2020 Koreana Winter(English)

WINTER 2020

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS

SPECIAL FEATURE

Folk Painting

Paintings for Happiness Guardians of Peace and Joy My Love of Minhwa Stories of Life in Symbols Folk Painting of the 21st Century

Minhwa

VOL. 34 NO. 4

ISSN 1016-0744

IMAGE OF KOREA

2020

Wary, Weary Eyes Only

A

s we embark on the first months of 2021, we can begin to look back at a full year of large pieces of cloth covering noses, mouths and cheeks, leaving only two anxious eyes peering out of each face. What initially felt like part of a nightmare has become another routine aspect of our daily lives – so much so that it is chilling, this example of humanity’s capacity to adapt to misfortune.

Before, the word “mask” may have evoked the classic novel “The Man in the Iron Mask,” or a painted wooden mask used in traditional theater, or even the feathered eye-masks of a masquerade ball. Pressed to think of something more unusual, I might have pictured masked student protestors flooding a college campus or marching in the streets.

Industrial pollution, yellow dust and global wind patterns have conspired for years to force Koreans to wear facemasks and curtail their outdoor exposure. I myself began regularly using a KF94 mask on my outings around town. Indeed, it seems Korea’s preventative measures to defend against airborne threats have been a factor in our relative success against the COVID-19 pandemic.

Surely, years from now we will recall the spring of 2020 with a pang: an anxious period when people waited in endless lines at every pharmacy door, showing their ID to receive their designated mask allotment.

Meanwhile, masks have become a social norm of sorts. They are now widely understood to be the most effective means of protecting healthy individuals from the asymptomatic or mildly symptomatic carriers that characterize the new coronavirus specifically. Masks are now something more than a personal choice: they have become a necessity for the greater “public good.”

“Look at My Eyes!” There has been a sudden increase in “women with intense eyes” recently. When it comes to products for parts of the face hidden by one’s mask, makeup sales have plummeted, but they say eyeliner, eyeshadow and mascara are flying off the shelves. Eyes aside, what about the liberation of the nose and mouth?

When will they be able to return to be readily seen again, allowing us to take in our neighbors’ whole and brightly smiling faces once more?

Kim Hwa-young

Literary Critic; Member of the National Academy of Arts © Yonhap News

Editor’s Letter

PUBLISHER

Lee Geun

Spiritual Vaccine – A Message of Hope

EDITORIAL DIRECTOR

Kang Young-pil

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Lee Kyong-hee

EDITORIAL BOARD

Han Kyung-koo

Benjamin Joinau

Jung Duk-hyun

Kim Hwa-young

Kim Youngna

Koh Mi-seok

Charles La Shure

Song Hye-jin

Song Young-man

As the year 2020 draws to a close, humanity is still stuck in a ravaging bout with COVID-19. The Johns Hopkins University tally, as of this writing, shows a total of 68,014,594 cases and 1,553,169 deaths across the world.

Nations are at a loss as to how to break the cycle of transmission. South Korea is again bewildered by another resurgence of caseloads, paling its earlier successes in the campaign to control infection.

And yet the good news is that people have started to be vaccinated – though to a very limited extent and in spite of unresolved uncertainty over safety and efficacy. Thus, the war with the novel coronavirus embarks on a new phase. Amid a glimmer of hope to beat the pandemic, governments are racing for shipments of more safe and effective vaccines. And then a gnawing issue emerges once again: can inoculation benefit people in all countries, including those in poorer ones?

Here in South Korea, as elsewhere around the world, the awful coronavirus is taking a hefty toll across society. No doubt the damage becomes more catastrophic further down the ladder of income and employment status.

Over the past year, with meetings and trips halted, Koreana has faced difficulties in production that had previously been unknown. In a way, the Special Feature for this issue, “Minhwa – Paintings for Happiness,” can be seen as our method of coping with the stifling situation. But more importantly, it is intended as an expression of our wishes for humanity to overcome this crisis and return to normal daily life as soon as possible.

Readers are invited to explore the fascinating world of Korean folk painting – how charming works of art created by nameless painters offered joy and spread positive energy among people back when disease and misfortune used to be considered something beyond human control.

Lee Kyong-hee Editor-in-Chief

Kim Eun-gi

COPY EDITOR

Jamie Lypka

ASSOCIATE EDITOR

Ji Geun-hwa

ASSISTANT EDITORS

Cho Yoon-jung

Ted Chan

CREATIVE DIRECTOR

Kim Shin

EDITOR

Ham So-yeon

ART DIRECTOR

Kim Ji-yeon

DESIGNERS

Jang Ga-eun, Yeob Lan-kyeong

LAYOUT & DESIGN

Kim’s Communication Associates

240-21, Munbal-ro, Paju-si,

Gyeonggi-do 10881, Korea

www.gegd.co.kr

Tel: 82-31-955-7413

Fax: 82-31-955-7415

TRANSLATORS

Chung Myung-je

Hwang Sun-ae

Maya West

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 2020

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS Winter 2020

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© The Korea Foundation 2020 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

“Magpies and Tiger” Unknown Artist Early 20th century Ink and color on paper, 88 × 52 cm Gahoe Museum

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.

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.

Minhwa Paintings for Happiness

04

SPECIAL FEATURE 1

18

SPECIAL FEATURE 3

Guardians of Peace and Joy

Stories of Life in Symbols

Chung Byung-mo

Im Doo-bin

12

28

SPECIAL FEATURE 2

My Love of Minhwa Yoon Yul-soo

SPECIAL FEATURE 4

Folk Painting of the 21st Century Moon Ji-hye

© National Folk Museum of Korea

34

FOCUS

58

IN LOVE WITH KOREA

76 ENTERTAINMENT

K-Pop Videos Reshape Music

Dreaming in Two Languages

Recalling the 1990s Faithfully

Kim Yoon-ha

Cho Yoon-jung

Song Hyeong-guk

38

62

80

ART REVIEW

ON THE ROAD

ESSENTIAL INGREDIENTS

The Art and Life of Park Re-hyun

Meditation on a Mountain Path

Pollack: A Versatile Fish

Kim Hyo-jeong

Lee Chang-guy

Jeong Jae-hoon

44

70

84 LIFESTYLE

INTERVIEW

AN ORDINARY DAY

Outsizing the Ordinary

Simple Happiness with a Twist

Car Camping Resets Leisure Travel

Kim Min

Hwang Kyung-shin

Kim Dong-hwan

74

88

50

GUARDIANS OF HERITAGE

BOOKS & MORE

JOURNEYS IN KOREAN LITERATURE

Striving to Upgrade Makgeolli

‘What Makes a City?’

A Thrilling and Confusing Initiation

Kang Shin-jae

Variegated Views of the World: What Lies Beyond?

Choi Jae-bong

‘Pop City: Korean Popular Culture and the Selling of Place’

Vertigo

54

TALES OF TWO KOREAS

Forgotten Children Documented Kim Hak-soon

A Fresh Approach to Exploring the Korean Wave Charles La Shure

‘Karma’

An Elemental Nature Shared by East and West Anna S. Roh

Kim Se-hee

SPECIAL FEATURE 1

Minhwa : Paintings for Happiness

GUARDIANS OF PEACE AND JOY Korean folk paintings had the roles of shielding against evil spirits and conveying hopes for happiness. An artistic reflection of Koreans’ positivity and resilience, they are now undergoing a modern renaissance.

Chung Byung-mo Professor, Department of Cultural Assets, Gyeongju University

“Four-panel Folding Screen with Peonies.” 19th-Early 20th century.

Ink and color on silk. 272 × 122.5 cm (each panel). National Palace Museum of Korea.

Peonies have long been considered a symbol of wealth and honor. A popular motif of art, peonies also adorn furniture and clothing. Folding screens with peonies generally have four, six or eight panels. They decorate homes and are often used at weddings.

4 KOREANA Winter 2020

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 5

I

n the distant past, epidemics were considered to be the work of evil spirits.

With that belief, Korean households pasted pictures of Cheoyong, son of the Dragon King, on their front doors to repel the plague god, called yeoksin.

This custom dates back to the Unified Silla period – more specifically to the reign of King Heongang (r. 875-886), when the Korean peninsula enjoyed unprecedented peace and prosperity after Silla unified the Three Kingdoms in the seventh century. Legend has it that King Heongang was in the coastal village of Gaeunpo (present-day Ulsan) when thick clouds and fog suddenly gathered to block his sight. Finding this ominous, the king asked the court astronomer for an explanation. He answered, “It is the work of the Dragon King. You must try to appease him.”

So the king promised to build a temple for the Dragon King and immediately the clouds and fog lifted.

In return, the Dragon King sent his son, Cheoyong, to Silla. The king arranged a marriage for Cheoyong and appointed him to a high government position. However, the

beauty of Cheoyong’s wife posed a problem. She was so lovely that even the plague god desired her. One bright moonlit night, Cheoyong returned home late and caught his wife in bed with another man. Upon seeing this he lamented, “Two legs are mine, but to whom do the other two belong? The person below is mine, but whose body is taking her?

What shall I do?” Then he turned to leave.

The plague god was moved by Cheoyong’s magnanimity and promised not to go near any house with his picture on the door.

Origins and Symbolism

It can be said that the history of Korean folk paintings, called minhwa, goes back to prehistoric rock carvings, but the pictures of Cheoyong are the first known examples to appear in written records. Cheoyong’s way of getting rid of the plague god is also notable. Rather than becoming angry, he sang and danced, thereby moving the plague god and persuading him to flee.

During the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910), pictures of dragons and tigers joined those of Cheoyong at the household gate. On the

1. Mask of Cheoyong, son of the Dragon King, wearing a hat decorated with peonies and peaches. Illustrations of the mask and clothing worn in the Dance of Cheoyong are included in Vol. 9 of “Canon of Music” (Akhak gwebeom ), published in 1493 by the Royal Music Academy of the Joseon Dynasty.

1

6 KOREANA Winter 2020

2. “Chaekgeori.” 19th century.

Ink and color on paper. 45.3 × 32.3 cm.

Private collection.

Chaekgeori paintings are characteristically replete with auspicious symbols. Books represent success; a watermelon, many sons; a peach, longevity; and the lotus blossom, happiness.

first day of the Lunar New Year, a picture of a tiger was pasted on one side of the front door and a picture of a dragon on the other.

The tiger’s role was to chase away spirits that might try to harm the household; the dragon was believed to attract spirits that could bring blessings. Thus, the two animals were different expressions of the same purpose: magically engendering peace and happiness in the family.

As commerce developed in the 19th century, the demand for paintings expanded in general throughout Joseon society, leading to a broader range of minhwa motifs and expressions. Particularly noteworthy was that specific images were used to express wishes for happiness. This led Japanese art historian Fumikazu Kishi, a professor at Doshisha University, to propose that minhwa be called “happiness paintings,” or haengbokhwa.

A similar trait also appears in the folk paintings of other Asian nations, including China, Japan and Vietnam. These artworks, which commonly incorporate Chinese characters, embody popular wishes for good fortune, success and longevity. For example, peonies, lotus blossoms, phoenixes and bats symbolize happiness; watermelons, pomegranates, grapes and lotus seeds represent many sons; cockscomb flowers, peacock tails, books and carp reflect aspirations for success; and bamboo, cranes, the sun and moon, tortoises, deer and the mushroom of immortality represent a long life. This common feature of East Asian folk paintings distinguishes them from Western paintings, where not only happiness but love, terror and fear of death are also depicted.

The peony as a symbol of wealth and nobility originates from the poem “On the Love of the Lotus” by Zhou Dunyi, a prominent Neo-Confucian thinker of the Song Dynasty. In this Chinese poem the peony is described as “the nobility of great wealth,” the chrysanthemum as the “recluse of the flowers” and the lotus as the “gentleman of the flowers.” However, in Joseon, such symbolism was unacceptable. Confucius, whom

2

Joseon literati revered, had said, “With coarse rice to eat, with water to drink, and my bended arm for a pillow; I have still joy in the midst of these things. Riches and honors acquired by unrighteousness are to me as a floating cloud.” Therefore, Joseon scholars considered it shameful to discuss worldly possessions and status.

Confucian Virtues

The situation changed remarkably in the 19th century and peonies became the most popular flower in paintings. A gorgeous folding screen covered with depictions of peonies was installed in homes in the hope of turning one’s dwelling into a blissful nest, and was set up at festive occasions as a propitious backdrop to enhance the splendor of the mood.

It seems Confucian scholars adopted

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 7

a more realistic perspective as the country became entangled in four wars to repel invasions by the Japanese (1592-98) and then the Manchus (1627, 1636-1637). Those who had emphasized solemn virtues and indulged in philosophical debates opened their eyes to more immediate material desires. Joseon society thus joined the “rush for happiness” a step behind, but would eventually wish for happiness more fervently than other East Asian nations.

And yet, minhwa still had some way to go to free itself entirely of Confucian ideology.

People continued to pray for happiness within the boundaries of Confucian ethics and folk paintings depicted their wishes for good fortune in a different way. The most conspicuous example is munjado, or ideographic pictures featuring Chinese characters. In other East Asian countries, paintings featuring characters with auspicious meanings, such as happiness, success and longevity, were also popular, but the Confucian ideology of eight virtues – filial piety, fraternity, loyalty, trustworthiness, courtesy, honorability, frugality and sense of shame – continued to be steadfastly upheld in Joseon alone.

Over time, Confucian ideals contained in these pictorial ideographs gradually waned and the iconography of flowers and birds emerged. This had the curious effect of producing paintings that outwardly pursued conventional virtues but were actually profuse with images symbolic of mundane wishes for happiness. Consequently, Confucian ideographic paintings came to assume the complex role of a medium for releasing, rather than repressing, worldly desires for happiness, while ostensibly retaining their traditional symbolism.

Designed to project happiness, minhwa convey a cheerful sentiment with bright colors and humor. They bring joy not only through the symbolic meanings they embody but also through the vivid and flamboyant images themselves.

In the latter half of the 19th century, Joseon faced political and economic challeng-

8 KOREANA Winter 2020

As commerce developed in the 19th century, the demand for paintings expanded in general throughout Joseon society, leading to a broader range of minhwa motifs and expressions.

es. As the Western powers, including Russia, England, France and the United States, encroached on its waters, Joseon gradually faltered and was ultimately annexed by Japan.

But strangely, even minhwa from this dire era are cheerful and pleasant, exhibiting few traces of gloom. They epitomize the demeanor of a nation that tried to overcome adversity with a positive attitude: happy paintings arose out of a dark history.

Cheerful Sensibility

Surprisingly, Joseon folk paintings are now riding the retro trend and becoming popular again. Painting traditional minhwa began as a pastime for women but is now developing into a genuine genre of contemporary art. With the rapid rise in the number of minhwa artists and the consequent evolution of contemporary minhwa, these paintings are enjoying a second heyday.

The main reason for this renaissance is surely the perception that these paintings bring happiness. Though this idea is rooted in magical beliefs, the joyful images emanate a healthy energy that cheers viewers. The most beautiful virtue of minhwa lies in the paintings’ contagious positive energy.

“Dragon and Tiger” (detail). 19th century.

Ink and color on paper.

98.5 × 59 cm (each).

Private collection.

The dragon was commonly believed to expel evil spirits.

In Buddhism, it was considered a protector of the dharma, or cosmic law and order, which made it a popular decorative motif in temple art.

This is part of a twopanel work, the other panel featuring a tiger. The beasts look amusing rather than ferocious.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 9

An Architect’s Passion Any recounting of Korean folk painting inevitably comes around to Zo Za-yong.

The man known as “Mr. Tiger” initiated a campaign to rediscover the beauty and value of minhwa , and embarked on a solitary endeavor to introduce them to the world.

Chung Byung-mo Professor, Department of Cultural Assets, Gyeongju University

C

onsidering Zo Za-yong’s education and career, one

examples of traditional Korean architecture and to collect

wonders how he became so absorbed in folk paint-

roof tiles, a distinguishing feature of premodern buildings.

ings. He went to the United States in 1947 to study civil

But the pivotal moment in Zo’s discoveries did not happen

engineering at Vanderbilt University and later received a

until 1967 during a trip to Insa-dong, the Seoul district

master’s degree in architectural engineering at Harvard

known for its traditional shops and teahouses. The paper

University.

used to wrap the rice cake molds he purchased featured

In 1954, he returned to Korea and participated in many projects to rebuild the country from the ruins of war.

There were successes and failures, and along the way, the nation’s cultural heritage grabbed his interest.

the imprint of a tiger and magpie, centerpieces of Korean folk painting.

The painting reminded him of Picasso and he was entranced by the gullible expression of the tiger. Follow-

At the Beomeo Temple in Busan, Zo was awestruck at

ing up on the painting, titled “Magpie and Tiger” (Kkachi

how four stone pillars standing in a row supported the

horangi ), Zo realized that it was related to folk beliefs; the

ponderous roof of the front-gate structure. That sight

tiger is one of the four animals that have been depicted

inspired frequent trips around the country to study more

as guardian deities since ancient times. Years later, this same image would become the most iconic Korean folk painting and would even inspire the creation of Hodori,

1

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the tiger mascot of the 1988 Seoul Olympic Games.

The next painting that captivated Zo was “Mt. Geumgang” (Geumgangdo ). In the painting he discovered Koreans’ view of the universe as well as a unique painting style. Rather than realistically expressing the landscape,

1. “Magpie and Tiger.” Late 19th century. Ink and color on paper. 91.5 × 54.5 cm. Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art. This is the painting that fascinated Zo Za-yong, changing the course of his life. This tiger inspired Hodori, the mascot of the 1988 Seoul Olympic Games.

2. “Eight-panel Folding Screen with Mt. Geumgang” (detail).

Date unknown. Ink and light color on paper. 59.3 × 33.4 cm (each panel). National Folk Museum of Korea.

Folk art, as seen in this folding screen with Mt. Geumgang (Diamond Mountains), reflects the unique style of “trueview” landscape painting (jingyeong sansuhwa ) initiated by Jeong Seon (1676-1759), a court artist of the Joseon Dynasty.

This panel depicts Guryong Pokpo (Nine Dragon Falls).

10 KOREANA Winter 2020

the painting features the legendary twelve-thousand soaring peaks, which Zo understood as a representation of the creation of the universe. Within it, he perceived the spirit of minhwa and animism.

Pictures of Practicality Thereafter, Zo devoted his energy to promoting the beauty and value of minhwa in and outside of Korea, planning and organizing 17 exhibitions at home and 12 abroad. His exhibitions and lectures in the United States and Japan are particularly noteworthy. “Treasures from Mt. Geumgang” (East-West Center at Hawaii University; 1976), “Spirit of the Tiger: Folk Art of Korea” (Thomas Burke Memorial Washington State Museum, Seattle; 1980), “The Eye of the Tiger” (Mingei International Museum, San Diego; 1980), “Blue Dragon and White Tiger” (Oakland Museum of California; 1981) and “Guardians of Happiness” (Craft and Folk Art Museum, Los Angeles; 1982) – the titles of these exhibitions underscore the aspects of Korean folk painting that Zo wanted to highlight for overseas audiences.

He also produced catalogs related to the exhibitions in English, Japanese and Korean.

Zo’s perspective of minhwa fell outside of mainstream parameters. Instead of regarding the folk paintings as fine art, he placed them in the larger context of life and human nature. Zo’s concept departed from the definition © Park Bo-ha

proposed by Yanagi Muneyoshi, Japanese art critic and founder of the folk craft (mingei ) movement. Nor did it align with “the art of the people” propounded by William

“In the process of fumbling around in search of the

Morris, champion of the Arts and Crafts Movement in

goblin, the tiger, the mountain god and the tortoise,

England. It was also in conflict with the Korean art history

the culture of my parents began to reveal itself, though

circle, which saw minhwa and court painting as two sepa-

faintly. I found the matrix of the culture of our people in

rate categories.

what I’ll call minmunhwa , or folk culture.” (Zo Za-yong, “In Search of the Matrix of Korean Culture” [Uri munhwa-ui

Belief in Samsin Zo’s fascination with and love of folk painting led him to

motae-reul chajaseo ], 2000, Ahn Graphics.)

In 2000, Zo realized a long-cherished dream when he

contemplate its spirit. Through minhwa, he explored the

opened the “King Goblin, Dragon and Tiger Exhibition for

origins of Korean art and sought to identify the founda-

Children” at Daejeon Expo Park. But he succumbed to

tions of the Korean people’s spiritual world that under-

heart disease during the exhibition and passed away sur-

pinned their culture. Ultimately, he reached the conclusion

rounded by his beloved minhwa. In 2013, the Zo Za-yong

that everything came down to a shamanic belief in Sam-

Memorial Society was founded to honor and carry on his

sin, the “triple goddess” governing childbirth. Regarding

legacy. In his memory, Gahoe Museum has held the Dae-

his journey to pursue the roots of Korean culture, he said

gal Cultural Festival at Insa Art Center in Insa-dong at the

the following:

beginning of each year since 2014.

Zo Za-yong, who studied civil and structural engineering in the United States, was an architect compiling an outstanding portfolio when he fell in love with a tiger painting by a nameless artist.

He spent the rest of his life exploring Korean folk art.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 11

SPECIAL FEATURE 2

Minhwa : Paintings for Happiness

MY LOVE OF

MINHWA

Yoon Yul-soo has dedicated his entire life to the collection, research and exhibition of Korean folk paintings. He started his career as a curator in 1973 at Emille Museum in Seoul, where he fell in love with folk paintings. Yoon looks back fondly on the joys and anxieties he has shared with the tigers, dragons, magpies, peonies and lotus flowers in numerous minhwa .

Yoon Yul-soo Director, Gahoe Museum

N

amwon, a small city in North Jeolla Province where I grew up, was a treasure trove of ancient relics from the Three Kingdoms period. Shards of earthenware and even fully intact vessels in their original form were found not infrequently while plowing the fields. When I was young, I used to pick up fragments of earthen vessels lying around and take them home. That habit stuck with me and I’ve been a collector ever since.

My collecting bug really began with stamps.

When I was in elementary school I amassed quite an impressive collection over several years, but had it all stolen one day. Disheartened, I thought of something that would be hard to steal; bujeok (talismans) came to mind. They were the perfect item since practically every house had one, and I began to collect them avidly. My collection grew significantly while I served in the military. Other soldiers who knew about my hobby would bring some back whenever they returned from leave. Thanks to these men, I was able to collect a great variety of talismans from across the country.

In April 1973, shortly after completing my military service, I started working as a curator at Emille Museum, founded by Dr. Zo Za-yong. Thus

12 KOREANA Winter 2020

began my lifelong relationship with folk paintings.

An architect who had studied in the United States, Zo had a profound knowledge of traditional Korean culture and art. He was particularly fond of folk paintings and was a dedicated collector. With no knowledge whatsoever about folk painting despite being a curator, I sat down with Zo almost every day and together we pored over and discussed the details of a specific piece.

After repeating this daily ritual with several hundred works, I began to develop a discerning eye and naturally fell in love with the paintings.

Emille Museum

In November 1975, Zo embarked on a touring exhibition in America with 32 paintings from his museum’s collection. The seven-year tour, which began in Hawaii, was the first to showcase Korean folk painting to the world. I was in charge of the exhibitions, starting with the one held at the Oakland Museum of California in 1981. Seeing the locals respond so enthusiastically, I had a new vision for the future of Korean folk painting.

I resigned in 1983 when Emille Museum relocated from Deungchon-dong, Seoul to Mt. Songni in Boeun County, North Chungcheong Province. However, my love for minhwa remained.

I went on to work at other museums, but never stopped studying folk paintings and traveled far and wide across the country to see as many of them as possible. I believed this was the best form of learning. Meanwhile, my collection grew piece by piece.

“Magpie and Tiger.”

20th century. Ink and color on paper. 98.3 × 37 cm.

Gahoe Museum.

The painting has an uncommon composition that places a magpie and tiger in vertical alignment with mountain tops and peonies in the background.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 13

I nurtured the dream of running a museum one day with the knowledge and experience gained from my 30-year career as a curator. It was by pure chance that this dream came true. Just one day before the deadline, I came across a job opening posted by Seoul Housing and Communities Corporation for the position of director at a museum to be established in Bukchon, a tourist hotspot with clusters of hanok, or traditional Korean houses. My wife and I hurriedly prepared the necessary documents. Finally, I seized the golden opportunity that allowed me to do something I loved and knew well.

Gahoe Museum

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1. “General Zhang Fei.” 19th century. Ink and color on paper.

111 × 64 cm. Gahoe Museum.

The Chinese historical novel “Romance of the Three Kingdoms” dramatizes and romanticizes historical events and characters, which have often been painted for didactic purposes. Here, Zhang Fei, a fearless general who helped the warlord Liu Bei found Shu Han, is depicted humorously.

2. Gahoe Museum opened in 2002 in a traditional house at Bukchon in the heart of Seoul. It houses some 2,000 objects, including folk paintings, talismans and other folk artifacts.

Due to the development of the district, the museum was relocated to a nearby modern-style building in 2014.

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Minhwa and hanok – it was the near-perfect combination. Minhwa is a traditional art form that was intimately connected to the lives of the Korean people, so it best embodies the Korean sentiment. I considered it a tremendous fortune to run a minhwa museum in Bukchon Hanok Village, where the ambience of the past still survives.

After much preparation, the museum opened in a small hanok in 2002. My wife and I had lengthy discussions about the museum’s operation, from its name to the exhibition style. We decided to connect the rooms to open up the space and install underfloor heating so visitors could take their shoes off. But this was easier said than done. I had spent so much of my income purchasing old folk paintings that I lacked financial resources.

Gahoe Museum would never have existed if not for the dedicated support and encouragement of my wife, my steadfast patron.

A Korean history major at college who was born and raised in Seoul, she understood the special significance of a minhwa museum in Bukchon.

The theme of our first exhibition was “warding off evil.”

From among the talismans and folk paintings that I had collected over the years, I picked out the ones related to repelling evil spirits. Talismans come in a wide variety, including dangsaju, which illustrate how a person’s destiny will unfold through pictures so that even the illiterate can read their fortunes. The brushwork bears a close affinity to that of folk painting, and although the style and purpose of dangsaju and minhwa are starkly different, they share insight into the human heart. While the fortune telling pictures show compassion for human vulnerabilities, folk paintings reflect universal hopes and desires for happiness.

In this regard, dangsaju seemed a good choice for the museum’s first exhibition. Folk painting exhibitions on the theme of repelling evil spirits had been held before, but this was the first to showcase them together with talismans.

I displayed the talismans close together on panels and the walls but soon ran out of space. So I attached the rest to the crossbeams and rafters, the way people actually did in the past.

Minhwa is a traditional art form that was intimately connected to the lives of the Korean people, so it best embodies the Korean sentiment. I considered it a tremendous fortune to run a minhwa museum in Bukchon Hanok Village, where the ambience of the past still survives.

To look at the pictures, viewers had to lie on the floor. Inadvertently, the exhibition was turned into an immersive hanok experience. Guests enjoyed the artworks, lying down on the warm floor and soaking in the atmosphere.

That’s when I came up with the idea for the next exhibit: folk paintings featuring tigers. They exemplified the true essence of minhwa painted to repel evil spirits. The tiger, a symbol of the primeval roots of Korean culture, had long been regarded as a spiritual being with mystical powers, yet viewed with affection

by Koreans through generations.

Overseas Exhibitions

Our first exhibition drew many visitors, including Korean folklorists as well as foreigners interested in Korean folk art and religion. Since then, I have held special exhibitions each year consisting of folk paintings from my personal collection. Though small in scale, it’s rewarding to be able to curate exhibits around specific themes. It also gives me the opportunity to systematically organize the objects in my collection.

By now, I have organized more than 20 exhibitions. They include “Pictorial Ideographs – The Virtues of Confucian Culture” (2003), “Searching for the Origin of Folk Religion – Paintings of Shamanism” (2004), “Restored Lives in Cheonggye Stream” (2005), “Paintings of Peonies” (2006) and “Beautiful Landscape Paintings” (2007). I have also participated in regional exhibitions outside of Seoul. Each time, I dig deeper into the subject, the outcome of which is documented in the art catalogs.

From humble beginnings in our small museum, we branched out overseas. Some of the most memorable overseas exhibitions include “Korean Traditional Onggi and Folk Paintings” (2006) at the Fine Arts Zanabazar Museum in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, which captured the jest and wit of Korean folk art; “Korean Folk Paintings and Picture Books” (2010) at the Otani Memorial Art Museum in Nishinomiya, Japan; “Korean Shaman Paintings” (2010) hosted by the Korean Cultural Center in Paris; and

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“Folk Paintings Evoking Longevity, Happiness, Health and Peace” (2012) at Sayamaike Museum in Osaka, Japan. We also held eight exhibitions in various cities across Australia from January 2013 to July 2015. In 2018, a Korean folk painting exhibition was held at the State Museum of Oriental Art in Moscow, the first of its kind in Russia, followed by another exhibition at the National Art Museum of the Republic of Belarus in Minsk.

Current Dream

It has been 47 years since my first encounter with minhwa. My current dream is to collect 100 tiger paintings for a special exhibition. It will naturally entail logical, methodical research, which will be recorded in a catalog to give enjoyment to people for many years to come. I’m now taking a breather in order to work toward that goal.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 15

Half a Lifetime Devoted to Chaekgeori Paintings In 1973, Kay E. Black traveled to Korea and fell in love with chaekgeori , paintings mounted on folding screens that feature books and scholarly paraphernalia. She devoted her life to the study of this traditional Korean art form. In June 2020, an exhaustive book was published in Seoul, culminating her enthusiasm spanning almost half a century.

Lee Eun-ju Reporter, The JoongAng Ilbo 1

I

n July, a book arrived on my desk. As an arts reporter, I often receive new publications

in the field, but this one looked different. The

book, published in English, was titled “Ch’aekkori Painting: A Korean Jigsaw Puzzle.” The author was Kay E. Black.

Out of curiosity, I opened the book and a beautiful picture appeared before my eyes. As I turned the pages one by one, I became enraptured. I was astounded that way back in the 1970s, a foreigner had recognized the value of these Joseon Dynasty paintings and made them her life’s work.

Decades-Long Pursuit I called the publisher, wanting to learn more about the author, but was shocked to hear that she had recently passed away in the United States. “As soon the book was printed, we sent her a copy,” the editor said in a voice laden with sadness. “She was gravely ill and bedridden, but we heard that she was elated to finally hold the book in her hands. Unfortunately, she passed away shortly after.”

The editor explained that the book was delivered to Black by express mail toward the end of June; 10 days later on July 5, she passed away in San Francisco. She was 92 years old.

Hoping to find out more, I took a closer look

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1. Instantly captivated by Korean folk paintings during a trip in 1973, Kay Black devoted her life to studying chaekgeori paintings.

2. “Chaekgeori.”

Yi Eung-rok (18081883). 19th century.

Ink and mineral pigments on paper.

163 × 276 cm. Asian Art Museum, San Francisco.

Chaekgeori is a still-life painting mounted on a folding screen, which features scholarly paraphernalia, such as books, ceramics, writing implements and incense burners.

It was a popular art form in the late Joseon Dynasty. This painting incorporates Western linear perspective, which was rarely seen at that time.

at the book, an impressive academic study on chaekgeori paintings. The foreword written by Ahn Hwi-joon, professor emeritus at Seoul National University, was a friendly introduction to the author: “It was in the fall of 1996 that I first

2

met Kay E. Black while I spent a sabbatical at

Chaekgeori is a genre of still-life painting

eral years later, she began collaborating with

the University of California, Berkeley. […] In

on folding screens that features shelves

the late Edward W. Wagner, then professor

meeting with Kay Black, I was impressed by

filled with books and various other objects,

of Korean studies at Harvard University. An

her genuine love for Korean art and ardent

such as ceramics, writing implements and

authority on Joseon-period genealogy, Wag-

dedication to studying her subject.”

incense burners. Also called chaekgado ,

ner helped Black identify the intricate family

I began to gather more information

the art form was popular in the royal court

lineages of several chaekgado painters. The

about the author from various sources. I

around the 18th century, gradually spreading

two jointly authored a number of theses in

learned that Black was a housewife living

to the realm of folk art in the 19th century

the 1990s.

in Denver, Colorado when she traveled to

and onward. The value of this art form has

In the book’s preface, Black wrote, “I was

Korea in 1973 with fellow art aficionados. As

been reassessed in recent years, but it was a

privileged to have worked with the late Ed-

part of the trip, she visited Emille Museum; it

barren field of research in the 1970s.

was here that she first set eyes on a folding

ward W. Wagner (1924-2001), professor and founder of Korean Studies at Harvard Uni-

screen with a chaekgeori painting and in-

Collaboration

versity, for 12 years on the project.” She also

stantly became mesmerized. Upon returning

This makes it all the more remarkable that a

thanked Gari Ledyard, King Sejong Professor

to the United States, she announced to her

foreign visitor took up the subject back then.

Emeritus of Korean Studies at Columbia

family that she was going back to school to

Beginning in the mid-1980s, Black investi-

University, for introducing her to Wagner at

study chaekgeori, and with that, she enrolled

gated numerous chaekgeori paintings and

the most opportune time. She added, “It has

in the University of Denver’s Asian studies

photographed major works not only in Ko-

been a pioneer effort, and I hope it inspires

department. At 45, she set foot on a college

rea but also scattered around the world, in

others to pursue the subject and complete

campus once again.

places like America, Europe and Japan. Sev-

the puzzle.”

Courage and Tenacity Growing more curious about this remarkable author, I asked around for the email address of her daughter, Kate Black. Kate studied architecture at MIT and currently serves as Piedmont’s city planning director. It was not long after she had been bereaved of her mother, so I was extremely cautious about asking her any questions. But she soon came back with a touching reply.

“It was truly her life’s work,” she wrote.

“My mother was an amazing role model for Kay E. Black’s “Ch’aekkori Painting: A Korean Jigsaw Puzzle,” published in June 2020 by Sahoipyoungnon [Social Criticism] Academy in Seoul. A comprehensive academic study on the art form, the book is the culmination of the author’s exhaustive research spanning 30 years.

Hardcover, 336 pages.

me. She taught me that I can do whatever I put my mind to. I greatly respect her courage and tenacity.”

Closing the book, I pondered the many days and nights Black must have spent poring over chaekgeori paintings. How many clues and puzzle pieces have we failed to notice in the pictures? Through her book, Black urges us to look for the door that will lead us to the mysterious world of chaekgeori, and reflect on our fascinating cultural legacy.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 17

SPECIAL FEATURE 3

Minhwa : Paintings for Happiness

STORIES OF LIFE IN SYMBOLS Korean folk paintings were produced and appreciated by common people.

Amateur painters, their skills not comparable to professional artists, created an enchanting world by employing a symbolic system where a set of motifs were assigned specific meanings.

Im Doo-bin Art Critic

LANDSCAPES Under the deep-rooted influence of Confucianism, Buddhism and Taoism, East Asia has a long tradition of living in harmony with nature.

Landscape painting (sansuhwa, literally “painting of mountain and water”) was a genre of art originating from the heart-felt affinity and unity with nature shared in this cultural sphere. For many artists, nature was their most important and favorite subject.

At first, minhwa landscapes imitated works of fine art, most notably the “true-view” landscape paintings (jingyeong sansuhwa) by Jeong Seon (1676-1759). True-view paintings, with their simplified expression of objects in bold brushstrokes, were relatively easy for amateur artists to emulate compared to the detailed depictions used in other genres of painting.

“Mt. Geumgang.” Late Joseon Dynasty. Ink and light color on silk. 50.2 × 34.6 cm.

Sun Moon University Museum.

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 19

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FLOWERS AND BIRDS Traditional paintings of flowers and birds (hwajodo) were generally a faithful representation of natural beauty. On the other hand, minhwa works of flowers and birds were replete with the symbolism of a happy marriage, which imbued them with qualities both decorative and talismanic. The most common motifs were flowers such as peonies, lotus blossoms, plum blossoms, chrysanthemums, daffodils, magnolias, orchids and pomegranates; and birds such as the pheasant, phoenix, crane, wild goose, duck, chicken, white heron, mandarin duck, swallow, nightingale and sparrow.

Probably the most popular flower motif was the peony, which stood for wealth and nobility. The pomegranate reflected wishes for many children, as symbolized by the numerous seeds tightly packed in the fruit. The pheasant, mandarin duck and domestic duck were always depicted in pairs as icons of conjugal love and domestic bliss.

“Flowers and Birds.” Late Joseon Dynasty. Ink and color on paper. 69.1 × 41.2 cm.

Sun Moon University Museum.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 21

TEN SYMBOLS OF LONGEVITY

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Conveying universal wishes for health and long life, paintings of the ten symbols of longevity (sipjangsaengdo) feature the sun, clouds, water, mountains, rocks, turtles, cranes, pine trees, deer and the mushroom of immortality. Over time, the genre expanded to encompass 12 symbols, including peaches and bamboo, though all 12 are still referred to as the “ten symbols.” The symbolism presumably originated in primitive religion based in shamanism, which venerated nature and its forces.

In early human societies, shamanism often had the status of a state religion, wielding absolute power over people across classes. The shamanistic way of thinking had been entrenched in the Korean subconscious and its influence continued even after Buddhism became popular. This spiritual tradition yielded paintings of the ten longevity symbols that, using bold and vibrant colors, manifested unique Korean color sensibilities.

“Ten-panel Folding Screen with Ten Symbols of Longevity.” Latter half of the 18th century.

Ink and color on silk. 210 × 552.3 cm. Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art.

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TAOIST IMMORTALS The notion of Taoist immortals (sinseon) has a long history dating back to Gojoseon, or Old Joseon, the first state in Korean history. Dangun, the legendary founder of this ancient state and progenitor of the Korean people, is said to have become an immortal. Koreans used to regard immortals not as purely mythical beings but as a state that humans could achieve through spiritual discipline. They believed that by leaving the mundane behind and contemplating themselves and the world, they would be able to attain ultimate awakening and become an immortal.

Eventually, paintings of Taoist immortals came to represent hopes for a peaceful existence at one with nature, free from suffering.

“Twelve-panel Folding Screen with Taoist Immortals” (detail). Choe U-seok (1899-1964). Date unknown.

Ink and color on silk. 181.5 × 285 cm (each six-panel screen). National Folk Museum of Korea.

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 25

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PICTORIAL IDEOGRAPHS Another unique type of minhwa is pictorial ideographs (munjado), consisting of classical Chinese characters representing the core tenets of Confucianism rendered with thick brushstrokes.

Abstract motifs based in folk stories are painted in and around the strokes. The eight most frequently depicted virtues are: filial piety (孝), brotherly love (悌), loyalty (忠), trustworthiness (信), propriety (禮), righteousness (義), integrity (廉) and sense of shame (恥). Each character is decorated with images of animals, flowers, or other objects with corresponding meanings.

For example, paintings about brotherly love usually feature wagtails, which stand for brotherly cooperation, and Korean blueberry (sanaengdu) to symbolize harmony among siblings. Ideographic folk paintings are recognized for their indigenous combination of abstract and realistic expression.

1. “Pictorial Ideograph: Brotherly Affection (悌).” Early 20th century.

Ink and color on paper. 55 × 33 cm. Private collection.

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2. “Pictorial Ideograph: Loyalty (忠).” 19th century. Ink and color on paper.

90.2 × 34.2 cm. Private collection.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 27

SPECIAL FEATURE 4

Minhwa : Paintings for Happiness

FOLK PAINTING OF THE 21ST CENTURY The popular minhwa of today does not faithfully adhere to the genre’s traditional hues and designs. In expressing current interests and desires, the 21st century versions of folk painting are transformative.

Moon Ji-hye Reporter, Monthly Minhwa

U

ntil a few decades ago, minhwa evoked limited appreciation. The 1970s and 1980s had easily identifiable enthusiasts. They included art dealers from abroad, most notably from Japan, and a handful of deluxe hotels. They would purchase items from subsets of Korean folk art, such as morando (paintings of peonies), sipjangsaengdo (paintings of ten longevity symbols) and kkachi horangi (paintings of magpies and a tiger).

Today, minhwa is reaching a much wider audience. The genre is a cherished hobby for many people and represents a fresh and profitable approach to product design for fashion and cosmetics companies.

Individual artists with small workshops triggered the propagation of folk painting. In the 1990s, many of these artists expanded their operations by taking folk painting to college-based institutes for lifelong education or the cultural centers of major department stores. Novice painters honed their skills by tracing the outlines of well-known paintings and a folk art community began to develop.

In the 2000s, the number of practicing artists increased sharply and their skills improved dramatically. Those who had struggled to express modern sensibilities and values while adhering to the old formats even began to reformulate their approach into new styles.

“Modern Tiger.” Keum Goang-bok. 2020. Ink and pigments on mulberry paper (stick, powder, tube paints, Chinese white powder). 130 × 160 cm.

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 29

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Keum Goang-bok is proficient in both the traditional and creative styles of minhwa. His humorous portrayal of the tiger, deemed to have talismanic power, reflects protection of Korean culture. “Just as minhwa was derived from our ancestors’ everyday life, contemporary works should also tell our current stories,” says Keum. “For the constant development of this art, our work should convey not just blissful messages but historical awareness as well.”

Ahn Seong-min (aka Seongmin Ahn), who is active in both Seoul and New York, is known for the surreal aura that pervades her paintings of flowers and the doors and windows of brownstones, an architectural style common in New York. In her so-called “noodle land-

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scapes,” an awe-inspiring natural scene is combined with the daily food item.

Contemporary Narratives

Kim Saeng-a avidly incorporates the local scenery and folk tales of Jeju Island, where she resides. Her objets d’art include glass shards collected from beachcombing and fired in a kiln. Her message is that “small things like collecting discarded glass on the beach could make a meaningful change for beautiful Jeju, which suffers from environmental pollution.”

Various stylistic experiments using minhwa iconography – e.g. repeating specific patterns as in wallpapers or presenting fictional characters from the paintings – have been

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1. “Friends at First Sight.”

Kwak Su-yeon. 2010. Ink and color on mulberry paper. 162 × 131 cm.

2. “Spielraum No.5.”

Choi Seo-won. 2020.

Mixed media on canvas.

91 × 116.8 cm.

attempted to stimulate viewers’ curiosity and sensibilities. Employing gestalt shift technique (which allows an image to be perceived in two different ways depending on perspective), “Flowery Path” by Lee Jee-eun displays the artist’s extraordinary sensibility and insight into her subjects. “A skull is usually associated with death and evokes a negative affect,” she explained. “But I thought a person who’d led a beautiful life would leave a beautiful skull.

That’s why I painted it this way.”

Another significant experiment involves employing a small part of an existing painting to fill an entire canvas. In “Bookshelf,” Yoon In-soo offers a close-up image of a flower vase extracted from a typical work of the genre

called chaekgado (bookshelves). The effect is extraordinary, enlivening the vase’s beautiful color and shape, which otherwise would barely have been noticed. To grasp the essence of minhwa, Yoon underwent intense training at a craft workshop. As such, he always tells his students, “Mastering traditional styles is key to the successful creation of new ones.”

New Experiments

Some artists adopt characters depicted in their paintings as their personae while others use well-known fictional characters – e.g. the Little Prince from Saint-Exupéry’s novella of the same title – to make their art appealing to a wider audience. Kwak Su-yeon is famed for

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 31

The fact that elements of minhwa have been so widely used by contemporary artists of both Western and Eastern disciplines evinces the popularity of the folk art reborn in the modern era.

her series of works featuring pets. Her paintings of bookshelves and the ten longevity symbols amuse viewers with their humorous depictions of dogs and cats.

Recently, many contemporary minhwa artists have attempted to depart from traditional pigments on Korean mulberry paper to explore a wider array of materials. Their selection process gives them an opportunity to create their own visual language. These artists agree that in this globalized world, it is meaningless to make a distinction between Eastern and Western materials.

Beyond Tradition

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Some use acrylic paints, crayons or colored pencils on canvas, while others make collages from fabric, wallpaper or other readily available materials to imbue their works with a modern texture. Some even distance themselves from two-dimensional work altogether. They experiment with formats, including installation and media art. Lee Don-ah was previously known for her images of traditional iconography dismantled and visualized into hexahedrons, quadrangles and square frames. Since 2015, she has been working with media art technologies, such as video images, lenticular printing and media

façades, to incorporate them into her paintings.

The fact that elements of minhwa have been so widely used by contemporary artists of both Western and Eastern disciplines evinces the popularity of the folk art reborn in the modern era.

The popularity of minhwa is transcending the art scene to spread across cosmetics, fashion and household goods. Folk paintings have always served the practical purpose of decorating a home. The practicality, decorative quality and uniquely Korean aesthetics inherent in the genre make it highly effective for distinctive product branding.

Commercialization

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1. Designer Heill Yang of the fashion brand HEILL introduced this minhwa -inspired dress at Le Bristol Paris during Paris Fashion Week in September 2019.

2. “Peony Pot Macaron 02 (Dessert Bouquet Series).” Ahn Seong-min. 2015. Ink and color on mulberry paper. 75 × 50 cm.

Cosmetics maker Sulhwasoo totally embraces minhwa, with the packaging of its products done in collaboration with renowned artists. In 2019, a Sulhwasoo exhibition displayed a modern reinterpretation of traditional patterns, showcasing works of interior design, furniture and fashion using traditional motifs taken from two folk painting genres, hojeopdo (paintings of butterflies) and hwajo yeongmodo (paintings of flowers, birds and animals).

Heill, an haute-couture brand, presented its Spring/Summer 2020 Collection in Paris with a motif of traditional Korean fans seen in folk paintings. Before the show, designer Heill Yang said, “I’m so happy that we have such a beautiful reservoir of resources in minhwa.” First Lady Kim Jung-sook wore an outfit of his design for the inauguration of President Moon Jae-in in 2017.

Global brands also have taken notice.

Minhwa has a beauty that is uniquely Korean but can also easily communicate with the wider world. The auspicious messages and wishes for happiness delivered by the paintings obviously have a universal appeal, which helps explain the genre’s revival. Perhaps this timeless genre may become known as “K-art,” stirring up another Korean Wave of cultural exports through incessant challenge and experimentation.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 33

FOCUS

3:07 / 3:36

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1. Blackpink pose in the closing scene of the music video for “DDU-DU DDU-DU,” the lead single of their first EP, “Square Up,” released in June 2018. The video reached 1.4 billion YouTube views on November 23, 2020, the highest ever in the history of K-pop.

2. The music video for “How You Like That,” the 2016 hit single by Blackpink, coupled the song’s powerful beat and the group’s dazzling moves to set a new world record for the fastest 100 million YouTube views.

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3, 4. The music video for “DNA,” the lead single from BTS’ EP, “LOVE YOURSELF: Her,” reached 1 billion YouTube views on June 1, 2020, nearly three years after debuting. The video depicts the moment of falling in love with bright, vibrant colors and cool, crisp images.

2:44 / 4:15

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K-Pop Videos Reshape Music Propelled by the enormous global fan bases of groups like Blackpink and BTS, K-pop music videos dominate view rankings on YouTube.

These productions are shaping a new “feast-for-the-eyes” genre that entices astronomical numbers of viewers with ingenious concepts, dazzling costumes and sets, and captivating performances.

Kim Yoon-ha Popular Music Critic

T

o say K-pop music videos lead online entertainment in the number of views hardly describes the degree of their popularity around the world.

Consider the video for “How You Like That,” the hit single by Blackpink, the current No. 1 K-pop girl group. On September 8, 2020, the video reached 500 million YouTube views, matching in just 73 days the number of views the group’s 2019 “KILL THIS LOVE” music video achieved in 106 days.

The race to that new record time started immediately upon the video’s release. Thirty-two hours later, “How You Like That” had 100 million views, setting a new YouTube record and earning five Guinness World Record titles.

The group’s next milestone is for an astonishing 1.4 billion views, reached in November 2020 with “DDU-DU DDU-DU.” This is a first for a K-pop group act, surpassing the 1 billion views of “DNA” by BTS, the current top K-pop boy band.

To put into context the dominance of K-pop videos, consider that outside of Korea the nominal dream of popular music artists is 1 million online views. Certainly, Blackpink and BTS benefit from their millions of fans worldwide (who may watch a video repeatedly) and exposure from worldwide tours. But other K-pop groups are no shirks. Their minimum target for a single video is 100 million views.

Idol Groups

The first K-pop music video to achieve 100 million views was “Gee,” the hit single by Girls’ Generation. Released in January 2009, it surpassed the 9-digit mark in April 2013, a slow ascent compared to today’s hyper-fast view count pace. But that was just the beginning.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 35

K-pop music videos have transcended their role as visuals accompanying music; it wouldn’t be a far stretch to say that they have become a self-contained medium, spurring structural changes in the global music market.

At the time, K-pop had been slowly gaining a following in overseas markets and the rise of visual language accelerated this momentum. Idol groups, such as BIGBANG, EXO, Seventeen and Twice, were the key drivers of K-pop’s nascent global popularity, alongside major solo acts including G-Dragon, Taeyang, HyunA, Taeyeon and IU. Reaching the 100 million mark has since become a symbolic indicator of a K-pop song’s popularity.

The Korean pop industry first began to place greater emphasis on music videos in the early 1980s. The launch of the U.S. cable music channel MTV in 1981 hooked global pop music fans on visual images that accompanied their favorite music. It was as if the lyrics of the British pop song “Video Killed the Radio Star” were coming alive.

The “visualization of sound,” which until then had only been imagined, transformed the pop music landscape. MTV videos featuring flashy, provocative images 24/7 quickly became a prominent medium in the pop music industry. They were central to the success of 1980s pop culture icons Madonna, Michael Jackson and Prince. Likewise, British acts like Duran Duran, Culture Club and Eurythmics, characterized by distinctive visuals and musical styles, rose to global stardom on the back of their music videos. Ever since, music videos have become de rigueur for musicians.

Today, 40 years on, K-pop is the biggest beneficiary of the convergence of visual images and music. Entertainment agencies stress the importance of visuals, making sure the groups they back include at least one member with stunning looks or amazing dance skills. First-generation idol groups, such as H.O.T., S.E.S., Fin.K.L and Sechs Kies, rode the early wave of music that is “pleasing to the eye,” coming out with eye-grabbing music videos.

In the beginning, these videos featured one-di-

36 KOREANA Winter 2020

1

mensional images that mesmerized viewers instantly. They consisted of sensuous shots that captured and accentuated each member’s strengths, such as through close-ups of a member’s face or dance moves. Over time, these videos gradually began to incorporate storylines that narrated the experiences of group members or conveyed a message to their generation, some notable examples being H.O.T.’s “Hope” and Fin.K.L’s “Now.” These dramatized music videos were the prevailing format until 2012, when boy band EXO introduced “worldview” music videos, which based a narrative or message on an entire album rather than just a single song.

The band’s concept featured the idols as beings from another world outside our solar system – a so-called “exoplanet.” Computer graphics were used to depict the members’ superpowers, and myriad cutting-edge visual content, including scores of teasers, was created to portray the group’s “parallel world,” which included a tree of life and two suns in a story so profound and abstruse that fans joked

about the need to return to university and major in EXO to understand their alternative reality.

Challenges Ahead

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1. EXO appears in the music video for “Power,” the title track of its studio album “The Power of Music.” EXO was among the first K-pop acts to create music videos presenting a narrative of the performers or the universal message of an entire album.

2. The music video for “Tempo,” the lead track on EXO’s studio album “DON’T MESS UP MY TEMPO.” The group introduced the concept of a “worldview,” which included fantasy elements such as a parallel world and supernatural powers.

3. Rapper G-Dragon appears in the music video for “Crooked,” the lead track of his 2013 album “COUP D’ETAT.” Filmed in London and released on the same day as the album, the video hit 100 million YouTube views in January 2017. G-Dragon’s fashion style attracted as much attention as his music.

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Music videos have similarly played a vital role in conveying BTS’ worldview and narrative concept, as in the case of their “youth series” albums released between 2015 and 2016 – “The Most Beautiful Moment in Life, Pt. 1,” “The Most Beautiful Moment in Life, Pt. 2” and “EPILOGUE: Young Forever” – that propelled the group to international stardom.

From the outset, Blackpink has projected a feisty image in their music videos, starting with “Whistle” and “Boombayah” from their debut single album. This image comprises two facets. One is of cool and hip musicians, common characteristics among artists from their agency YG Entertainment, a company that attracted many overseas fans long before the so-called “K-pop invasion.” The second element is the quartet’s strong presence as trend-setting fashionistas and powerful influencers with a huge number of global followers.

K-pop music videos have transcended their role as visuals accompanying music; it wouldn’t be a far stretch to say that they have become a self-contained medium, spurring structural changes in the global music market. After Psy’s megahit song “Gangnam Style” went viral on YouTube in 2012 and its signature horse dance swept the world, the Billboard Hot 100 began factoring YouTube music video views into its chart rankings. This has proved a tremendous boon for K-pop artists seeking to make forays into the American market.

The phenomenal global success of K-pop, however, entails a formidable challenge. Korean music video producers share the common task of swiftly catching onto trends and staying a step ahead to create original and innovative content with a sophistication that has never before been attempted. This intense pressure carries the risk of indiscriminate plagiarism and cultural appropriation or misunderstanding, which can trigger an onslaught of criticism.

These are issues that should not be taken lightly as K-pop music videos continue to set new records, and especially because the genre now stands at a new threshold.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 37

ART REVIEW

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THE ART AND LIFE PARK RE-HYUN

of

“A constant rollercoaster ride and a document of human victory through art and love.” This is how artist Park Re-hyun (1920-1976) described her life.

The National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art is commemorating the centennial of her birth in an impressive retrospective.

Kim Hyo-jeong Independent Curator

1. Park Re-hyun explored many materials and techniques in her quest to produce paintings that were Korean and modern at the same time. Her trailblazing print works came after ardent effort to create a profound art world of her own.

2. “Work.” 1966-67. Ink and color on paper. 169 × 135 cm. Museum SAN. The work showed that Park had already moved deep into the realm of abstract painting.

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 39

T

he National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Deoksugung Branch is presenting “Park Re-hyun Retrospective: Triple Interpreter” (September 24, 2020-January 3, 2021). The exhibition looks back at Park’s works created over three decades in four parts: figurative paintings of the 1940s and 1950s; records of exhibitions held in tandem with her husband, Kim Ki-chang, and essays offering glimpses of her thoughts; abstract paintings of the 1960s; and prints of the 1970s. The title of the exhibition, “Triple Interpreter,” evokes Park’s role of interpreting for her hearing-impaired husband in Korean, English and lip reading.

Bold Changes

Park Re-hyun started learning art during the Japanese colonial period. While attending Keijo Normal School (later the College of Education of Seoul National University), she studied painting under Japanese art teacher Keishiro Eguchi.

In 1940, she entered Women’s School of Fine Arts in Tokyo, around which time she began to seriously pursue a career as an artist. She debuted in 1943 at the 22nd Chosen [Korean] Art Exhibition, winning the Governor-General’s Award for her painting “Makeup.” Depicting a young Japanese girl in a black kimono in front of a red makeup table, the painting shows strong color contrast. While it follows a customary Japanese painting style, the sensual and bold composition can be traced back to Park’s very early work.

When the Korean War broke out in 1950, Park and her husband relocated to Gunsan, where her parents lived.

They would move back to Seoul four years later, but until then, the couple was able to devote themselves to their art despite the wartime conditions. As a result, Park would win the Presidential Award in two national exhibitions in 1956, organized by the Ministry of Education and the Korean Fine Arts Association, for “Open Stalls” and “Early Morning,” respectively.

Up until the mid-1950s, Park had mostly painted women, but as she experienced war and life in refuge the women in her paintings grew humbler. Compared to “Makeup,” her postwar works “Open Stalls” and “Early Morning” reveal a huge shift. This is only natural in light of the drastic changes that occurred around her: her country of residence, personal circumstances after marriage and the country’s political situation were all in flux. The most notable change was in her attitude toward art and her painting style.

“I began to think about the convergence of form and color; I thought about the unique unity of the canvas formed by a change in colors; I noticed how sometimes certain lines

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suggest three-dimensionality.” This passage comes from her essay “Abstract Oriental Painting,” written for a monthly magazine in 1965.

Her thoughts translated into an expression of objects in a succinct, three-dimensional manner through an appropriate convergence of lines and colors. This new style was already evident in her 1955 work “Sisters.” At first the painting appears to be a simple depiction of two ordinary girls, but a closer look reveals that the older sister’s skin and jacket are the same color, rendered indistinguishable with no clear delineation of which begins where. Nor can one tell where the younger sister’s skirt begins and ends. In traditional Korean painting, ink is primarily used to outline an object, but Park freely applied brush strokes to express outlines as well as coloring.

Abstract Experiments

The “three-dimensionality” that she mentioned is a reference to cubism, whose influence on the Korean art scene began to be felt in the mid-1950s. Park thought of Picasso as a “versatile artist who always shows the freshness of youth.”

She made a print featuring a collage of images from his works and his obituaries from April 1973.

Through the late 1950s, objects in Park’s paintings grew

1. “Makeup.” 1943.

Ink and color on paper.

131 × 154.7 cm. Private collection.

This painting earned Park an award at the Chosen [Korean] Art Exhibition while she was attending Women’s School of Fine Arts in Tokyo.

2. “Open Stalls.” 1956.

Ink and color on paper.

267 × 210 cm. National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. Park received the Presidential Award at the 1956 National Art Exhibition of Korea for this work which shows a new style influenced by cubism.

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“I began to think about the convergence of form and color; I thought about the unique unity of the canvas formed by a change in colors; I noticed how sometimes certain lines suggest three-dimensionality.”

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increasingly simple. In January 1960, as a member of the White Sun Group (Baegyanghoe) that had been formed to explore new possibilities for Korean-style ink wash paintings, she visited Taiwan and took part in her first overseas group exhibition, “Korean Contemporary Artists.” The exhibition continued in Tokyo and Osaka, Japan, the following year. Park’s overseas travels led to her realization that contemporary East Asian painters were skeptical about traditional styles, looking for a breakthrough.

The Art Informel movement swept through the Korean art community in the 1960s. Also known as Informalism, meaning unstructured art, the European trend spread after the Second World War in revolt against geometric abstract art. Informalism emphasized lyrical abstraction, focusing on the texture of thick oil paint. Park embraced this trend and at the same time began to create her own canvases, taking advantage of the characteristics of materials used in traditional Korean painting.

This change was evident in the sixth joint exhibition held by Park and her husband in December 1962. In many of her works, objects lost their form, replaced instead by reddish brown masses of color. Her paintings certainly stood out among the works of her contemporary Korean artists who experimented with Informalism mostly by applying rhythmical lines all over their canvases.

Park wrinkled the paper that was her canvas and would sweep an ink brush across it to make stains on the creases. She would also spill pigment on the paper to let it flow and smudge, and later produced the effect of black ink and color paints intermixed. Such experimentation continued until 1963. In 1966, she began to add thin, repeated ink lines in her “Straw Mat Series.” “Work” (1966-67) shows that, while embracing Informalism, Park didn’t use the dynamic lines employed by other Korean artists. Instead, she painted very thin lines on thin but tough traditional Korean paper, letting the ink seep through – a method rooted in the handicraft tradition.

Park’s journey was not over yet. In 1969, she went to New York to study at the Pratt Graphic Art Center and Robert Blackburn Printmaking Workshop. During the same period, her eldest daughter studied at Pratt Institute. At first, Park mainly used an etching technique to transform her earlier Asian-style paintings into prints. After “Symbol of Joy” (1970-73), she moved on to study the unique characteristics

of printmaking and would later create the effect of a raised texture that was readily distinguishable from Asian paintings. Unlike painting, print is a medium that allows an artist to feel firsthand the properties of the material. Thus, Park’s signature touch, fine and detailed, must have shown immediately. The work process probably gave her much joy.

Time for Repose

Park Re-hyun was an outstanding artist who built her own art world, constantly trying new things over three decades.

But she was better known as the “wife of Kim Ki-chang.”

Park met Kim in 1943, by which time Kim had already made a name for himself, winning several awards at the

1. “Recollection.” 1970-1973.

Etching. Aquatint. 60.8 × 44 cm.

Private collection.

The copperplate print features a diversity of motifs, including the mask of a female character in a traditional masked dance, the womb, grains and ancient gold earrings. Park skillfully expressed her various areas of interest, such as history, life and the earth.

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2. Kim Ki-chang and Park Rehyun caused a sensation when they married in 1947. Starting the following year, the two artists held a total of 12 joint exhibitions.

Kim widened the horizon of Korean painting with his idiosyncratic style encompassing traditional and modern as well as abstract and figurative art.

annual Chosen Art Exhibition. They married three years later, causing quite a sensation because, in Kim’s own words, he “had very little education and was poor and deaf, whereas she was a landowner’s eldest daughter who had graduated from the best school.”

Park taught her husband lip reading over five years so that he could mimic sounds and communicate on his own.

In 1974, when a women’s group awarded her the Shin Saimdang Prize, Park commented that her life was like a rollercoaster ride and a document of human victory through art and love. Art may have been her small, precious niche for peaceful moments – a shelter where she could slip into her own world.

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INTERVIEW

OUTSIZING THE ORDINARY Installation artist Choi Jeong-hwa isn’t particularly pleased about being called an “artist.” With a self-identity akin to a “designer,” Choi considers flea markets and traditional street markets to be more artistic, in many ways, than any art museum.

Kim Min Reporter, The Dong-A Ilbo Heo Dong-wuk Photographer

D

uring the week leading up to the Chuseok holiday period, huge balloons depicting a pomegranate, peach and strawberry hovered over the fruit and vegetable market of a provincial city. The balloons, some up to eight meters in diameter, were part of the “Fruit Journey Project” by Choi Jeong-hwa.

Choi is known for stacking or blowing up ordinary objects that people encounter daily and presenting the reconstitution in a public space.

For “CHOIJEONGHWA – Blooming Matrix,” his 2018 solo show at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art (MMCA), Choi gathered some 7,000 pieces of kitchenware donated by the public to build “Dandelion,” a piece that ultimately stood nine meters tall. In 2020, he displayed his 2013 work “Kabbala,” constructed of 5,376 stacked red and green plastic baskets, at the Daegu Art Museum.

These methods recall Andy Warhol’s “Campbell’s Soup Cans” or Claes Oldenburg’s giant sculptures. The major difference is that the components – plastic baskets and kitchen pots – feel familiar to Koreans in particular. The loud colors and familiar materials can’t help but be eye-catching; although passers-by may not recognize Choi’s name, they will remember his art-

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work. This active master of “Korean pop art” both at home and abroad can be found at his studio in Jongno District, Seoul.

How did stacking begin?

In the early 1990s, I had a solo show called “Plastic Paradise,” in which I stacked green baskets into a bunch of towers. It was an experiment intended to make the familiar unfamiliar. It started from a simple, playful thought: “How will people react if I take these plastic baskets and put them in an art museum’s gallery space?” But in the end, a lot of people loved it.

Why plastic baskets, of all things?

Originally, I painted. I even won a few awards. But I felt some doubt about it all. So for some three years, I declined invitations to exhibit. Then, the moment I decided to finally accept one again, I was struck by a red plastic basket that happened to be lying around my house.

Some say you ended up using everyday materials as a way to avoid exercising artistic stunts.

The methods and subjects I tend to choose are usually about making play and an installa-

Choi Jeong-hwa says he finds more inspiration at flea markets and traditional street markets than in art museums. Using everyday articles available to all, he creates works that break down the barrier between art and daily life.

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1. “Kabbala.” 2013.

Plastic baskets, metal frame, variable installation (16m).

Daegu Art Museum.

Some 5,000 plastic baskets are stacked together in this installation piece, an eye-catching repurposing of an ordinary object.

2. “Fruit Tree: The Air of the Giants at Villette Park.” 2015.

FRP, Urethane, metal frame. Variable installation (7m).

This piece in La Villette park in Paris reflects the artist’s characteristic fondness for kitsch and animation. Variations on this piece, with the same title of “Fruit Tree,” have been installed in several other places around the world.

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tion outdoors. “WITH” was the title of the 2015 solo show I had at the Onyang Folk Museum. I collected furniture from abandoned houses near the museum and built a tower of dinner tables, among other things. These are attempts at a kind of play that occurs beyond what we consider visual art or fine art. Because you really run the risk of becoming, you know, “A League of Their Own.” I put it this way: I want to make a “playground where life becomes art.” Then anyone can enjoy it, recalling past images and memories all their own. Art, fundamentally, belongs to everyone – and it was a grievance of mine that only this specific category of people, this one percent, were getting to enjoy it.

In truth, even now, contemporary art doesn’t come easily to me. There’s a lot I don’t understand. So just imagine what it must be like for the general public.

That’s very honest.

It’s the truth. I said as much not long ago, at a solo show I had at Gallery P21. I said, “This exhibition is basically a Choi Jeong-hwa product show, a bujeok (talisman) show.”

What I mean is that anything an artist makes is ultimately a product.

Do you mean you consider communication to be important?

I suppose I do, in the end. It’s my belief that one shouldn’t be aiming to reach the experts. The first time I exhibited [the stacked baskets] the cleaning lady saw it and said to me, “What pretty baskets! Give me one, too.”

That, to me, is a sign that this mode of communication I’ve attempted is working.

You’ve also been very active in art direction for both stage and screen, not to mention interior design.

I’ve done some boutiques and clubs, some bar interiors.

Then, along the way, I met modern dancer and choreographer Ahn Eun-me and ended up doing some stage art for her. Then I met poet and novelist Jang Jeong-il and began working as an art director for the film adaptation of his work, “301 302” (1995). This movie was about two women who lived as neighbors in the same apartment building, one suffering from anorexia and the other from compulsive overeating. I started off intending to work on just the art, but eventually I offered to take on the full role and work on all aspects of creating the film’s overall atmosphere.

Honestly it was even before this, in the late 1980s, that I worked at an interior design firm – and even founded a firm of my own. The things I did back then were “blindingly insignificant” things. In an ordinary boutique, I would use some unusual material or just leave the debris in place after demolition. They were “meticulously loose” things, too, you could say. My experience with material and space during that period shaped everything that came after it.

What about your “Alchemy” series? Do you mean it as a prayer for luck?

Well, alchemy is literally alchemy – the practice of turning base metal into gold. It assigns meaning, turning these plastic pillars I make into something more. Creating gold might be impossible, but this is a process that transforms matter into mind. When you watch shopkeepers at the market stacking their wares, you can’t help but gasp – not just because of the aesthetic beauty but because of the incredible

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1. “Cosmos.” 2015. Beads, mirror sheets, metal wire, clips. Variable installation (Top); “The Mandala of Flowers.” 2015. Plastic caps. Variable installation.

This project was unveiled at “APT8 Kids,” part of the 8th Asia Pacific Triennial of Contemporary Art (APT8), held at the Queensland Art Gallery and Gallery of Modern Art (QAGOMA) in Australia. Plastic chains and colorful strings of beads dangled from the ceiling while children played freely with countless plastic caps.

2. “Cabbage and Cart.” 2017. Silicone, cart.

WDH: 210 × 100 × 106 cm.

Silicone cabbages are stacked in a cart that rests at one end of the gallery. This is part of the “Sarori Saroriratta” exhibition at Gyeongnam Art Museum (October 22, 2020-February 14, 2021).

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3. “A Feast of Flowers.” 2015. WDH: 122 × 75.5 × 290 cm.

Part of the exhibition “WITH: Choi Jeong-hwa & Onyang Folk Museum” at the Onyang Folk Museum’s Gujeong Art Center (March 31-June 30, 2015).

Kitchen goods like small tables, trays and dishes from homes near the Onyang Folk Museum in Asan, South Chungcheong Province, form a nine-story pagoda.

skill, the years of practice you can feel. It’s the beauty of the sublime, found in these countless piles of plastic.

Why do you stress praying for good luck?

You know, I’m not sure. Maybe because we didn’t have much when I was growing up? We were dirt poor, and between first and sixth grade I transferred schools eight times. So, I don’t actually have any childhood memories.

It’s total darkness, a blank. And you know, there’s nothing as frightening as having no memory of something. I think I came to use those years. I didn’t have any friends to play with because we moved so often, so I developed a habit of picking up trash and discarded objects on my own. When I became a university student, I would often find myself incredibly moved on my walk to and from school. There were junkyards and construction sites on my route, you see.

One time I even stumbled across a hunk of gold. But then once I got to school, I felt stymied – it was like I couldn’t hear or think clearly. Maybe this is why, but artists who know me well tend to say my works are very sad.

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It may be a dangerous thought, for something to be “for everyone,” but my art was made in the streets. When art was something high up and out of reach, I wanted to say, “Come down and play,” to insist “art is what’s right beside you.”

Your work seems to be influenced by your mother.

My father was against me going to art school. He even broke my brushes to keep me from painting, so I entered the design department of Gyeonggi Technical College [now Seoul National University of Science and Technology]. It was my mother who helped me secretly so that I could apply to art school. When we couldn’t pay the studio fees, she would even bring kimchi to the studio instead. My mother is my creator and my goddess. And she is actually quite talented herself, too.

You now have a show at the Gyeongnam Art Museum?

Well, 50- to 70-year-old handcarts from the local fruit and vegetable market enter the museum to become works of art. Colorful parasols from the market are transformed into a chandelier, and a boat abandoned along the coast also makes an appearance. Most important, though, is that we’re also inviting local urban revitalization activists as guest artists to introduce their own projects, too.

Any plans for future projects?

It may be a dangerous thought, for something to be “for everyone,” but my art was made in the streets. When art was something high up and out of reach, I wanted to say, “Come down and play,” to insist “art is what’s right beside you.”

Currently, I’m very interested in “regeneration.” I’m considering how to execute a return to the source, the root of all.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 49

GUARDIANS OF HERITAGE

Striving to Upgrade Makgeolli Baekgom [White Bear] Makgeolli Bar and Brewery, located in the heart of the Gangnam district of Seoul, is more than just another traditional liquor bar. It has a brewery on the premises and hundreds of kinds of local alcoholic drinks on offer.

The bar’s CEO and founder Lee Seung-hoon tries to breathe new life into makgeolli to shed its time-worn image of a cheap, crude drink.

Kang Shin-jae Freelance Writer Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

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ee Seung-hoon started the interview by passing on the news of a bar specializing in traditional drinks that had recently gone out of business in a small town. The proprietor had decided to close after repeated scuffles with drunken customers who complained about paying 10,000 won for a bottle of makgeolli (a lightly sparkling rice wine), considerably higher than the standard 2,000 to 3,000 won for the store-bought variety. “The price gap must have been unacceptable to the customers. The bar lost in a head-on clash with the perception of makgeolli as a cheap drink for working-class people.”

Although its market share today stops at five to six percent, with the rest mostly dominated by beer and soju (clear, distilled liquor), makgeolli was the most popular alcoholic drink in Korea until the late 1980s. Middle-aged Koreans probably remember their father coming home from work with a black plastic bag carrying a bottle of makgeolli and a block of tofu, a humble reward

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at the end of a hard day’s work. And everyone recalls sitting with friends in a shabby, old bar seeking relief from the worries of life as a yellow metal kettle was constantly emptied and refilled with the opaque, milky liquor.

But this traditional drink is changing. “Up until a decade ago, every regional market was dominated by a major local-brand makgeolli, leaving consumers with no choice,” Lee said.

“Things are different now. My bar, for example, carries over 60 different kinds of makgeolli at a considerably higher price, ranging from 15,000 to 25,000 won per bottle. They’ve sold so well that we have daily sales limits on some products.”

Baekgom Makgeolli, located in the center of Apgujeong-dong in Gangnam, reported record sales in July even amidst the surge of COVID-19.

This isn’t just because it’s one of the largest traditional liquor bars in the country, offering over 300 kinds of alcoholic beverages. Rather, the bar’s unusual success reflects consumers’ changing

1. Baekgom Makgeolli’s symbol and logo.

“Baekgom” (White Bear) is the nickname of the CEO, Lee Seung-hoon.

2. Lee opened the traditional liquor bar Baekgom Makgeolli in 2016 in Apgujeongdong, Seoul, to expand the consumer base for traditional alcohol and support local breweries.

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preferences for makgeolli of higher quality and wider variety, like the shift in taste from factory-brewed to craft beers.

Higher Quality, Wider Variety

Now, there is an ever-increasing array of options for drinkers, including “champagne makgeolli” with added effervescence, “cotton candy makgeolli” with added fruits and yogurt and topped with a ball of cotton candy, and “premium makgeolli” brewed with higher quality ingredients. The fact that upscale bars offering traditional drinks, once found only in major business districts of Seoul, are appearing in all corners of the country is another meaningful change. Lee is riding this tide, trying to provide momentum for further development.

“Makgeolli should be seen in the larger context of Korean food culture,” Lee said. An indigenous, grain-based alcoholic drink, makgeolli is made from rice, glutinous rice, barley, wheat or other grains, but plain rice is the most favored.

The chosen grain is steamed, mixed with water and then fermented using a natural starter called nuruk. After fermentation, the solution is separated, with a clear liquor called

cheongju rising to the top and the grain sediment settling at the bottom. The turbid liquid obtained by straining the sediment is makgeolli. It is important to note that for Koreans, for whom rice is a staple food, alcohol home-brewed from rice was more than just a drink. It was a part of their living culture.

Lee explained, “Japanese sake has been produced at breweries ever since the Edo period (1603-1868). It’s not that we didn’t have professional breweries, we just preferred to brew our own alcohol at home, each one slightly different, like the kimchi and fermented condiments made in every household.”

Indeed, home brewing was common in this country until about a century ago. Every household produced its own alcohol with distinct scents and flavors according to their skills and secret family recipes. Brewed with only rice and nuruk, some of the drinks had mysterious aromas with flowery or fruity overtones. They were used for family occasions like ancestral rites or weddings, and the recipes were handed down over generations. Sadly, however, this age-old practice was discontinued during the Japanese

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occupation in the early 20th century, when only licensed breweries were allowed to produce and sell alcohol and new liquor taxes were imposed.

After liberation, there was a general shortage of rice, and the Grain Management Act prohibited the production of traditional grain liquors altogether.

“For almost 30 years beginning in the early 1960s, making alcohol with rice or other domestically grown grains was banned. Brewers started to use imported wheat flour or corn starch instead,” Lee said.

The ban on makgeolli production was finally lifted when rice yields increased and consumption decreased due to changes in dietary habits. But the old recipes and practices were almost forgotten by then. It was not until 1995 that private homes were permitted to brew the rice wine again, by which time the home brew-

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ing tradition had already almost vanished.

What was still available at the time was cheap, mass-produced makgeolli made by a handful of breweries using a mixture of grains, 70 to 80 percent of which were imported rice. They contained artificial sweeteners and were fermented with artificially cultured yeast instead of nuruk, and consumers grew accustomed to the taste.

Popularization

Toward the end of the 2000s, the market began changing as regional brewers started to increase their shares, ending the dominance of a few major brands. A so-called “makgeolli craze” began among Japanese tourists. As the atmosphere was ripe for rediscovery of the old beverage and its taste and value, people started to learn how to make it themselves, taking home brewing courses at training facilities.

1. Before COVID-19, there were more foreigners than locals visiting the bar. Local customers are mostly young people in their 20s and 30s, who consider drinking traditional alcohol a new and fun experience.

2. Offering over 300 kinds of traditional drinks, including 60 kinds of makgeolli, Baekgom Makgeolli is the largest traditional bar in Korea in terms of the variety of drinks.

It does not carry most of the mass-produced alcohols in order to maintain the quality and variety of the drinks on offer.

What Lee ultimately hopes to do is to change people’s nights so that they won’t end in a drunken stupor induced by half a dozen bottles of cheap makgeolli.

of products. He would also meet with people who sought his comments on their homemade alcohol, and when he found one with promise, helped the brewer find a way to commercialize it using his personal and material networks.

Lee also uses his store as an institute to train workers for the industry. The bar’s staff is well-known for their expertise and experience, winning almost all the medals at national contests for traditional liquor sommeliers. Their skills have been honed through constant on-site education, dealing with a diverse clientele and many different kinds of drinks, but Lee’s extraordinary educational support has also played a crucial role. He gives all possible assistance to employees who apply for further training: courses provided by colleges, programs for the Academic Credit Bank System, as well as overseas professional training, like Japan’s certified sake sommelier courses. He is doing all he can to train competent professionals, including brewers, researchers, sommeliers and entrepreneurs.

Consumer Needs

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Lee explained, “Retirees or those planning for a midlife career change started making their own alcohol. And it’s notable that they weren’t satisfied with just brewing and enjoying their own drinks at home, but rather tried to spread the home brewing culture. There appeared a number of noteworthy products brewed with traditional methods, not perfect in quality perhaps but with the potential to compete with sake or regular wine. Some of the people opened breweries, traditional liquor bars and restaurants.”

The trend for craft drinks peaked around 2016, the year Lee opened Baekgom Makgeolli, the outcome of his efforts to promote traditional alcohol since 2010, crisscrossing the country to visit over 400 breweries. He finally found a way to help those obscure brewers who “hadn’t realized what excellent drinks they were producing” or “hadn’t thought of how to sell them.”

When he did open his store, he used it as a base camp for efforts to revive and popularize traditional alcohol. First, he expanded the range of choices by offering a wider variety

For a person who must have tasted and analyzed all the drinks within his reach, Lee has a simple vision for the ideal taste of makgeolli.

“Rather than dwell on the profound or subtle matter of flavor, I’d like to emphasize the point of contact between the bar and the consumer. I think more about how to draw closer to my customers than my own preferences, because I want to identify products that can sell, that will appeal to the wider public. I try not to fall into the expert’s paradox,” he said.

In the same vein, Lee has his own views on attempts to reproduce traditional liquors exactly as mentioned in historical literature. He said, “Complete adherence to traditional methods would produce a drink that might taste a bit sugary by today’s standards. Of course, it’s important to preserve tradition, but we also need to reinvent it to satisfy the needs of contemporary consumers.”

His previous job as a merchandiser of seafood and livestock products at CJ Freshway took him to every corner of the country in search of quality products, and this experience opened his eyes to food and drink pairings based on, most of all, locality.

What Lee ultimately hopes to do is to change people’s nights so that they won’t end in a drunken stupor induced by half a dozen bottles of cheap makgeolli. He wants to make nights a time to relish the simple, natural sweetness of a makgeolli that is similar to what might have been sold at a road-side tavern during the Joseon Dynasty.

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TALES OF TWO KOREAS

1 Courtesy by Kim Deog-young

Forgotten Children Documented “Kim Il Sung’s Children,” a documentary film that took 16 years to compile, brings to light a forgotten page from the Korean War – the shipment of thousands of North Korean orphans to communist Eastern Europe to be educated.

Kim Hak-soon Journalist; Visiting Professor, School of Media and Communication, Korea University Ha Ji-kwon Photographer

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n 1952, at the height of the Korean War, thousands of North Korean orphans were hustled onto the Trans-Siberian railroad. After traveling across the Eurasian continent for days, they arrived at the small Romanian town of Siret. There, the excited children stuck their heads out and waved at an assemblage of smiling townspeople who would be their caretakers.

The three-year war orphaned more than 100,000 children. It is well documented that many South Korean orphans became adoptees in the United States or Europe.

Far less known is the fate of North Korean war orphans.

“Kim Il Sung’s Children,” a documentary film released in June 2020, finally sheds light on those children who were accepted by the Communist Bloc under what is known as a Soviet-orchestrated foster education program.

About 5,000 North Korean war orphans are said to have arrived in five Eastern European countries – Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Poland and Romania – ostensibly to receive an education. In order to unravel the details, Kim Deog-young, the director of the documentary, made more than 50 trips to Eastern Europe over 16 years, beginning in 2004. But this pursuit began with a love story.

Park Chan-wook, a fellow film director, had told Kim about a Romanian woman who was searching for news about her North Korean husband more than 40 years after being separated from him in Pyongyang. The couple were closely linked to the orphans while in Romania.

“It was the first time that I ever learned about North Korean war orphans,” says Kim. Compelled to find out more, he began his long quest to unearth records and tap into old memories.

of the children. Cho returned to Pyongyang with his wife and their two-year-old daughter, but soon after their arrival he was purged and sent to a remote coal mine. Mircioiu was left to live alone with their daughter, who suffered from a lack of calcium.

When North Korea adopted its ideology of juche, or self-reliance, it launched a campaign to expel foreigners, even those who were spouses of North Korean citizens. Mircioiu and her daughter had to return to Romania in 1962 and have never been allowed to re-enter North Korea since. In 1967, Mircioiu lost contact with her husband. Today, as she approaches 90, she continues to plead with the North Korean government to tell her at least if her husband is still alive or dead. However, since 1983, all she has received from Pyongyang is a brief message that “he has gone missing.”

Mircioiu lives in Bucharest with her 61-year-old daughter and keeps sending letters of appeal to international organizations, anxiously awaiting news of her husband.

Mircioiu still wears a gold wedding band engraved with 1. A North Korean child “Jungho 1957.” She learned answers a question at Korean to preserve her marital an elementary school in memories and the love that she Budapest, Hungary, in the shared. She has even published 1950s. a “Romanian-Korean Dictio2. The inscription on the commemorative plaque nary” (130,000 entries) and a found at National Central “Korean-Romanian Dictionary” School No. 2 in Plakowice, (160,000 entries). The couple’s Poland says that North Korean war orphans heartbreaking story was comstudied at the school from piled by Kim Deog-young and 1953 to 1959.

Teacher Couple

Georgeta Mircioiu, 18, had just graduated from a teaching school in 1952.

Her first assignment was teaching fine arts at Korean People’s School, an elementary school where North Korean orphans attended classes in Siret, about 100 kilometers from the Romanian capital of Bucharest. The faculty included North Korean Cho Jung-ho, 26. The two teachers fell in love and were married in 1957 after obtaining permission from their respective governments.

Two years later, the North Korean regime suddenly decided to recall all

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aired on KBS TV in 2004, under the title “Mircioiu: My Husband Is Cho Jung-ho,” as a special feature marking the anniversary of the Korean War. Meanwhile, Kim had continued to follow the trail of North Korean orphans in the five Eastern European countries. He finally hit upon a 4-minute 30-second film from a Romanian film archive. It shows North Korean children getting off a Trans-Siberian train.

Kim said that, as soon as Mircioiu saw the film, she called out the names of the children one by one, her eyes filled with tears.

In that moment, it struck Kim that he “should not overlook this history.” He was inspired to do anything possible. It wasn’t easy to locate traces of the North Korean war orphans who had arrived in Eastern Europe in the early 1950s, though he scoured archives, schools and dormitories. And it was nearly impossible to find officials who had served during those years; most had already passed away. But he eventually managed to find people who had spent their childhood together with the North Korean children and recorded their remembrances.

Sudden Farewell

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“Kim Il Sung’s Children” shows a vivid black-andwhite clip of North Korean children studying and playing together with local kids. It also shows scenes from their group life, getting up at 6:30 every morning to salute a North Korean flag emblazoned with the face of Kim Il-sung and singing “Song of General Kim Il-sung.”

Even now, more than 60 years later, their Romanian and Bulgarian classmates can still sing the song in Korean, which begins, “Each range of Mt. Jangbaek (Paektu) has traces of blood…”

“Back then, we used to play soccer and volleyball on a hill. We were just like real brothers,” Bulgarian Veselin Kolev recalled. He said the North Korean

Before they traveled back to North Korea, some children attempted to leave traces of themselves behind. Steles or obelisks on which their names are carved still stand in forests near their old schools.

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children used to call their teachers “mom” and “dad.”

Dianka Ivanova, one of their teachers, showed an old photo and pointed to one of the children in it, saying, “This is Cha Ki-sun, who liked me the most.”

Kim learned that some children escaped from their dormitory and grew up to settle in nearby areas, marrying local women and becoming taxi drivers. He tried to track them down, but to no avail. The foster education program is known to have been planned by the Soviet Union. It was part of a propaganda campaign to publicize the “superiority” of the communist system and criticize the “consequences of the U.S. intervention in the Korean conflict.”

In 1956, the North Korean children, who were adapting to a new life in a new country, began leaving their friends and teachers. A confluence of events prompted the sudden recall of the children. Resistance movements against the Soviet Union sprang up among Eastern European countries; the so-called “August Faction Incident” in North Korea also occurred that year, an aborted move to remove Kim Il-sung from power while he was visiting Bulgaria; and two North Korean orphans in Poland were caught trying to flee to Austria.

Their days of adapting to a new life and new environment abruptly terminated, the North Korean children said goodbye to their friends and teachers and returned to their

1. Director Kim Deog-young hopes that his documentary film, “Kim Il Sung’s Children,” will help people around the world have a better understanding of North Korean society.

2. Georgeta Mircioiu, a Romanian who taught fine arts at Korean People’s School, poses with her North Korean husband Cho Jung-ho. Cho supervised and taught children at the same school.

homeland in groups 3. A group photo of children and between 1956 and teachers taken at Kim Il Sung School in 1959.

Czechoslovakia in the 1950s.

Before they trav4. Eastern Europeans still vividly eled back to North remember their North Korean Korea, some chilclassmates, with whom they studied and played together more than 60 years dren attempted to ago. leave traces of themselves behind. Steles or obelisks on which their names are carved still stand in forests near their old schools.

International Attention

The release of “Kim Il Sung’s Children” coincided with the 70th anniversary of the outbreak of the Korean War. The coronavirus lockdown doomed its chances at the box office, but the film has nevertheless reached large audiences in some 130 countries through Netflix with the help of a Korean-American supporter. Despite its failure to attract attention in South Korea, the film has been invited to the main events of 13 international film festivals, including the New York City International Film Festival, the Nice International Film Festival and the Polish International Film Festival, winning significant attention from people around the world.

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IN LOVE WITH KOREA

Dreaming in Two Languages

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Born in Russia but having spent much of her life in Korea, Eva Lee can make Koreans sit up and think about their native language. She aspires to one day host a TV program of her own and introduce the people of Korea and Russia to one another’s literature.

Cho Yoon-jung Freelance Writer and Translator Heo Dong-wuk Photographer

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Russian-born Eva Lee has spent much of her life in Korea after first coming here as a child with her mother. She is a translator, interpreter and frequent guest on television and radio.

va Lee is constantly being told that she speaks Korean better than a Korean. YouTube clips featuring her are followed by dozens of such comments. A regular on the TV show “South Korean Foreigners” (Daehan Oegugin) on MBC every 1 and “Park Myung-soo’s Radio Show” on KBS Cool FM, Eva can make people forget that she is Russian.

But being fluent in two languages sometimes means being comfortable with neither and being comfortable with two cultures sometimes means being at home with none. For Eva, an epiphany of sorts came when she entered the Graduate School of Interpretation and Translation at Hankuk University of Foreign Studies (HUFS) in 2017. Faced with the task of interpreting a three-minute text for the first time, she said she had a menbung (mental breakdown) moment when she felt she knew neither Korean nor Russian. “I don’t know what I heard,” she says.

Eva’s first encounter with Korea was when her mother was invited to teach piano here. This all took place through Korean missionaries based in Khabarovsk, where Eva and her mother lived. The connection was made through her maternal grandmother, who attended a Korean church. This is how Eva came to attend elementary school in Uiwang, Gyeonggi Province

as the only foreigner in her class. “I wasn’t so much an oegugin [foreigner] but an oegyein [alien],” she recalls.

But after six years in Korea, returning to Russia presented a kind of culture shock. Then, after another six years, she was enrolled in a Korean university on a government scholarship and experienced reverse culture shock.

Culture Shock Both Ways

Dealing with a mix of cultures and languages culminated in Eva undertaking a degree at a Russian university at the same time as she majored in media studies at HUFS. “I would spend four months in Korea and then go back to Russia for one month.

Whenever I went to Russia, everything was always the same. And when I came back to Korea, something had always changed,” she says. “Going back and forth, I had a hard time for a while. But I came to terms with it. The experience has made me less sensitive and it’s easier for me to accept new things.”

After finishing her undergraduate degree in 2015, Eva married a former classmate and took his family name, Lee. This was mostly for convenience, she says. Her maiden name was Kononova and people would – unintentionally, of course – come up with weird and wonderful variations.

The name suits her; after talking to Eva Lee for a while, she seems like

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the Korean girl next door. She grew up watching “Bangwi Daejang Ppungppungi” (Fart Master Ppungppungi), a popular children’s TV show, and even shares the experience of faithfully waiting for her boyfriend while he spent two years doing his military service. Noting that he was stationed in Namyangju on the outskirts of Seoul, she says, “Actually, I found it rather easy. We could talk on the phone and I saw him once or twice a month.”

Then, with that dry humor a lot of Korean women use when speaking of their husbands, she adds, “I don’t think I wanted to see him that often.

And now we see too much of each other.” The COVID-19 pandemic has prompted the couple, both homebodies by nature, to spend even more time inside these days.

If not for the pandemic, Eva would probably be busier doing interpretation work. With no international events being held for now, she’s working more on translations. Interpretation, she feels, is rather stressful because there are no opportunities to revise or fix mistakes. “I feel good when I’ve finished, but kind of empty,” she says.

“With translation, there’s the stress of making the deadline and never being satisfied. Later you look at your work and think, ‘Why did I write that?’ But at least you have a visible end result.”

Literary Translation

Eventually, Eva would like to tackle literary translation. She is now in an online class at the Literature Translation Institute of Korea with hopes of translating into Russian Park Mingyu’s “Pavane for a Dead Princess,” among other works, as well as introducing Russian books to Korea. Few in the field are so equally proficient as to take on the task, but Eva says she’s comfortable with both Russian and

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Korean and translates and interprets both ways. Musing over the matter, she says, “Now that I’ve lived longer in Korea than in Russia, maybe Korean is more comfortable. It depends on who I’m speaking to.”

While she says interpretation and translation give her a sense of achievement, it was broadcasting that brought Eva into the public eye. Actually, one of the reasons she worked so hard on her language skills is her original dream of being a television host. Her first television appearance was on the linguistic quiz show “Korean Language Competition” (Urimal Gyeorugi). She won first prize pitting her skills against other foreigners. When she entered university, she worked as a presenter on the TV Chosun program “Morning at Gwanghwamun.” Despite the title, she wasn’t exploring downtown Seoul; the show took her all over the country, first to introduce regional foods and later to experience various kinds of jobs.

Morning Show

“It was all hard labor, things like fishing for octopus, carrying sacks of flour at a bakery. I also had some very Korean experiences like transplanting rice seedlings,” Eva reminisces. Other memorable experiences include feeding wolves and diving with sharks.

Aside from learning that Korea, despite its small size, has very different regions, or that “wolves are more afraid of humans than we are of them,” Eva realized that on television everybody needs to act a bit. A morning show reporter, she found, has to be extraordinarily bubbly and energetic. “I realized I was more sedate than I thought, so when needed, I sort of ‘acted’ the part,” she says.

This and her language skills have prompted her to think a lot about the

1. Eva is a regular on “South Korean Foreigners,” a quiz show featuring foreigners living in Korea. She has made her mark with her general knowledge and fluent Korean.

2. Eva teaches Korean in an appearance on “The World of Dave,” a YouTube channel operated by David Kenneth Levene, Jr. from the United States.

Viewers were amazed at the way she understands even the finer nuances of the Korean language.

Thankfully, she has the language ability to draw out real conversation with Koreans and nonKoreans alike. But she feels that she’s still young and hasn’t built the network she thinks she needs.

2 © Captured from YouTube

1 © MBC every 1

phenomenon of foreigners being welcomed on Korean television, at first for simply speaking the language. “In Russia, there are very few foreigners on TV,” she says, pointing out that you have to do something aside from speaking what is, after all, the audience’s native language. “In Korea, if you speak the language, you are given the opportunity. It’s something special here and something to be thankful for, of course.”

But sometimes she wonders if it would be better if she were not so fluent. “If you’re cute and make mistakes, or speak in dialect, or have some particular pronunciation quirk – people seem to find that more fun.”

In the end, broadcasting is entertainment. Eva believes that “to continue in broadcasting, you have to work hard and create a character for yourself.”

While Eva may wonder if there’s any point in sounding exactly like a Korean, audiences embrace her “character,” that is, the foreigner who speaks like a native. This car-

ries some baggage. “People think I’m really smart. But speaking well and being smart are different things. I can speak the language because I did the training. But I don’t know about history, tradition and so on. I can only talk about what I’ve experienced. So I study hard and try to fill the gaps for myself,” she says.

Filling in the Gaps

Eva still dreams of hosting a program, but is looking now to YouTube where the entry barriers are lower and the restrictions fewer, enabling more diverse content. The world has moved on and moving to another country is not as dramatic as it once was. After Eva married, she never thought, Well, now I’m here forever. “I thought, ‘Well, we’re here for now.’ My husband wants to try living in Russia some time. Or, who knows, we could live in yet another country altogether,” she says.

The foreign community as she knows it has more to offer than sim-

ple praise and comparisons of people, food and culture. “For example, some people can help students think about what they want to do with their lives, or a person in business can inspire others with their experience,” she says, quickly voicing some ideas. Thankfully, she has the language ability to draw out real conversation with Koreans and non-Koreans alike. But she feels that she’s still young and hasn’t built the network she thinks she needs.

Another objective is to help promote relations between Korea and Russia. This year marks the 30th anniversary of the two countries’ diplomatic ties. Several events were planned but have been canceled due to the pandemic. For now, Eva translates a related Instagram feed and does volunteer interpretation for a call center, where she deals with everything from taxi instructions to calming down a person who has locked himself in a toilet booth at the airport.

At 28, Eva has plenty of talent and time to dream. In both languages.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 61

ON THE ROAD

MEDITATION ON A MOUNTAIN PATH Seonam Temple and Songgwang Temple, nestled on the eastern and western sides of Mt. Jogye in South Jeolla Province, represent major Korean Buddhist orders and are destinations of both tourists and followers of Buddhism. The mountain path connecting them is no less an attraction for hikers and believers.

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

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hen either “Songgwang Temple” or “Seonam Temple” is entered into Korean internet search engines, the first autocomplete suggestion is the path between them.

Countless previous searches have obviously included the treasured 6.5-kilometer route as often as the revered destinations themselves in the far southern reaches of the Korean peninsula.

The temples occupy opposite sides of Mt. Jogye. In Korea, it isn’t uncommon for two ancient Buddhist temples of similar scale to be positioned in the foothills of a large mountain. But it is very rare to find such a pair made out of wood that are still standing today. The hot, humid winds blowing from the southern sea nurtured an array of broadleaf and pine trees to supply the timber for construction more than 1,000 years ago, and modern-day restoration projects have smoothed out damage by man and nature.

Opposite Slopes

Seonam Temple on the eastern slope of Mt. Jogye is closer to the summit, but the road between the temples covers an equal share of their side of the mountain. When public bus service was sporadic, the residents of Oesong (”Outer Pine”) Village at the entrance of Songgwang Temple used the path as a shortcut to the city of Suncheon. But these days, bus No. 111 runs to Songgwang Temple every 30 minutes from Suncheon Station.

Once frequented only by herb gatherers, slash-and-burn farmers, or residents of local villages in a hurry, the mountain path became a popular one-day trek when Mt. Jogye was named a provincial park in the 1980s. Some 400,000 visitors now enjoy the tree-canopied path annually. Seonam and Songgwang temples at either end are no ordinary mountain temples. Not only are they ancient places more than one thousand years old, they are among the few renowned chongnim (literally “dense forest”), referring to a temple complete with training centers and monastery housing many monks.

Songgwang Temple is one of the Three Jewel Temples of Korea, which represent the three pillars of Buddhism: the Buddha, the dharma and the sangha, the community of monks and nuns. It is home to the Jogye Order of Korean Buddhism, thus the name of the mountain, which traces back to the early Zen patriarchs of Mt. Caoxi in China. It has produced more of the nation’s most eminent monks than any other temple, and is a sought-after destination for overseas monks and students of Korean Buddhism.

Seonam Temple belongs to the Taego Order, a splinter group from the Jogye Order. The temple was recognized for its value in preserving and transmitting the Buddhist culture of Korea with its inscription on the UNESCO World Heritage List in 2018. Within it are many objects designated Korea’s “National Treasures.”

The stature and history of these temples obviously give the hike on the mountain path a celebrated quality. Though they may

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1. A path about 6.5 km long on Gulmokjae, the hill between Seonam Temple on the eastern side of Mt. Jogye and Songgwang Temple on the western side, was naturally made by monks of the two temples walking back and forth more than 1,000 years ago. These days it is a hiking trail that attracts tens of thousands of visitors annually.

2. Spirit poles, called jangseung, stand on the Gulmokjae hill path. As village guardian deities, spirit poles are usually found at village entrances, but sometimes along roadsides as well to serve as guideposts.

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not be old and virtuous monks, hikers are moved by the thought of following in the footsteps of ascetics who shed the bonds and anxieties of the mundane world and traversed this path in search of enlightenment. Among them are frail travelers breathing heavily while wishing they could unload even their shadows before another uphill stretch. There are also members of hiking clubs striding effortlessly and sounding like guides when asked for directions.

They all can set aside their worries for a while and share in the give and take of consolation and healing that the path offers. Every small stone, every nameless wildflower becomes precious during the interlude, even if consolation is always fleeting.

Consolation

If Suncheon Station is your starting point, the big question is which temple to go to first. If you begin with Seonam Temple, you will be inspired by the presence of a robust stream under your feet and the vibrancy of towering hinoki cypress trees that flank the valley. By the time you catch sight of Seungseon Bridge (Bridge of Ascending Immortals), arched like a rainbow over the water, you will already have entered the Pure Land. In early spring, you can also see elegant plum blossoms of varied hues along the stone wall behind the temple’s main hall, Daeungjeon (Hall of the Great Hero). These flowers, growing on native plum trees over 400 years old, are renowned. If the season is further along, you will be greeted by lovely cherry blossoms instead.

At the front gate of the temple, Iljumun (One Pillar Gate), the subtle scent of a sweet osmanthus tree greets visitors. According to folklore, the scent travels a thousand miles and the tree also stands on the moon. In autumn, its small, white petals cover the courtyard in greeting. At this temple, the tall gate, pond and modest buildings are exquisitely arranged around flowering trees to suggest a village.

On a par with Seonam Temple’s Bridge of Ascending Immortals is Songgwang Temple’s Bridge of Three Pristine Deities (Samcheong Bridge). As if the bridge alone left something wanting, a pavilion was placed over it. Its name is Uhwagak, a pavilion where one becomes as light as a feather and rises to heaven as an immortal. This is a special site and place of rest that can only be found at Songgwang Temple. Varicolored leaves, lonely without visitors to watch them as they grow deep in the mountains, are scattered and carried by the stream to finally gather under the pavilion. The water looks cold.

If you visit Seonam Temple in the morning and reach Songgwang Temple as the sun is setting, try to find the highest possible vantage point. When the faraway afterglow seen between the hills shines down on the dark temple halls, the serenity of the sight will stay with you for a long time. The wide courtyard in front of the main hall is the center of the temple. The restrained ground plan is

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the result of restoration after the original buildings were reduced to ashes in the Korean War. Whichever temple you take for your starting point, try to stay as long as possible. Peace, too, is always fleeting.

Peace

Starting from Seonam Temple, the first hill you will come to is Gulmokjae. It lies beyond a hinoki forest and a rock where a tiger supposedly sat with his chin propped on his paw, looking into the hearts and minds of passers-by. This section of the path, with

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1. Seungseon Bridge leads into the compound of Seonam Temple, one of the seven Korean mountain monasteries inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage List. An eyecatching dragon head is carved in relief in the middle of the underside of the arch.

2. Samcheong Bridge at Songgwang Temple is smaller than its counterpart at Seonam Temple but has its own beautiful aura. Past Uhwagak, a pavilion built on top of the bridge, is the front courtyard of the temple.

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1. Two stone pagodas from the Unified Silla period (676-935) occupy the yard in front of the main hall, Daeungjeon, of Seonam Temple. The three-story pagodas standing on a twotiered base are designated National Treasure No. 395.

2. Songgwang Temple is one of the Three Jewel Temples of Korea, along with Haein and Tongdo temples. It produced 16 eminent monks who became national preceptors, hence is known as the “Temple of the Sangha Jewel.”

3. Imgyeongdang, on the left of Uhwagak, is one of the most beautiful sights of Songgwang Temple. The building has large windows that enhance the view.

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Seonam and Songgwang temples are no ordinary mountain temples. Not only are they ancient places more than one thousand years old, they are among the few renowned chongnim (literally “dense forest”), referring to a temple complete with training centers and monastery housing many monks.

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the summit of Mt. Jogye to the north, is quite steep but the trek grows less taxing after the hill. Coming from the opposite direction from Songgwang Temple, you will walk along the valley for most of the way, crossing a sturdy wooden bridge and passing a rock that supposedly rolled down the mountain and threatened to block the path before being stopped by a monk exercising his spiritual powers. The name “Gulmokjae” is inscribed on a nearby stone marker.

When climbed from the Seonam Temple side, the hill is called “Big Gulmokjae.” Coming from the Songgwang Temple side, it is named “Little Gulmokjae.”

This is the watershed of Mt. Jogye, which lies in the Honam [Jeolla] artery of mountains. Water flowing down the eastern slope heads for Suncheon Bay, while water flowing down the western slope runs to the sea off Beolgyo.

Past this hill and along a downhill road, a barley rice restaurant unexpectedly appears. Black rye bread in Europe and coarse barley rice in Korea shared the same social plateau. While the well-off minority ate white bread made from wheat and pure white rice, rye bread and barley rice sustained the poor. Of course, barley is marketed these days as a health food evoking nostalgic memories.

Once a sort of shelter created from the restored settlement site of slash-and-burn farmers, this restaurant is now seen almost as part of a package tour for hikers to Mt. Jogye; no one passes by without going in. The menu is simple: barley steamed with rice in a big iron cauldron, side dishes made from wild mountain greens gathered nearby and vegetables grown in the kitchen garden, all served up with bean paste soup cooked with dried radish tops. For anyone who has walked an hour or two up to this spot 600 meters above sea level, this is a feast beyond compare.

Sometimes, groups will make the 20-minute ascent

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1. Past the top of Gulmokjae, a 40-year-old barley rice restaurant is a welcome sight on the downhill stretch. A dish of barley rice mixed with assorted seasoned greens and red pepper paste is one of the pleasures of the trail.

2. Buril Hermitage on the hill behind Songgwang Temple is where the Venerable Beopjeong (1932-2010), revered for his upright character and self-discipline, resided from the mid-1970s to the early 1990s. Here, he wrote “Nonpossession” (Musoyu), his famous book of essays.

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from Jangan Village solely to have the meal. Indeed, the fastest way to reach this renowned restaurant is to drive along the alleyway winding up to the top of village, park there and then do the short hike.

The taste is not easily described but everyone quickly empties their bowl. Hence, the place could be called the “tastiest barley restaurant.” However, whether in the past or present, the sense of fullness barley gives has never been quite comfortable. This isn’t because one tends to eat more than usual or soon feels hungry again. Rather, the fullness makes you wonder whether you’re simply becoming accustomed to somehow fending off the natural feeling of hunger.

History

All paths are fleeting. The same could be said of consolation, peace and that feeling of fullness. The rock where the tiger is said to have sat and observed the hearts and minds of people passing by and the legend of the monk who managed to stop a large rock from rolling down and blocking the path with his mysterious power are more than just fanciful tales. Condensed within them is the history of the road over Gulmokjae, cut off and reconnected countless times over more than one thousand years.

In modern Korean history, the term “ppalchisan” refers to an armed band of partisans that formed during the Korean War. Mt. Jogye was an important base for their activities and a connection to their stronghold at Mt. Jiri. The valley of Honggol, not far from Songgwang Temple, was a hideout for the partisans and the site of a pitch battle that would have cost all their lives had they not repelled the attack. Many elderly people staying at the temple were killed. The same road on which people in those days fiercely hunt-

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ed down their enemy and were hunted in turn is the very road that is introduced here.

Later came an incident that would lead to much more fundamental and lasting conflict. In 1954, shortly after the Korean War ended, then President Syngman Rhee insisted that married monks were a remnant of Japanese colonial rule and therefore should be driven out. Korea had no tradition of allowing Buddhist monks to marry and during the latter part of the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910), when the monarchy suppressed Buddhism, it became customary to treat laymen who looked after the temple housekeeping as monks. During Japanese colonial rule (1910-1945), Korean monks were influenced by Japanese Buddhism, which began to allow monks to marry by law during the Meiji period. By 1945, Korea had more married monks than celibate monks.

Han Yong-un (1879-1944), poet and monk, wrote in his 1913 book “Restoration of Korean Buddhism” (Joseon bulgyo yusinnon), “It is nonsense to say that anyone born with a physical body has no desire for food or sex.” He urged monks to choose freely for themselves.

Interference by the state in a matter that should have been solved within the Buddhist community was more disruptive to temples than damage from the war. The Supreme Court ruled in 1969 that all religious authority lay with ordained, celibate monks.

Those who protested this decision formed the Taego Order of Korean Buddhism, with Seonam Temple

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as its headquarters. Before, monks of the two temples would come and go in search of masters and companions to learn from and share with. No longer.

Conflict regarding property rights to the temple is ongoing.

Nidanas

The dawn service at Songgwang Temple is a pious occasion. Traditional musician Kim Yeong-dong has taken the grandeur and musicality of the Buddhist

service and developed it into music for meditation. On top of the sound of the temple’s four instruments (dharma drum, wooden fish, cloud-shaped gong and temple bell) as well as the words of the service, prayers and the Heart Sutra, he overlaid a mix of synthesizer music and the sound of the daegeum and sogeum (traditional bamboo flutes). The result is a 1988 LP album titled “The Buddhist Meditation Music of Korea.” Anyone who enjoys Gregorian chants should listen to the last track on this album, “Banya Simgyeong,” the Korean name for the Heart Sutra. It is moving in a different way than New Age meditation music. There is also a CD album recorded in 2010 by professional sound engineer Hwang Byeong-jun.

Natural sounds, such as wind, have been removed to help listeners focus on the sounds and reverberations of the old timber building.

If the charm of Kim’s music is finding the hidden sounds in nature and being whisked away to a new space, Hwang’s music leads us into time that disappears without a trace.

Kim says he was inspired to make the album when he visited the Venerable Beopjeong (1932-2010) at Buril Hermitage of Songgwang Temple. For living up to his creed of “non-possession,” the monk was widely respected not just within the Buddhist community but far beyond. The Sino-Korean term for non-possession is musoyu. The smallest unit of meaning, the seme, is represented by the character yu (有), meaning “to have,” which evolved from a character in the ancient Chinese oracle bone script depicting a hand grasping a fish. A chair made by Beopjeong from oak kindling still sits in front of the hermitage; on it rests the leaf of a magnolia tree.

Had the old monk seen it, he may have responded, “Dear leaf, take a rest. You’ve worked so hard, hanging on that tree.”

Sites to Visit around Mt. Jogye Songgwang Temple

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Mt. Jogye Seonam Temple Mt. Jogye Provincial Park 2 Suncheon Open Filming Set

Suncheon City Hall

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3 Suncheon Bay National Park

1 Nagan Town Fortress and Village 4 Suncheon Bay Nature Reserve

Seoul 3

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330km Suncheon South Sea

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 69

AN ORDINARY DAY

Simple Happiness with a Twist Lim Chun-sik has been making kkwabaegi (twisted doughnuts) for 43 years at a traditional street market in Seoul. For him, each day is as simple and savory-sweet as the plain treats he sells to long queues of customers.

Hwang Kyung-shin Writer Ha Ji-kwon Photographer

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eongcheon Market is not among Seoul’s traditional market hotspots.

Its heyday ended when an overpass and redevelopment took over the area around Independence Park, shrinking the once-sprawling market considerably. Still, clusters of friendly little shops remain, and one in particular beckons customers from the nearby working-class neighborhood as well as from distant, high-rise apartments.

Situated near the market entrance, its doors flung wide open, is a small shop named Darin Kkwabaegi (Master Craftsman Twisted Doughnuts). That may sound rather boastful, considering the hundreds of places that sell kkwabaegi in the capital. But one bite of owner Lim Chun-sik’s version is enough to convince any doughnut afficionado that “master” may actually be an understatement.

The market byway rings with a voice from Lim’s shop, offering greetings, tak-

ing orders and calling forth the next customer. The scene seems to enliven everyone present, from the long lines of people waiting their turn to the smiling customers biting into their kkwabaegi and the onlookers relishing the scene.

Kkwabaegi are made by rolling flour dough out long and thin, folding it in half and twisting the two ends together almost as if making a rope – then frying it in oil.

Its roots can be traced back to mahua, a baked treat made in ancient China. A specialty around the northern coastal city of Tianjin, traditional mahua is rather hard.

It is said that the ethnic Koreans of Yanbian prefecture in northeast China first began fermenting dough with alcohol or yeast to create a softer version called taraetteok, literally “skein cake.” The kkwabaegi of Korea, in turn, added sugar, emphasizing its sweetness. Some people pull the tightly twisted kkwabaegi apart with their fingers before eating; others bite into it whole. Either way, it is a delight.

restaurant set up in a nearby construction site and a school canteen. The hard labor, using up twenty 20kg sacks of flour a day, wore him down.

Thankfully, for his health, the restaurant and canteen closed. Then, Lim switched to retail, selling to individuals directly. His just-made doughnuts quickly became a hit and a bevy of regulars formed. Before long, wordof-mouth spread and doughnut lovers from far precincts joined the queue.

To ensure quality – and to satisfy his own tastes – Lim eats three or four kkwabaegi every day. “First of all because it’s tasty, and also to see if it came out well or if it needs something tweaked. The amount of salt, the amount of sugar, the amount of water, the time spent kneading – it’s all important.”

Dough Show

In addition to a pastry delight, customers get a show. One of the reasons so many people tolerate the waiting in long lines is Lim’s flashy technique.

Each batch of dough starts with 40kg of flour; to this, he adds sugar and margarine and warm water and live yeast, then starts to knead, hitting and punching. The fermented dough is then spread wide and cut into rectangular pieces about 3cm wide and 15cm long. These are then

Working Since Age 13

Darin Kkwabaegi is a family effort. Working beside Lim is his wife, their son and daughter-in-law, and his youngest brother. The shop sign reads “A 42-Year Legacy,” but that went up in 2019; 2021 will mark their 44th anniversary.

The oldest of four sons from South Jeolla Province, Lim lost his father when he was in the sixth grade. To help his mother as she struggled to support the household alone, he set out for Seoul as soon as he finished elementary school. At the age of 13, Lim joined the workforce and never returned to the classroom. He ended up at Yeongcheon Market, where a friend from his hometown had a twigim (fritter) shop.

“This was originally the tteok (rice cake) alleyway,” explains Lim, acknowledging his market lane. “All the shops were either tteok shops or twigim shops. Then one day someone brought along a kkwabaegi, and they were like, ‘what if you tried this out?’ I heard that, and I got started making them. There weren’t any kkwabaegi shops back then – this was back before they were popular. But the people who’d tried them always said, they’re savorysweet, they’re tasty, they’re easy to digest, and so on.”

Lim and his friend stayed together for 10 years. Finally, in 1977, Lim opened his own business. He stayed in Yeongcheon Market simply because of its familiarity. Initially a wholesaler, he toiled in the predawn hours, making kkwabaegi and packing them into boxes, which would be picked up in the morning and delivered to a temporary

2

1. Lim Chun-sik has been selling kkwabaegi at Yeongcheon Market, Seoul, for more than 40 years. After kneading dough, he makes thin strands, tosses them up into the air and turns them into a twisted doughnut in a blink.

2. Since appearing on the SBS weekly TV documentary show “Master of Living,” Lim has seen a lengthening line of customers at his doughnut shop.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 71

“It’s tiring and it takes effort, sure.

But what kind of work is there where you make money without effort? Making kkwabaegi is downright elegant, as jobs go.” stretched into long and thin ropes that are then folded in half and thrown – whoosh – up into the air, twisted into a pleasing shape before landing with a satisfying thunk. Not only does thickness and size remain consistent, the whole process is a blur. Hypnotized and captivated, customers bestowed the “master” moniker on Lim. Freshness is paramount. Each batch of dough is calibrated to be sold out in a short window of time. If the dough is allowed to sit for too long, the color changes and the taste just isn’t the same: the kkwabaegi must be fried and sold within three hours of kneading. And, since pre-making ruins the taste, each kkwabaegi is served just fried and piping hot. This obviously differentiates Lim’s kkwabaegi immensely from those that may sit for hours in bakeries and supermarkets.

Three batches of dough are made during a workday that begins at the crack of dawn. Lim awakens at 5:30 and only needs five minutes to walk from home to his 40-square-meter shop. He arrives by six o’clock and the first wave of customers starts to form about 30 minutes later.

Rain or shine, they patiently 1 gather outside. The shop is too small to fit anyone inside except the Lim family, so a walk-up operation is the only choice.

“There are the cleaning ladies on their way to work bright and early, and people off to their jobs at schools or hospitals. It’s a meal replacement for some people, and others get them to go, to share with their coworkers. You know, it can feel nice to eat something a little sweet in the morning,” Lim deduces.

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Once the morning rush ends, around 10 o’clock, Lim eats his breakfast/lunch. Then comes the lunch rush of office workers. By two or three in the afternoon, the third batch of dough is gone and the shop is closed and cleaned.

After that, the Lim family members scatter to live their own lives. Lim likes to exercise and often plays screen golf.

Consistent Flavor

Lim’s prices remain almost disconcertingly cheap. At most comparable shops, three kkwabaegi cost about 2,000 won. Lim outdoes them on all levels, presenting an unrivaled trifecta of superior quality, quantity and price: he sells four kkwabaegi for 1,000 won. Remarkably, the price hasn’t changed for the past 10 years. And yet, the cost of ingredients must have risen in that time. It’s enough to make one worry about Lim’s profit margin.

“Well, it’s a family business, so there’s no personnel costs. We don’t use eggs or milk; we make it the old way, so we charge the old prices. Part of me wants to raise the price, of course, but the economy’s not doing so well these days and this is enough for me to get by, so I’ll just keep selling at this price. The customers love that we keep the price down.”

Lim has tried to replace his hands-on attention with a kneading machine but says the resulting dough tasted awful. “If it tastes bad to me, it’ll taste bad to my customers, too. And if the customers say it tastes bad, well, then that will make us feel bad. So, I got rid of the machine,” he explains.

“It’s tiring and it takes effort, sure. But what kind

of work is there where you make money without effort?

Making kkwabaegi is downright elegant, as jobs go. It doesn’t take a lot of prep time, just knead the dough and fry it and you’ve got it; then when you’re done with the frying, you throw away the oil. Done. And there’s no inventory, either.”

After Lim’s twisted doughnuts attracted media attention, he received offers to brand and franchise his shop.

But because he insists on kneading by hand, and the dough fried and sold right away, it is impossible for him to oversee multiple locations. Perhaps franchising would be plausible if Lim had apprentices, but he has kept that option on the shelf. This is the same stubbornness that has created and maintained the consistent flavor of his doughnuts over decades. Day after day, only his hands and taste buds know when his dough is just right. His customers’ addiction adds an exclamation point.

“You eat one, then you turn around, and you’re craving another. That’s what they say. I’ve seen someone eat 10 in one sitting. Some people freeze them at home and reheat them in their frying pan, some use a microwave and sprinkle sugar on them once they’re soft. Grandmothers steam them in their rice cookers, and young people cook them up in their air fryers. One grandmother bought up so many, I asked her, ‘How do you plan on eating all of these?’ And she said, ‘Don’t you worry about that, I’ll eat them how I eat them, you just worry about selling them.’”

“My family was never well off, so you know, I started working when I was very young. I started from the bottom, with nothing. The skills I could learn and being a

hard worker, that and always keeping track of hearts and minds – that’s everything that got me where I am today. I have a son, and after graduating from college he worked in an office for a few years. Then he said he wanted to join me in doing this work. At first, I was against it. The world is a better place now and he’d gotten himself a fine education; I wanted an easier, more comfortable life for him. Besides, it would be one thing for just my son to have to struggle, but this would be hard on my daughterin-law, too. This is the kind of work where you need all hands on deck. So, there’s no one, really, who can afford to take it easy. Still, try finding someone from my generation who hasn’t struggled in their life. Happiness and contentment today – that’s all we can hope for. I don’t care much for talking about how bad things used to be. Working hard now, working happily: that’s what matters.”

What Lim wants from life isn’t particularly extraordinary, either.

Measured Happiness

2

“I would like good health for my family and the people close to me. That’s all. In all my livelong days, I’ve never tried my hand at the stock market – or even bought a lottery ticket. If I make just ten thousand won, well, then I spend just ten thousand won. I lost a lot of friends back in the days when I was working so hard and making so much. It was all because of money. I go out and even if there are people there with more money than me, I’ll just pay for everyone’s dinner on my credit card.”

“I can always make more money by making more kkwabaegi, you see. So, people think I’m rich – no need for me to take them aside and explain that I’m not, is there? I mean, I have a son, and I have a grandson, too – that makes me a rich man, doesn’t it?”

Lim’s life, like the kkwabaegi he makes, is simple and savory-sweet. Three in the afternoon: done with his work day, Lim shakes the flour off his coveralls and heads out of the shop with a spring in his step. The world is still barely past midday; measured morsels of happiness await him in every direction.

1. The shop is a family business. Lim and his younger sibling make the dough and his wife and son usually handle the frying. Lim’s daughterin-law takes customer orders and wraps up the kkwabaegi.

2. Kkwabaegi is a mainstream treat found at any neighborhood bakery but there is a subtle difference in taste according to how it is made. Lim’s dough contains no eggs or milk, so the taste of his doughnuts is simpler and a bit lighter.

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BOOKS

& MORE Charles La Shure

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

Anna S. Roh Music Columnist

74 KOREANA Winter 2020

Variegated Views of the World: What Lies Beyond?

‘What Makes a City?’

By Park Seongwon, Translated by Chung Hwa Chang and Andrew James Keast, 188 pages, $16.00, New York: White Pine Press [2019]

Reading Park Seong-won’s “What Makes a City?” is a unique experience. Each of the stories in the collection could easily stand on its own as an individual work, but taken as a whole they paint a much larger picture.

The collection feels like a carefully woven spider’s web, with various threads that cross and connect. The most obvious connections are characters from earlier stories that reappear in later stories, but there are other threads as well. One that runs through nearly all the stories is that of incessant rain and rampaging water, brought on by the rainy season or a typhoon. If, as Carl Jung states, water is the most common symbol of the subconscious, then these stories are constantly being threatened by floods of what lurks beneath the surface of the mind. This may be why the truth feels as if it is at our fingertips and yet ever beyond our reach. Perhaps, as one doomed character claims, the true meaning is not to be found in the words we read because words only serve to distort.

Another thread that runs through these tales is the author’s meditations on writing, or artistry in general, and its capabilities (or lack thereof). There is the young girl trapped in a nightmare who writes a dark fairytale to justify her sacrifice as necessary for the greater good; the self-proclaimed science fiction writer of the future who begins his masterpiece with the Bulwer-Lytton classic, “It was a dark and stormy night”; the artist who finds himself alone in his disagreement with a critic before he is forgotten by the art world; and a writer trying to write a love story and instead ending up with an uncomfortable tale of a fugitive.

There is also the theme of dreams and freedom, embodied in the fathers who think of time as a cage to imprison people (or again, in the unfortunate little girl).

What would it mean to escape time? Would this open the door to true freedom? Or would it, as society claims, simply mean insanity or death?

These are just a few of the impressions that remain after reading, like landscapes frozen in flashes of lightning. It is impossible to capture the whole book in a few short words, and any attempt at summarizing the various plot lines would be equally pointless. But the overriding impression is one of a multifaceted view of the world. By shifting between characters, sometimes even in the middle of a story, the author allows us to see people and events from different points of view. This may prompt a question: which of these perspectives is the right one? Which shows us things as they truly are? It is only upon further reflection that we ask the deeper, more important question: are any of these perspectives truly the “right” one? Or are they just variegated rays of light in a dark and desperate world, guiding our way forward toward a destination beyond what we can see?

A Fresh Approach to Exploring the Korean Wave ‘Pop City: Korean Popular Culture and the Selling of Place’

By Youjeong Oh, 238 pages, $19.95, New York: Cornell University Press [2018]

This is one of the latest works to examine the Korean Wave, or hallyu. However, its unique approach and perspective set it apart from the general body of literature on the ongoing Korean pop culture fever. In short, it looks into the intersection of and interaction between the culture industry and urban practices, resulting in the “selling of place” – the commodification of physical locations by giving them affective value. The author seeks not so much to uncover the causes of the Korean Wave as to determine how it is reshaping the nation.

The book splits the Korean Wave into two parts: the first corresponds roughly to the first decade of the century and was driven by TV drama series, while the second corresponds to the second decade and has been driven by popular music, or K-pop. In the first part, the author looks at how administrative decentralization after the

advent of democracy caused local governments to turn to commercial promotion of their respective regions as momentum for development. In the second part, she discusses how K-pop idols are created and how they help sell local hotspots, such as the Gangnam and Myeong-dong neighborhoods of Seoul.

Much has already been written about the Korean Wave, but Oh’s study stands out because it roots the Korean Wave in physical locales; while it is certainly concerned with the phenomenon of the Korean Wave itself, it also probes how this phenomenon in turn changes the land that gave birth to it. This monograph will be useful to anyone interested in hallyu from an academic perspective, and fans of Korean TV dramas and pop music may also appreciate it as an opportunity to deepen their understanding of the cultural products they so love.

An Elemental Nature Shared by East and West ‘Karma’

Black String, CD €17.50, Munich: ACT [2019]

The band Black String consists of geomungo (traditional Korean zither) player Heo Yoon-jeong [Yoon Jeong Heo], daegeum flute player Lee Aram [Aram Lee], janggu percussionist Hwang Min-wang [Min Wang Hwang] and guitarist Oh Jeong-su [Jean Oh]. The band’s name comes from the word hyeongeum, literally “black string,” which is another name for the geomungo.

The geomungo is the most aristocratic and conservative of Korea’s traditional musical instruments, and so inherently characteristic that it is hard to modify in any way. Moreover, it is incompatible for playing the common Western musical scales. But in Black String, the instrument leads a jazz band, certainly signifying an interesting change. What made it possible for three traditional Korean instruments to work with one lone Western instrument? The discovery of an ele-

mental nature common to East and West: namely, spontaneity.

After their first album, “Mask Dance,” which won the Songlines Music Awards in the UK in 2018, Black String released their second album, “Karma,” under the German jazz label ACT. Among the nine tracks on the album, the first two, “Sureña” and “Hanging Gardens of Babylon,” depict a dreamlike, exotic world through stirring rhythms. Even the remake of Radiohead’s “Exit Music,” which has been covered by many famous artists and would not be expected to lend itself to anything new, reveals a unique, avant-garde sound.

In a time when borders between countries are harder to cross due to the coronavirus pandemic, Black String’s music seeks to break boundaries and send a message of “cultural solidarity to overcome the crisis.”

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ENTERTAINMENT

Recalling the 1990s Faithfully In the independent, award-winning “House of Hummingbird,” the female protagonist struggles to make sense of her world. Just like a hummingbird, which flaps its wings 90 times per second, the director of the film unravels her autobiographical story with seemingly effortless ease.

Song Hyeong-guk Film Critic

O

n August 29, 2020, at the one-year anniversary celebration of “House of Hummingbird,” Kim Bo-ra, the director and screenwriter, described her predominant emotion while making her critically acclaimed movie: shame.

“I had been ashamed of myself for clinging too much to the movie while I was making it. I heard so many people tell me, ‘Take it easy. Why do you work so hard?’ There’s almost a culture in Korea where people who chase their dreams are considered too naïve, as if they know nothing of the world. That’s why I kept hidden from other people for a long time my wish to become a film director. If I were to go back in time, I think I could be less ashamed of myself.

If there’s anyone here who wants to work hard to realize a dream, please don’t feel ashamed of that sincerity or of how much you love that dream.”

Prestigious international film festivals showered the movie with more than 50 awards in 2019. Starting with the Grand Prix of the Generation 14plus International Jury at the Berlin International Film Festival, the movie went on to scoop up awards in major categories at the Tribeca Film Festival, the Seattle International Film Festival, the Beijing International Film Festival and the Athens International Film Festival. It also won the Network for the Promotion of Asian Cinema (NETPAC) award at the Busan International Film Festival, as well as Best Director and Best Supporting Actress at the Baeksang Arts Awards in Seoul.

The Guardian has ranked “House of Hummingbird” No. 18 on its list of classics of modern Korean cinema. In the United States, the film was available for online screenings

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in the summer of 2020 and received rave reviews. The New York Times wrote, “Kim discreetly balances the personal and the social, bringing us close to Eun-hee while also letting us see the other realities and truths – a national tragedy, a news bulletin, a friend’s pain – that she is slowly starting to notice.”

Movie critic site rogerebert.com gave the film a perfect score and enthused, “Although there are doubtlessly aspects of the story that will resonate more deeply with Korean audiences (who will presumably be more primed for the major event that the story is building towards in the final scenes), [Kim] finds a way of recognizing and depicting the emotional perils of adolescence – especially the way in which seemingly unshakeable friendships can turn on a dime – in ways that cut across all cultural boundaries.”

On Rotten Tomatoes, a movie ratings aggregator known for its Tomatometer, the movie has scored 100 percent positive reviews. In comparison, “Parasite,” winner of the Palme d’Or and the Academy Award for Best Picture, scored 99 percent.

Self-Regard

The film’s protagonist is Eun-hee, a second-year middle school student. Kim mined memories of her early teen years to pen the semi-autobiographical script. On screen, the friendship, violence, alienation and affection Eun-hee experiences at home, in class and in her neighborhood cram school delicately mesh with the social circumstances of Korea in 1994. They form the backdrop of one of the worst tragedies in modern Korea: the collapse of Seoul’s Seongsu

The main poster for the movie “House of Hummingbird” (2019) directed

by Kim Bo-ra. Set in 1994 when the Seongsu Bridge over the Han River collapsed, the movie depicts an eighth-grade girl learning about life and the world.

The poster is made of an original oil painting by a young rising artist, Kim Seung-hwan. © EPIPHANY FILM / MASS ORNAMENT FILMS

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 77

Bridge on October 21, 1994. Thirty-two people died and 17 were injured due to the bridge’s structural failure, a result of shoddy construction. The incident left a deep, humiliating scar in the hearts of many Koreans that remains decades later. It was a pivotal moment for Kim as a young teen; she has said in interviews that she wanted her movie to highlight the consequences of Korea’s all-out, rapid modernization.

Accordingly, 1990s Korean society is exhibited in a frank, straightforward manner.

Worth noting is the fact that socially conscious films leading New Wave Korean cinema since the 1990s have predominantly been the works of male directors whose narratives begin from macro-social discourse. In contrast, “House of Hummingbird” manages to capture the atmosphere of contemporary Korean society with personal and trivial episodes from the lives of the protagonist and the characters around her. This comes from the power of a female direc-

tor who “sincerely loved” the protagonist. Kim spent three years searching for the right actress to play Eun-hee.

Cry for Help

In one of the early scenes, Eun-hee’s brother beats her and we learn this is hardly a one-off occurrence. At dinner, Eun-hee musters the courage to tell her parents about the violence. She wants her father to wield his authority, but he remains silent. Her mother offers no shield either; she replies instead, “You two, stop fighting.” Clearly, Eun-hee’s brother is a serial aggressor and she is his punching bag, but her parents treat their daughter’s plea as if it were a request to settle a simple sibling spat. Her father is indifferent and her mother offers a solution in the best way she can while being compliant with the patriarchal hierarchy of the family.

Toward the end of the movie, Eun-hee yells at her parents and her brother slaps her. This time, her father shouts, “How dare you strike your sister in front of your father!” The message is that he will turn a blind eye toward his son’s violence as long as it isn’t displayed in front of him.

This is very typical of an authoritarian person who overvalues hierarchal protocols. In Korean society, many young girls share Eun-hee’s plight to a lesser or greater extent.

Eun-hee does not seek to escape.

She goes to school calmly but shares her grievances with her best friend – Young-ji, a teacher at the neighborhood cram school.

Young-ji attended a prestigious university, but is on leave for reasons unknown. Though not explicitly explained in the movie, Youngji’s eyes drift when she broaches the topic, in a manner common among young people at the time;

“House of Hummingbird” manages to capture the atmosphere of contemporary Korean society with personal and trivial episodes from the lives of the protagonist and the characters around her.

1. Kim Bo-ra (third from left) poses with the movie’s cast after receiving the Grand Prix of the Generation 14plus at the Berlin International Film Festival in 2019.

1 © Ku Semi

78 KOREANA Winter 2020

2, 3. With her family not communicating enough and her school teacher only emphasizing competition, Eun-hee shares her thoughts and frustrations with her cram school tutor.

2

student activism in the nation’s pro-democracy movement had lost steam by the early 1990s.

Eun-hee asks Young-ji, “Did you ever hate yourself?”

The teacher relates a frequent self-loathing. Even though Young-ji seems to bear very different issues, Eun-hee finds in her a kindred spirit. What is comforting to this young, sorrowful soul is not a modicum of condolence expressed by an adult she admires; rather it’s the act of sharing her sorrow with someone in a similar situation. To all Koreans who have in their collective memory a series of tragic accidents that includes the collapse of Seongsu Bridge, the sound of the “hummingbird” flapping its wings resonates deeply.

Questions to the Viewers

In South Korea, political democratization continued into the 1990s. Alongside it came a renaissance of popular culture.

New entertainment permeated the decade, including the trio Seo Taiji and Boys (forerunners of K-pop) and TV series such as “Eyes of Dawn,” set against the Japanese colonial period, and “Hourglass,” which dealt with the turbulence of Korea’s modern history. Today, cultural products stoking nostalgia for this era gain popularity. “Reply,” an anthology TV series in which the timeline of a group of friends flips back and forth between the present and the past, has been a consistent hit, and songs that were popular at the time are making waves on YouTube with millions of views.

“House of Hummingbird” remembers the 1990s a bit differently, posing questions to its audience: what were you

3 © EPIPHANY FILM / MASS ORNAMENT FILMS

like back then? Were you full of hope? Were you someone who was bullied at school or was it the other way around?

What did we learn from the collapse of Seongsu Bridge or Sampoong Department Store the following year, another grave mishandling of construction that claimed more than 500 lives, the largest peacetime disaster in South Korean history?

At about the time the character of Young-ji would have entered university, movie makers were being imprisoned for secretly producing anti-government films. “House of Hummingbird” faithfully recalls touchstones of that gloomy era, a reminder of those days for viewers who lived them and an introduction to a different face of Korea for those who did not. There is certainly no shame in that.

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ESSENTIAL INGREDIENTS

Pollack

A Versatile Fish

Pollack, a winter fish, is considered to be a health food as it has more protein and less fat than blue-backed fish. In Korea, it is even found on tables for traditional ceremonial occasions – a food with auspicious meaning.

Jeong Jae-hoon Pharmacist and Food Writer

1 © imagetoday

80 KOREANA Winter 2020

I

f there’s one fish every Korean knows, it has to be myeongtae, or fresh pollack. The origin of this name can be found in “Writings under Forest” (Imha pilgi), a vast collection of essays written by the late Joseon scholar Yi Yu-won (1814-1888) and published in 1871.

The story goes that there was a fisherman with the family name Tae who lived in Myeongcheon, Hamgyeong Province, in present-day North Korea. One day, he caught a fish and offered it to provincial governor.

The governor enjoyed the fish and asked what type it was, but nobody knew its name. He was simply told that it was caught by someone with the family name Tae from Myeongcheon. The governor said, “A fish caught by Tae from Myeongcheon. We’ll call it myeongtae.” That’s how the name was supposedly created. This is likely an apocryphal story rather than the real origin of the name. But from this anecdote in Yi Yu-won’s book, it’s evident that pollack was a common fish at the time.

He wrote, “Min Jeong-jung foretold that 300 years later, this fish would be much more prized than it was in his days, and it seems this is true. When I went to Wonsan, I saw the fish piled by the O River like stacks of firewood, so high that I could not count them.”

When Min Jeong-jung made this prediction about pollack in the 17th century, it seems the fish was not yet particularly appreciated as food. In “Diaries of the Royal Secretariat” (Seungjeongwon ilgi), pollack appears in an entry from 1652 regarding a problem where pollack roe was mixed with cod roe in a tribute offering to King Hyojong from Gangwon Province. However, three centuries later, pollack was a popular fish eaten throughout the country. Easily caught, it also became a common ingredient in preparing the table for various rituals across all social classes.

slowly matured for one year. The water content in the fish evaporates as it freezes during the night and thaws the next day, forming many pores in the flesh, which develops a spongy texture. Although bugeo has a higher moisture content than hwangtae, the latter is less tough and easier to chew thanks to its porous structure. Additionally, the climate of the highlands, characterized by low humidity and lots of wind, means the moisture in the flesh departs easily, making the drying process faster without hardening the fish. The flesh remains soft and is easily 1. Pollack is dried outdoors during the winter, frozen and thawed more than 20 times, to become hwangtae . Drying sites are found in mountainous areas of Gangwon Province near the east coast, such as Daegwallyeong and Jinburyeong passes and Pyeongchang.

2. Hwangtae , torn into pieces lengthwise, can be used to make soup or side dishes. Slightly roasted over a fire, it also makes a popular snack with beer.

2 © gettyimages

Drying Methods

Before modern refrigeration was introduced, pollack was mainly bought and sold dried, except in winter. Depending on the level of dryness, the fish had several different names, such as kodari, jjaktae, bugeo, hwangtae and meoktae. Kodari is half-dried on skewers with the viscera and gills removed; jjaktae is salted and dried, very chewy with a salty taste; bugeo was just another name for myeongtae in the past, but now refers to pollack dried at the seashore by the sea wind and sun for a short time.

Hwangtae, by contrast, is dried through a process of repeated freezing and thawing over several months then

torn along the grain.

In the process of drying and maturing, the fat and amino acid in the fish turn a golden color, the reason for the name hwangtae (hwang means “yellow”). If the weather is too cold and the fish remains white, it’s called baektae (baek meaning “white”), and if the weather is warm and the fish turns dark, it’s called meoktae (meok meaning “dark” or “black”). Hwangtae dried in Daegwallyeong mountain pass near the east coast is particularly famous and the drying sites there, filled with snow-covered racks of pollack, attract photographers from around

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 81

the country.

The ways in which this fish is eaten are as varied as its names. Hwangtae and bugeo lightly roasted over a fire make a good snack with alcoholic drinks. Or they can be shredded and soaked in water until soft, then mixed with red pepper paste sauce or plain soy sauce for a side dish eaten with rice. Hwangtae can be cut into big pieces and boiled down with onion, spring onion, red peppers, soybean sprouts, tofu and various condiments for a spicy and savory braised dish. This dish also works with kodari or bugeo, which are less expensive than hwangtae. Another popular pollack dish is roasted hwangtae, made by first soaking the dried fish in water then covering it with a sauce made of red pepper paste and other condiments.

The taste makes you naturally crave a drink.

Eaten in Various Ways

Although hwangtae and bugeo are popular as an accompaniment for liquor, they are also used as a hangover cure.

Stir-fry hwangtae pieces with thin, square-cut pieces of radish and a few drops of sesame or perilla oil, then add

water and boil the mixture to make a whitish soup. Some tofu and stirred egg can be added at the end. Eating this soup with rice will bring up a sweat and make you feel better after a night of heavy drinking.

It is said that no part of the pollack is wasted. The skin of bugeo is deep-fried on its own or stir-fried with various condiments, whereas the gills, tripe and eggs are salted down. Salt-preserved pollack roe, called myeongnan in Korea, was introduced to Japan where it’s called mentaiko, literally “myeongtae eggs.” Pollack roe is used in various dishes in Japan, such as pasta, rice balls and baguette sandwiches.

The center of pollack roe production in Korea is Busan, where several companies are engaged in research to develop new dishes. Today, pollack roe is made less salty than in the past, but the old, saltier variety is still sought out. These days, pollack roe is also consumed in new ways through new products, such as dried seaweed covered with pollack roe, scorched rice chips covered with pollack roe, or even pollack roe squeezed from a tube.

But most Koreans would still choose myeongtaetang

1

© gettyimages

82 KOREANA Winter 2020

Pollack isn’t only an important fish in Korea. As of 2018, it was the second most popular fish species caught in the world and is eaten more than any other kind, making it a crucial food source.

2

3 © gettyimages

(fresh pollack stew) as their favorite dish. As you savor the fresh white meat that breaks down in the mouth layer upon layer, one spoonful after another, a bowl of rice very quickly disappears. Living in the sea, fish don’t have to use their strength resisting gravity, unlike animals on land. This is why fish are less tough.

Fish that live in deep seas, such as pollack and cod, have more protein and less fat than blue-backed fish. The muscle fibers are short and arranged into myotomes, units of thin flakes. According to 2019 research by the National University of Singapore, the V-pattern in fish muscles is due to the environment. Simply put, the pattern is made by the physical friction and stress of swimming in the sea.

Pollack isn’t only an important fish in Korea. As of 2018, it was the second most popular fish species caught

1. Dried pollack soup is a typical hangover cure. Stir-frying thin pieces of bugeo with square-cut radish and a few drops of sesame oil then boiling the ingredients in water will yield a whitish soup.

2. Bugeo and hwangtae can both be used to make side dishes by shredding and soaking the dried fish until tender and then mixing them with a sauce made of red pepper paste.

3. Salt-preserved pollack roe is an expensive food ingredient. The roe is usually mixed with sesame oil and eaten with hot rice.

© PIXTA

in the world and is eaten more than any other kind, making it a crucial food source. Since restrictions were placed on cod fishing due to the danger of extinction, pollack has been increasingly sought after as a replacement. It is also often used to make surimi, processed fish paste. As of yet, pollack is still a sustainable resource in the fishing industry.

Specialty from the East Sea

Unfortunately, however, the fish have disappeared from Korea’s coastal waters. This means that nearly all pollack products sold in Korea, whether fresh, dried or roe, are imported. Rising sea temperatures caused by global warming and the overfishing of immature pollack have made the fish scarce around the Korean peninsula.

Now, 400 years after the prediction of the Joseon literati Min Jeong-jung, pollack in Korea is not only prized but rare. The good news is that about 21,000 pollack were caught in 2018. Efforts to protect the fish and implement fishing restrictions are improving the situation little by little. Though it’s no longer possible to see this fish piled up high like stacks of firewood, hopefully fresh myeongtae caught in Korea’s East Sea will soon be seen on the dinner table once more.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 83

LIFESTYLE

Car Camping Resets Leisure Travel

84 KOREANA Winter 2020

Car camping is a popular leisure activity that allows for cheap, spontaneous getaways so long as you are willing to sleep in your vehicle. It is growing increasingly popular amid the COVID-19 pandemic and the need for social distancing.

Kim Dong-hwan Reporter, The Segye Times

“F

i r s t , p u s h t h e fi r s t - r ow bench seat forward as much as possible. Then, fold the second-row bench seat in the same direction,” instructs a YouTuber as he points to the inside of his sports utility vehicle. In less than 30 seconds, he creates a new floor inside of the car.

Next, he measures to make sure his mattress can fit. Two meters long and one meter wide. All set.

“Any man can feel comfortable in this space,” he says with a smile. “It can be cozy if you travel with your girlfriend.” This video, uploaded to YouTube in July 2019, had more than 100,000 views as of this October.

Car camping is to “bivouac in a car.” It’s a style of camping that involves only a few camping essentials, adjustments and a willingness to accept less comfort and fewer amenities. The approach isn’t only appealing to budget-minded travelers; oth-

A car camper stays by the side of Lake Chungju.

Car camping allows for simple relaxation away from formal camping grounds, which often have a waiting list for permits.

ers may appreciate how reservations and various preplanning tasks can be skipped.

Membership in Car Camping Club, Korea’s biggest online community of car campers, jumped from about 80,000 in late February to some 170,000 by early September.

The outbreak of COVID-19 may well have contributed to the two-fold increase in membership. Car camping helps people escape the emotional and mental stress of coping with the pandemic and being outdoors is conducive to social distancing. One female YouTuber has attracted more than 400,000 viewers with a single video on car camping. She said that for those who want to enjoy spending time alone, there’s nothing like the kind of leisure it provides.

Last March, as Korea was tightening its grip on COVID caseload and social distancing became the new norm, an episode of “I Live Alone,” a popular reality show on MBC TV, featured a young actor and a member of a boy band car camping at a seaside park. After the episode aired, “car camping” popped up on portal

© Lee Jung-hyuk

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 85

Car campers can be on their way at the spur of the moment. They can park their car practically anywhere they want to linger, unbound by a formal camping ground or recreational forest. Plus, they don’t need any reservations.

1

site lists of search keywords and postings with enthusiastic responses were uploaded to social media. Hundreds of thousands of results can be found if you search Instagram hashtags for “car camping.”

Get Up and Go

Spontaneity and ease are the main features powering the growth of this car-oriented leisure culture. Car campers can be on their way at the spur of the moment. When their workweek ends on Friday, they can suddenly decide to drive to a scenic locale and enjoy fresh air the next morning.

They can park their car practically anywhere they want to linger, unbound by a formal camping ground or recreational forest. Plus, they don’t need any reservations.

Traditional camping with tents and an array of equipment hasn’t lost its appeal. But that means there’s also a long wait to get into a registered camping ground. Securing a time slot amid the high demand naturally requires the kind of planning and com-

86 KOREANA Winter 2020

mitment that car campers avoid.

Most car campers prefer seaside or riverside parks installed with public restrooms. There are plenty of car camping sites with such facilities. But an increasing number of these public places have started to restrict access because of problems that can arise as a result of unrestricted camping and cooking. In some cases, many car campers have converged at the same time and damaged the environment.

There are also other drawbacks.

For example, air mattresses aren’t as comfortable as standard mattresses, so car camping may not be ideal for sensitive sleepers. Another potential sleep-related problem is ensuring a flat surface. In 2020, regulators allowed passenger cars to be converted into camping vehicles, but it isn’t always easy to find a uniformly even surface.

And, of course, car camping isn’t an attractive option for anyone who simply must start their day with a morning shower. Car campers also have to be prepared to cope with weather extremes as it can be risky to keep

1. The inside of a sports utility vehicle outfitted to suit a car camper’s taste. A sleeping pad is essential.

After that, the interior can be as austere or decorated as the camper wants.

2. SUVs are preferred for car camping because they have wide interior space. Owners of regular passenger cars may fold back their seats and tolerate a cozier fit.

2 © Kim Nam-jun

© gettyimages

their air conditioner or heater on for a long time.

Consumer Market Niche

The car industry and outdoor equipment brands have the answers to mitigate these discomforts. SUVs, a longtime favorite for accommodating both passengers and equipment, are preferred because in addition to giving campers open space for sleeping, they provide protection from weather. But sales of pickup trucks have increased sharply, too. They rose from some 22,000 units in 2017 to about 42,000 in 2018, according to a report by the Korea Automobile Manufacturers Association. In the same twoyear period, the value of the domestic camping industry grew around 30 percent from 2 trillion won to 2.6 trillion won, or about US$1.8 billion to US$2.3 billion, according to the Korea Agency of Camping and Outdoor Activity.

Analysis of sales data for the June-July period by online shopping mall SSG.com shows that sales of car

camping tents (which can easily be attached to the back of any vehicle) and air mattresses soared a whopping 664 percent and 90 percent, respectively, from two months earlier. Sales of iceboxes, another essential camping accessory, increased more than tenfold. According to superstore Lotte Mart, sales of camping chairs and tables rose 103.7 percent, sleeping bags and air mattresses 37.6 percent, tents 55.4 percent, and camping cooking utensils 75.5 percent during the same period.

Of course, the amount and quality of equipment required comes down to what individual campers need or want.

Much depends on the desired level of comfort. Some car campers simply need a few prepared meals and a bottle of wine to declare that they’re ready to go. Still, there’s always the temptation to upgrade for a little more convenience on the next outing. One male YouTuber admitted that he quit going on car camping trips just because of his excessive passion for high-end equipment.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 87

JOURNEYS IN KOREAN LITERATURE

CRITIQUE

A Thrilling and Confusing Initiation Born in 1987, Kim Se-hee realistically depicts the experiences and concerns of her contemporaries.

Her fiction portrays the landscape of her time, focusing on the issues confronted by young adults first entering society, such as dating and marriage or employment and housing, and expands consensus among her generation.

Choi Jae-bong Reporter, The Hankyoreh

K

im Se-hee’s works can be classified as initiation novels in that the protagonists are at the stage of first entering the workforce or starting a new job.

However, their initiation does not go smoothly in an atmosphere of celebration and welcome. The socioeconomic instability and chaos that the younger generation has experienced since the onset of this century, as well as anxiety about the future, are major features of her writing.

Before we discuss her short stories, let’s first look at her only full-length novel, “The Love of the Port,” published in June 2019. Based on the author’s own experience, the novel deals with the “pseudo-homosexuality culture” of girls in their mid- to late teens. The title refers to Mokpo, the port city where Kim Se-hee grew up. The protagonist attends a secondary school exclusively for girls, where the students write and read fanfiction featuring teen idols as same-sex couples and take fellow students as objects of love. The girls reckon that “dating a male student is like going over to the other side.” Their language claims that love between female students should be recognized as a thing on “this side” – that is, something in the realm of normality – while heterosexuality is regarded as being on “the other side,” the realm of abnormality.

The plot of the book explores the identity and meaning of the passion that capture the girls as seen from the viewpoint of the protagonist, who is now a writer looking back on that time from a dozen years later. The author realistically reproduces the world of students at all-girls’ schools in the past, stressing the need for an open view of love. With the recent publication in Korea of a number of novels deal-

88 KOREANA Winter 2020

ing with homosexuality, this work is part of a trend contributing to social debate on the subject and the broadening perspective of it.

Prior to this, Kim Se-hee’s first collection of short stories, published by Minumsa in February 2019, earned her the Shin Dong-yeop Literary Award for up-and-coming writers. The opening sentence of the story that lends its title to the collection, “Easy Days,” is quite suggestive.

“On the Sunday before I went to work at my first job, I happened to meet Jae-hwa in Daehangno.”

The first word of this story in Korean is “first,” and the noun that the adjective modifies is “going to work.” However, in this novel, the company and society waiting for the protagonist (the Korean word for “company” is hoesa and that for “society” is sahoe, both composed of the same syllables but in reverse) are not at all favorable to her, although they may seem so on the surface.

She is tired because the workload is heavy, but gets recognized for her ability, and her satisfaction and sense of accomplishment in her work are high. She runs an internet blog featuring a fictional character and posts fake reviews of products from advertising sponsors. Awareness of and self-reflection on the unethical nature of this mechanism itself, hiding from an unspecified number of blog visitors the fact that the site is promoting specific products, only comes “belatedly.”

Among those who use the household disinfectants she highly praised on her blog, some cases of death and irreparable lung damage occur. This reminds us of an actual case of a toxic humidifier disinfectant that caused at least 1,500

have used, are typical. And such problems lead to an unexpected realization of the situation within Won-hee herself. In the novel, the word “vertigo” is used to designate all that.

“There are times when vertigo occurs, times when you have to accept reality, when a scene that has not yet been accepted, and has not yet been recognized, suddenly appears plainly as if a light has been turned on, and you want to close your eyes and turn your head away, but even that isn’t allowed. Now was just such a time.”

The novel’s title comes from this passage, and the word “vertigo” used here also recalls the literary term “epiphany” commonly used in explanations of James Joyce’s novels. However, if an epiphany refers to some kind of insight through realization and a consequent growth of the soul, the vertigo found in Kim Se-hee’s fiction is closer to the sense of confusion and frustration that Kim Se-hee: comes with this insight. The last sen“ In retrospect, literature has always given me tence of the story, “She wondered how the courage to cope with the things I have to she would remember this move and this moment in the distant future,” is apparcope with.” ently open to both positive and negative interpretations, but the underlying nega© Marie Claire tive judgment about the current situation seems to be stronger. confirmed deaths and is estimated to have led to as many as In an interview, when questioned about her creative 14,000. Although this isn’t the direct reason, the protagonist source, Kim Se-hee replied, “Something that can’t be eventually quits her first job and becomes reluctant to talk resolved seems to develop into a novel.” specifically about what she did there.

She explained: “Saying that it can’t be resolved but The short story, “Vertigo,” from the same collection weighs on your mind means that there’s something there. depicts the worries and wanderings of the young generation There’s something that can’t be resolved, but I don’t know regarding dating, marriage and housing. Won-hee, the proexactly what it is. So I turn those things into a story one way tagonist, has lived with her lover Sang-ryul in a studio apartor another. In the process of creating, arranging and writing ment, but they have decided to move to a two-room unit down stories, I sometimes discover what it is, and somebecause of the inconvenience caused by their different life times it seems to yield what might have been its meaning.” rhythms. This is a story of two people choosing a suitable In the “Author’s Note” at the end of the collection, she home, buying used furniture, moving and so on. In the prosays, “As I was writing these stories, I was able to open cess, problems that have been suppressed rise to the surface. myself up to all those moments. In retrospect, literature has The prejudice and criticism against an unmarried woman always given me the courage to cope with the things I have living with a man, as well as a sense of shame about the way to cope with.” This is probably why Kim Se-hee’s novels poverty obliges Won-hee to set up house with things others form a generational bond of sympathy.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 89

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