion.

2. Standing beside Yeongnamnu is Chimnyugak, a building that was part of a guesthouse which once was located here. It is connected to the pavilion by a stepped corridor.

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Jeon Do-yeon, who played the protagonist, won the best actress award at the 60th Cannes Film Festival. Comments about her acting, such as “Wow, it gives me goosebumps,” are still found attached to old articles about this film, directed by Lee Chang-dong.

A Riverside City

Miryang, nearly 50 kilometers northwest of Busan, sits along two rivers. The Miryang River meanders southward through the center of the city. It twists several times to the east before joining the Nakdong River, which traces the southern border of Miryang, and the merged waters head for the sea. The Chinese character yang in the name Miryang may mean sunshine. But when it is attached to the name of

a river, it means the northern side of the water. Mountains and craggy hills jostle the topography north of Miryang, and to the south of the city center the Miryang River valley embraces a fertile plain.

The oldest written record of Miryang as a geographical name is found in the third-century Chinese history text “Records of the Three Kingdoms” (Sanguozhi). The book mentions a state named Miri, which is the old Chinese transcription of the ancient Korean word mireu, which meant water or dragon, as the water god. Hence the interpretation of Miryang as “Secret Sunshine,” as director Lee Chang-dong has acknowledged, is no more than his personal, poetic view of the name.

By the Miryang River, traces of humans from thousands

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of years ago can be found. On the hill north of the Miryang Dam, completed in 2001, the remains of a Paleolithic site dated 27,000 years ago were discovered during the dam construction. The find dramatically moved up the timeline of human settlement in Miryang from the previously verified third century A.D. Scattered in the alluvial plains of the Miryang River are Neolithic and Iron Age sites, and in the village of Geumcheon are the remains of an Iron Age agricultural site. It took tens of thousands of years for the people here to move down from their pit dwellings in the mountains to the fertile land near the river. Probably, when spring came, the Iron Age people broke the ground with stone plowshares and planted millet, sorghum and such, and when autumn came, stored the harvested grains in comb-patterned pottery jars to last them through the winter.

On the humble traces of lives forged out by the people of those times, who would have experienced joys and despairs before us, falls the “secret sunshine.” The ideas and values the ancient ones sought to pursue vanished long ago.

Looking at the skeleton of a wrecked boat retrieved from the riverbed, it is possible to imagine people long ago fishing up and down the river. The vessels, powered by the wind and made with all sorts of tools, would have represented the latest achievements in civilization and technology. From time to time they would have steered their boats to the Nakdong River. A people with a progressive and adventuring

spirit, they formed an alliance with the state of Garak (a.k.a.

Geumgwan Gaya, meaning the “Gold Crown Gaya”), founded in the Gimhae region in the lower reaches of the Nakdong River. For some 500 years they led the iron culture on the Korean peninsula as part of the Gaya Confederacy.

Traces of Iron Civilization

Among the villages next to the Miryang River there are two named Geumgok, which means “iron valley.” Both contain evidence of iron-making. Slag, which is left over from the iron smelting process, forms a veritable mountain in one Geumgok. Facilities for the entire iron production process, from the furnace to the waste dump, have been found

1. Bueun Temple (Temple of Father’s Grace), at the foot of Mt. Cheontae, presumably was erected around A.D.200 in memory of King Suro, founder of Geumgwan Gaya and father of King Geodeung.

It overlooks the Nakdong and Samnangjin bridges, which span the winding Miryang River.

2. Maneo Temple (Temple of Ten Thousand Fish), considered a sacred site of Buddhism by Miryang locals, is said to have been established by King Suro. In the precincts is a three-story stone pagoda presumably built in the 12th century.

3. The slopes near Maneo Temple are filled with rocks called maneoseok, literally “ten thousand fish rocks.” According to legend, the countless schools of fish that followed the son of the Dragon King were transformed into rocks. This area has been designated Natural Monument No. 528 in recognition of its academic and scenic value.

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As in any other part of the Korean peninsula, Buddhist temples can be found nestled in the beautiful mountains around Miryang.

Among them, Bueun Temple and Maneo Temple have a special place in the hearts of locals.

in the other. This indicates that from long in the past a large amount of iron-sand had piled up near the Miryang River due to weathering and erosion.

The discoveries and river access suggest that Miryang exported iron to neighboring states, and even to Japan and China. As such, Miryang would have had an active role as one of the 12 states of Byeonhan, a tribal confederacy that existed until the fourth century in the lower reaches of the Nakdong River. Its people stringed together pieces of processed iron and used them for currency. Byeonhan eventually grew into the Gaya Confederacy, which was known as the “kingdom of iron.” When it was annexed by the rising Silla, Gaya provided the foundation for Silla to become a powerful ancient state.

Buddhist Legacy

As in any other part of the Korean peninsula, Buddhist temples can be found nestled in the beautiful mountains around Miryang. Among them, Bueun Temple and Maneo Temple have a special place in the hearts of locals.

History books say that Gaya officially adopted Buddhism around the fifth century, before Silla, when Hwanghu Temple was built to pray for the happiness in the afterlife of Queen Heo Hwang-ok (a.k.a. Heo Hwanghu, meaning “Empress Heo”), the wife of King Suro, founder of Geumgwan Gaya (43–532). But oral history places the acceptance of Buddhism at an earlier time. It is said, “When King Suro built Maneo Temple, the monks who participated in the completion ceremony stayed overnight at Bueun Temple.” As such, Gaya probably accepted Buddhism in the first century when Queen Heo arrived from India.

According to legend, when Queen Heo, believed to have been an Indian princess, came to Gaya to marry King

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Suro, she brought stones that were used to construct what is known as the Pasa Stone Pagoda. “Memorabilia of the Three Kingdoms” (Samguk yusa) says, “They are stones that cannot be found in this region.”

When the pasa stones at the tomb of Queen Heo were transported to Seoul in October 2019 for the special exhibition “Gaya Spirit: Iron and String” at the National Museum of Korea, which is scheduled to run until March 1, 2020, a special rite was held to announce the removal of the stones.

The presence of many local politicians and dignitaries at the event shows that the local people and descendants of Queen Heo regard stories of the Gaya queen not as legend but as history. For the same reason, many of the stores in downtown Miryang use “Gaya” in their name.

Major National Road

Yeongnam Daero, or the Great Yeongnam Road, was the major inland route of the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910). It linked the capital, Hanyang (today’s Seoul), with Dongnae

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at the southeastern end of the Korean peninsula. Miryang became a stopover on this road, which provided an alternative to the sea route used for more than a thousand years.

As the systems of a unified state were established, a network of roads was built linking towns and counties, some even leading to China. This reflected the state of international affairs, or specifically the decline of the Yuan Dynasty and the rising strength of Japan. Japanese piracy was rampant along Korea’s coasts, nearly paralyzing Joseon’s water transportation that had thrived for so long. Joseon’s efforts to secure a good road network were thus borne out of necessity.

Later, during the Japanese invasions toward the end of the 16th century, the overland network provided paths for attacks. Landing at Busan port, the Japanese forces captured Dongnae Fortress and from there advanced northward past Yangsan and on to Miryang, where they faced the Joseon army at Jagwongwan, a defense structure located at today’s Samnangjin. The Korean forces of 300 were no match for the 10,000-strong enemy, who continued to advance along this road to reach the capital in a mere 18 days.

Some consolation can be found in the story of the monk Samyeongdang (1544–1610), a native of Miryang, who led some 2,000 monk soldiers and joined the battle to reclaim Pyongyang Fortress. After the war, he became a special envoy of King Seonjo and traveled to Kyoto,

Oujin port in the downstream section of the Miryang River was a major transportation hub for boats carrying tribute until the Joseon Dynasty. It had a warehouse where grains collected as taxes were stored. When a railroad was installed in the early 20th century, it became a ferry crossing once again.

Sites to Visit in Miryang Wiyang Pond 1

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2 Mt. Jaeyak

3 Pyochung Temple

Miryang River Yeongnam Pavilion 2

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Miryang Dam 4 Stone pagoda at Maneo Temple

Bueun Temple 4

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Seoul 350km Miryang

5 Samnangjin Bridge

Nakdong River

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dockside in Samnang-ri, or Samnang Village. River boats ferried grain payments after the revival of the marine transport system of tribute grains. The international political situation surrounding Joseon had stabilized and a system of paying taxes with grain was taking hold to replace taxes in kind.

River and Rail Transportation

where he forged a peace agreement with Tokugawa Ieyasu, founder of the shogunate that ruled Japan from 1603 to 1867. On his return he brought with him 3,000 prisoners of war. A statue of Samyeongdang, also known as the Great Master Samyeong, now stands on the path leading up to the old Miryang town wall, looking over the Miryang River.

Interestingly, less than a hundred years after becoming a stop on the Great Yeongnam Road, Miryang with its advanced technology, seafaring ways and inclusive social system became a regional base for Confucian scholars. They formed the sarim faction of provincial literati, the pivotal force behind Joseon as a Confucian state. The Miryang scholar Kim Jong-jik (1431–1492) and his disciples, who entered central government service in the latter half of the 15th century, emphasized loyalty and practical action. They challenged corruption in the bureaucracy and even criticized the king’s behavior. Kim Jong-jik’s birthplace and tomb are located in Bukbu-myeon, Miryang, as is Yerim Seowon, a Confucian academy dedicated to Kim and his teachings.

In the mid-18th century, a tax grain silo was built at the

The river transportation system and its connection to the Great Yeongnam Road created a beehive of activity in Samnang-ri. Government offices, warehouses, taverns, inns and shops appeared to cater to officials and ship owners. But the prosperity ended in 1905 when the Seoul-Busan railway line opened, largely along the Great Yeongnam Road, and a station was built at nearby Samnangjin.

A new center of commerce formed around the Samnangjin Station. It appears in Korea’s first full-length modern novel, “The Heartless” (Mujeong) by Yi Kwang-su (1892–1950), published in 1917. For the author, the train was a literary device representing modern individuals in control of their fate.

In contrast, the short story “Dwitgimi Ferry Crossing” (Dwitgimi Naru) by Kim Jeong-han (1908–1996) tacked to an idyllic sentiment. “Dwitgimi Naru is on the upstream part of the Nakdong River, past Samnangjin, where its tributary, the Miryang River, joins the mainstream. So, the water was much clearer than at other places. Thanks to the clean water, flocks of geese and ducks flew in from early autumn.” At the same time, the author hints at a past colored with tragedy, saying, “The gentle people and their sons and daughters were taken away for forced labor, or in reality, were made to serve as comfort women for the Japanese.”

A Literary Motif

Miryang is also the hometown of the poet Oh Kyu-won (1941–2007). He too sees two faces in Miryang. One is the face of his mother, who passed away when he was 13 years old, the other that of his father. His mother’s face was “always peaceful, ready for rest,” something that made him “want to sleep and want to dream,” an existence “like the womb.” But his father was the “cause of unhappiness and poverty.” Unable to solve this psychological conflict, Oh left Miryang when he was in middle school and vowed to never return while his father was there.

Oh said his hometown was “like my mother’s body with its womb, a temporal space incubating both the language of nature inside and the language of reality outside,” and that he himself was “standing at the boundary.” In that sense, all hometowns may be called Miryang.

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BOOKS & MORE Charles La Shure

Professor, Department of Korean Language and Literature, Seoul National University

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A Touching Anthology of Raw Honesty ‘Mixed Korean: Our Stories’

By Cerrissa Kim, Sora Kim-Russell, et al., 299 pages; e-book $9.99, Indiana: Trupeny [2018]

“Mixed Korean: Our Stories,” as the title indicates, is a collection of non-fiction works from a diverse group of authors brought together by their common experience of being part Korean. Many were born to Korean women and American soldiers who met during or after the Korean War, a war known in the U.S. as the “forgotten war.”

Just as the war was forgotten — or, more accurately, ignored — so too did these children of the conflict often find themselves slipping through the cracks. In Korea they were seen as a cause for shame and even considered less than human, while in the countries they eventually came to call home they often found themselves on the outside looking in.

This description does not apply to all the authors, though. One of the most striking aspects of this anthology is how such a varied group of people can be brought together by a shared experience: the experience of not fitting in, of not belonging, of never being “enough.” We like to put people into boxes marked with clear, well-defined labels; the world, after all, is a complicated place filled with complicated people, and we welcome any opportunity to make things simpler. But what happens when you don’t fit neatly into an ethnic box? What if you’re not just white, or black, or Asian? In the best case scenario you are “exotic,” while in the worst case scenario you are not even human.

Though their individual experiences vary wildly, every author here knows what it is like to not fit neatly into a box. Sometimes their stories evoke laughter; more often they evoke tears. There is a thread of gratefulness for blessings that runs through the stories, but at the same time there is also very real pain from wounds that are still fresh, wounds that may never fully heal. And these are not mutually exclusive. You can feel pain and bitterness, yet still be thankful and happy at the same time; just as people rarely fit perfectly into boxes, neither do their emotions.

The truth is that no one really ever fits into any one box; we all contain multitudes, and we are only fooling ourselves if we think we can understand others by assigning labels to them. The real tragedy of such categorizing is that our criteria for sorting are too often differences rather than similarities, and thus we are quicker to see how others are unlike us rather than like us. And so we have “-isms,” like nationalism and racism, that unify by positing an inferior “other,” -isms that only seem to be growing stronger by the day. In spite of all this, these authors tear back their skin and bare before us their beating hearts, made strong by what they have endured and by the families that have loved them, but still vulnerable and hurt.

It is impossible to read these stories and not be moved.

Whether you are someone of mixed heritage looking for your community or someone seeking to take your understanding beyond rigid boxes and neat labels, the raw honesty of this anthology will touch you. In a world where so many of our leaders seem to want to tear us apart, it is one step in a journey toward bringing us closer together.

A Modern Retake of a Beloved Folk Tale ‘The Rabbit’s Tale 2020’

By Park Duk Kyu, Translated by Brother Anthony and Ga Baek-lim, 185 pages, $16.95, New Jersey: Homa & Sekey [2019]

This book is a modern reworking of a beloved story from classical Korean literature, the story of a rabbit who is deceived by a terrapin into descending into the sea palace — where the denizens of the deep intend to cut the rabbit open and use his liver to heal the ailing Dragon King. It is a fantastical tale of talking beasts and watery kingdoms, but it is also firmly grounded in the reality of its times as a sociopolitical metaphor, pointing out the flaws in the feudal class system. Although the tale dates back to at least the 12th century, it is most famous in its incarnations as pansori (folk narrative song) and novels.

In this reimaging of the famous tale for a modern audience, the author begins with a framing device, a dream-like story of

divine revelations and mysterious old books, setting the mood for what is to come. The tale itself retains its medieval trappings, but the plot and characters have been updated and imbued with extra depth and complexity. Interestingly enough, though it hearkens back to medieval times, the sociopolitical metaphor still seems quite relevant.

The author specifically wrote this book as source material for translations and adaptations, so it reads as part play, part musical, and part novel. Whatever the genre, though, it retains the charm and appeal that made the original version a classic. If you have never had the pleasure of joining Rabbit on his adventures to the sea palace and back again, here is your chance.

A Must-visit Site for Korean Pop Culture Fans ‘Soompi’

soompi.com, Viki Inc.

Soompi is the longest-running English-language online source for Korean pop culture news, having been around for over 20 years, and now there is even a Spanish version of the main site as well. It was founded in 1998 by a fan of H.O.T., one of the pioneers of the juggernaut known as K-pop today.

This fan, who went by the screen name “Soomp,” wanted a place for her and other K-pop fans to share their love of the music. The site has since grown into a media outlet for news about all aspects of Korean pop culture, including film, television and celebrities, in addition to music. The site has offices in San Francisco and Seoul,

and editors and contributors from around the world.

The main site carries the latest news on your favorite idols, along with videos showing the stars in action and quizzes that will tell you, for example, which character you are from a particular K-drama, or which K-pop idol from a particular group you should take out on a dream date. There is also a “Community” site, where contributors can post their own content, as well as the very active “Forums,” where members converse and guests can watch what everyone is talking about. This is a must-visit for die-hard hallyu fans.

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AN ORDINARY DAY

Palace Guide Narrates the Past for Tourists It is natural to feel a sense of satisfaction after helping a tourist with directions on the street. Some people have that warm feeling every day.

Palace guide Chang Su-young is one of them.

Kim Heung-sook Poet Heo Dong-wuk Photographer

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“I

went to Mt. Jiri for the first time when I was in university, and I loved the mountain so much that I often returned there.

Sometimes I would go for just two days. Other times I would spend a whole week leisurely hiking from one end to the other. Standing at the highest peak looking down at a sea of clouds below, it occurred to me that all the things down in the city that had made me anxious and my head ache were really not so important. Mt. Jiri is a place of rest for me, so I still go there often.”

Chang Su-young was born in Busan, but the port city did not translate into a love of beaches and the sea. She preferred the mountains. Nearly every notable mountain in South Korea has felt her footsteps. The 1,915-meter high Mt. Jiri is the second-highest mountain after Jeju Island’s Mt. Halla in South Korea, and it brought not only calm. Its trails led Chang to a career-changing decision.

“Walking along a mountain path, I can feel a kind of strength, so vast I can’t tell where it begins or ends, and I also find myself wondering about all the people the mountain has sheltered,” Chang says. “People call Mt. Jiri the ‘mother mountain,’ not only because it has a cozy, embracing feeling, but because partisans hid in its valleys and folds during the Korean War. Even now, people who are suffering or exhausted by life go to this mountain to live out the rest of their lives there. My love for Mt. Jiri grew to encompass all the traces of the people who have made it their home. And that got me thinking about the traces of our ancestors, those who have lived here and there around this land and are now gone. I started wishing that I could

Chang Su-young stands outside Junghwajeon (Hall of Central Harmony, Treasure No. 819), the throne hall of Deoksu Palace. Although she has only been a palace guide for two years, Chang says she feels greater responsibility with each passing day.

share their stories with others.”

Chang studied English language and literature at Silla University in Busan, and after graduating she taught English at schools and cram institutes for over 10 years. However, the more time she spent in the mountains, the more interested she became in Korean history and culture, and in June 2017 she became an official tour guide at Deoksu Palace, in the heart of Seoul.

Storied History

Deoksu Palace (meaning the “Palace of Virtue and Longevity”) was among the five royal palaces of the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910). All eight of the palace’s guides are fluent in at least one foreign language.

Four guides lead in English, two in Japanese and two in Chinese. They each give two or three free tours per day, lasting around 50 minutes each.

“Deoksu Palace is smaller than most of the other palaces and it gets fewer visitors. But it holds more history than any other palace, so you need to know the entire flow of Korean history in order to really tell its story,” says Chang.

“Notably, the palace was the site for so many historical events relating to Japan, so the tour guides study the historical relationship between Korea and Japan extensively,” she says. “These days, as well as knowledge of all the history, I feel that it’s really important to know how to convey it effectively. There are so many nuances and sensitive areas in history, so you have to take care with each and every phrase you use, making sure not to create any misunderstanding.”

Initially, Deoksu Palace was not of much consequence. It was simply the home of Prince Wolsan, the older brother of King Seongjong (r.

1469–1494). But wars brought it into history books.

During the Japanese invasions in the 1590s, all of the royal palaces within the walls of Hanyang (largely the old city center of present-day Seoul) were burned. The prince’s old home where his descendents lived, however, remained fairly intact. It became the temporary palace of King Seonjo (r. 1567–1608) when he returned to the capital. After his son, Prince Gwanghae (r. 1608–1623), ascended to the throne, the new king moved to Changdeok Palace which had been rebuilt. Seonjo continued to live at the temporary palace, which was named Gyeongun Palace.

In 1896, King Gojong moved into Gyeongun Palace after taking refuge at the Russian Legation when foreign powers pressured Korea.

The next year, he proclaimed a new state, called the Korean Empire.

He also changed his title from king to emperor, but he only ruled until 1907, when he abdicated in favor of his son, Sunjong, under Japan’s pressure. The new emperor moved to Changdeok Palace, but Gojong remained at Gyeongun Palace, which was renamed Deoksu Palace. From there he watched the fall of the Korean Empire and the beginning of

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“These days there are many foreign tourists visiting this palace with a deep interest in learning more about Korea’s history and culture, and some of them already know a great deal.”

the tour is particularly memorable for me. They pay attention to every single word and listen as though they’re conducting research. They ask the most questions, too. I have also seen people tear up while listening to the tumultuous stories of this palace.”

In general, the shorter the history of the country the visitor is from, the more interest they show in historical details, Chang says. “Is there still a royal family in Korea?” is among the most frequent questions she is asked.

Since much of the palace’s history is linked to Korean-Japanese relations, visitors also ask about the current state of affairs. “I tell them that, although official relations between governments can get strained, there is always a lot of interaction between the people of both countries. The guides who give tours in Japanese are more sensitive to the relationship between Japan and Korea, and they get many more questions like that.”

Never-ending Study Japanese rule in 1910.

Chang has discovered that her tour groups have more than a casual interest in the palace.

That aligns with what her senior cohorts say: “The visitors coming to Deoksu Palace now are not the same as before.”

Eclectic Mix of Tourists

“These days there are many foreign tourists visiting this palace with a deep interest in learning more about Korea’s history and culture, and some of them already know a great deal,” says Chang. This is credited to Korea’s cultural exports such as K-pop, movies and TV series, which have sparked interest in the country.

“There are even visitors who ask detailed questions, like ‘Why did Gojong have to change his title to emperor when king and emperor both stood for the highest power?’ In such cases, I explain that Gojong changed the name of the country and his title in order to defend Korea’s national sovereignty against the world powers, including Japan, by proclaiming it an autonomous nation.”

Chang also detects differences in her interaction with tourists, depending on their nationality. “The way German visitors engage with

84 KOREANA Winter 2019

Deoksu Palace is noted for its eclectic mix of buildings, which means its guides must be well-versed in the architecture as well as the history of the palace.

“The buildings themselves are the sites of history, so you can’t really bring up history without talking about architecture,” Chang says. “Foreign visitors listen intently when I talk about the palace buildings such as Junghwajeon, Jeukjodang and Hamnyeongjeon, which were destroyed in the great fire of 1904 and rebuilt anew. Some people ask me, all amazed, ‘How was it possible to rebuild such amazing structures in such a short time?’ And unlike any of the other palaces, Deoksu Palace also has modern Western-style buildings, so I need to have proper knowledge of that kind of architecture, too.” Traditional Korean and Western-style buildings dot the grounds of this palace. One of the most notable Western-style buildings is Seokjojeon, or the Pavilion of Stone. Completed just months before Japan’s annexation of Korea after a 10-year construction period, the neo-classical hall was mainly used to receive foreign dignitaries.

Chang’s daily routine gives her great joy. The hope that foreign visitors will understand the heritage of Deoksu Palace a little better thanks to her explanations means that every day matters. Each morning, without fail, she leaves home at 7:50 to ride the circular No. 2 subway line and arrive at Deoksu Palace by 8:30 to prepare for her 9-to-6 work day.

The standard work garb is a hanbok, which Chang regards as another way to convey Korean culture. It is the traditional Korean dress mostly worn for festivals, ceremonies and celebrations nowadays. In spring and autumn, Chang dons a white jeogori (short jacket) and navy chima (long skirt); in summer, a beige or sky blue jeogori with a navy blue or purple-tinged navy skirt; and in winter, she has a long durumagi (overcoat) to put over the whole ensemble. There are exceptions, of course. During heat waves the guides slip into short-sleeved blouses and lightweight

Clad in a navy durumagi coat over a white blouse and navy skirt, Chang Su-young explains the history and architecture of palace halls to a tour group.

Aside from the hottest days of summer, the palace guides wear a hanbok year round.

pants, and when the temperature plummets they put on long padded coats.

Stamina Needed, Too

Unlike everyone else, Chang’s day off is Monday, when palaces in Seoul are closed. Three days a week she goes to a health club for yoga and Pilates after work, and on Wednesday evenings she takes piano lessons.

“Before I became a palace guide, I was ready to go and live at Mt. Jiri, up in the mountains. But now I feel like there is lots of work for me to do here at this palace,” Chang says.

“I want to become an even better guide than I

am now, and there are so many ways I can use my energy to achieve that.

First and foremost, palace guides need to have a real love for Korea and Korean culture. And then, we need to be able to communicate as well as possible in our second language, and since we carry on with our tours even in rain and snow, we need to be fit and healthy. That’s why I make time to exercise.

“But the most important thing, in my opinion, is for a guide to approach the visitors with an open heart. These days, I’m reading all Korean history books that are available in English. When I finish giving a tour, I hope to hear things like, ‘The tour was informative. After hearing your explanation, I want to come back to Korea and visit this palace again.’”

Chang still vividly remembers her first tour.

“I gave a guided tour for just one visitor. She was a university student from Chile, and she was very kind. When I told her, ‘You’re the first person I’m showing around this palace, it’s an honor for me to give you this guided tour,’ she said that it was an honor for her, too. When I asked her to tell me which famous places I should visit if I ever got the chance to go to Chile, she wrote a whole list for me.”

She never got to learn her name, but Chang hopes the Chilean student will revisit Deoksu Palace someday. She is sure she can give her a better tour than last time.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 85

ENTERTAINMENT

Fact vs. Fiction in Period Movies

Historical dramas are a staple genre on both big and small screens in Korea, with creators often introducing novel twists to the stories of well-known historical figures and events.

Korean audiences, however, are not always receptive when flights of imagination are carried a little too far.

Lee Hyo-won Freelance Writer

“T

he King’s Letters,” featuring the creation of the Korean alphabet, Hangeul, opened in second place at the Korean box office in late July. This was impressive considering the hefty competition it faced from Hollywood tent-poles such as “Aladdin,” “The Lion King” and “Spider-Man: Far From Home.” But, alas, the film slid down to eighth place the following week before disappearing altogether from the charts.

Instead of burning bright at the box office, the movie ignited red-hot controversy for its particular depiction of one of Korea’s most celebrated inventions: Hangeul.

Costume dramas are perennial fixtures of Korean cinema and television. “The Admiral: Roaring Currents” (2014) remains the country’s highest-grossing movie of all time, while “Jewel in the Palace” (a.k.a. “Dae Jang Geum”; 2003) is still remembered as one of its most iconic and widely exported TV shows. A fair share of such films and TV series, however,

86 KOREANA Winter 2019

1 © CJ EN M

have been subject to debate for significantly altering well-known and widely taught historical facts and figures.

Matters of Fact

Although it enjoyed a good box office performance and won much praise for its lead actress, “The Last Princess” (2016) has been criticized for exaggerating and inventing biographical information of Joseon’s Princess Deokhye.

Nor could “Mr. Sunshine” (2018), set during the final days of the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910), escape scrutiny over its historical inaccuracies in spite of (or perhaps because of) its status as one of the most successful new TV series.

More recently, the epic failure of a film as highly anticipated as “The King’s Letters” clearly illustrates that Korean audiences are only willing to go so far to suspend disbelief. The movie seemed to have all the ingredients of a box office success, including A-lister Song Kang-ho in the role of the great King Sejong, the leader

credited with spearheading the creation of Hangeul in the early half of the 15th century. Song is one of Korea’s most bankable and respected stars, and among the first Korean cineastes to join the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS). He had been enjoying a stellar year, with “Parasite” winning the top prize at the Cannes Film Festival in May, and had already met with great success playing a Joseonera king in 2014’s popular and critically acclaimed historical film “The Throne.” In addition, one of the writers of “The Throne,” Cho Chul-hyun, reunited with Song to helm “The King’s Letters” as its director.

Sage King Discounted

There was much buzz about Song’s interpretation of King Sejong. Countless works have depicted the sage monarch and his great accomplishment of creating Hangeul out of a love for the people and a wish to share knowledge with the masses. Commissioning

3

1, 4. “Masquerade,” released in 2012, was a huge box office success with its imaginative interpretation of a jester who substitutes for a king and becomes a benevolent ruler.

2, 3. “The King’s Letters,” released with high expectations in summer 2019, was criticized for its arguably severe distortion of history.

2

4

© Megabox Plus M

a more democratic and widely accessible writing system was a momentous move as the hitherto used Chinese characters were extremely complex, difficult for the average person to learn, and had long been reserved for the ruling elite in Joseon’s strictly hierarchical society.

“The King’s Letters,” however, shifts the focus from King Sejong to a relatively well-known yet unsubstantiated rumor involving a monk’s role in the invention of the writing system.

In the movie, Buddhist monk Sinmi is portrayed as a pivotal contributor to Hangeul. King Sejong, meanwhile, is presented as an avid commissioner of the writing system, carefully overseeing every step of its invention, but is ultimately relegated to the role of bystander. The film suggests that it was Sinmi who actually devised the unique idea of dots and lines that make up the phonetic composition of written Korean. Furthermore, Sinmi is more than just a linguistic expert; he is a moral voice and compass, unafraid

of criticizing even the great king. Park Hae-il was chosen for the role of the man who would dare stand up to the monarch. The casting of Park, who has popular films such as “The Last Princess” under his belt, reflects a deliberate choice to juxtapose two charismatic actors in two complimentary yet opposing lead roles.

The Focus Shifts

This is not the first time a Korean movie has introduced fictionalized or fictional characters unafraid of speaking truth to power. “Masquerade” (2012), which remains one of the top 10 Korean movies of all time at the domestic box office, brings a “Prince and Pauper” spin to the story of controversial 17th-century ruler Prince Gwanghae. Hallyu star Lee Byung-hun plays dual roles as both the king and a commoner who is recruited as a body double when the king faces threats of assassination. The film begins with comical depictions of the humble jester struggling to learn the strict and

nuanced protocols and mannerism of the court. But eventually the protagonist becomes emboldened and audaciously introduces changes for the benefit of the oppressed people.

Much of the film’s success lies in the idea that an ordinary person, when given the chance, can be a truer leader than a tyrannical king. Critics have pointed out how, from a pure entertainment perspective, “The King’s Letters” also presents an original script centered on the juxtaposition of two contrasting characters. Rather than offering a cathartic release, however, Sinmi’s unabashed reproach of the king seems to have offended history-conscious viewers. And this is all in spite of the fact that the film opens with the disclaimer that it “cinematically reconstructs one of the creation rumors of Hangeul.” When it comes to mainstream entertainment, the inspiration that can be drawn from history may be boundless, but it appears there are indeed boundaries to the liberties that public sentiment will tolerate.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 87

JOURNEYS IN KOREAN LITERATURE

CRITIQUE

Wounds and Hopes Brought

by War Busan was considered the safest place of refuge during the Korean War (1950–1953).

Literary works set in the nation’s wartime capital, swarming with evacuees waging daily struggles for survival, shape the genre “refugee literature.”

These works depict the will for life of displaced people as well as their despair and sense of futility.

Choi Jae-bong Reporter, The Hankyoreh

T

he Korean War was an internecine conflict that left the whole nation with painful scars. Writers were among those who felt the wounds of the war more deeply. In particular, the January 4 Retreat of 1951, when the ROK and UN troops that had advanced northward to the Korean-Chinese border were forced to withdraw due to the Chinese New Year’s Offensive, abandoning Seoul and further southward again, became the theme for many novels and poems, later known as “refugee literature.” These include Kim Dong-ni’s (1913–1995) short story “The Hungnam Evacuation” (1955) and Gong Ji-young’s (1963– ) novel “High Blue Ladder” (2013), which depict the large-scale evacuation of North Korean civilians at the end of 1950 from Hungnam, a port city on North Korea’s east coast; and the short story “Southerners and Northerners” (1996) by Lee Ho-cheol (1932–2016), who was a native of Wonsan in North Korea and escaped southward.

Under a more precise definition, however, refugee literature refers to works dealing with people who left Seoul and moved to Daegu or Busan at the time of the January 4 Retreat. Refugees flocked to these southern cities with virtually no preparation. They had to face the basic problems of survival bare-handed, searching for food and shelter.

88 KOREANA Winter 2019

It was especially in the port city of Busan, South Korea’s second largest city in the far southeast of the peninsula, where numerous refugees gathered and led a desperate life day by day, writers being no exception. After arriving there, those who could find nowhere to stay had to build huts on mountain slopes and wait for the war to end so they could return to Seoul. In the short story “Winter Sleep” (1958)

by Kim Yi-seok (1914–1964), a writer born in Pyongyang who had come South, the situation is described as follows: “The wind blowing from the north all day long seemed to be shaking the shack standing in the middle of a field, tearing between the planks and screaming as if intent on blowing off the tin roof as it swept through our room.”

It was not easy to find a place to stay, even in the house of someone with whom one had a faint connection. The short story “Acrobats’’ (1952) by Hwang Sun-won (1915– 2000), also a writer originally from the North, is an autobiographical work that realistically describes the difficulties he and his family encountered in Daegu and Busan. In both cities, they stayed at the home of acquaintances but faced blatant contempt and pressure from their host families, eventually forced to leave or feel they should leave. Hwang, deploring his inability as head of a displaced family who has to see his young children earning money to put food on the

table, compares his family’s situation to that of an acrobatic troupe: “My young Pierrots, I just hope that later, when you have your own acrobatic troupes with your own young Pierrots, you will not repeat these scenes and feats.”

Lee Ho-cheol, upon arriving in Busan from the North, began working on the docks and then earned a living at a factory making noodles and as a janitor, still studying literature in the meantime. He made his literary debut with the short story “Leaving Home” (1955), which begins with a depiction of a refugee evacuating aboard a freight train: “The freight car where he had lodged for one night had vanished by the next night. He had to move from one freight car to another several times each evening.”

“A Rainy Day” (1953), a short story by yet another writer from North Korea, Son Chang-seop (1922–2010), relates the situation of Dong-uk who has gone down to Busan with his sister Dong-ok during the January 4 Retreat and rented a shabby house, as observed by his friend Won-gu. The rain falling without stopping throughout the story symbolizes the confines of a reality that traps and harasses the siblings. Luckily, Dong-ok, who has a crippled leg, is so good at drawing portraits for American soldiers that she is able to earn a living for them, until she cannot continue. At the end of the story they are defrauded of their savings, kicked out of their home, and vanish.

If one has to choose the most outstanding literary works of this era that are set in Busan, Kim Dong-ni’s “Mildawon Days” (1955) should certainly be included. This short story portrays real writers with slightly changed names, giving a glimpse of the social conditions and the atmosphere among literary circles in wartime Busan. According to “History of Korea’s Literary World” by the critic Kim Byeong-ik (1938– ), the main character of this story, Lee Jung-gu, is based on the writer Lee Bong-gu (1916–1983). In the 1950s, when many literary figures used to get together almost daily in Seoul’s Myeong-dong area, Lee Bong-gu never lost his self-control no matter how much he drank, maintaining his refined ways, which earned him the nickname “Earl of Myeong-dong.” Jo Hyeon-sik is modeled on the critic Cho Yeon-hyeon (1920–1981) and Ms. Gil on the novelist Kim Mal-bong (1901–1962). The Busan poet Jo Hyang (1917–1985) and the novelist Oh Yeong-su (1909–1979) appear in this work as Jeon Pil-eop and Oh Jeong-su, respectively. The troubled young poet Park Un-sam, pained by separation from his lover and haunted by anxiety over his survival, is based on Jeong Un-sam (1925–1953). Another young poet, Jeon Bong-rae (1923–1951), who does not appear in this story, killed himself in a hopeless situation.

© Encyclopedia of Korean Culture

“With deaths and farewells before and behind, wandering and starvation to left and right, am I yet cheerful because of a cup of coffee and familiar faces?”

The protagonist, Lee Jung-gu, reaches Busan on the last train leaving Seoul on January 3, the day before the retreat.

In Busan, he makes his base at the coffee shop Mildawon in Gwangbok-dong, where artists from Seoul gather. There he meets fellow writers and solves the problems of where to sleep and find food and drink. Just as the characters in the novel are almost identical to real people, Mildawon was also a real place near the Gwangbok-dong Rotary. Kim Byeong-ik’s “History of Korea’s Literary World” explains the significance of this space as follows: “ The coffee shop above the office of the National Cultural Association in Gwangbok-dong was a resting place for writers with nowhere to go, a contact address for hard-tofind colleagues, an office for writers with nowhere to work, and often an exhibition space for illustrated poems.”

The protagonist says to himself, “With deaths and farewells before and behind, wandering and starvation to left and right, am I yet cheerful because of a cup of coffee and familiar faces?” Mildawon is a space that symbolizes a comradeship that proves powerful even in the midst of trials and tribulations. “Mildawon Days” faithfully documents the joys and sorrows experienced by writers during the desperate days of war.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 89

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“If you want to know a country, read its writers.”

Aminatta Forna, The Memory of Love (2011)

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