2019 Koreana summer(English)

SUMMER 2019

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS

SPECIAL FEATURE

TEMPLE FOOD

Casting Aside Desire and Delusion A Meal Shedding Greed; Communion with All Creation; Soul-Soothing Food Evokes Home; You Are What You Eat; A Monk’s Way of Tea

Temple Food

VOL. 33 NO. 2

ISSN 1016-0744

IMAGE OF KOREA

Perfect Pairing Kim Hwa-young

Literary Critic; Member of the National Academy of Arts © News1

K

oreans are, whether good or bad, among the heaviest drinkers in the world and food is invariably on the table with bottles and cans of liquor. Makgeolli, a milky rice wine, demands an order of mung bean pancakes. Soju, the clear, distilled liquor, is best with grilled pork belly. For fried chicken, anything other than beer is practically unthinkable. Indeed, chimaek, an English-Korean compound of chicken and maekju, is ingrained in the everyday lexicon.

The history of chimaek is relatively short. In the post-Korean War years, even a fried egg was a rare sight, let alone fried chicken. Then, in 1960, an incipient version of chimaek appeared at Nutrition Center, a restaurant in Myeong-dong, downtown Seoul. It served rotisserie chicken and draft beer. Around that time, U.S. chicken breeds and feed began to be imported, and a few years later, poultry farms with chickens crammed in cages emerged. Meanwhile, shortening, cooking oil and flour became mass produced.

With all the ingredients reaching critical mass, Lim’s Chicken, the first Korean fried chicken chain, opened in 1977 in Shinsegae Department Store’s basement, a hub of prepared foods in downtown Seoul. Seven years later, Korea’s first Kentucky Fried Chicken store opened in the neighboring Jongno District.

Today’s familiar chimaek pairing surfaced in 2002, when Korea co-hosted the World Cup finals with Japan. The underdog Korean team made a surprising run to reach the semifinals, sending the whole country into a frenzy. Exhilarated fans gathered in front of screens in plazas, restaurants, pubs and bars and ordered chimaek as they watched the matches. Propelled by Korean TV series exalting it, chimaek also spread to other Asian countries.

There is also a dark side, though. The boiling cooking oil, high-calorie batter and lofty sodium level of Korean-style chicken plus the beer whet the appetite and thirst, leading to overeating and overdrinking. Thus, besides joyous memories, Koreans’ beloved go-to favorite for social gatherings is associated with obesity, gout, heart disease and liver disease. Nevertheless, all over the country, a quick phone call can summon the popular pairing to the door within half an hour at a relatively affordable price, opening up “chimaek heaven.”

Editor’s Note: In the article “Greeting the Spring” in the Spring 2019 issue, the Korean name of yellow cornelian cherry is sansuyu, not yuchae. We regret the error.

Editor’s Letter

PUBLISHER

Lee Sihyung

Healthy Diet for Body and Mind

EDITORIAL DIRECTOR

Kim Seong-in

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Lee Kyong-hee

EDITORIAL BOARD

Han Kyung-koo

Benjamin Joinau

Jung Duk-hyun

Kim Hwa-young

Kim Young-na

Koh Mi-seok

Charles La Shure

Song Hye-jin

Song Young-man

Along with temple stays, temple food is all the rage these days. An integral aspect of the monastic traditions of Korean Buddhism, the ageold vegetarian diet of monks and nuns attracts health-conscious people.

Consequently, restaurants serving temple-style meals are growing ever popular, as are temple food cooking classes and demonstrations.

In nominating the country’s seven Buddhist mountain monasteries as UNESCO World Heritage sites in 2017, the Cultural Heritage Administration explained that they are living centers of religious faith, spiritual practice and daily living of monastics and lay believers. The daily living at Buddhist temples and monasteries prominently involves clothing and dietary customs, which have been handed down for over a thousand years.

Koreana looks into the dietary traditions of Korean Buddhist temples in the special feature of this issue, “Temple Food: Casting Aside Desire and Delusion.” It is an attempt to offer a glimpse into the essence of Korean temple food beyond the current hype. The temples and the monks and nuns introduced here, as well as the authors, were very carefully selected. Thus, the coverage looks back at the history of Buddhist food, dating back to early Buddhism in India and transmitted to different regions of Asia, and faithfully depicts how the meals are prepared and eaten today.

It will be most gratifying if these stories introduce our readers to the world of Korean temple food, not only its recipes and flavors, but its significance in today’s world. “Simple recipes make a simple life,” says the Venerable Gyeho, the abbess of Jinkwan Temple [see p. 27]. It is hoped that simple food will help rid our minds of suffering, and also help save our endangered planet.

Yoon Se-young

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SPECIAL FEATURE

Temple Food: Casting Aside Desire and Delusion 04

SPECIAL FEATURE 1

Soul-Soothing Food Evokes Home

Mun Tae-jun

Baek Young-ok

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22

SPECIAL FEATURE 2

You Are What You Eat

Kong Man-shik

Park Mee-hyang

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A Monk’s Way of Tea Park Hee-june

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Three Mountain Paths in Mungyeong

Happiness Dreamed by a ‘Lucky’ Youth

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Eating as Communion with All Creation

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A Meal Shedding Greed

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GUARDIAN OF HERITAGE

With Fire, Air and Water, Smith Forges Homi Kang Shin-jae

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IN LOVE WITH KOREA

Light for the Poor and Powerless Choi Sung-jin

ESSENTIAL INGREDIENTS

An Allegorical Tale of Isolation and Ostracization

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‘The Paintings of Korean Shaman Gods: History, Relevance and Role as Religious Icons’

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Ethical Time Lapse That Follows Loss Choi Jae-bong

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SPECIAL FEATURE 1

Temple Food: Casting Aside Desire and Delusion

A

s a young child, I would accompany my mother to a temple, about an hour’s walk away. On those occasions, my mother would carry the grains she had grown herself in the paddies and fields to make an offering to the Buddha. For three days before going, she would be very careful about what she ate and excluded all meat.

When the day came, she awakened at dawn, washed her hair and bathed herself. She was very meticulous about the process as if she was trying to expel all the negative energy that had attached itself to her body and mind. At the temple, as she prostrated herself before the Buddha, she whispered her wishes.

Although I was so young, the fuss of waking up at dawn to get ready did not bother me. Part of the reason was the temple food. I think my first taste was red bean porridge.

Made with rice cooked in the liquid of red beans that had been boiled, crushed and strained, the patjuk was delicious.

The sticky rice balls in the shape of bird’s eggs, made of glutinous rice dough, in the porridge were cute and tasty. The memory of receiving a bowl of the porridge and eating it as I sat beside my mother is still relatively clear. Red bean porridge is eaten at temples because it is believed the reddish color repels evil spirits and negative energy and provides protection against unexpected disaster. Aside from the porridge, we sometimes ate noodles (guksu) or hot steamed rice mixed with various greens (bibimbap).

Extreme Simplicity

A Meal Shedding Greed At Korean Buddhist temples, food is a means of cleansing the mind. Through a meal one seeks to gain peace of mind by abandoning materialistic desires and possessions. A meal at a temple, therefore, is tantamount to spiritual practice to attain a pure mind.

On the whole, however, temple food was a bit flavorless to my childish palate. There was no meat, and the food was neither sweet, nor salty, nor spicy, so the time devoted to eating seemed long and the whole meal rather tedious. It was a long time before I developed a taste for such bland food.

As an adult I found myself going to temples for many reasons. Sometimes it was to speak with elderly priests, sometimes to write a newspaper article about a certain temple, and at other times to take a break from everyday life to rest my body and mind. Returning from the temples, I always felt that my body and mind were cleaner, with my thinking expanded and my worldly desires dwindled.

As my visits became more frequent, I became aware that the housekeeping of any temple consists of a multitude of tasks, which are divided among the monks. One monk is in charge of managing housekeeping overall. Another brews tea while other monks cultivate the kitchen garden, tend to the drinking water, light heating fires, and cook meals. They all perform these duties and many others in orderly fashion.

In terms of food, temples are nearly self-sufficient. Practically everything is obtained through the monks’ labor.

There’s a saying handed down at Korean Buddhist temples: “A day without work is a day without food.” On one of my visits to a temple, I found all of the monks with their sleeves rolled up making kimchi. On another day, they were mashing boiled soybeans, shaping them into blocks and hanging them up to ferment and dry.

I remember how surprised I was after reading an article about meditation rooms, which the monks use to concentrate on spiritual practice. I fell into self-reproach, thinking of the outsized scale and scope of my possessions. Every summer and winter, Korean monks gather at meditation centers at temples, called seonwon, for a three-month retreat. During this period, the temples take special care to ensure that the monks can fully devote themselves to spiritual practice.

According to the article, the rules stipulate that the head be kept cool and the feet warm, and food be eaten until one is only about 80 percent full — never completely full. The amount of food eaten astounded me; the amount of staple grain only comes to one bowl or about 15 ounces per person per day. They eat porridge for breakfast, cooked rice for lunch, and mixed-grain rice for dinner. For side dishes they mostly eat vegetables and occasionally have a taste of bean curd, laver, or sea mustard. It is an extremely simple diet.

Moreover, they never eat between meals.

A Mind Devoid of Greed

One of the Buddhist monks most respected by Koreans is the late Venerable Seongcheol (1912–1993). The sayings that he left behind, such as “Look properly at yourself,” “Help others without others knowing about it” and “Pray for others,” are clear and simple with deep resonance. For eight years,

Participants of the Temple Stay program at Naeso Temple in Buan County, North Jeolla Province, eat a formal monastic meal. Some 130 Buddhist temples around the country operate Temple Stay programs providing opportunities for the general public to experience the everyday life of monks and nuns.

Mun Tae-jun Poet Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 5

he engaged in the meditative practice known as “long sitting without lying down,” which means he never laid down to sleep. And for 10 years, he never left the precincts of his temple. When he died, all that he left behind were his monastic robe, worn out and patched over and over, a pair of black rubber shoes and a walking stick. His diet mirrored his life. A long-time associate of Seongcheol described the way he ate as follows: “The Venerable Seongcheol had very simple meals. He had a salt-free diet, so there was no need to go to any pains to properly season the food. The only side dishes he ate were five or six sprigs of mugwort, five slices of carrot about 2–3mm thick and a spoonful of beans boiled in soy sauce. The main part of the meal was a child-size serving of rice and soup containing julienned potato and carrot. For breakfast, he would eat half a bowl of rice porridge.”

In sum, the Venerable Seongcheol’s meals stressed the minimal. Though he ate the leaves, stems and fruit of plants, he limited the amount and never ate enough to feel full. One wonders whether it was enough food for him to stay healthy.

He treated each meal as medicine for spiritual practice and only ate enough to sustain his body. He believed that to desire food was to think like a thief. Moreover, as desire for food leads to laziness, he was vigilant against temptation.

At most temples the front-gate pillar is inscribed with these words: “When you enter the temple through this gate, throw away all that you know.” This is an injunction to cast aside all discrimination, conceit and ill feelings. Buddhist temples are places for cleansing the mind. If that is the case, what does the mind look like after cleansing? What is an inverted mind when it is corrected? It is a mind that is broad, clean, truthful, respectful of other forms of life, generous, and free from desire. To achieve such a mind, we must simplify everything related to our food, shelter and clothing.

This tradition has been maintained over the ages, and whenever it faced the danger of decline or collapse, monks have mobilized themselves and responded. To restore the monastic community to a clean state, they have engaged in self-purification. Drawing water, chopping firewood and sowing seeds in the fields to ensure the self-sufficiency of temples are the tasks that are instrumental to self-purification.

Certain rules govern the meals at temples where the ingredients are limited and small portions are the norm.

Meals must be eaten in silence, so idle talk is not allowed.

The entire focus is on the act of eating. In this respect, the morning meals I had at Woljeong Temple on Mt. Odae in Gangwon Province or at Hwaeom Temple on Mt. Jiri in South Jeolla Province were a very special experience. On a

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On a morning when the cold of winter whipped sharply around my body, I ate my meal of rice and a few side dishes in total silence.

I concentrated on eating and I saw my naked body and clean mind chewing and accepting the food.

morning when the cold of winter whipped sharply around my body, I ate my meal of rice and a few side dishes in total silence. I concentrated on eating and I saw my naked body and clean mind chewing and accepting the food. And suddenly, I thought, “What does it mean for me to be born and to live in this world?” Tears welled up in my eyes.

Rules for Meals

“Admonitions for New Monks” (Gye chosim hagin mun) is a book written by the Goryeo era monk Jinul (1158–1210) that gives monks instructions on life in the monastery. It mentions meal etiquette: “During meals, make no sound as you drink and chew your food, make sure you are careful when picking up and putting down food, don’t hold your head up and look around, don’t favor tasty food and dislike food that is not tasty, eat silently without speaking and without letting idle thoughts come into your head, and realize that receiving food and eating it is the way to stop your body from wasting away and to attain awakening.”

For everyone, whether monastic or layperson, a meal at a temple is hardly anything but mind practice. Occasionally, temples prepare special food for monks. I have been fortunate enough to taste those special treats on several occasions.

On muggy summer days, these treats include noodles or dough flakes in soup (sujebi) made with potatoes, or cooked glutinous, sticky rice (chapssalbap). Noodles are especially popular with monks at temples. Just hearing the word fills their faces with glee.

Of the temple food that I have eaten, particularly memorable were radish that had been salted down in autumn, removed on a summer day and splashed with a little cold water (jjanji); soybean paste soup made with squash leaves

picked before the first frost (hobangnip doenjang guk); side dishes made with dried radish tops; and lotus and burdock roots boiled in soy sauce or deep-fried. At one temple I was given some scorched rice, which I took home and boiled in water. I can still clearly remember the taste.

The Spirit of the Food

Besides the food, I like the tea that the monks serve. On a spring day years ago, when I visited Silsang Temple in Namwon, North Jeolla Province, a monk working in the fields greeted me warmly and offered me a cup of green tea with a small plum blossom bud floating on top. The scent of the tea is still with me.

Also an important part of Temple Stay programs, the Buddhist tea ceremony involves drinking tea while listening to a sermon, which is followed by a discussion session. It is a rare opportunity for the general public to come into close contact with the monks living at mountain temples.

These days, temple food is growing increasingly popular. It is good that people are trying not to overeat and to suppress cravings for processed foods. It is also good to see that restaurants serving temple food are appearing in the middle of cities, and that people are learning how temple food is cooked and have even begun preparing it at home.

Fundamentally, a meal at a temple is a meal where the ingredients are obtained from other living beings but in a way that harms them as little as possible. That is why meat is banned. It is written in the sutras that “all soil and water are my past bodies, and fire and the wind are my substance.”

From this the Buddhist view of the food that we eat can be surmised.

From time to time, when I feel that my inner self is like a mirror covered in dust, when I feel my desires grow too big and insatiable, I head to a temple in the mountains to meditate. With a plain and simple meal before me, I gaze repentantly at my greedy, worldly thoughts that spread before me like a vine. As I sit in a clean place in a temple and think calmly, I eventually cast aside the wildness of desire.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 7

SPECIAL FEATURE 2

Temple Food: Casting Aside Desire and Delusion

Eating as Communion with All Creation For Buddhist monks, the foremost purpose of taking food is to use its nourishment to share their awakening with all beings in this world and beyond. Therefore, eating is not for the pleasure of the taste buds or the satiation of hunger; eating is itself a part of spiritual practice carried out through mendicancy (takbal) and the formal monastic meal (baru gongyang).

Kong Man-shik Researcher, Institute for the Study of the Jogye Order, Dongguk University Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

I

n the time of Sakyamuni, the Historic Buddha, on whose teachings Buddhism was founded, Buddhists had a moderate view of eating that did not renounce reasonable consumption of food or the pursuit of good flavor. This differed from other native Indian religions like Brahmanism, which preached extreme abstinence from the intake and enjoyment of food, and Jainism with its practice of severe austerities and self-mortification. Even so, in the early Buddhist tradition, monks were prohibited from eating after noon, which led them to suffer from hunger and posed a constant risk for the violation of precepts. To deal with this problem, the monks practiced mendicancy and other eating rituals.

of the 13 precepts in the code of conduct for ordained male monastics, or bhikkhus, stipulated that they stop eating after one bowl, or one meal, each day. When begging for alms, they had to take whatever was offered at the first house that they came across, whether wealthy or poor.

For the monks, it was also against the precepts to ask for a specific food that would satisfy their tastes or to receive food more than once or in excessive amounts. They believed that mental discipline was the key to ridding themselves of greed, and that such discipline must focus not on the object, the food, but on controlling the senses and the awareness of what caused their desire for food. Today’s most well-known version of this discipline would be “mindful eating,” proposed by the Vietnamese Zen monk Thich Nhat Hanh.

The Early Rules

Indian Buddhist monks, who relied on alms for their daily food, would take whatever lay donors had to give. This method of obtaining food helped them to resist gastronomic desires. The monks also had their own rules to control their food consumption. “Alms round and taking meals,” one

8 KOREANA Summer 2019

A formal monastic meal consists of rice, soup, a few simple side dishes and water, which are contained in four wooden bowls placed on a square cloth.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 9

1. When not in use, the individual bowls of monks are kept on shelves.

2. The nuns at Bongnyeong Temple in Suwon, Gyeonggi Province, chant their vows before starting a meal. Throughout their meal, the monks would chant three more verses to share their food with all living beings in this world and beyond.

1 © Jeondeungsa

East Asian Zen Buddhism has a different view of food compared to early Indian Buddhism, which prohibited all food production activities by monks, including farming, on the grounds that it might lead to killing lives. In the same vein, cooking and storing foodstuffs were not allowed, either.

Zen Buddhism, on the contrary, considers productive labor as part of the monks’ discipline, as implied by the dictum, “A day without work is a day without food.” The storage of food is also allowed, and the monks prepare their own meals.

Based on these principles, China’s monastic vegetarianism (sucai), Japan’s devotion cuisine (shojin ryori) and Korea’s temple food (sachal eumsik) have formed distinct elements of East Asian Buddhist culture.

Labor of Monks

As a branch of this tradition, Korean Seon (Zen) Buddhism has a similar view of eating. It acknowledges the significance of both the flavor and quantity of food as nourishment for the body and mind, and this attitude is reflected in the concepts of the “three virtues in foodstuffs” and the “six tastes of

food.” The concept of the “three virtues” maintains that foodstuffs should be: 1) salutary, promoting sound bodily functions; 2) clean in terms of both hygiene and edibility; and 3) in accordance with the Buddhist law, which prohibits the consumption of meat and the five pungent vegetables — garlic, scallions, wild chives, allium and asafoetida. This concept, which manifests a positive view of cooking and realistic approach to foodstuffs, serves as a practical reference for Korean temple food.

The concept of the “six tastes” supposes that all food falls in one of six taste categories: salty, sweet, sour, bitter, spicy and insipid. Similar categories are found in other cultures, including the four tastes identified by Aristotle — sweet, sour, salty and bitter — and the five tastes of traditional Chinese cuisine — sweet, salty, sour, bitter and spicy.

While these classifications assume that each taste has equal status, Korean Seon Buddhism lays more weight on insipidity, a fundamental taste embracing the individual qualities of all the different tastes of ingredients to produce a well-balanced flavor.

It is a rule to consume all the food in the bowl without leaving even a grain of rice or a speck of red pepper powder. By doing so, the monks control their desires in terms of the amount or taste of the food.

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The food prepared according to these rules is eaten in the ritual of baru gongyang, or the formal monastic meal. Being a collective meal, the food does not cater to the preferences of individual monks but is prepared uniformly with ingredients available according to season, circumstances and the above rules on the virtues and tastes. So, while it may be difficult for monks to satisfy their personal tastes, together they can enjoy the natural flavors of food made with seasonal produce grown in clean air and water.

The Path to Awakening

The mealtime ritual begins with putting the right amount of food into the bowls of each individual. When the food is served, the monks can either ask for more or take some out of their bowls depending on how much they can eat. It is a rule to consume all the food in the bowl without leaving even a grain of rice or a speck of red pepper powder. By doing so, the monks control their desires in terms of the amount or taste of the food. As a daily routine as well as a religious ritual, this mealtime custom is commonly practiced in East Asian Buddhist communities, but in content and practice the Korean version embodies its own ideas and rules.

Referring to the wooden bowls used in the dining ritual, baru is patra in Sanskrit. Buddhist legend has it that the patra was presented to the Sakyamuni Buddha by the Four Heavenly Kings when they saw he had nowhere to hold the food offered by two merchants after he had attained enlightenment. From then on, Buddhist monks have used patra as a bowl for begging and eating food. Currently, under Theravada Buddhism in Southeast Asia, a single bowl is used for every meal, but in Korea a set of four bowls is used, one each for cooked rice, soup, water and side dishes. They are made of metal, ceramics, or wood, and in Korea mostly wooden ones are used. It is a custom in Indian Buddhism for novice monks to prepare their own monastic robes (kasaya) and patra, but in East Asian Zen Buddhism, they are passed down from patriarchs to disciples who are recognized as their Dharma successors.

The pre-meal chant, called the “Five Stanzas of Insight” (Ogwange), demonstrates that baru gongyang is not merely a way of taking meals, but one of the most important monastic rituals: Reflecting on the effort that went into making this meal I feel that I am not virtuous enough to take this food.

Casting aside desire and delusion Regarding it as medicine for the body And working to attain awakening, I accept this food.

The food offered to the monks is not for them alone.

Consequently, after reciting the pre-meal chant they take seven grains of rice out of their bowls for the beasts, birds and insects. It means that taking a meal is not an individual undertaking for the monks, but a communal event with other living beings.

A Communal Meal

Furthermore, the food is shared not only with earthly beings like humans and animals, but also with beings in the other world, including dead parents, grandparents and other relatives. This idea is expressed by reciting three different verses (gatha) for the dead throughout the meal. The food is shared by remembering all the living beings in the realm of sensuous desire, including humans, animals and inhabitants of the netherworld, and by invoking the names of the ten Buddhas and Bodhisattvas who reside in the higher realms.

At the end of each meal, the bowls are washed with water without a single speck of food left behind, except for some water for the hungry ghosts (agwi) that is gathered in a collective bowl. According to Buddhist beliefs, the ghosts are permanently suffering from hunger and thirst, but their throats are so narrow — narrower than the eye of a needle — that they are unable to swallow even a grain of rice or red pepper powder. Aside from leaving some drops of water for the poor creatures, baru gongyang is concluded by completely consuming the food received.

Furthermore, the food is shared not only with earthly beings like humans and animals, but also with beings in the other world, including dead parents, grandparents and other relatives.

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After finishing the food and rinsing the bowls, the monks clean their bowls, spoon and chopsticks with a dishtowel and tie them with a cloth band with the knot arranged vertically.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 13

SPECIAL FEATURE 3

Temple Food: Casting Aside Desire and Delusion

Soul-Soothing Food Evokes Home The female monks at the mountain hermitage prepared a simple meal for visitors, consisting of side dishes made with fresh greens gathered from the hills nearby. Yunpil Hermitage in Mungyeong, North Gyeongsang Province, has long been known for humble temple food resembling home-cooked meals. Last spring, I had a chance to be treated to a meal there that soothed my soul.

Baek Young-ok Novelist Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

A meal prepared for visitors by the female monks at Yunpil Hermitage in Mungyeong, North Gyeongsang Province. It consists mainly of seasoned wild greens and vegetables, including mugwort, water dropwort, rapeseed and shepherd’s purse picked from the nearby mountains or bought at the local market.

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E

ach year when the spring flowers bloom, I read “Bicycle Journeys,” a collection of travel essays by the novelist Kim Hoon. I’ve reread it so many times that some sentences read like a landscape full of flowers outside the window. “Magnolias burst into sudden bloom like a lamp being lit.” “At the height of their bloom, camellias meet their sudden demise like the ancient Baekje Kingdom.” The passages in the book are no longer just printed words but almost feel like a part of my body.

So, it was only natural that as I was admiring the blossoming flowers at Yunpil Hermitage, a sentence from the book popped into my mind: “Cornelian cherry flowers bloom like a shimmering mirage.” This happens every time I feel spring in the air. Whether it is cornelian cherry flowers, cherry blossoms or plum blossoms, they appear to me not as real flowers but the daydream of the tree that has endured the harsh cold of winter. Indeed, spring was bursting into life in the hermitage courtyard. Plum blossoms were in bloom around the nuns’ quarters, as were yellow pheasant’s eye and purple Asian twinleaf.

When I opened the door to the meditation room, a Buddhist nun was brewing coffee and grinding coffee beans in a mortar. The coffee tasted richer and more flavorful than any I had ever had before. I was curious to know the coffee bean variety, but the nun said it was nothing special. After observing the entire brewing process, I realized the secret to its distinctive flavor. The nun placed a generous amount of coffee grounds into the filter but only ran a small amount of water through them. One drop of coffee dripped every two to three seconds, so it took 30 minutes to fill a cup. The brewing method was akin to that for Dutch coffee. She willingly devoted her time to treat guests to a special cup of coffee.

Bustling Kitchen Hall

Wondu refers to the monk appointed as head of the farmyard, tasked with cultivating vegetables, such as red peppers, lettuce, cucumbers, spinach, sunflowers, squash and chard, and supplying them to the temple kitchen. The chapter of “Mis-

1. Venerable Gonggok, the head nun of Yunpil Hermitage, plucks gomchwi (Fischer’s ragwort) in the mountain behind the hermitage. A wild vegetable known for its pungent scent and distinctive flavor, gomchwi can be eaten raw or pickled in soy sauce.

1

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2. Yunpil Hermitage is a monastery for nuns established in 1380, which is nestled at the foot of Mt. Sabul. The hall seen at the right is Sabuljeon (Hall of Four Buddhas). It has no Buddha statue enshrined, and during worship the monks face the four-sided stone Buddha on top of Mt. Sabul that is visible through a large window.

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cellaneous Duties” in “The Baizhang Zen Monastic Regulations” (Chixiu Baizhang qinggui), a Buddhist text from the Yuan Dynasty delineating monastic codes, states, “The head of the farmyard [yuantou in Chinese] unhesitatingly takes the lead in heavy physical labor. He cultivates the soil, sows seeds for vegetable crops, irrigates the fields when necessary, and thereby provides a steady supply of fresh vegetables and so on to the kitchen hall throughout the year.”

“I prefer to do things in a way that feels comfortable and natural,” the nun told me. “Complicated and difficult is not my style. I sleep a lot and don’t like conforming to conventions. I don’t think sitting in strict silence is the only form of meditative practice. Putting your heart into cooking a good meal and making tea for others can also be considered spiritual practice.”

The nun, whose Buddhist name is Gonggok, was like a farmer, mother and chef all rolled into one.

Together with Gyeonseong Hermitage at Sudeok Temple and Jijang Hermitage on Mt. Odae, Yunpil Hermitage, which is under the jurisdiction of Daeseung Temple, is one of the country’s three main Seon (Zen) Buddhism centers for female monastics. It is a place that takes care of the minds and bodies of the female monks who have committed themselves to a period of intense spiritual practice.

The hermitage’s naturally lit kitchen, whose walls were decorated with pretty shadows cast by the sun, bustled with activity all day. At every mealtime, abundant amounts of rice, soup and side dishes must be prepared to feed scores of people. It gets busier around Buddha’s Birthday, when even more people flock to the hermitage. The kitchen was a

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 17

dynamic place filled with the constant sounds of pounding, crushing and mixing. The baskets there were filled to the brim with spring greens, such as mugwort, shepherd’s purse, rapeseed or butterbur, which were picked from the back gardens or bought at the local market held every five days. The broth for noodles simmered in a large pot.

Mugwort soup is said to taste the best around March 20, when the leaves are small and soft. The nun makes mugwort tea from the leaves picked around this time, and soap with the leftover ones. Not only mugwort but all kinds of wild plants growing in the mountains make great ingredients.

Mulberries, dandelions, tangerine peels and the inner hull of chestnuts can all be used to make tea or soap; they can be either eaten or applied to the skin. I smiled when the nun told me how she was gazing at the bright moon one night when she was struck with a desperate urge to check if any cucumbers had ripened; she found a whole bunch of plump cucumbers dangling from the vine, and picked 200 of them to make spicy stuffed cucumber kimchi. I wondered what kind of life

it was — a life in which the moonlight inspires thoughts of cucumbers.

The nun took a while to prepare the food, mostly because of the time devoted to preparing handmade noodles, which involved rolling out the wheat dough and cutting it into long, thin strips with a knife. When she finally came with the meal, it was way past lunchtime and I was hungry. Set next to the noodles in soup were mugwort rice cake, shepherd’s purse and dried radish leaves, seasoned with either soy sauce or fermented soybean paste. The soybean paste stew placed next to the bowl of rice mixed with black beans and winding snoutbeans brought to mind a phrase from Kim Hoon’s book: “The broth of the soybean paste stew, the shepherd’s purse in it and the person eating are in a perpetual love triangle.” But this is a love affair where one side embraces the other two.

So, it is peaceful.

I tasted rapeseed salad and mugwort pancakes. The rapeseed leaves conveyed fresh spring energy; the batter for the mugwort pancake was spread out as thinly as possible to bring out the distinctive, pungent flavor of the herbs. Interestingly, water dropwort leaves were served as wraps instead of the usual lettuce or perilla leaves. I had heard the nun say, “I need to show the townies what water dropwort tastes like,” so I figured spring water dropwort must be nutritious. I took a leaf, placed a small lump of rice with a dollop of spicy paste on it, wrapped it up and put it in my mouth. Even before I could chew, the scent permeated my mouth. The side dish of walnuts and almonds lightly roasted in soy sauce tasted more like a snack and I couldn’t stop eating them. I popped a yellow pickled plum into my mouth. The crunchy texture and sweet taste whetted my appetite.

A Budget-friendly, Healthy Meal This is a place that could come from

restaurant, though, is strict about

Haruki Murakami’s travelogues in

not using the five pungent vegeta-

“Borders Near and Far,” a restau-

bles — garlic, scallions, wild chives,

rant whose owner upon hearing,

allium and asafoetida — and any ar-

“Sir, this dish is missing scallions,”

tificial flavor enhancers. Its vegetar-

would say, “There’s plenty out in

ian menu also excludes all forms of

the back. Go pick as much as you

meat and fish, fresh or preserved.

want to eat.” It is located in a se-

A Monastic’s Recipes

There are a few secrets that I gleaned from the chefs I met when I was a reporter covering the restaurant scene. One is to serve hot food hot and cold food cold. Even in-flight meals, which at altitudes of over 30,000 feet are difficult if not impossible to taste good, can be made more palatable by sticking to this principle: serving salads cold, bread warm and coffee hot. Freshly cooked steaming rice, soybean paste stew that is served piping hot in an earthenware bowl, fresh greens that have just been seasoned — at Yunpil Hermitage, it may take a long time to prepare the ingredients, but a short

Venerable Gonggok mixes tender young mugwort shoots with rice flour before steaming the mixture. Mugwort rice cake is a popular treat in spring.

18 KOREANA Summer 2019

2

1

The restaurant uses only locally

cluded village, the last place you

and daily sourced seasonal ingredi-

would expect to find a restaurant.

ents. The food is mildly seasoned.

However, Geolgujaengine [Geol-gu-

I chewed slowly, savoring each

jaeng-i-ne], serving temple food for

mouthful, and soon felt quite full

25 years, bustles with customers

even though I had not eaten much.

1. A meal consisting mainly of seasoned vegetable dishes at Geolgujaengine, a temple food restaurant in Yeoju, Gyeonggi Province. The food made without artificial flavorings is loved by many for its fresh, natural taste.

2. A pancake served as appetizer at this restaurant.

Made of chopped seasonal vegetables wrapped in a thin sheet of acorn flour dough, it is pan-fried in oil and cut into bite-sized pieces.

of seasoned vegetable dishes, rice cooked with thistle (gondeure namul bap) and napa cabbage soybean paste soup. Nothing fancy, but soul food, like a mother’s home-cooked meal prepared with loving care. The owner also prepares a wide variety of teas all year round and serves the one that best fits the season.

After it was featured on a TV show in 2012, the restaurant saw a boom in customers and opened a second restaurant in

The meal is served in two parts.

Seoul. But due to the rising cost

The first part includes steamed

of ingredients and difficulties

tofu, salad and cold kimchi noodles

in obtaining quality produce, it

temple food, but a nutritious home-

with thin slices of lotus root; the

was closed down after a year.

made meal,” said the owner. The

second part offers an assortment

Lunch or dinner, a meal is uni-

from nine in the morning to nine in the evening.

“Our focus is not necessarily

formly priced at 15,000 won per

I chewed slowly, savoring each mouthful, and soon felt quite full even though I had not eaten much.

person. Only an hour’s drive from Seoul, you can couple it with a trip to Silleuk Temple nearby.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 19

If one were to say, “We are eating the essence of spring,” at the sight of the food laid out on the table, it would not be a poetic metaphor but a literal expression.

Temple Cuisine at Its Finest fried mushrooms coated with rice syrup and red chili paste aged three years, called modeum beoseot gangjeong, is both spicy and sweet with a fleshy texture that is sure to appeal to meat lovers and vegetarians alike. The various kinds of kimchi made without garlic have a refreshing end taste and a crisp

Venerable Gonggok unfolds a thin sheet of rolled flour dough to cut it into long, thin strips with a knife.

Handmade noodle soup is a treat for the monks.

20 KOREANA Summer 2019

Haven for the Soul

At times, I wish I could drown out the loud voice in my head and pay attention to what my body is saying — my stomach, nose and tongue whispering that my stomach is growling, the smell of rice cooking is so tempting, the rice tastes so sweet.

One day, as I was eating a meal, my eyes all puffy, I came to the realization that the hometown is more than just a place, just as hunger may mean more than a physical need or desire for food. A grain of rice may taste sweeter the more you chew it, or soybean paste soup with shepherd’s purse may feel like home.

The Venerable Gonggok smiled as she said, “The mountains are our temple gardens.”

Flowers were in bloom everywhere on the grounds of the hermitage. Wild greens were in abundance all around in the mountains and streams. We all need a home we can always go back to, a safe haven to rest our weary souls. I think Yunpil Hermitage will remain in my heart as such a place.

and crunchy texture.

The restaurant also uses rare and unique ingredients like riverside wormwood, kumquat, cow parsley and Chinese artichoke, which can only be harvested in certain seasons or found only in select regions

1

like remote islands.

Located across the street from

ingredients and the proper dining

Jogye Temple in downtown Seoul,

etiquette.

Balwoo Gongyang was the first

Some of the ingredients, such

restaurant in Asia to receive a

as soy sauce, soybean paste, brown

Michelin star for temple cuisine, a

rice vinegar and tofu, are made at

status it has maintained since 2017.

Tongdo Temple, a UNESCO World

Having been introduced abroad

Heritage site, in Yangsan, South

several times, about 35 percent of

Gyeongsang Province. The baru

its customers are from overseas.

(wooden monastic bowls) made

It is often hard to get a table at

of ginkgo wood and coated with

lunchtime without a reservation.

nine layers of lacquer add a refined

The restaurant offers four set

touch.

menus: Seon (Meditation: 30,000

The highlights of the Won

won) served only at lunchtime,

course are the cold noodle dish

Won (Vow: 45,000 won), Maeum

with spicy shiitake mushrooms

(Mind: 65,000 won) and Hee (Joy:

and pureed Korean pear, and

95,000 won). The prices are pretty

dumplings filled with various

hefty, but each dish comes with

greens, vegetables and nuts. The

a detailed explanation about the

restaurant’s signature dish, deep-

On the first floor of the restau-

1. Pickled lotus root, marinated grilled burdock, deep-fried mushrooms coated with rice syrup and red chili paste, and mung bean pancake (clockwise from top left). These dishes, served after the appetizer, have a clean and light taste. They are part of a set menu served at Balwoo Gongyang, a temple cuisine restaurant run by the Jogye Order of Korean Buddhism.

rant’s building is the Korean Temple Food Center, where temple food classes are held. Taught by monks, participants can learn not only about the various ingredients and traditional recipes, but also how to develop a mindful attitude toward food.

2. The upscale, modern interior of Balwoo Gongyang, a Michelin one-star restaurant that offers a choice of set menus.

The various kinds of kimchi made without garlic have a refreshing end taste and a crisp and crunchy texture.

© Balwoo Gongyang

time to cook them. In short, the food here is rooted in the basic principles of cooking.

But the essential ingredients for making food more delicious are time and season. Likewise, the process of aging and fermentation gives kimchi and sauces and pastes a deeper taste and enriches the flavor of coffee. This is not unrelated to why the Venerable Gonggok had said that the whole process of picking, roasting and fermenting tea leaves could be considered a form of spiritual practice.

Eating a meal at the hermitage was a discovery of both the original form of ingredients and their limitations. It was an entirely different experience from eating mindlessly to merely satiate your hunger. In fact, it was more than just visitor experience; it felt like participating in a ritual. If one were to say, “We are eating the essence of spring,” at the sight of the food laid out on the table, it would not be a poetic metaphor but a literal expression.

When I was staying in Varanasi, India, I came down with severe diarrhea. It was February 22, 2005, the day actress Lee Eun-ju killed herself. The death of an actress I had liked left me in a daze. For reasons that befuddled me, I got up, mustering every last bit of strength left in my body, and took an auto rickshaw and headed for a Korean temple called Nogyawon (Deer Park Monastery) in Sarnath, 10 kilometers from Varanasi. A Christian from birth, I was struck with the sudden thought of going to the Buddhist temple because I recalled another traveler saying you could eat a home-cooked meal there. Imposing on the temple’s hospitality, I devoured soybean paste soup and kimchi. To say that the food gave me the strength to live would sound trite, but thanks to the hearty meal I was able to make the trip to the desert in Jaipur. That day, I experienced firsthand the healing powers of food.

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 21

SPECIAL FEATURE 4

O

Temple Food: Casting Aside Desire and Delusion

n April 19, the mountain trail leading to Jinkwan Temple was fragrant with wildflowers giving off the sweet scent of spring. Under the jurisdiction of Jogye Temple, the headquarters of the First Diocese of the Korean Buddhist Jogye Order, Jinkwan Temple was established over a thousand years ago. Even during the Confucian-oriented Joseon Dynasty, when Buddhism was suppressed, the temple was frequently visited by the kings.

King Taejo (r. 1392–1398), the founder of Joseon, installed a state agency within the temple to carry out Suryukjae, or the Rite for Deliverance of Creatures of Water and Land. Dedicated to lonely spirits and hungry ghosts roaming this world after death, the rite was intended to console their souls with a feast of food and the teachings of the Buddha. Taejo used this rite to pray for the countless souls of those who had died in the process of establishing Joseon.

Jinkwan Temple was almost entirely destroyed by fire during the Korean War. In 1963, the Venerable Jinkwan (1928–2016), a respected leader of nuns, set out to reconstruct the temple, which eventually earned the distinction of being a leading monastery for bhikkhuni, or ordained female monastics. Serving as its abbess for over 40 years, the Venerable Jinkwan preserved and modernized the culinary tradition of the Suryukjae, and her temple food recipes have been handed down to her successor, the Venerable Gyeho.

Authentic Temple Cuisine

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Bright spring sunlight shone on the windowsill of the cooking studio in the Temple Food Institute at Jinkwan Temple, and what seemed like the sound of a wooden temple block attracted visitors to the hall. The sound, however, came not from a moktak but the knife in the hand of the Venerable Gyeho, cutting a radish on a table almost seven to eight meters long.

After a few minutes, the radish, originally in the shape of a short club, was cut into a curious-looking object resembling a stamp with a handle. The Venerable Gyeho called it the “oily radish hand.” Dipping the radish in sesame oil and then rubbing it on the frypan is an efficient

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You Are What You Eat Situated at the foot of Mt. Bukhan on the northern edge of Seoul, Jinkwan Temple is famed as the home of authentic Korean temple cuisine. The culinary tradition is now carried on by the Venerable Gyeho, abbess of the temple, where royal ceremonies of the Joseon court were held hundreds of years ago.

1. Venerable Gyeho (far right), the abbess, and other nuns of Jinkwan Temple cover Chinese toon shoots with rice paste to make deep-fried chips. It is a collaborative job that has to be done quickly on a sunny day.

2, 3, 4. The toon shoots and leaves coated with rice paste are spread out on a wicker tray and left to dry on the sunny and breezy crock terrace. After sunset, they are placed in a warm room with floor heating to be further dried.

Park Mee-hyang Food Culture Reporter, The Hankyoreh Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

22 KOREANA Summer 2019

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 23

way of applying oil, a trick she learned from her mother as a child. The abbess, now going on 70, was born in Mukho (today’s Donghae) along the east coast in Gangwon Province. Her mother and maternal grandmother were both devout Buddhists and excellent cooks. In her childhood, she would hover around the kitchen and watch her mother cook staples like soybean paste stew (doenjang jjigae) and stuffed buckwheat crepes (memil jeonbyeong). The young girl was praised whenever she cooked herself with skills learned by observing her mother.

She was attracted to Buddhism as a high school student, when she felt her heart beating hard as she listened to a sermon by the Venerable Tanheo (1913–1983). The preeminent monk, who had devoted himself to the translation of the Tripitaka Koreana, the 13th-century Buddhist canon carved on some 80,000 woodblocks, was renowned for his extensive knowledge of Eastern philosophy. Although her family tried to stop her, the 18-year-old girl left secular life behind and joined the monastic order at Jinkwan Temple in 1968. Her teacher, the Venerable Jinkwan, was her guiding light in her spiritual practice.

“The sun is shining now. Shall we go out?” asked the abbess.

No sooner was it said than the several devotees in the cooking studio followed her out to the courtyard. In front of the crock terrace,

In early spring, Chinese toons grow purplish green shoots (above). At Korean Buddhist temples, they are eaten fresh, seasoned with simple condiments, or preserved by making chips or pickling them in soy sauce. When the shoots are mixed into a batter of flour, salt and water with red pepper slices, and fried on a pan, their unique aroma is intensified (below).

Readily available in spring, dandelion leaves tossed with soy sauce, plum seed extract, bamboo salt, sesame oil and roasted and salted sesame seeds make a sweet and sour salad with crunchy texture (above).

Dandelions are known to refocus vital energy and be effective in relieving inflammation (below).

where hundreds of big pottery jars holding traditional sauces and pastes were placed in neat rows, was a long table covered with a plastic tablecloth, much like that in the film “Babette’s Feast.” On the table were a few wicker trays about two meters in diameter and bowls of rice paste made from a mixture of regular and sticky rice. Ten or so nuns, including some fairly young ones, came out to make deep-fried chips (bugak) with the young shoots and leaves of red toon (Toona sinensis).

Essential Side Dish and Snack

Standing on either side of the table, the nuns began to cover the shoots with rice paste, following the instructions of their abbess. Tinged with light brown, red toon shoots are in season in March and April. From old times, red toon shoots have been widely consumed at Buddhist temples. Prepared in spring to be fried and eaten all year round until the end of winter, it was the monks’ favorite snack and side dish. The deep-fried chips made with dried vegetables or seaweed coated with rice paste are a quintessential temple food.

“The act of eating is concerned with life, harmony, virtue and compassion. What you eat forms your body and personality,” the abbess said. Her toon shoot chips are well-known inside and outside Korea,

24 KOREANA Summer 2019

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 25

and this fame is partly owing to the American actor Richard Gere, who was especially taken with this food when he visited the temple and had a meal prepared by the abbess.

Recipes with No Excess

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The Venerable Gyeho’s recipes are simple but have a rich, deep flavor. Perhaps it was to learn the secret of this flavor that famous chefs from other countries have come to the temple to meet her. Among them were Sam Kass, the former White House chef who served as President Obama’s senior policy advisor for nutrition policy, as well as the famous French chef Éric Ripert. Last March, Queen Mathilde of Belgium also visited her and discussed the importance of children’s mental health and a healthy diet. Asked about her meetings with these foreign visitors, the abbess answered, “Whether from the East or the West, cooks with wellness in mind have similar views on food: they search for natural flavor. I stay in touch with Sam Kass, who also likes a healthy flavor.” This is consistent with the rise of veganism in America and Europe, and it may well be that Korean temple food plays a role in this trend.

Temple food features as many different vegetable dishes as there are plants in the mountains. The shoots sprouting on the branches of castor aralia (Kalopanax pictus) are a spring delicacy for monks and nuns. The Venerable Gyeho counts them among the three best spring vegetables, along with the shoots of the Korean angelica tree (Aralia elata) and mugwort. Called gaedureup in Korean, angelica tree shoots are especially good for treating stomach troubles as they aid digestion and stimulate the appetite. Rich in iron and amino acids, they also help to keep knee joints healthy.

Aside from fresh ingredients, it takes proper seasoning to cook a tasty dish. The abbess uses only three kinds of condiments: soy sauce fermented for three to five years, ses-

ame oil, and toasted and ground sesame seeds mixed with salt. Her recipe is also very simple. The shoots are simply cleaned, parboiled, and then seasoned with the three condiments. Simple recipes make a simple life, she said, whereas food cooked with elaborate and extravagant recipes complicates life. It is also an act of self-discipline to keep seasoning to a minimum because it amounts to giving up the desire to make it more delicious.

Comfort Food

In life, we sometimes flounder on the sea of pain, hurt by the harsh words of others or frustrated by our own failures. On such occasions, we tend to turn to comfort food to console our broken hearts and give us strength. As a religious practitioner, does the Venerable Gyeho also have such a food? The abbess said she sometimes thinks of the soybean paste stew that her mother would cook for her when she was a child.

“Speaking of which, shall we make the stew?” the abbess asked.

The gathered devotees perked up at her words. Having tasted her dandelion salad, seasoned castor aralia shoots and crispy toon chips, they probably felt the cooking studio was a paradise.

Her soybean paste stew was not as salty as most others and its flavor had an attractive lightness, just like Pyongyang-style naengmyeon (cold buckwheat noodles). The conversation between the abbess and the devotees resembled the dialogue between the Buddha and his disciples.

“What is your favorite food, Venerable?” one of them asked.

“Seungso is rather tasty,” answered the abbess, with a child monk’s innocence and a young girl’s shyness flashing across her face. Meaning literally “a monk’s smile,” the food that makes monks and nuns smile is noodle soup.

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3 © Jinkwan Temple

It is also an act of self-discipline to keep seasoning to a minimum because it amounts to giving up the desire to make it more delicious.

26 KOREANA Summer 2019

1. Venerable Gyeho cooks vegetable stew with soybean paste fermented at her temple for five years. She inherited the authentic temple food recipes from her teacher, the late Venerable Jinkwan, who had preserved and modernized the culinary tradition of temple rites.

2, 3. Suryukjae, or the Rite for Deliverance of Creatures of Water and Land, is conducted on the grounds of Jinkwan Temple. During the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910), the temple conducted the rite under the patronage of the royal household. A National Intangible Cultural Property, the rite is preserved at the temple to this day.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 27

SPECIAL FEATURE 4

Temple Food: Casting Aside Desire and Delusion

A Monk’s Way of Tea From the days of yore, the Korean word “dabansa” has been used in Buddhist temples in reference to eating meals and drinking tea. In common usage, it means “an everyday occurrence” or “the commonplace.” As this suggests, tea drinking, like meals, was considered an integral part of daily monastic life.

Park Hee-june President, Korean Tea Culture Association Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

Monks pick tea leaves at the tea field of Seonam Temple, located at the foot of Mt. Jogye in Suncheon, South Jeolla Province. The temple, a UNESCO World Heritage site, is one of the few in Korea that maintains the traditional method of tea cultivation.

28 KOREANA Summer 2019

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 29

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t traditional Korean Buddhist temples that place importance on Seon (Zen) meditation as the path to awakening, tea is a central part of all monastic rituals.

Monks drink tea before they start the morning service and honor the patriarchs on their death anniversaries with a cup of tea.

Tea drinking has become an important part of monastic rituals not merely because monks enjoy it. The spiritual realm of Seon meditation meets the physical realm of drinking tea, leading to another spiritual world where Seon and tea are one.

When a flying bird wants to rest, a single tree branch will suffice. The name of the Ilji Hermitage at Daeheung Temple carries such a meaning. Located on the slopes of Mt. Duryun

30 KOREANA Summer 2019

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in Haenam County, South Jeolla Province, at the southernmost tip of the Korean peninsula, the hermitage is where Seon Master Choui (1786– 1866), known as the “father of Korean tea,” lived 150 years ago.

The Hub of Korean Tea Culture

One day in the spring of 1830, Choui was boiling water for tea on a brazier when a novice monk asked what the way of tea was. Quoting from his book “Chronicle of the Spirit of Tea” (Dasinjeon), Choui said, “Tea is to be made with care and dedication, stored dry and brewed cleanly. The tea making process is completed in the pursuit of such care, dryness and purity.”

In the summer of 1837, another person presented Choui with a question regarding the way of tea. It was Hong Hyeon-ju (1793–1865), son-inlaw of King Jeongjo of the Joseon Dynasty. In answer, Choui composed the poem “Ode to Korean Tea” (Dongdasong), in which he lauded the tea cultivated in Korea for combining the taste and medicinal properties of Chinese tea. Choui also added, “The way of tea is achieving harmony between the tea and the water, which leads to the path of justice and

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1. Venerable Yeoyeon (right) and his disciple, the Venerable Bomyeong, pick tea leaves at the Banya Tea Plantation in Haenam County, South Jeolla Province. They have inherited the spirit and method of Seon Master Choui, who established the Korean way of tea in the late Joseon Dynasty.

2, 3, 4. Freshly harvested green tea leaves are sorted, roasted in an iron cauldron, and rubbed.

This process is repeated two to three times.

Venerable Yeoyeon (far right) and his disciples process tea leaves picked from the Banya Tea Plantation, located near Daeheung Temple, a UNESCO World Heritage site.

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uprightness.”

Ilji Hermitage, built by Choui in 1824 and his home for 40 years, was destroyed by fire after his death. It was not until 1980, when few even remembered the site, that the hermitage was fully restored. Following in the footsteps of Choui, the Venerable Yeoyeon devoted himself to growing and making tea at the hermitage for 18 years. He first learned about the way of tea at Haein Temple where he entered the priesthood, and together with renowned tea masters like artist Heo Baek-ryeon and independence fighter-cum-monk Choe Beom-sul he belongs to the first generation of modern teaists in Korea. Choe named the tea made by Yeoyeon “Banya Tea,” banya being the Korean transliteration of prajna, a Buddhist concept meaning wisdom or insight.

Most books about tea state that the prime time to make tea is around April 20, whereas Choui claimed that the best time is around May 5, Korea being at a higher latitude than the main tea-growing regions in China. Heeding his advice, Yeoyeon begins the first harvest after April at the Banya Tea Plantation at the foot of Mt. Duryun.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 31

“When I slowly take the cup of tea shimmering with the spring haze to my lips, its lush aroma stirs my heart like a bamboo grove under a clear sky.”

a small tea cup, pours hot water over them and then waits a few minutes before taking a sip. This is the so-called “tear tea.” As the tea leaves meet the water and turn soft, the fragrant aroma and green color spread through the cup. The aroma is reminiscent of the sweet smell of a newborn baby, the color is a clear greenish yellow, and the taste is smooth and refreshing.

The sweet taste that follows makes you gently close your eyes and savor the warm spring sunshine that fills your mouth and envelops your body.

Tea lovers express this state as “all 84,000 pores feeling refreshed,” effusing that “it feels like having wings under your arms.”

Tea Leads to Friendship

1. A monk pours tea at Ilji Hermitage of Daeheung Temple, which continues the tea tradition of Seon Master Choui. Boiling clean water, brewing tea at the optimal water temperature, then pouring the tea into a cup is a process that requires care and focus.

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In the winter of 1996, social activists in Haenam County formed a group called Namcheon Dahoe to learn about tea from Yeoyeon.

They went on to create a tea culture community that gathered for tea ceremonies and spiritual practice with Yeoyeon and, in 1997, began cultivating a tea field, which would later become the Banya Tea Plantation. The first Dasinje, a tea harvest rite, was held in 2004 with the first crop, and the rite is continued to this day. It is an occasion to appreciate and realize through a cup of tea that the heavens and earth, humans and all other living beings are interconnected.

Banya Tea Community

The processing of green tea leaves involves roasting, rubbing and drying. Choui is known to have made five types of tea, including loose leaf tea and caked tea. Yeoyeon also makes different types of tea depending on the quality of the leaves. He stresses the importance of differentiating the production methods according to the

32 KOREANA Summer 2019

2. Temple Stay participants at Naeso Temple in Buan County, South Jeolla Province, drink tea.

weather at the time of harvest and the moisture content of the tea leaves, the basic elements to be considered in roasting, rather than the temperature of the cauldron. He mainly produces leaf tea and caked tea roasted in an iron cauldron over a wood fire. With expertise developed by visiting many domestic and overseas tea production sites, his skill in controlling the intensity of the fire and roasting time depending on the quality of the tea leaves is a cut above.

After the leaves are roasted, Yeoyeon quickly cools them down and lightly rubs them. Tea brewed with leaves that are cooled quickly has a greener hue. With leaves that are rubbed lightly, the flavor comes out more slowly so that the tea can be enjoyed longer. Also, as the shape of the leaves is preserved this way, you can enjoy watching the leaves open as you drink the tea. On the other hand, when the leaves are rubbed too hard, the natural compounds are released all at once, producing a stronger taste and making it difficult to drink more than one cup. Yeoyeon contends that rubbing the leaves too hard is the vice of tea production in Korea.

Yeoyeon is known for his sharp tongue when making tea or at tea gatherings. He resorts to such harsh admonition as he believes that without thorough self-reflection, a proper tea culture cannot take root. He faces up to hard facts and is unreserved in his criticism, showing a tough side that is in stark contrast to the gentle, deep taste of the tea he makes.

When Yeoyeon samples freshly harvested tea, he puts the tea leaves in

Back in 1977, I obtained a place in Insa-dong where I could drink tea with acquaintances. For over 40 years, every spring I have rushed to the tea fields in southern provinces, yearning to hear news of the first flush. The monks dressed in gray robes standing over the hot cauldron roasting tea leaves, putting their heart and soul into the job, are always a beautiful and reverent sight.

One year, when I was visiting the Daehan Tea Plantation in Boseong, I noticed a monk busily roasting tea leaves by the pond, where late double cherry blossoms were fluttering in the wind. It was the Venerable Yeoyeon. The sight of the monk roasting the dew-washed tea leaves at the crack of dawn left me in deep thought. I wanted to live like him.

I met Yeoyeon again in 1986 at the Lu-Yu Tea Culture Institute in Taiwan, which is famous for its modern teahouse. I was having a discussion

with Taiwanese teaists when I heard a familiar voice. I turned around and saw him standing there. He said he was on his way to Korea from Sri Lanka, and to save on expenses, had taken a low-cost flight with several layovers, including Taiwan. He thought he would use the brief time he had to check out Taiwanese tea. His passion for tea was such that even during a short stopover, it was all he could think of. If it weren’t for tea, our paths would never have crossed. He, too, would have lived a different life.

In 2017, when Yeoyeon turned 70, he held an exhibition of his tea utensils. In the catalogue preface, he wrote: “If tea is the heart, then the tea bowl is the vessel that holds it. When I boil the water, I hear the whispering of the wind among the pines on the moonlit mountain, and when I pour the tea, my heart strolls along the small stream before settling on a rock. When I slowly take the cup of tea shimmering with the spring haze to my lips, its lush aroma stirs my heart like a bamboo grove under a clear sky.”

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FOCUS

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1 Courtesy of Park Hong-soon

Ssireum Becomes UNESCO Heritage of Humanity Park Hong-soon Freelance Writer

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reum today. It is not known exactly when the sport began.

However, the fact that it occupies a substantial portion of a tomb mural painted in the first part of the fifth century leads to the assumption that it had gained favor significantly earlier.

The mural indicates that ssireum had a deeper meaning than simply being a sport in ancient Korean society. The tree depicted on the left-hand side of the painting is a “sacred tree,” the likes of which were widely worshipped in early civilizations in many parts of the world. The tree represented the origin of life and a link connecting heaven and earth. The birds sitting on its branches symbolized a mediator between this world and the next. Evidently, a ssireum match underway beside a divine tree was not a simple sporting event but a social ritual. In addition, a bear and a tiger lean against the

1. A scene from a mural in Gakjeochong (Tomb of Wrestlers), dated to the early 5th century during the Goguryeo Kingdom. This is the oldest known record of ssireum. The depicted positioning of the wrestlers is the same as that today.

2. “Ssireum” from “Album of Genre Paintings by Danwon” Kim Hong-do (1745–c. 1806). 18th century. Ink and light color on paper, 26.9 × 22.2 cm.

This famous genre painting by Kim Hong-do, a court painter during the late Joseon Dynasty, depicts noblemen, commoners and children enjoying a wrestling match. It has a balanced, circular composition, with vivid expression of the figures’ faces and movements.

Ancient Evidence

The oldest known evidence of ssireum is a mural in an ancient tomb of the Goguryeo Kingdom (37 B.C.–A.D. 668), which is known as Gakjeochong, or the “Tomb of Wrestlers,” located in Jilin Province, northeast China. The athletes depicted here have their shoulders locked together, bending slightly at the waist — a positioning identical to that in ssi-

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© National Museum of Korea

In an unprecedented joint application, the two Koreas obtained the inscription of their common traditional sport ssireum on the UNESCO’s Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. The inter-Korean effort has raised hopes for improved relations between the North and the South.

sireum is an ancient Korean wrestling style and traditional sport. A cloth, called satba, is wrapped around the wrestlers’ waist and thigh and they hold on to each other’s cloth belt. In a match, getting any part of the opponent’s body above the knee to touch the ground first qualifies as a win. The ssireum matches, taking place in a small ring with mounded sand, require quick reactions, endurance and skillful coordination of the whole body, especially the hands, feet and back, as well as physical and mental toughness.

For Koreans, ssireum is more than a folk sport. The competitions have long been an integral part of every special day on the lunar calendar, heralding the beginning of a festival or holiday celebration. In the old days, everyone in a village participated as competitor or spectator.

In many ways, ssireum has also carried social and communal significance that transcended individuals’ talents and interests. This is why it remained a constant even in the first part of the 20th century when Korea lost its sovereignty and groaned under colonial oppression. Country-wide competitions were held as often as once a month, playing a role in maintaining the ethnic and cultural identity of Koreans.

Eventually, toward the end of colonial rule, Japan banned the sport altogether.

Liberation and the ensuing territorial division did not diminish ssireum’s stature as a common legacy of the Korean people. In the south, even before the government of the Republic of Korea was founded, it was selected as a permanent part of the annual national sports festival, and largescale games began at regional and national levels. Though not as widespread as it once was, many schools across the country still have ssireum teams and individual enthusiasts form teams that represent regions and corporations. Similarly, in North Korea, ssireum continues to have an important place as a major national sport and pastime. A nationwide competition is held every autumn during the Chuseok holiday period, and communities have matches on Dano, or the Double Five Day, in May. On International Children’s Day, celebrated on June 1, there is another nationwide competition exclusively for young athletes.

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The joint inscription of ssireum as intangible heritage of humanity can become a practical opportunity to move forward beyond a vague sense of a shared identity to a real process of reconciliation and unity.

man Kim Yu-sin had a ssireum match, where the former had his shirt tie pulled off. According to the “History of Goryeo” (Goryeosa), another important source completed in 1451, by the early 14th century ssireum was enjoyed by everyone, from the king all the way down the social ladder, including courtiers and warriors. At that time, Goryeo was under the control of the Mongol Empire, suggesting that the authors tried to emphasize the Korean people’s effort to consolidate their internal unity and identity through the traditional sport.

Communal Solidarity tree trunk. Those animals are primary symbols in the founding myth of the first Korean kingdom.

Ssireum also appears in many other ancient tomb murals.

Therefore, it is assumed to have been popular with the highest echelons of society, including royalty and nobility. But this does not mean that it was enjoyed only by a specific class. There are no particular features in the clothing or hairstyles of the wrestlers depicted in the murals that denote high social status, so it appears to have been widely loved by ordinary people, too.

“History of the Three Kingdoms” (Samguk sagi), a major historical source dated to 1145, says that in Silla, a rival of Goguryeo, the royal heir Kim Chun-chu and noble-

“Ssireum,” a genre painting by the 18th century Joseon era artist Kim Hong-do, also demonstrates the social function of the sport in uniting members of society across classes and age groups. Regarded as the most well-known old painting depicting ssireum nowadays, it vividly captures the decisive moment when victory and defeat hang in the balance.

The wrestler in the background is grabbing his opponent’s leg, trying to knock him over, while the wrestler in the foreground is twisting and lifting his opponent’s body by using the strength of his back in an effort to throw him down. The spectators surrounding them are also revealing. In an era when a strict class system was enforced, the sight of noblemen and commoners, adults and children, all mixed up and sitting together to enjoy the match is quite extraordinary.

Under the name of “Traditional Korean Wrestling

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1. Jo Myong-jin celebrates his victory in the 12th Grand Bull Prize National Ssirum Tournament held in September 2015 at the Korean Wrestling Ring on Rungrado, Pyongyang. A bull is the traditional prize of ssireum tournaments.

2. Two wrestlers try to force each other to the ground at the Korea Open Ssireum Festival held at the Andong Gymnasium on November 26, 2018. On the day, the UNESCO approved an unprecedented joint application by South and North Korea to have traditional Korean wrestling inscribed on the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

2 © Yonhap News Agency

(Ssirum/Ssireum),” ssireum was placed on the UNESCO’s Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity on November 26, 2018. All 24 member states unanimously supported the inscription at the 13th session of the Intergovernmental Committee for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage, held in Port Louis, Mauritius.

The two Koreas’ joint nomination was unprecedented.

A Symbolic Stride

The UNESCO committee recognized the social significance of the sport and the fact that it has remained active and unchanged for some 1,600 years in both the northern and southern parts of the Korean peninsula. “Different regions have developed variants of ssireum based on their specific backgrounds, but they all share the common social function of ssireum — enhancing community solidarity and collaboration,” the committee observed. It also stated, “The joint inscription marks a highly symbolic step on the road to inter-Korean reconciliation.”

Over the last seven decades, South and North Korea have

established different social systems and engaged in political and military confrontation. As a result, highly disparate elements have become deeply ingrained on either side. In these circumstances, the joint inscription of ssireum as intangible heritage of humanity can provide a practical opportunity to move forward beyond a vague sense of a shared identity to a real process of reconciliation and unity.

Joint inter-Korean teams have previously competed at international events for such sports as table tennis, youth football and ice hockey but they were mostly one-off events.

Aside from the joy and pain of winning and losing, there was little emotional empathy that lasted among the athletes forming cross-border teams.

Talks are already underway between the authorities and sports organizations from the North and South to create a joint ssireum competition. If they are able to agree on regularly scheduled competitions, a big stride toward peace and reconciliation would be realized. Moreover, the two Koreas could jointly promote ssireum all over the world as a popular sport and form of exercise.

© Yonhap News Agency

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INTERVIEW

The Man Called ‘Nam June Paik’s Hands’ Lee Jung-sung was running an electronics shop in Seoul in 1988 when he first met Nam June Paik, the father of video art. For nearly two decades thereafter, Lee worked as Paik’s project technician and main collaborator. Lee is still busy these days overseeing the late virtuoso’s legacy, restoring and maintaining his works.

Lim Hee-yun Culture Reporter, The Dong-a Ilbo Heo Dong-wuk Photographer

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ehind Nam June Paik, the world’s first video artist, there was Lee Jung-sung. Their first collaborative work was a tower of 1,003 TV sets titled “The More the Better” (Dadaikseon, 1988). In the ensuing 18 years, Lee engineered the installation of Paik’s artworks, and as they crisscrossed the globe, Lee morphed into Paik’s closest collaborator and source of ideas. It could be said that Nam June Paik’s brain soared on the wings of Lee Jungsung’s hands, and Lee Jung-sung’s hands were able to build amazing things because of Nam June Paik’s brain.

Nowadays, Lee occupies a sixth-floor studio in Sewoon Sangga, a neighborhood by Seoul’s Cheonggye Stream and the parallel walkway that slices through the downtown Jongno District. His desk is at the end of a long space with shelves lined with old TVs, electronic parts and books about Nam June Paik. The hands that fitted “The More the Better” shook mine warmly.

Sowing Trust Lee Jung-sung, installation engineer for video artist Nam June Paik, poses in front of “M200” exhibited at the Tri-Bowl in the Songdo Central Park, Incheon, in 2010. The 1991 work is a video wall comprised of 94 monitors. It is 3.3m wide and 9.6m tall. © News Bank

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Lim Hee-yun: When did you start working here in Sewoon Sangga?

Lee Jung-sung: Construction was completed on this market complex in 1968, but I’d been in the neighborhood since 1961. Back then, there were stores and workshops selling junk and electronic parts huddled together in temporary buildings lined up all the way from out the front of Jongmyo

(Royal Ancestral Shrine) down to Toegyero. The very start of my work with electronics was a vacuum tube radio one of my older brothers had when we lived in Busan.

Lim: From one radio to all those TVs? When did you come to Seoul?

Lee: I was young and really obsessed with my brother’s radio. I’d hide it under the covers and keep it on all night while I slept. We couldn’t afford to keep buying new batteries. My brother always scolded me for using them up. That radio was so magical to me that in the end I started opening it up and looking at all the parts. I really got a taste for it, so I said to my family, “This is what I’ll have to study.” My older sister lived in Seoul then. I told her, “I don’t mind if I have to sleep in the doorway, please just keep me fed and dry,” and so I ended up staying with her. I must have been around 18 when I started attending the Gukje TV Institute at Euljiro 2-ga. After studying at the institute, I came into Sewoon Sangga and got work. At that time, regular households didn’t have TVs. It was before the KBS television station even existed. Households with money to spare would buy a TV to watch the American military broadcasts. I started out installing and fixing these TVs. Lim: So how did you meet Nam June Paik?

Lee: I have to set the scene first. The household appliances trade show in Korea began in 1986. The Seoul International Trade Fair opened in what is now the COEX Conven-

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tion Centre in Samseong-dong, and the competition between Samsung and LG was really intense. They were having a battle of ideas, under strictest secrecy, to come up with the most innovative display for the grand opening. The Samsung side commissioned me to install a “TV wall.” I managed to build a wall of 528 TVs in little time, so after that they got me to do all the displays for the major Samsung Electronics stores in Seoul.

And then it was 1988. Mr. Paik was asking around for a technician to help build “The More the Better,” and eventually got in touch with me because I was doing that work for Samsung. He asked me, “Can you do me one with 1,003?”

And, of course, I said, “Yes, I can do that.” I was thinking, “I did one with 528, just doubling the number shouldn’t mean it can’t be done.” At that point I had no idea about what an important figure Nam June Paik was, or what an embarrassment it would be on the global stage if we couldn’t pull it off. They say, don’t they, that you’re bravest when you know nothing.

Lim: Did the work on “The More the Better” go smoothly?

Lee: Mr. Paik tasked me with installing the 1,003 TVs and then he went off to America, simply saying, “Do a good job.” At the time, the biggest challenge to installing TVs on such a large scale was how to deal with the video feed. Even in Japan, they only had a device that could distribute video to six TVs simultaneously. And it was 500 dollars apiece, which was a lot of money. So I started making my own from

scratch. In the end, the 1,003 TVs worked perfectly by the promised date of the live broadcast. It was the best feeling ever. I think Mr. Paik was really surprised, too. Later on, when he came back to Korea, he admitted to me, “To be honest, I thought if even half of them worked, it would be a big achievement.” Then he asked, “I have to make another work in New York. Could you do it?” And I responded, “Sure, yeah, why not?” The work was “Fin de Siècle II,” which was installed at the Whitney Museum in 1989.

After that one, Mr. Paik sent me to Switzerland where I couldn’t even speak the language. I had to install 80 TVs in a week, and because of my massive bag full of TV parts and tools, I was stopped by customs at Zurich Airport. I wrangled with the customs officer, speaking in Korean and making signs with my hands and feet. I managed to persuade the gallery to extend the time I was able to work until after closing.

I finished the work in less than five days and was able to go off and do some sightseeing. That was when Mr. Paik really came to believe in my grit and adaptability.

Exchange of Ideas

Lim: Nam June Paik was an artist and you’re a technician. Were there any communication problems when it came to your work?

Lee: When I worked with Mr. Paik, we never needed to use anything like an official blueprint. We spent a lot of time together in restaurants and cafés. Wherever we went in

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the world, we’d sit for hours on end discussing things and sketching ideas on restaurant napkins and paper tablecloths.

Sometimes we even drew on record sleeves and cigarette papers. The scribbled diagrams and explanations were almost like the random digit tables you see spies using in the movies, but it was fine because I was the only one who needed to understand them.

Quite a lot of artworks started out with Mr. Paik saying: “Remember the thing we talked about at the café in France?

Shall we have a go at that?” “The thing we chatted about in New York, let’s try it out!” The idea for “Megatron/Matrix” (1995) that included animated images with video displays came about like that. One day, an exhibition at the Centre Pompidou in Paris had just ended and there was a reception.

The two of us concocted a story to tell the president of the center that we weren’t feeling well and left. We went straight to a café near Montparnasse Station and sat down at the best spot in the whole place. From our table, there was a direct view of what was then the biggest neon advertising display in Europe. The two of us sat looking out the window and came up with the plan for that artwork.

Lim: You started out as a technician. How were you able to understand the creative world of Nam June Paik when even people in the art world at the time weren’t able to keep up with him?

Lee: I’ll turn that question around. Do you understand Picasso’s paintings? There’s no right answer when it comes

1. In this 1994 photo, Nam June Paik and Lee Jung-sung test an early version of “Megatron/Matrix” at Paik’s Seoul office.

2. A diagram for Nam June Paik’s works submitted to the 1993 Venice Biennale. Paik represented Germany at the biennial art exhibition and received the Golden Lion.

3. A drawing made by Nam June Paik as a gift for Lee Jung-sung.

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4. The concept outline for “Megatron/Matrix” (1995) drawn by Nam June Paik on a paper tablecloth at a café near Montparnasse Station in Paris. The first “Megatron/Matrix” is owned by the Smithsonian American Art Museum in Washington, D.C., the second by the Seoul Museum of Art, and the third by the Seoul Olympic Museum of Art. 5. “Tower” (2001) exhibited at “LETTRES DU VOYANT: Joseph Beuys x Nam June Paik” held at the HOW Art Museum, Shanghai, in 2018. Lee Jung-sung spent two weeks for installing Paik’s works for the exhibition.

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5 Courtesy of Lee Jung-sung

to appreciating works of art. There’s nothing to wonder about with why people like a certain artwork either. You just need to feel for yourself, “That’s fun,” or “That looks good.” At the beginning, I also just passively made whatever Mr. Paik instructed me to make. But from some point or other, I started candidly proposing my ideas, too. If I were to say, “I think it would be good if we add something like this, what do you think?” he’d respond with, “Hey, buster, you should have said so from the beginning.” And then I realized, “Ah, if I suggest my ideas in advance, he really would take them on.”

Yes, he would readily take on the advice I gave in consideration of the environment of the exhibition space and technological limitations.

Lim: It’s been a long time since the TVs of “The More the Better” could operate at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Gwacheon, Gyeonggi Province.

With conflicting opinions in the art world about restoration

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 41

methods, the situation seems to have come to a standstill.

Lee: There are a number of different ways of doing it.

The first method would be to replace the TVs with Braun tube screens. But it’s a very difficult option to put into practice, because it’s a pyramid that’s 19 meters tall. It would be a huge undertaking just to put up the support beams and scaffold. The method that I’m in favor of would be to replace the old Braun tubes with LCD screens. But it clashes with the opinion that flat-screen LCDs would ruin the curved lines of the Braun tube sets that are in the original. I don’t agree.

When it comes to media art, isn’t the spirit of the artist in the software, not the hardware? “Seoul Rhapsody” (2001) at the Seoul Museum of Art was made with flat screens. When Mr. Paik made “The More the Better,” he didn’t use Braun tube sets because he liked them. It was because that was all there was at the time, so he couldn’t help but use them. And so I can’t agree with the opinion that replacing them would be damaging the original.

Based on that logic, you have to be opposed to the restoration of paintings, too. With Leonardo da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” in the Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan, what only remained as an outline was painted again over a number of years. In that case, would it also be right to say that it shouldn’t have been touched? I once asked Mr. Paik when he was alive, “What do we do if the TVs break down?” And he simply said, “When that happens, we’ll just replace them with ones that work.” If he saw the situation right now, I’m sure he’d have a good giggle about it. In some circles people are even hinting that it should just be taken apart all together.

But if we do that, in the long run, we’d end up being a laughingstock in the international community.

Lim: Is there a lot involved to maintain Nam June Paik’s works? And what work do you do now aside from that?

Lee: Not long ago, I worked on restoring the work “108 Agonies” (1998) in Gyeongju. It was so damaged that it took me a whole week, and I also did some work on “Fractal Turtleship” (1993) at the Daejeon Museum of Art. Recently, I went over to the Whitney Museum in New York to help with the conservation of “Fin de Siècle II.” Aside from that, I give advice to young budding artists, and I occasionally give lectures, too. This autumn, there’s a big Nam June Paik retrospective in Nanjing, China, and I think I’ll have to work on that one, too. I also have to keep pouring my heart and soul into the organization of his archive.

Preservation and Restoration

Lim: Now the era of YouTube is in full swing. How do you look back on Nam June Paik’s art in this day and age?

Lee: He went around piling up debts to create innovative artworks, but with today’s technology he would have made loads of really unusual works. In his later years, he stopped doing video art and tried to go into laser art, but the overheads were just so high. He was just about able to use military-grade lasers. If lasers and LED had been in use when Mr. Paik was doing his work, we probably would have gotten to discover another Nam June Paik, entirely different from the one we know.

Lim: Do you still sometimes think of the days when you were working with Nam June Paik?

Lee: Of course. I was nothing but a technician, but since I worked with Mr. Paik on his artworks, I got to travel the world and wanted for nothing. To tell you the truth, even now, once or twice a month, I meet him in my dreams and we work together. It’s completely new work. In the dreams, we never work again on the works we made in the past.

Maybe his insistence on always going after what’s new is still alive.

I once asked Mr. Paik when he was alive, “What do we do if the TVs break down?” And he simply said, “When that happens, we’ll just replace them with ones that work.”

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Lee Jung-sung at his studio, located in Sewoon Sangga, a shopping, industrial and residential complex in central Seoul. His studio is filled with old TVs and electronic parts he has collected. Lee says that once or twice a month these days, he still has a dream in which he works with Nam June Paik.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 43

ART REVIEW

G

etting to Ulleung Island is a bit of a challenge.

It takes a full seven hours from Seoul, traveling by train and boat. The tides can get so rough that boats often cannot take to sea, making the island inaccessible for up to 100 days of the year. However, the island’s pristine landscape is well worth the trip. The magnificent rocky mountains overwhelm anyone who first steps foot on the island, giving the feeling that one has transcended time and space.

Mt. Chu, standing 430 meters high on the sea cliff to the northwest of Ulleung Island, is the culmination of this landscape. The flow of the sea and the mountain, the sunset and sunrise, the moon and the stars all look amazing. Healing Stay Kosmos sits on the cliff plunging into the sea. Designed by architect Kim Chan-joong, the resort opened in 2018.

There are two wings: Villa Kosmos is a collection of pool villas forming a whirlwind made up of six blades, and Villa Terre is a pension-type building with five vaulted sections lined up to form waves. The UK design magazine Wallpaper* selected Healing Stay Kosmos as Best New Hotel in the 2019 Wallpaper* Design Awards.

Aesthetic Organism of Concrete

Six Different Views

© Kim Yong-kwan

The design was inspired by the intensity of the place. The architect realized that, when observed in the silence of the island at the eastern edge of Korean territory, the movements of the stars, the moon, the sun and the horizon were far more dazzling. What naturally came to mind was a structure resembling a celestial tool that contains cosmic and terrestrial phenomena.

In his quest to create a work assimilated into the natural setting, Kim Chan-joong came upon the idea of utilizing celestial movements. He obtained data from the Korean government’s astronomical observatory computer to plot the trajectory of the sun and the moon, and when he traced their movements on the land they converged in a spiral shape. He added Mt. Chu, the rock on which the sun falls on the summer solstice, the port and the forest to form six major orientation points. As the blades looking outwards to six different views converged in a single circle, they formed a circular building with no directional hierarchy. Hence, Villa Kosmos is a whirlwind orientated to six different views. On the first floor is a communal space, including restaurant and sauna.

As you walk up the circular central staircase, it becomes evident that each blade forms one guestroom. Each guestroom door opens to a curved wall and as you walk along the wall a window slowly emerges. It is a huge vertical window at the

Ulleung Island is 217km from the city of Pohang on the east coast. To the northwest of the island, atop a cliff that plunges into the sea, stands architect Kim Chan-joong’s sensational work Healing Stay Kosmos, achieving exquisite harmony with its natural setting.

Lim Jin-young CEO, OPENHOUSE Seoul; Architecture Journalist Ha Ji-kwon Photographer

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light, creating an aesthetic space resembling the hide of a living animal. More than anything else, the soft and slim curve of the roof and the walls, that are 12cm thick, makes Kosmos an ethereal presence on the land. It’s a wonder that concrete can be that thin and modeled in such a way.

The delicate formative beauty of Kosmos is derived from its material — ultra-high performance concrete (UHPC). This new sitecast concrete was first used here on a building. UHPC is characterized by its high intensity, high density and high durability. Even without the steel rebars, steel fiber reinforcement can be used to obtain the necessary intensity. And with such high compressive and tensile strength, very thin structures can be made. Thus, the architect tried out new tectonics for concrete, which up until then had largely been reserved for civil engineering projects.

their joy was short-lived for a painful journey lay ahead of them.

The problem was that no precedent existed for casting UHPC inside a mold to create a curvy shape. So, the architect had to lead the entire process, from creating the molds for the modules to ejecting and erecting them. To prove the viability of forming and erecting the UHPC modules, five mockups were made with the engineering team, including the contractor, formwork maker, structural design office and UHPC manufacturer. The process took six long months.

Around the same time, it was decided to make more proactive use of the material on Healing Stay Kosmos as UHPC was deemed

the optimal material to create slender and delicate formative beauty. The on-site casting of UHPC, never attempted before, was done by the Korea Institute of Civil Engineering and Building Technology, which created the unique brand K-UHPC; Steel Life Co. Ltd., which had manufactured 45,000 amorphous exterior panels for Dongdaemun Design Plaza; and the contractor Kolon Global. The architect led the whole process, which involved calculating the intensity of the UHPC, measuring the pressure of the molds, and reviewing on-site casting through many mockups to develop the molds that would be able to create the design, all the while coordinating with the engineering team.

The deciding factor was whether the molds

Villa Kosmos, in the shape of a whirlwind made up of six blades, has curved roof and walls which are only 12cm thick. The new material, ultra-high performance concrete (UHPC), made it possible to create such thin and delicate lines.

Challenges with Joys and Pains

© Kim Yong-kwan

Mt. Chu is seen through a 6-meter-tall arched window, which echoes its shape, in a guestroom of Villa Kosmos.

The building resembles a whirlwind composed of six blades, each forming a guestroom commanding a different view.

end of the room that commands a fine view. Its curved arch echoes the shape of Mt. Chu, also known as Ice Pick Peak.

To make the building look more like an object of art, Kim hid most of its main machinery inside the walls so that the building can be perceived as a single space — a single natural organism. From the design stage, the lighting and the heating, ventilation and air-conditioning (HVAC) systems and diffusers were embedded, and many mockups were created to bring this to reality. The perforated ceiling lets in wind and

The application of UHPC was a challenge and an experiment at every stage of design and construction. The architect’s selection of the new material was based on KEB Hana Bank’s PLACE 1 in Samseong-dong, Seoul, which was designed around the same time. Both PLACE 1 and Healing Stay Kosmos began with the question, “Is thinner and more delicate architecture possible?” A new method was devised after numerous mockups and engineering consultations.

PLACE 1 is a renovated building that integrates many bank branches and offices. The architect built an “open slow core” with cultural spaces on every floor, where people can gather to transform the bank space after it closes at four in the afternoon. A proposal was made to build terraces around the exterior of the building and wrap the exterior in voluptuously curved panels. Each panel is a large modular component measuring four meters square, extruding one meter outward and indenting 50 centimeters inward. The design team was looking for a light material that could be applied to the existing building and was ecstatic when they lighted upon UHPC. But © Kim Yong-kwan

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“If tectonics in architecture is about the legitimacy of the relationship between the material and the construction method, I think it is time that the tectonics of concrete also changed.” © Kim Jan-di

Architect Kim Chan-joong is known for his experimentalism in the use of new materials. The System Lab, the architectural firm that he heads, was included in the 2016 Architects’ Directory of the UK design magazine Wallpaper*.

could withstand the significant pressure that would be applied when concrete was poured into them, considering the high density of UHPC, which flows like water. If things went wrong, the molds could break. In addition, in order to construct a three-dimensional amorphous architecture, the molds had to be fixed in a single attempt. On top of that, UHPC had never been applied to the structure of a building. During the three days and two nights when the pouring process took place, everyone held their breaths hoping for the best.

The Tectonics of Concrete

The drawings of Kim Chan-joong and his company, The System Lab, are always accompanied by a fabrication and construction planning report. The purpose of the report is to think over the construction of the building and seek optimal and rational solutions. Architects cannot indulge in aesthetics alone; they have to research the construction methods fit for their projects and apply the right technology to execute them. The method that Kim Chanjoong calls “industrial craftsmanship” elicits

emotional empathy through technological and material innovation.

In his book “Concrete and Culture: A Material History,” Adrian Forty, professor emeritus of architectural history at The Bartlett, University College London, said that concrete is not a material but a process. Concrete was the universal material that gave birth to the International Style of architecture, and we may now come across new types of concrete structures thanks to new methods. In that sense, Kim Chan-joong, in constant search for the optimal solution, is at the forefront of not only architectural design but also of construction process design.

“UHPC is emotionally different from the solid, bulky and heavy structural system of concrete as we know it,” Kim says. “If tectonics in architecture is about the legitimacy of the relationship between the material and the construction method, I think it is time that the tectonics of concrete also changed.”

An architect’s attempt to discover and apply a new material is bound to open up new sensibilities.

KEB Hana Bank’s PLACE 1, located in Samseong-dong, Seoul, has the nickname “octopus suckers.”

The surface features 178 disks with a diameter of two meters each that slowly rotate, accentuating the vibrancy of the building.

© Kim Yong-kwan

48 KOREANA Summer 2019

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 49

GUARDIAN OF HERITAGE

“W

hen I heard for the first time that a large number of my homi were being sold on Amazon, I thought of a bunch of middle-aged Korean women plowing the earth in the Amazon jungle,” said Seok No-gi.

The only “Amazon” the blacksmith knew was the tropical rainforest. But he soon became acquainted with another Amazon when his homi were chosen as one of the international online store’s top ten gardening tools and given the “Amazon’s Choice” label. Last year, more than 2,000 hand plows produced at his smithy found their way to customers around the world through the popular online marketplace.

As he talked, Seok gazed down at the simple tool bearing the logo of Youngju Daejanggan (Yeongju Smithy). But he still did not seem to fully recognize the nature of this phenomenon.

Korean-style Horticultural Tool

With Fire, Air and Water

Smith Forges Homi 1

For half a century, Seok No-gi has been working as a blacksmith in Yeongju, a small town seated on a plateau where undulating mountain ranges converge. His handcrafted plow hoes, called homi, are in great demand on global online marketplaces such as Amazon and Ebay. The hand plow with an angled blade is a versatile gardening tool, more convenient than the regular trowel.

“In many foreign countries where gardening is a popular pastime, I heard they have hand tools like trowels and rakes, but nothing like this one with an angled blade,” he said. “It seems the homi’s curved handle puts less strain on the wrist and lumps of clay don’t stick to the blade as with a trowel.”

The story of the indigenous Korean tool being widely used overseas is more than just a pleasant surprise — at least to the generations of Koreans who remember their mothers wielding it to work the fields. Homi used to be a necessity on every farm for particular farming chores that were mostly carried out by women. Mothers would go out to the fields early in the morning and work all day until dusk. Using the small but versatile tool, they would turn up the earth to plant the seeds for the year’s crops, remove the weeds that would hamper their growth, dig out the crops with its pointed tip, and make furrows or level them down with its rounded edge.

It is impossible to keep the chest and back upright while using the homi. Facing the earth with the tool in hand means turning toward the land with the body lax and stooped. The hunched backs of the mothers working in the fields resemble the homi’s curved blade. There is something rueful about

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the roundness, like the bent back of a person who tries to straighten up but cannot. Just looking at the round backs toiling to prepare the land to grow life arouses certain emotions.

Therefore, meeting the blacksmith who has spent 52 years crafting countless homi enkindled a series of questions.

What does he see in his work? What is he thinking when he hammers a hot piece of metal into shape? What does he make of his job, which requires him to commune with water, fire, air and metal to produce a single hand plow?

Individually Different Usage

“With a blade like this, it looks like the dirt will be heaped rather than parted. Could you make it flatter here? And the tip sharper?” asked a customer while examining a homi that he had picked up from the shelves. He wanted the convex edge of the triangular blade flattened and the tip sharpened.

Seemingly used to dealing with such requests, Seok took the tool from the customer and went up to the furnace. He lit a fire, giving it a blow with the bellows. As the flames started to rise, he looked at them for a while before putting the tool into the furnace.

“Everyone has their own way of working with the tool.

Though they may be using the same homi, the way the dirt is plowed is different. That is why some of my customers have a new homi tailored to their preferences as soon as they buy

1. At Yeongju Smithy in North Gyeongsang Province, the blacksmith Seok No-gi sharpens the blade of a homi, or hand plow, hammering the heated metal into shape. He began working as a blacksmith at 14, opened his current shop near Yeongju Station at 23, and has been running it for 43 years.

2. Seok makes hand plows of various sizes and shapes, often tailoring his products to customers’ preferences.

Kang Shin-jae Freelance Writer Ha Ji-kwon Photographer 50 KOREANA Summer 2019

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 51

it,” he explained, proudly adding, “This place is different from a hardware shop carrying only readymade goods.”

Gazing at the fire, the look in his eyes changed in an instant before he picked up a pair of tongs and took out the heated tool. A blazing fire seemed to be trapped in the red hot metal. He placed the metal on the anvil and started to pound it with a hammer, turning it this way and that. The clang of metal striking metal resounded through the smithy and sparks flew in all directions. As the red glow faded, the blade was gradually reshaped, and the customer nodded with approval.

Catching the Moment

Watching the flames swallowing a piece of metal seemed to induce a trance-like absorption. Now, Seok put a piece of iron as large as a man’s fist in the furnace and stared again at the flames. Iron melts at around 1,500°C, and the blacksmith must seize the moment when metal becomes malleable just before it melts. The sole means of reading the temperature inside Seok’s old furnace, which lacks a thermometer, is his intuition.

“I observe the color of the metal to read its state. If it’s still red, it has to be heated longer. Being reddish like the moon means it’s too hard, so you need to wait until it gets as white as the sun. Beyond that point, however, the metal melts and you can’t make anything with it,” he said.

His perception of the moon as reddish and the sun as white had not quite registered with me when the pounding began again. This time, it was not a regular hammer but an automatic forging hammer that moved up and down at a regular pace. Seok placed a piece of heated metal under it to be shaped. The machine’s rhythmic pounding and the swift movement of his hands turning it over repeatedly to obtain the desired shape were in wonderful harmony. Under the rhythm, the triangular blade was created, and the bit of metal stretched out like taffy formed the shank to connect the blade to the handle. After the roughly shaped metal was heated up again and the shape refined, the blade was finished.

“At a foundry, things are made by pouring molten metal

1. Seok shows how to use the tongs to put the blades in and out of the furnace and the hammer to strike the heated metal on the anvil.

2. The blacksmith says the hardest part of his career has been enduring the hard work day in and day out; his crooked fingers attest to his tough life.

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into molds, but it’s completely different at a smithy, where metal is heated, pounded, stretched and shaped by hand,” Seok said.

Pounding involves a series of interrelated procedures — controlling the fire to reshape the metal, dealing with the air, and transforming the innate quality of the metal.

“The air blown by the bellows creates tiny holes in the melting metal. Pounding helps to fill the holes and create an even density across the surface. That’s why blacksmiths of the past used to strike the raw metal hundreds and thousands of times. But I haven’t done a lot of that because I adopted a machine hammer early on,” Seok said.

An insight into the metal is a prerequisite for this work.

No matter how experienced a blacksmith might be, he can never discern its quality just by looking at it.

Pounding and Tempering

“You can’t say precisely how strong any given piece of metal is until you heat and strike it. Similar as they may seem, all metals have different properties, just as rice comes in many varieties. Some are strong but break easily, but others are both strong and resistant to breakage, which makes them good for sickles or spades,” Seok said.

To make his homi, Seok uses leaf springs recycled from vehicles. “My favorite material is steel, which other blacksmiths seldom use,” he said. “Steel is so hard and dense that it is more difficult to handle than iron. But tools made of soft metal tend to be curled up at the edges rather than being sharp. You lose customer trust if you sell such products.

Repair them? It was possible in the past, when homi were heavier and thicker. A typical homi used to weigh about 500 grams, which meant there was plenty of material to stretch the edges out for a sharper blade. Or else, we could attach scrap metal to the edges and sharpen them. But nowadays, people prefer lighter tools weighing about 200 to 300 grams, which are too thin to repair.”

Seok believes that the value of metal tools is determined by tempering, a heat treatment method performed by briefly dipping the heated metal into cold water. Although the French philosopher Gaston Bachelard described tempering as the process of “enclosing fire in the iron with cold water to enclose the wild beast of fire in the steel prison,” Seok maintained that it was a skill beyond description. Depending on the nature of the metal, its thickness, temperature and other conditions, tempering can take less than a second or much longer. Called the “crowning glory of blacksmithing,” it is a critical process that determines the durability of the metal.

So much so that in the past, blacksmiths would complete the

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process in the quiet solitude of night. Indeed, it could not have been easy to negotiate the two extremes of water and fire to get the best out of the material.

A Battle with Self

Seok first set foot in a smithy at the age of 14 when he went to help his brother-in-law, who was a blacksmith. It was such an impoverished time that anyone who borrowed a sack of barley in spring had to pay it back with one and a half sacks in autumn. He would not have turned down any job that paid him properly for his work.

But working as a blacksmith was not easy. “You have to get the metal into shape before it cools down. Even when

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chips of hot metal land on the back of your hand, there’s no time to remove them because if the metal cools down you have to heat it up all over again,” Seok said. “One day, in my teens, when I was learning the craft, sparks flew up at one of my eyes. I felt the eye with my gloved hand and saw that the glove was soaked with blood. I covered the other eye with my hand to see if I could still see. I could, so I kept working, thinking at least my eye hadn’t popped out.”

Asked about the biggest hurdle in his career — the hard work, the people he interacted with, the low income, or anything at all — he answered it was the fact that he had to carry on working, no matter what.

“It was my dream to be able to make a living while tak-

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 53

Tempering is performed by dipping the heated metal into cold water. A blacksmith needs long experience and intuitive skills to be able to properly carry out this process that determines the strength of the metal.

54 KOREANA Summer 2019

ing two months off, or even one month, every summer,” he said. “I used to wonder why I had to toil at the furnace when everyone else seemed to manage fine in other jobs.

My grievance grew stronger after I managed to buy a house for my family. I decided to open a small corner store but eventually gave up the plan. I wasn’t sure I could support my family that way. Working as a blacksmith, I could at least keep my head above water.”

Although he had worked so long and struggled so hard with himself to become a master blacksmith, dark clouds gathered in only a moment.

The development of farm machines radically reduced the demand for handmade tools, and low-priced Chinese products also encroached on the market. Yet, he held on to his craft.

“Some may take it for granted that out of a thousand homi, at least one may have a defect. But I can’t accept that,” he said. “It may be one out of a thousand for me, but for the customer it is the only one, because few people today would own two homi.”

As the industry declined, he tried to find a new market. In the old days, when almost all the work was done by hand, he had been innovative enough to invest a sum big enough to buy a house to purchase a metal cutting machine. This time, he found a way out of the crisis when he found someone who could manage online sales.

“It’s been over 10 years since I started selling online. I was often told that some of my homi were sold to the U.S. As customers there started talking about my products, there was a gradual increase in orders,” Seok said. “With time, they were listed on Amazon, but it didn’t happen overnight. Now, they are exported to Australia as well. It seems there is good news every day… But these days, production can’t keep up with demand. No young

The heated breaths of the blacksmith striking the red hot metal overlapped with the plaintive sighs of the mothers working their fingers to the bone, each wearing out one homi blade a year.

people want to learn the craft. I have a few people helping me, but they are rather old and there’s no telling when they will quit. It could be this month, or the next. I’m also losing strength every year. Ours is probably the last generation of blacksmiths in this country.”

An Honest Life

He smiled with a mixture of pride and regret in his face.

“I’ve looked after myself financially since I was 14. I opened my shop right here at 23. I started my family, bought our house, and raised three children, giving them all a college 2 education,” he recollected. “My wife and I have never been reduced to borrowing money from others. Would a poorly educated man like me have been able to become someone grand like a politician, doctor, or judge? No, I’ve never dreamed of that. I’ve simply worked hard, always telling myself, I won’t lag behind, though I may never lead. I’m satisfied. I think I’ve had a good life.”

Seok was talking about being self-sufficient in this world where we constantly desire what others desire. “Perhaps because I’ve spent a lot of time before the fire, I still have good eyesight. At this age, I still don’t need reading glasses,” he said, chuckling.

Brightened by the force of the flames, his eyes shone like the moonlight — or was it the sunlight? There he was, his physique petite but solid, his face gentle but resolved, his voice raised in hoarse excitement while telling his story, and his fingers crooked like the curved handles of the count-

Chosen as one of Amazon’s Top Ten Garden Tools and given the “Amazon’s Choice” label, the hand plows made by Seok No-gi are popular in many countries.

less homi he has crafted. The man whose life was forged by fire and iron again reminded me of mothers squatting in the fields digging the earth with their homi. The heated breaths of the blacksmith striking the red hot metal overlapped with the plaintive sighs of the mothers working their fingers to the bone, each wearing out one homi blade a year. I understood then why my eyes and my heart lingered on the smithy shelves arrayed with the simple hand plows.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 55

IN LOVE WITH KOREA

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arely five minutes had passed before an English interview turned into a Korean conversation — unwittingly. Little wonder. Since he first set foot in Korea 53 years ago, Father Robert John Brennan has lived as a friend of Koreans, especially the poor and powerless, speaking their language.

He currently serves as the CEO of the Samyang Citizens’ Network. It is a mutual aid community organization that provides vocational, educational and housing support to residents in Samyang-dong, a humble neighborhood in Gangbuk District, northern Seoul. As its name Gangbuk (“north of the river”) implies, it is an old district, a sharp contrast with Gangnam (“south of the river”), which symbolizes Seoul’s wealth and cutting-edge trends, as showcased in Psy’s global hit song, “Gangnam Style.”

Community Mutual Assistance

Samyang-dong is one of the poorest areas even in Gangbuk.

Last summer, Seoul Mayor Park Won-soon chose the neighborhood for his month-long “experience-the-poor” sojourn.

Upon moving into a rooftop room, Park paid a courtesy call on Father Brennan, a Samyang-dong resident since 1992, when he became the first provost of a new parish church on the recommendation of the late Cardinal Stephen Kim Souhwan.

“When I first arrived, shanty houses covering a hill caught my eye,” recalled Father Brennan. “I could see forced demolition would start here, too.”

His first chore was to rent a home. Three years later, redevelopers began to tear down houses in the area. Father Brennan’s house served as the residents’ gathering site to discuss countermeasures. “There were many things to do, including the education of residents about their rights and finding them temporary shelters,” he said.

Next came the Asian financial crisis of 1997–98, leaving legions of people jobless. To help them, he conducted projects jointly with the House of Sharing, a charitable organization run by the Anglican Church of Korea, providing job counseling services and operating a housing welfare center

Light for the Poor and Powerless It is not easy to live a life of service and self-sacrifice for others. It must be even harder to do so in a faraway land.

Robert John Brennan, a.k.a. Ahn Kwang-hun, made a difficult decision over a half century ago. Now, as “a friend of the poor,” the New Zealand-born Catholic father finds Korea a lot more comfortable than his homeland.

A Priest of Slums

Brennan’s struggle for evictees and squatters began in Mokdong, western Seoul, in the 1980s. “With the 1988 Seoul Olympics approaching, the city was being cleaned and beautified,” he said. “At the time, the neighborhood of Mok-dong, located along the road from Gimpo International Airport to downtown Seoul, was dotted with shabby houses. It was an eyesore for the authorities.”

Brennan joined residents targeted for eviction and relocation to oppose officials, redevelopers and their hired thugs.

“They beat even old people and children while the police stood by with their arms crossed,” he said.

1. The New Zealand-born Catholic priest Robert John Brennan arrived in Korea in 1966 and has since lived in this country, helping the disadvantaged. Among Koreans, he is known as “Father Ahn Kwang-hun, Friend of the Poor.”

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2. Father Brennan points to the name of his compatriot, Father Patrick Brennan, on the St. Columban Memorial Monument for Korean War Martyrs. The monument in the garden of the St. Columban Mission Society in Seoul memorializes seven Catholic priests who died during the Korean War.

© News Bank

Choi Sung-jin Executive Editor, Korea Biomedical Review Ha Ji-kwon Photographer

56 KOREANA Summer 2019

and microcredit programs.

Thus began the Samyang Citizens’ Network. “The key laid in encouraging residents to unite, form a community and make a living,” Brennan said. “Now the common problems of redevelopment projects, such as kicking out tenants by employing hoodlums to threaten them, have declined and welfare has improved.” But he said many tasks remain. These days, the focus is placed on smaller activities more closely related to daily life. “We send helpers to mothers who have recently given birth, offer housekeeping services and link student volunteers to night schools,” he explained.

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Brennan’s ties with the then residents of Mok-dong have continued until today in many beautiful ways. He officiated the weddings of young people who had fought alongside him. They are now middle-aged couples and their children have reached their age at the time of the Seoul Olympics.

“As they call me father, their children call me grandfather. I’m happy when they call me grandpa,” he said. One of those families invites him every weekend, and as any grandfather would, he enjoys spending time with his “children” and “grandchildren.”

An unforgettable episode transpired. There was a sick poor man barely subsisting in Samyang-dong. Brennan sent volunteers to look after him in various ways. “After a few months, the man made a tearful confession that he was one of the hoodlums who had harassed evictees in Mok-dong,” Brennan said. “He repented and asked for forgiveness, saying thanks for taking care of him.”

“I hope Korea will become a more humane society in which young people are considerate about older ones, wealthy people are concerned about poor ones, and learned people try to understand the less educated better.”

Father Brennan poses with local residents in front of the office of the Samyang Citizens’ Network.

He is CEO of the community organization established to provide vocational training and help resolve housing problems in Samyang-dong, a deprived neighborhood in northern Seoul.

Guiding Spirit

Recalling that “Cardinal Stephen Kim always worried about weak and suffering people, stood by them and tried to keep their dignity,” Father Brennan said there must have been a reason for the cardinal to send him to two of the most deprived districts in the capital.

“Church for the sake of church is the last thing I want to see,” Brennan said. “The church should not tell people to come but walk toward them.”

This is the very spirit which has guided Father Brennan ever since he started his service in Korea in 1968. His first stint was in the coal mining town of Jeongseon, in the mountainous province of Gangwon, where there were not even hospitals to provide proper medical care to the miners and their families. He played a pivotal role in establishing the St. Francisco Hospital there. He served in Jeongseon and the nearby port of Samcheok until 1979.

The 11-year service in Gangwon was followed by a sabbatical year at the University of California, Berkeley where he studied theology. He returned to Korea and Cardinal Stephen Kim appointed him to Mok-dong.

Robert John Brennan was born in Auckland, New Zealand, in 1941. The first boy among five children born to a devout Catholic family, he was smart and sincere. His parents held him to high expectations and hoped he would have a secular occupation.

However, the young Brennan was moved by a church newsletter his mother received periodically. He was especially drawn to articles about New Zealand’s Catholic priests who began serving in Korea in 1933, when it was a colony of

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© Asan Foundation for Arts and Culture

Japan. Then, during the Korean War of 1950–53, seven priests were martyred. “I found one of those priests had the same family name as mine,” he said. “Then I made up my mind.”

Brennan took enormous pains to persuade his parents to enter the Columban Mission Society, a seminary in Sydney, Australia, in 1959. After six years of study there, he became an ordained priest in 1965. The following year he was appointed to serve in Korea.

He spent his first two years in Korea learning about the country, including its language. He studied at the now closed Myongdo Language Institute in Jeong-dong, operated by Franciscan fathers. There he befriended Seoul National University students, who renamed him Ahn Kwang-hun.

“They told me the Chinese characters of my first name Kwang-hun mean ‘spread and preach light,’” said Brennan.

Among Koreans, he has long been known by his Korean name rather than his birth name.

Social Engagement

In 1969, he met the late Bishop Daniel Chi Hak-soon in Wonju. Bishop Chi was widely known for his love of and sacrifices for the weak and disadvantaged. He was also respected for his struggle against the dictatorship of Park Chung-hee. From their first meeting onward, Bishop Chi deeply moved Brennan. He still remains Brennan’s role

model for his activities inside and outside of church.

“I am officially retired, but I still give sermons from time to time. And people who hear my sermon for the first time may think I am a socialist of sorts, reminding them of liberation theology,” said Brennan, chuckling.

“I always try to stand on the side of the poor and oppressed, and emphasize social issues. I do not intend to politically influence people. Instead, I try to lead them to make the right choices in elections, asking them to listen to their conscience and consider what will benefit the entire nation rather than what they can get as individuals.”

Brennan said he had much to say about the Korean government’s urban redevelopment policy. “Redevelopment should be planned for residents living in the neighborhood, but unfortunately, most current projects are driving them away to build expensive apartments for wealthy people from other areas,” he said. “Good redevelopment projects should rehabilitate declining regions and improve the lives of local residents.”

He also stressed the need to rebuild narrow alleys bulging with stairways in ways to allow older citizens to move around more freely.

As a senior himself, Brennan said he feels unsettled when young people do not offer their seats to elders in subways and buses. “When I first came to Korea in the 1960s, the country was poor but people cared more about others,

and young people were more respectful to elders,” he said.

“Now Korea has become rich and powerful, but Korean society has become cold-hearted. I hope Korea will become a more humane society in which young people are considerate about older ones, wealthy people are concerned about poor ones, and learned people try to understand the less educated better.”

“Koreans are tough in good ways,” he said. “They fight to the end to accomplish their goals, as seen in their struggle for liberation from Japanese rule. At the same time, they are ready to share what they have with others, although such generosity has considerably diminished since people began to live in apartments.”

Permanent Home

Father Brennan said he has never regretted his decision to serve in Korea. From time to time, he goes to New Zealand where his brothers and sisters and their children welcome him. However, since his mother passed away several years ago, he has traveled less frequently.

A few years ago, on his third attempt, Brennan obtained permanent residency. “It was not easy because all that I have done in Korea is work for the church and live with Koreans,” he said, jokingly. “But I don’t want to leave. I have even prepared a place here to lie down after dying,” he said.

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ON THE ROAD

Three Mountain Paths in Mungyeong A mountain pass that is so high that even the birds struggle to fly over. A natural fort to defend the capital against attacks from the south. These are common descriptions of Mungyeong Saejae, or the “Bird Pass of Mungyeong.” We walk along the storied mountain paths in this scenic inland region, which were used centuries ago by ordinary travelers and emissaries.

Mungyeong Saejae (Bird Pass of Mungyeong) seen from above at the highest spot along the Great Yeongnam Road. Located some two hours from Seoul by car, the mountain pass was a vital gateway for travelers and a military stronghold from the Three Kingdoms period (57 B.C.–A.D. 668) through the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910). Today, it is a popular travel destination celebrated for its natural beauty and rich cultural heritage.

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

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 61

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bout 70 percent of Korea’s terrain is mountainous and most mountain ranges are a series of peaks and watersheds. Interestingly, the contours of a watershed may bestow special status to a mountain range. If streaming water separates at the top of a hill and flows down two sides into different rivers, the drainage pattern is considered auspicious. That is seen in the chain of mountain ridges that starts at Mt. Baekdu (also spelled Mt. Paektu) in the northernmost part of the Korean peninsula. It forms a famous watershed crest line called Baekdu Daegan, or the “Great White Head Ridges,” which stretches southward to Mt. Jiri, more than 1,600 kilometers away. Trekkers tackle the ridges constantly.

In 1861, during the Joseon Dynasty, the famous geographer and cartographer Kim Jeong-ho (1804–1866) produced a detailed topographical map of Korea using a modern scale.

Carved into wooden printing blocks for reproduction and distribution, it was named “Daedong yeojido,” meaning “Territorial Map of the Great East.” In this iconic map, the shape of the Baekdu Daegan and the nation’s rivers and towns resemble a dragon or the curves of the red-and-blue Taegeuk symbol in Korea’s national flag. It reflects Kim’s view of nature: The chain of mountain ridges forming the spine of the peninsula represents the nation’s nature and geography and the foundation for understanding its culture, society, history and environment. Indeed, Mt. Baekdu appears in the first verse of the national anthem and school songs almost unfailingly rhapsodize about inheriting the energy of nearby mountains.

Link of This World and the Next

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1. Juheulgwan is the first gate of Mungyeong Saejae. It was constructed in 1708 along with the Joryeong Mountain Fortress, after the Japanese and Manchu invasions underscored the strategic importance of the mountain pass.

2. Gomo Mountain Fortress was built around the fifth century A.D., when battles between the Three Kingdoms were rife. The original fortress walls were 1.6km long, only part of which remains today.

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After a 20-minute drive south from Suanbo, a hot spring village in Chungju, in central Korea, an old town appears.

There, a winding path leads to the site of an ancient temple, named Mireuk Daewon (Great Maitreya Monastery), once a manifestation of the glory of the Goryeo Dynasty (918– 1392). A damaged stone pagoda and a giant stone statue of the bodhisattva Maitreya still stand. Past the temple grounds, stone markers point the way to Haneuljae (Sky Pass), a low hill that is start of the oldest hill path in Korea’s recorded history. It leads down to Mungyeong, the region’s administrative, transportation and economic hub.

The forest along the meandering path is dense but not overwhelming. The path itself is easy and pleasant, and the footsteps naturally slow down while the eyes rest leisurely on the fantastically shaped trees and the wildflowers blooming between the rocks.

From here, when it rains, the water flows down the Mungyeong side of the hill, spilling into the Nakdong River, or the Chungju side, joining the Han River. The land on the

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Chungju side is called Mireuk-ri (Maitreya Village), the embodiment of the next world; the Mungyeong side is called Gwaneum-ri (Avalokitesvara Village), the embodiment of this world. The path down to Gwaneum-ri, unfortunately covered in asphalt, is also dotted with stone Buddhist statues.

To secure the water from the Han River, which runs through the Korean peninsula, the three ancient kingdoms — Baekje, Goguryeo and Silla — fought over this land for hundreds of years. At the time, Silla was a small state centered on the city of Gyeongju, with its royal authority remaining weak. Although this area was an important point along the road between borders, it was not always teeming with soldiers. From remote times, goods produced in the northern and southern parts of the Korean peninsula were transported over this hill path. Moreover, this byway took the Goguryeo monk Master Ado (Ado Hwasang) to Silla, where he introduced Buddhism. The village of Morye, the man known as the first Buddhist convert in Silla, who protected Master Ado when he first arrived to spread Buddhism, is now revered as a sacred site.

Some Silla people traveled to Changan (today’s Xian), the first capital of China’s Tang Dynasty, which was enjoying a golden age of the arts and culture. From Gyeongju, the safest route was to head to Mungyeong, passing through several cities on the way; cross over Haneuljae to Chungju; travel on the Han River to the west coast port of Dangeunpo; and finally board a sea vessel heading north.

Historical records say the esteemed Silla monks Wonhyo (617–686) and Uisang (625–702) made at least two round trips on this route. In 650, the 34-year-old Wonhyo set out with Uisang to cross Haneuljae, on their way to study in Tang China. But they were caught by border guards in LiaoKOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 63

dong, in today’s northeast China, and forced to return.

Ten years later, the pair attempted the trip again, but they became separated while waiting for a boat at Dangeunpo.

Wonhyo had to return while Uisang continued his journey to Tang. Wonhyo famously discovered that the sweet, fresh water he had drunk at night, while only half-awake, was rainwater that had been collected in a human skull. His realization that everything depends on the mind is found in the book, “Biographies of Eminent Korean Monks” (Haedong goseung jeon), published in 1215. Thereafter, at a time when the culture of the Tang and Sung dynasties was dominant, Wonhyo developed a unique system of thought and made other notable achievements in Korean Buddhism. Uisang, upon completing his studies in Tang, returned to Silla, where he helped Buddhism flourish.

A Steeper Road

During the Goryeo Dynasty, Mireuk Daewon was both a temple and popular travel destination. It served as a transit station and inn for government officials traveling on state business. The epitaph on the tomb of a lady with the family name Heo (1255–1324), wife of a man named Kim Byeon, gives us an idea of the mood of the times. When her husband died, the woman had a temple built near his tomb and commissioned hand-copied illuminated sutras in silver and gold ink. The projects continued for more than ten years to ensure the welfare of her husband in the next life. Then, at the age

Sites to Visit in Mungyeong

of 57, she undertook a pilgrimage to famous temples and mountains. Among her destinations was Mireuk Daewon.

In Goryeo, where Buddhism was the state religion, men and women were treated for the most part as equal, so it was not unusual for women to be seen on such a journey.

From Haneuljae, a 40-minute climb southward brings you to the top of Mt. Tanhang. From here, following the gentle ridges and passing several peaks between the folds of the mountains, you can look down on Joryeonggwan, the third of three gates on Mungyeong Saejae. This place is also a drainage divide. When rain water from the roof of the gate flows down the northwest side to Chungju, it joins the Han River.

If it falls on the southeast side to Mungyeong, it flows into the Nakdong River. The road on this mountain pass links Chungju and Mungyeong, from Joryeonggwan at the top, past the second gateway, Jogokgwan, and finally to the first gate, Joheulgwan. Walking from Haneuljae to Mungyeong Saejae along the ridges takes half a day.

Mungyeong Saejae was widely explored in the early days of Joseon, and for the following 500 years, it was a famous mountain pass, an important part of Yeongnam Daero (Great Yeongnam Road) stretching from Hanyang (today’s Seoul) to Dongnae (today’s Busan). The question is, why did the people of Joseon switch from the relatively flatter Haneuljae, a road that had been used for more than a thousand years, to Mungyeong Saejae, which was much steeper and some 100 meters higher?

Haneuljae (Sky Pass)

Chungju

Site of Great Maitreya Monastery Mt. Tanhang

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2

1 Mungyeong Saejae Tavern 2 Mungyeong Saejae Open Film Set

Goesan Mt. Joryeong

Mungyeong Saejae (Bird Pass of Mungyeong)

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4

Ihwaryeong (Pear Flower Pass)

Seoul

Mungyeong Shamanic Shrine 3 at Gomo Mountain Fortress Schizandra 4 Theme Tunnel

64 KOREANA Summer 2019

170km

Mungyeong

Haneuljae had the advantage of being a route to the Han River ports frequented by boats that transported tribute grains, or grains paid as taxes. But as Goryeo waned after the decline of the Yuan Dynasty, which was once so strong as to pose a threat to Japan, Japanese pirates took over the seas. Pillaging by the pirates became rampant and water traffic gradually diminished. When the Mongols and the Red Turbans invaded, Haneuljae failed to function as a line of defense. In contrast, Mungyeong Saejae was a treacherous road, advantageous in defense, and a shorter overland route.

A Road for Confucian Scholars

Japanese pirates rampaged until the early Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910). King Taejong (r. 1400–1418), the third ruler of Joseon, used military force and trade to curb the pirates, and also concentrated on building a network of roads across the country for speedy communication and transportation.

He established guarded post stations (yeokcham), where government officials traveling on state business could get fresh horses and accommodation. Unlike Goryeo, which set up stations or inns at natural points such as high mountains or river crossings, Joseon built them systematically, a station at every 30 li (approx. 12km) and an inn at every 10 li (approx. 4km).

It was around this time that Mungyeong Saejae was incor-

Jogokgwan, the second gate of Mungyeong Saejae, was built in 1594 with inner fortress walls. It was the earliest of the three gates built on the mountain pass. Its surrounding terrain is more rugged than that around the other gates.

porated into the Great Yeongnam Road. Using this mountain pass was faster than traveling via other hills or mountain roads. The road could only accommodate two people walking abreast, their shoulders bumping against one another with nearly every step. But in an agricultural society that did not need to move livestock, the route was wide enough.

The decision not to erect defense walls when the road was built is hard to understand. When Japanese troops invaded in 1592 and speedily advanced northward, they could not be stopped at the ravine here, which should have functioned as a natural fort. Korean forces eventually lost to Japan in a cavalry battle over the pass in Chungju. News of this defeat led King Seonjo to abandon the capital and take refuge in Pyongyang and, later, even further north. The following year, at the advice of Chief State Councilor Ryu Seong-ryong (1542–1607), two defensive gates were built to protect the road. But it was not until the early 18th century, after the second Manchu invasion of 1636–37, that the three-gate system that we see today was established. From that time, there were KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 65

no major wars, however, and the gates served as forts defending the outer regions and passages for envoys traveling on diplomatic missions.

Both Goryeo and Joseon inevitably experienced the vicissitudes of foreign aggression and war, but the life along the Mungyeong Saejae differed greatly in the two periods.

In the Confucian state of Joseon, half of the country’s ten major cities were located by the Great Yeongnam Road, and Mungyeong Saejae was the mountain pass symbolic of some outstanding aspects of Joseon culture. While civil service exams for the selection of government officials were only occasionally held during the Goryeo period, they were held on a regular basis during the Joseon period, when it was imperative to pass the exams, called gwageo, to succeed in the world. Many Confucian scholars from the Yeongnam region, or today’s Gyeongsang provinces, set out on this road to exam venues, hearts filled with hope. Their exam results

made their trip home either a triumphal march or a trudge filled with shame and sighs.

Confucian scholars also used the road to travel to the capital when they wanted to express admonitions to the king and correct wrongs. They would depart from Andong, the Confucian stronghold, carrying with them their written appeals for the palace. Four days were needed to pass Mungyeong Saejae and about three months at the least to return home with an answer to the appeals. In addition to the scholars, the stations, inns and taverns near the mountain pass were crowded with royal inspectors in disguise on secret missions to look around the provinces, officials delivering government documents, and men of leisure setting off to tour famed scenic spots around the country. Between the first and second gates is a pavilion where the outgoing provincial governor of Gyeongsang would meet the newly appointed governor for an official transfer of duties. In front of this pavilion is a small waterfall

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When Japanese troops invaded in 1592 and speedily advanced northward, they could not be stopped at the ravine here, which should have functioned as a natural fort.

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that was a popular subject of poets and artists.

Among prominent groups of travelers passing through this mountain path were the diplomatic missions to Japan.

Putting aside the wounds of the Japanese invasions of 1592– 98, Korea and Japan exchanged diplomatic missions to build peace. Each mission departing from Joseon was comprised of 400 to 600 individuals, who represented the country in terms of its knowledge and culture. The envoys departed from Seoul, passed through several cities before crossing Mungyeong Saejae and proceeded to Busan, where they boarded ships. As their meals and accommodations along the way were all borne by the local regions, the central government demanded the envoys use a different route when leaving and returning to ensure that no place was burdened twice.

A Road of Anonymity

After passing through the third gate of Mungyeong Saejae, crossing over several rocky peaks and walking about 90 munites up a steep path with many steps, the top of 1,026-meter-high Mt. Joryeong (Bird Pass Mountain) can be reached. Some three kilometers southward down the hill 1. Tokkibiri (Rabbit’s Cliffside Road) is the most precipitous part of the Great Yeongnam Road. This section, carved out of rocky cliffs, is on the edge of a steep drop to the Yeong River. The stones forming the road surface have been worn smooth by the footsteps of the countless people who traveled the road over hundreds of years.

2. This 10.6-meter-high Stone Standing Buddha overlooks the site of Mireuk Daewon (Great Maitreya Monastery). The granite statue faces a 6-meter-high, five-story stone pagoda and a stone lantern. The monastery, presumably built during the early Goryeo Dynasty, combined the functions of a temple and inn for travelers.

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from here is Ihwaryeong (Pear Flower Pass). This is another drainage divide. The water flowing down the Goesan side empties into the Han River, while the water that flows down the Mungyeong side spills into the Nakdong River.

Ihwaryeong was a hill so dangerous with wild animals that people waited until a group had gathered so they could ascend and descend together. As it was the only east-west road connecting Mungyeong in Gyeongsang Province with Goesan in Chungcheong Province, it is sure to have existed from early times but there are no historical records attesting to this. Elderly people say that when they were young they saw people carrying packs on their backs and cattle sellers driving herds of cattle crossing the pass. It thus can be surmised that it was a detour on the main mountain road leading to Chungju.

But who would have eschewed Mungyeong Saejae, a safer road with plenty of accommodations along the way, for a path that could only be crossed safely in a group? Most of them were peddlers, collectively called bobusang. Rather than a road thick with police who tried to find fault with them and extract bribes, the peddlers preferred to cross Ihwaryeong together, listening to the cries of mountain beasts. Though not a particularly respected class in history, the traveling vendors nevertheless often risked their lives and took the lead in acting when the nation was in crisis.

The old mountain pass was turned into a new road linking the Yeongnam region with Seoul in 1925, during the Japanese colonial period. Then, when the Ihwaryeong Tunnel was constructed in 1994 and the Jungbu Inland Expressway was built next to it in 2001, it became a quiet road that is sought out by hikers and cycling clubs.

Now, which of the three roads appeals to you the most?

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 67

TALES OF TWO KOREAS

‘Refugees are the Vanguards of Change’ Liberty in North Korea (LiNK) rescues and resettles North Korean defectors. The U.S.-based NGO’s office in Seoul is headed by Sokeel Park, who regards displaced North Koreans as potential facilitators of change in the communist North. But he feels South Koreans need to change a lot, too.

Kim Hak-soon Journalist and Visiting Professor, School of Media and Communication, Korea University Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

W

hen 13-year-old Sokeel Park, a Briton of Korean descent, first came to South Korea in 1998, a red sticker on every bus piqued his curiosity.

That, his father explained, was an appeal to alert authorities about suspected North Korean agents.

Today, Park is telling South Koreans about their fellow Koreans in the North, but not as an informant. He heads the South Korean branch of Liberty in North Korea (LiNK), a U.S.-based non-government organization dedicated to rescuing and resettling North Korean defectors. Its efforts are aided by 275 support clubs in 16 countries, including the United States, Canada, Britain and Japan.

At 34, Park is almost the same age as North Korean leader Kim Jong-un. Park believes their age group holds the keys to meaningful change on the Korean peninsula. If he was born in the North, Park would be in the “jangmadang generation.” Jangmadang (or changmadang in North Korea’s Romanization system) refers to North Korean farmers’ markets and black markets, seedlings of a nascent market economy. Jang is an abbreviation of sijang, meaning “market” and broadly “capitalism”; and madang means “place,” “spot scene,” etc. The markets began to emerge in the 1990s as the North grappled with natural disasters that destroyed crops and the end of assistance from the Soviet Union, which had collapsed.

The jangmadang generation constitutes a quarter of the 68 KOREANA Summer 2019

North Korean population. Growing up with a reeling socialist economic system, this cohort’s socialization differs markedly from previous generations.

Most defectors of this generation claim they never received food rations from the Workers’ Party in their country. Their cultural experience is far removed from that of their parents and grandparents, too. With relatively more access to outside information, these young adults have different values, perceptions and attitudes. The internet and smuggled thumb drives have helped them develop alternative perspectives. South Korean TV shows and Chinese movies increasingly influence their fashion and lifestyle.

Park sees six catalysts, or motives, for change in the North: the jangmadang generation; capitalism; chronic corruption; rising inflow of information; defectors, or refugees, who are in contact with their relatives in the North; and personal networks beyond government control. But to optimize the potential contribution that North Korean resettlers could make, the sentiment of South Koreans must be changed, says Park.

Genesis of LiNK

LiNK is an offspring of KASCON, the Korean American Students Conference, which began in 1989. As interest in North Koreans fleeing their country swelled, their plight became a key topic of KASCON’s annual gatherings. Moti-

Sokeel Park, head of the Seoul office of LiNK (Liberty in North Korea), helps rescue and resettle North Korean defectors. LiNk, with its headquarters in Washington, D.C., is a non-government organization established by second-generation Korean-American students in 2004.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 69

vated to go beyond discussions and debates, second-generation Korean-American students at Yale University formed LiNK in 2004 and placed the headquarters in Washington, D.C. LiNK relies on donations from various organizations, students, businesspeople, religious groups, and its own members. It also sells T-shirts, cookies, bubble teas and rice balls, and organizes fund-raising concerts. It doesn’t receive subsidies from any government.

Most of LiNK’s budget is spent on rescuing North Korean escapees hiding in China. It costs about US$3,000 (about 3.3 million South Korean won) per person. The group brings them through 3,000 miles of secret rescue routes through China and Southeast Asia to safe and free resettlement in South Korea or the United States.

By late 2018, LiNK had rescued more than 1,000 North Korean refugees and helped them resettle. Nearly one third of the total was achieved in 2018 alone.

Vicarious Goal Fulfillment

Park was born to a Korean father and a British mother in Manchester, England, where he grew up. His first trip 1to South Korea was to accompany his grandmother’s remains after she died in England.

Between high school and university, Park spent a year at Yonsei University’s Korean Language Institute in Seoul.

Park believes North Korea will be quite different in the next 10 to 20 years.

Accordingly, young South Koreans need to empathize with North Korean people above anything else, he says emphatically.

He earned a degree at the University of Warwick, where he majored in psychology, and returned to Seoul in 2007 to work at the Ministry of the Interior and Safety for a year.

One of his duties was to facilitate courses on South Korea’s economy and culture for visiting officials from developing countries.

Over the next two years, Park obtained a master’s degree in international relations and international political history at the London School of Economics and began working as an intern at the United Nations headquarters in New York. During this time, Park met North Korean defectors and decided that he would devote himself to working on behalf of North Koreans.

Park’s goal was a permanent job at the UN or the British Foreign Office. It was by sheer chance that he began working for LiNK. He attended a lecture in London by Mike Kim, the founder of Crossing Borders, an NGO that provides humanitarian assistance to North Korean refugees and their children living in China. After the lecture, Kim advised Park to work for LiNK. In May 2012, when LiNK’s Seoul office opened, Park abandoned his dream of becoming a British diplomat to join the new branch. Besides Park, there are eight staffers. Their main task is to rescue, protect and resettle refugees. Those stranded North Koreans need substantial assistance in adapting to South Korean society due to the wide gulf between the

Sokeel Park (far left) and his LiNK staff work in the Jung District, central Seoul, with a LOVE sculpture in front of their office. © LiNK

two Koreas in terms of their culture as well as their economic and political systems.

Heading the Seoul Office

Photos sent from supporters around the world. LiNK maintains affiliations with 275 support clubs in 16 countries. © LiNK

70 KOREANA Summer 2019

Park’s overriding goal is to get young South Koreans involved. He is flabbergasted at how little they know about North Korean defectors, who now number more than 30,000.

Park believes North Korea will be quite different in the next 10 to 20 years. Accordingly, young South Koreans need to empathize with North Korean people above anything else, he says emphatically. At present, they seem to be grossly indifferent and lacking in empathy toward North Koreans, Park says. If empathy toward North Koreans were measured on a scale of 1 to 100, he estimates young South Koreans would barely score 10.

As far as Park is concerned, the long-term chances of meaningful redirection in North Korea will improve with every refugee who resettles in South Korea. He believes North Korean resettlers abroad can be levers to economic and

psychological change as they remit money to their relatives back home and secretly communicate with them.

Park suggests the international community use a different lens when scrutinizing North Korea. Discussions about the North typically revolve around Kim Jong-un or Pyongyang’s nuclear arms buildup. Park says the human factor, or the North’s 25 million people, needs to receive more attention. To that end, LiNK regularly releases vivid stories about North Koreans. An example is the 2018 documentary, “The Jangmadang Generation,” which features 10 young refugees.

After watching the 52-minute documentary co-directed by Park, South Koreans would comment that they found North Koreans not much different from their friends, Park says.

This year, Park received the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (MBE) from the British royal household for his services to UK-Korean relations. That was in recognition of his contributions to aiding defectors and promoting human rights in North Korea. Park passes credit to those who unassumingly help LiNK safely rescue displaced North Koreans.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 71

BOOKS

& MORE Charles La Shure

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

Ryu Tae-hyung

Music Columnist; Consultant, Daewon Cultural Foundation

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An Allegorical Tale of Isolation and Ostracization

A Rare Visual Study of Korean Shaman Deities

‘City of Ash and Red’

‘The Paintings of Korean Shaman Gods: History, Relevance and Role as Religious Icons’

By Hye-young Pyun, Translated by Sora Kim-Russell, 256 pages, $24.99, New York: Arcade Publishing [2018]

Pyun Hye-young’s “City of Ash and Red” opens with the nameless protagonist being detained at an international airport on suspicion of being infected with a virus that is terrorizing the country. Fortunately, the test results show that he merely has a cold, and he is allowed to leave. Though a stranger in a strange land with only a very tentative grasp of the local language, the man manages to make his way to the apartment that will presumably be his home for the next few months.

His problems have only just begun, though. He arrives in his new district to find the streets piled high with trash and obscured by a white chemical fog of fumigants.

His carelessness leads to his suitcase being stolen; most of its contents are trivial, but among them are his phone with all his contacts, and with this his gradual but inexorable severing from the world he once knew begins. Even the relative safety and comfort of his new apartment is short-lived when shocking news from home causes him to flee in fear. His journey is both a literal and metaphorical sinking into the filth and stench of a society that seems to have broken down, and he slips through the cracks until he can fall no further.

Pyun’s novel has a strange, dreamlike (although at times “nightmarish” would be a more apt descriptor), even allegorical quality to it. This is due in part to the fact that many people and places are left unnamed, including the protagonist, his ex-wife, and even the name of the country he has moved to, which is only ever referred to as “Country C.” This is a technique not unheard of in Korean fiction, but it seems particularly effective here in lending an air of universality to the story.

There is also Pyun’s prose, which draws on all the senses to make us feel as if we were right there with the protagonist — in a park obscured by the smoke of a trash fire, in a dark and noxious sewer with its slowly flowing river of refuse — but at the same time remains elusive enough on specific details that it might also take place just about anywhere.

The novel is a tale of disorientation, a tale of isolation, a tale of ostracization. The protagonist is cut off and left alone, and his desperate attempts to establish or reestablish contact are repeatedly met with failure. Although he eventually rises from the depths, his feet never seem to find solid ground again, and he is left “a man suspended in thin air, a man airborne.”

Perhaps because of this lack of connection, he has difficulty seeing ahead in his life into a future that is “unknowably vast and colossal, and so very, very far away.” Even the present is often shrouded — sometimes literally by the fumigant fog, at other times by his inability to understand what is going on around him — so he spends much of his time reflecting on his past, a past that holds dark secrets.

The more we learn of the protagonist through these flashbacks, the less sympathetic he becomes, but he never ceases to be fascinating; despite (or perhaps because of) all his flaws, he is recognizably and believably human. And as we join him on his journey, we can’t help but ask what might happen were the rug to be pulled out from beneath our own comfortable lives and we, too, found ourselves falling headlong into the abyss.

By Kim Tae-gon, Translated by Christina Han, 207 pages, £75.00, Kent: Renaissance Books [2018]

First published in Korean in 1989, this is a memorable work by the respected scholar of Korean shamanism Kim Tae-gon (1936– 1996). The present English volume has been translated by Christina Han, a curatorial consultant and research associate at the Royal Ontario Museum. Han has contributed a brief but useful introduction to shamanism in Korea, to the shaman gods and how they are represented, and to the role of shaman paintings in rituals and other aspects of Korean shamanism.

The first chapter, by Kim Tae-gon, provides a detailed history of the shaman god paintings and also introduces the reader to the different types of shamans in Korea and their relationships to the paintings. Kim then goes on to categorize the paintings and describe the individual figures that appear in them, and he ends the chapter by

placing these works of art in their proper ritual context. A second chapter by professor of art history Bak Yong-suk sheds light on the paintings from a different angle, explaining the characteristics of shaman gods and the paintings that depict them, as well as describing the significance of the assorted items of clothing, the artifacts and the themes present in the works.

The majority of the book, though, consists of 130 color images of shaman gods from paintings discovered by Kim during his travels around South Korea and research into shamanism. Their vibrant colors and simple yet expressive style draw the viewer in, as if the painters somehow managed to capture the energy of the gods with their brushes. The book brings to light a rare visual element that serves as a colorful window into Korean shamanism.

The Traces of Breathing ‘Communion’

By Park Jiha, Audio CD $17.98, Hamburg: Glitterbeat Records [2018]

Park Jiha’s path in music started with the flute as a child and continued with the traditional Korean bamboo instruments, the piri (double-reed oboe) and the saenghwang (mouth organ). After graduating from university, she formed a group called “su:m” (meaning “breath”) and began her performing career. Like the name of the group, Park Jiha’s music leaves traces of breathing.

After the release of the group’s first album, “Breathing in Space,” in 2010, Park was invited to participate in several renowned music festivals, such as WOMAD (World of Music, Arts and Dance) and SXSW (South by Southwest). Her performances on major international stages put her in the spotlight.

“Communion,” Park’s first solo album released in 2016, was made during a break from the band. Through its re-release in 2018 by German label Glitterbeat Records, the album

debuted on the world music market, drawing the attention of international media.

Pitchfork and The Guardian chose it as “album of the month” and called Park “a new musician deserving attention.”

The album contains elements of both minimalism and avant-garde jazz. However, the repetitions are subtle and create a tone different to minimalism; the simplicity of the music and the clarity of its structure diverge from avant-garde jazz.

Reminiscent of the work of Norwegian jazz saxophonist Jan Garbarek, the title track “Communion” represents the album’s identity. Park Jiha’s piri, Kim Oki’s tenor saxophone and John Bell’s vibraphone share bonds of sympathy in exquisite harmony. The most popular piece is “The Longing of the Yawning Divide,” an improvisational piece inspired by the solemn atmosphere and reverberations of a room at Keizersberg Abbey in Leuven, Belgium, where rehearsals were held.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 73

AN ORDINARY DAY

K

oreans in their twenties are being called the “Give Up 3 Generation.” The moniker, a nod to giving up on dating, marriage and having children, surfaced in 2011.

Since then, it has reformulated into “Give Up 5,” “Give Up 7” and “Give Up N” generations, the latter being an infinite number of self-denials.

Older generations, who created the postwar “Miracle on the Han River” with the motto, “If you do it, you’ll make it,” scoff at how traditional milestones in life are being bypassed. But when they were in their 20s, the economy was roaring, landing a job was easy, as was dreaming of a better future. In the past dozen years, however, the labor market has been especially brutal for young adults.

Even after years of study to obtain a university degree and certifications for special skills, well-paying full-time jobs remain elusive. Laying a foundation for the future seems to have become a privilege for all but a lucky few.

Journey Toward a Goal

Happiness Dreamed by a ‘Lucky’ Youth For Korea’s older, work-first generation, making sacrifices for one’s future happiness was more important than the present. But today’s younger generation prioritizes tangible happiness in the now, ahead of an uncertain future. That’s how Yang Hye-eun plans her day as she prepares to start her career.

Kim Heung-sook Poet Heo Dong-wuk Photographer

74 KOREANA Summer 2019

Now in her mid-twenties, Yang Hye-eun is preparing herself for the time when the right job might come along.

“Older people say lots of not very nice things about my generation, but to be honest, we’re not all that interested in what they say. We’re just too busy to care,” she says.

After graduating from university, Hye-eun worked full-time at a start-up and was recognized for her abilities. But she quit after a year, leaving an atmosphere of “just get things done whichever way you think is best.” She wanted an occupation with better structure while

Yang Hye-eun works on scripts for a Korean language textbook at a café in Hwayang-dong, Seoul. She says she can concentrate on her work better in a café than at home.

still acknowledging her creativity.

During her search for the right fit, Hye-eun has taken on various jobs, including tutoring and volunteering as a gallery docent. There is no real break.

She works every day to afford life in Seoul, where living costs are high. She works at a café on weekends. Then she switches to proofreading Korean textbooks that will be used in the United States. “Technically, it’s called ‘working from home’ but I usually work in a café on my laptop,” she says. “I listen to a Korean language recording and make sure it matches the script, editing and filling in any typos or missing words.”

Hye-eun hopes to join a company that meshes with her ultimate goals in life. “I want to be someone who benefits society by conveying beauty with creative work, someone who can give children or those with difficult home lives a sense of freedom through public, non-profit arts activities.”

To that end, she writes, draws and takes photographs every day. Perhaps her own experience explains why one of her goals is to help people with challenging home lives.

Hye-eun grew up in an ordinary middle-class household on Jeju Island. Her father was a bank clerk, her mother a homemaker, and her grandfather a landowner. But her father compiled massive debts by gambling and standing surety for other people’s debts. Hye-eun’s grandfather ended up losing all of his land and fields, and a few months after fainting from the shock of it all, he passed away. Fights between her parents gradually intensified, and they divorced. Hyeeun, in the second year of middle school, was shuttled back and forth between her parents.

Without her parents together, Hye-eun depended on her many relatives and learned how to navigate the complexities of life. There is a saying that people have nine different faces. And she learned that people indeed have many sides to them.

Wanting to leave Jeju, Hye-eun set her sights on attending college in Seoul.

Her parents strongly opposed the move, but her two older sisters actively supported her. With their encouragement she was able to get a full scholarship to study Korean language and literature at Hanyang University.

Moving to Seoul

“After my parents divorced, I reckoned there was no longer any protective fence around me, and so I lived very independently,” she recalls. “But then, when I was living in a tiny gosiwon trying to keep up with my studies as well as a parttime job, it was just too much. During my very first semester, there were many times when I would go out into the alley to phone my sister and just cry.”

Gosiwon probably are the cheapest form of housing in Korea. Rooms of about 5 square meters are packed along narrow corridors, separated by walls so thin there is no real privacy.

“From the second semester onwards, I didn’t cry,” she says. “I liked that my campus was big and spread out, I enjoyed learning, and by then I had made friends who became like my family. The city of Seoul and the diversity among people who live here felt fresh and exciting to me.”

Hye-eun’s day begins at 8 a.m. or around 11 a.m. It depends on when she plans to go out. After a breakfast of toast or eggs, she stuffs her laptop, sketch-

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book and camera into her bag and sets out for the place decided upon the night before. Her favorite destinations for photographing and making notes include wholesale fruit markets and alleyways of a traditional medicine market as well as galleries, libraries and parks. After that she goes to a café for an iced coffee and a croissant or madeleine; she spends about four hours there “working from home,” before actually returning home.

A simple dinner is followed with sketching or writing and watching a movie or reading before going to sleep, usually around 4 a.m. New to the routine are hour-long swimming lessons on Monday to Thursday evenings.

Having grown up on Jeju Island, she played in the ocean from a young age, but did not become a strong swimmer. While she was at university, she had the chance to go to Brisbane on Australia’s east coast for an English language immersion program. Seeing her Australian friends swimming well, she decided to seriously take up swimming.

“I once read somewhere that people with a lot on their minds need to release those thoughts through physical exercise. I think that’s right,” she says.

“My roommate started lessons a few months before me and I only started in March, but I think that through swimming I’m becoming simpler and freer, so I intend to keep doing it.”

To Hye-eun, roommates are like family. She now lives with her sixth roommate, whom she first met when they were both living in a dormitory managed

by Jeju’s provincial government for students from the island attending universities in Seoul. They now live in a youth housing complex run by the Korea Land and Housing Corporation. There is a bedroom for each occupant, and a small living room, bathroom and kitchen are shared. The monthly rent is 260,000 won each and with utility costs, the total is about 300,000 won.

“The best thing about living with a roommate is having someone at home who you can talk to,” says Hye-eun. “There are times it can be uncomfortable, though, if things like your sleeping patterns or cleaning habits are totally different.”

Sources of Inspiration

Hye-eun used to buy the books she wanted to read, but these days she makes an effort to borrow them from libraries. She explains, “If I collect too many books, it can be a real pain when I have to move. Even so, I almost always buy the magazine ‘The Big Issue.’ The content is really good.”

For her drawings, she uses her own photographs, and sometimes film stills or images from social media sites like Pinterest.

The café where Hye-eun works on weekends is near Konkuk University.

She likes the owner so much that she has continued working there since February 2017. For Hye-eun, the female business owner who always tries new things

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1, 2. Hye-eun wants to find a job where she can be creative. Drawing pictures and taking photographs that record the places she seeks out is an important part of her daily routine.

3. Hye-eun works every weekend at a café near Konkuk University. She doesn’t have a barista qualification, but since she has worked at the café for more than two years, she is able to make most of the beverages without difficulty.

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“I want to be someone who benefits society by conveying beauty with creative work, someone who can give children or those with difficult home lives a sense of freedom through public, non-profit arts activities.”

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is someone she can truly look up to.

After a number of attempts and challenges, she obtained both a baking and pastry certificate and a driver’s license.

She also enjoys growing plants, so the entrance to her café is always filled with greenery, and these days she is experimenting with new menu items such as strawberry latte and sparkling green grape ade.

Because Hye-eun has worked at the café for so long, she’s able to make most of the beverages on the menu and draw hearts on the foam in lattes, but she’s never tried to get a barista certificate.

There are some young job seekers who try to complete as many skills certificates as possible, but Hye-eun doesn’t have a single one.

“A lot of people my age looking for

work are really pressured by insecurity,” she says. “But I tell myself, ‘You can get a job if you want one, so don’t get anxious, just enjoy the time you have alone.’”

Enjoying Time Alone

Last year, Hye-eun traveled alone for three weeks in India and two weeks in Egypt. She used up all of her savings, but she is glad she made the trips.

“Not having any savings doesn’t worry me. I can save up again if I get another full-time job,” she says, with a smile. “The reason I’m glad I went traveling is because I got to know myself better. Being in a different environment every day, I found different aspects that were inside of me revealing themselves.

In the end, what I discovered is that I’m someone who’s really good at spending time alone.”

Hye-eun considers herself lucky. She says that just as there is the law of conservation of energy in physics, in life there is something like the “law of conservation of luck.”

Sometimes, before going to sleep, Hye-eun comforts herself, saying aloud, “You did well today, Hye-eun. You’ve always worked hard, trying to keep up with your studies and earn money at the same time.”

She goes on, “There are ups and downs in life, but I think the most important thing is to maintain a sense of grace, no matter what the situation.”

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ENTERTAINMENT

Reality TV Tourism Takes Flight

appealing, tapping the overseas travel rush in an aging society. The show was credited with enticing senior citizens into traveling abroad.

Around 30 million international trips are booked annually from Korea. Meanwhile, tens of millions of visitors arrive from abroad. An assortment of reality TV shows applies color and texture to the waves of tourism in and out of the country.

Another reality show, “Three Meals a Day,” warmed the hearts of urban residents. It was about a duo of celebrities who take up a spot in the middle of nowhere, with no one getting in their way. They just focused on preparing three square meals a day, which provided solace to urban dwellers overburdened with work and exhausted from dealing with people. Uprooted from easy-to-find meals in cities, the celebrities had to overcome problems in preparing a decent meal in a very remote place, drawing laughter and empathy from the viewers. They also invited

Jung Duk-hyun Popular Culture Critic

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reality show that premiered on KBS in August 2007, “1 Night 2 Days” launched Korean TV channels’ travel entertainment genre. The show featured a regular cast of celebrities who visited tourist attractions across the country, putting themselves in funny situations such as deciding who would sleep in a tent on a cold winter night. Camping boomed as the show evolved. Sales of not only tents but all outdoor gear and equipment soared. Furthermore, pleasure trips also evolved from taking pictures at historic sites or beautiful

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Across Age Groups

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venues to visiting places that could be experienced.

Changes in Travel

The show was the creation of producer Na Young-seok, who is a household name in Korea’s TV travel entertainment. After the successful first season, Na moved to cable channel tvN, while the show stayed for 12 seasons until March this year.

Together with his younger colleagues Na formed the so-called “Na Yeong-seok crew,” producing many reality shows about traveling. These

shows set the tone for Korea’s TV travel entertainment programs and influenced the way the public enjoyed traveling. At the same time, they mirrored the transition from sightseeing to experience, domestic to overseas, and group to individual travel.

Viewers cheered once again in 2013, when “Grandpas Over Flowers” began to air. It cast five to six actors in their seventies and sent them on backpacking trips in Europe. Until then, the dominant perception was that only college students went backpacking. The format caught viewers off-guard; it was

1. “Grandpas Over Flowers” is a travel TV show featuring elderly celebrities on backpacking trips.

The U.S. television network NBC purchased remake rights and titled its adaptation “Better Late Than Never.”

2. The cast in “Youn’s Kitchen” run a Korean restaurant in a foreign country to serve locals and tourists and communicate with them.

3. In “Korean Hostel in Spain,” one of the most recent series, room and board is provided to travelers on a road to Santiago, Spain.

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friends to travel to their locale to share a meal, adding to their contentment in a new form of travel. The show lasted seven seasons, ending in 2017.

Returning to nature and eco-friendly lifestyle in their extremes created a so-called “off-the-grid” trend. In 2018, the Na crew created another show with a refreshing theme, called “Little Cabin in the Woods,” in which a house was built deep in the forest, without access to electricity or gas. Viewers caught a glimpse of what it would be like living that close to nature. The birds chirping and water flowing sounded all the clearer and the stars at night shone all the brighter because it was such an isolated place. It healed the minds of viewers tired of hectic urban life.

“Youn’s Kitchen,” which aired from 2017 to 2018, featured a Korean

restaurant in a foreign country serving both locals and tourists. It highlighted the urge to try something new outside the country and to communicate with foreigners on a daily basis. Travel in essence is an activity that allows a peek at the lives of other people and unfamiliar spaces. The increasing number of Koreans traveling abroad suggests surging curiosity about other people and cultures as well as a freer spirit and self-confidence to experience faraway places. A total of 20 episodes aired over the show’s two seasons, adequately capturing current trends.

Communication Abroad

“Korean Hostel in Spain,” a new show that began airing this March, adopts the now familiar format of celebrities settling abroad but alters the formula. They run a hostel that provides room and board on a road to Santiago, Spain, and serves as a setting for interaction with neighbors in the community and both Korean and non-Korean tourists.

Travel may seem like a limited motif, but Na and his team have proven how one’s destination, mode of travel and travel companion can open up unimagined possibilities. There surely is a message: Travel culture can become a lot more diverse and richer depending on travelers’ choices.

In the past, Korea’s outbound tourism was characterized by group mentality and lack of diversity. However, gone are the days of robotic decisions, going somewhere simply because everyone else is going there. The transition has been clear, starting with package tours, moving on to individual travel and now personalized travel experiences. The multitude of travel entertainment shows on TV exploring varied tastes and preferences are a clear sign of this change.

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ESSENTIAL INGREDIENTS

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© imagetoday

Aged squash eaten in autumn and winter is a familiar food ingredient to Koreans. It is used to make porridge with sticky rice flour, and its juice is drunk by mothers who have just given birth to reduce postpartum swelling.

Time Hidden in

Squash

Squash, or hobak, an everyday food that reminds us of family dinners from childhood, is widely used for side dishes as well as a staple. Squash is versatile, giving not only its flesh but also its seeds, flowers and vines for food.

Jeong Jae-hoon Pharmacist and Food Writer

80 KOREANA Summer 2019

ith the changing of the seasons, the type of squash we eat changes, too.

Soft squash with its thin skin is eaten in summertime, and squash with yellow flesh that has the taste and texture of sweet potato inside a thick, hard skin is for wintertime. But this seasonal distinction based on the harvest time does not always apply.

For example, Koreans distinguish between aehobak, young green squash also known as Korean zucchini, and neulgeun hobak, literally “aged squash,” but they may either be of the same or of different species. In the old days, the young, lightgreen Korean summer squash and the aged, yellowish-brown squash that grows as big as a rugby ball until autumn were of the same kind. These days, however, most of the aged squash is of a completely different kind, like cheongdung hobak, the fully ripened pumpkin with a hard, orange skin. The popular danhobak (literally “sweet squash”) variety, which is pushing aged squash to the sidelines, can now be purchased throughout the year, but when it comes to taste, texture and storage time, it is considered to be winter squash.

Motifs of Pictures and Stories

Apart from the seasons, another sort of time is found in squash. When squash appears as the subject of paintings, it provides us a clue as to when the paintings were created. “The Pumpkin” (a.k.a.

“Giant Squash from the Ducal Gardens of St. Francis in Pisa”) by the Italian artist Bartolomeo Bimbi (1648–1729) features a huge squash weighing about 80 kilograms set against a dark, stormy sky. Records say that two strong men were needed to transport the squash to the artist’s studio and that onlookers followed them, clapping their hands.

The squash in the painting, however, is not particularly big compared with the giant squashes today. The world record squash, harvested in Belgium in 2016, weighed 1,190.5 kilograms. At any rate, we can infer that the painting was made no earlier than the 16th century, based on the squash appearing in it. Originating in South America, squash had been grown since around 5000 B.C., but it was not introduced to Europe on a wide scale until the 16th century. Indeed, Bimbi painted his

squash in 1711. “Vertumnus” by Giuseppe Arcimboldo (1526– 1593), an artist from Milan, is a portrait of the Holy Roman Emperor made up of various fruits and vegetables, including squash. Painted around 1590, it features squash as a crop from the New World along with maize.

Squash began to appear in stories around the same time.

The scene in “Cinderella” where the fairy godmother magically changes a pumpkin into a golden carriage may seem to be part of an old story, but it was actually added to an orally transmitted story in 1697 by the French writer Charles Perrault. Squash also appears in Shakespeare’s “The Merry Wives of Windsor,” written around 1597. In the play, Mistress Alice Ford compares Falstaff, a womanizer and glutton, with “this unwholesome humidity, this gross watery pumpkin.” In Europe, where people had not yet become used to squash, a big, old pumpkin might have been an apt description for a fat, self-centered character. While natives in the Americas loved pumpkin so much that they held a festival in its honor, European emigrants to the American continent despised pumpkin as food for poor country folks.

Food in Memories

In Korea, people often compare an ugly person with a squash.

Novelist Park Wan-suh (1931–2011), however, regarded squash rather differently. She said that when she saw lustrous young squash, pinched in the middle, she would buy them automatically, without thinking what to cook with them. Also, at the sight of round native, young squash peeking through the vines climbing up a neighbor’s wall, she was tempted to stealthily pick one. What she really loved, though, was not just the squash but the squash leaves. In her prose collection “Homi” (Hand Hoe), she writes: “The fresh squash leaves are washed clean after the rough stem running along the vein has been peeled off. While they are being steamed on top of cooked rice till they become limp, soybean paste sauce is made in an earthen pot. The soybean paste has to be tasty. Scoop up a spoonful and put it in the pot without straining it, add a drop of sesame oil, chopped garlic and cut green onion, add some milky water left over from washing rice and boil the mixture for a while, then add as much chopped green chili as there is soybean paste, and boil it again. This will make it thick. For tastes which have grown more perfidious today, you can add some crushed dried anchovies for flavor, and also steam the squash leaves in a steamer instead of laying them on top of cooked rice.”

Squash leaves are a seasonal delicacy that can be enjoyed from summer until late autumn, when cold winds begin to blow. The contrast in the flavor and texture of spiced soybean

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is eating zucchini noodles made with a spiralizer instead of flour noodles, but spaghetti squash, whose flesh dissolves into spaghetti-like strands when cooked, has already existed for decades.

Seasonal Delicacies

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steamed squash with garnish, called “hobakseon.”

Young squash the size of a fist is cut in horizontal lines on the back and steamed, and the cuts are then stuffed with minced beef stir-fried with green onion, garlic, pepper, oil and honey, and garnished with various mushrooms, such as shiitake, oyster mushrooms and manna lichen, with shredded red pepper and fried egg strips. This dish still stands comparison with any food on the dinner table today, which many try to recreate. Squash sliced and stir-fried with salted shrimp and perilla oil is one of Koreans’ favorite squash recipes.

Compared with summer squash, which can be stored for only a brief time, winter squash has a high starch content that allows it to be stored for several months. When butternut squash is slowly cooked over a long time, the glutamic acid is dissolved, resulting in a more savory taste. In the West, pumpkin is an ingredient for pies, tarts and soup, and in Korea, pumpkin porridge is eaten as a snack. Pumpkin is also tasty when roasted in the oven and dribbled with honey or simply steamed.

Park Wan-suh said that comparing an ugly person with squash comes from the ignorance of city people. The longer we keep squash in our diets, the more we will agree with her.

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© Institute of Korean Royal Cuisine

Summer squash are especially diverse in kind. Not only is there the lengthy green zucchini but also the yellow zucchini with the same shape but the flavor of a mushroom. These days, summer squash is available throughout the year, but it tastes best in summer. Squash picked when it is young and small, about 15–20 centimeters long, is sweeter as it is less watery. Often used in soybean paste stew and as garnish for noodle dishes, squash also tastes wonderful when cut into thin slices, coated with flour and egg, and pan-fried.

Squash is also great for savory dishes. “Siui jeonseo” (A Compendium of Proper Recipes), a 19th-century book of recipes and table settings of the late Joseon period, introduces a recipe for

Often cooked in soybean paste stew and used as garnish for noodle dishes, squash also tastes wonderful when cut into thin slices, coated with flour and egg, and pan-fried.

© Topic

paste sauce and cooked rice wrapped in the tender but crunchy leaves is so delectable that it is hard to stop eating. “Finally, one feels satisfied and relaxed as if reaching the end of longing,” as Park Wan-suh put it. For her, the taste was a reminder of her hometown half a century earlier, the humble dinner table, the walls covered with climbing vines, the vegetable garden and the platform for crocks holding sauces and condiments, and the sense of relief and weariness upon arriving home at last.

The squash is a food that evokes memories for people around the world. It is hard to imagine Provence without ratatouille cooked with squash. In Italy, eating young squash flowers is a tradition, and “The Fruit Seller,” painted by Vincenzo Campi (1536– 1591) in the late 16th century, shows edible squash flowers along with other fruits and vegetables. In Central and South America, where squash originated, squash flowers have been part of people’s diets for a long time. In Mexico, squash blossom soup and squash blossoms stuffed with Oaxaca cheese are popular dishes.

A food of memories, squash is also accommodating to current trends. Low in fat and calories, and with ample protein, carbohydrates, vitamin A, potassium and fiber, squash allures modern people struggling to control their weight. One of the latest trends

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1. The cheap and tasty young green squash, enjoyed in summer, is versatile as its leaves are also a well-loved food. The soft leaves are steamed or parboiled to wrap around rice with a dollop of seasoned soybean paste.

2. The recipe for hobakjeon is so simple that the dish can be easily made at home. Young green squash is cut into slices, coated with flour and egg, and then pan-fried.

3. Hobakseon is made in various ways depending on region, but one common way is to make cuts in pieces of young squash, stuff the cuts with seasoned fillings and then steam them before eating. This recipe can be found in old cookbooks.

4. Squash rice cake made by steaming a mixture of rice flour, aged squash flesh, salt and sugar is a popular treat.

© Getty Image

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 83

LIFESTYLE

Avoiding crowded beaches, guests of a hotel in Seoul enjoy sunbathing and swimming in a rooftop pool.

Laid-back, Minimized Vacationing Do we need to travel to a faraway land for vacation?

Recently, a more rational way to enjoy vacation is gaining popularity, especially among young adults. It is to simply relax at a hotel or at home, avoiding the stress and fatigue of a long trip and swarming crowds at popular tourist destinations.

Kim Dong-hwan Reporter, The Segye Times

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p until a few years ago, vacation meant a trip to the mountains or beach. But now, more and more Koreans believe traveling a long distance for a short stay is not worth the effort.

Only 42 percent of respondents agreed on the need to go somewhere for their summer vacation in a 2018 survey of 1,000 adults aged between 19 and 59, conducted by market research agency Macromill Embrain. In contrast, 53.2 percent opposed the idea of going anywhere during vacation, because of overcrowded resorts and merchants who prey on unsuspecting tourists. Many respondents also complained about post-travel fatigue they could not shake off.

Under these circumstances, new vacation trends have surfaced in recent years: “hocance” and “homecance.” Both are portmanteaus using vacance, the French word for vacation. The former means a brief stay in a hotel and the latter spending vacation at home.

Escape the Daily Grind

In March, Woo Seung-min, a sports marketing specialist in his 20s, won a raffle drawing for a hocance. He enjoyed an unforgettable overnight stay at

a downtown hotel in Seoul. “In fact, you move around according to a prearranged itinerary when you are in a holiday resort,” he said. “In the past, I used to consider a hotel simply as a place to sleep. But the experience of a hocance changed my opinion of hotels.”

After checking in at around 2 p.m., Woo could not linger. He had to leave for a business meeting and did not return until around 10 p.m. He had planned to watch a football match while having fried chicken and beer, a popular choice of individuals and groups when relaxing, but he ditched his plan and opted for a movie on his tablet and snacks from a nearby convenience store. All in all, the restful interlude meant quality time at the fullest to him.

Woo usually skips breakfast. But on the advice of friends, he woke up early and had a substantial meal — a bowl of rice with scrambled eggs, roasted chicken and kimchi. Then he had a massage in the hotel sauna before checking out at about 11 a.m.

“It gave me a chance to escape the daily grind in an unconventional but easy way,” Woo said. “I’d like to enjoy a football hocance with my friends next time.”

His plan is to go to a football stadium with his friends in the afternoon to watch a professional match and return to their hotel in the evening to watch a football game on TV while enjoying a big, delicious dinner.

Hotels are crowded with families, lovers, friends and partygoers not only during the summer vacation season; they are booked up during the December holiday season and multi-day holidays such as the Lunar New Year and Chuseok, the Korean Thanksgiving. Traditionally, families returned to their ancestral hometown to spend their holidays together. But now that families are widely dispersed, following tradition typically means exasperating

© Yonhap News Agency

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 85

“It gave me a chance to escape the daily grind in an unconventional but easy way.

I’d like to enjoy a football hocance with my friends next time.”

during the high season and the battalions of guests strained the capacity of facilities such as swimming pools and elevators, making them uncomfortable and inconvenient. Instead of a memorable vacation, some guests ended up feeling they wasted their time and money. The result was a rise in complaints on travel websites and social media.

Home Makeover

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© Grand Intercontinental Seoul Parnas

hours on heavily congested highways. To avoid the ordeal, family members choose to instead meet at a hotel within easy driving distance.

inclusive of a free breakfast, beer cocktail and foot massage under the concept of “a gift for your beloved wife.” Packages offered by other hotels include dinners featuring novel dishes cooked by celebrity chefs; a package for solo guests during traditional holidays; a combination of cinema and breakfast; and a free museum pass for those who stay for more than two nights.

During the five-day Lunar New Year holiday in early February this year, major hotels in the country offered attractive programs, such as a combination of a European-style spa and jazz jam session, and a stay at a hotel in a foreign country in their hotel chain network.

Through such efforts, a famous hotel in downtown Seoul increased its percentage of local guests more than threefold during traditional holidays alone. Occupancy by local residents had averaged 20 percent annually.

A hotel executive said, “Most guests were those who wanted to have a good rest and relax at a nearby hotel that has handy facilities, as well as those who didn’t go to their ancestral hometowns during holidays.”

The potential risk to hocance is that it becomes too popular and the travel industry does not restrain itself. The number of complaints filed against hotels, travel agencies and airlines reached about 1,700 during the summer vacation seasons from 2015 to 2017, according to the Fair Trade Commission and the Korea Consumer Agency.

Hotels in particular overbooked rooms in order to maximize profits

Package Deals

1. Watching TV with friends or family over drinks and delicacies in a hotel room is a way to escape the daily grind and enjoy free time.

2. A guest enjoys her free time in a hotel room.

Hotels offer a variety of “hocance” packages for those who want to spend quality time without traveling long distances.

86 KOREANA Summer 2019

The growing popularity of hocance can also be attributed to the reduction of working hours from a maximum of 68 to 52 (40-hour standard plus 12 hours overtime) in July 2018. The government-initiated revision is aimed at promoting a healthier work-life balance. Many people began flocking to hotels after work to pamper themselves with a bit of perfect rest and relaxation. Postings on social media fueled the idea of a brief getaway. In response, some hotels began offering special night packages that include a pool pass and dinner coupons.

“A warm pool” topped the list of the most-searched keywords between December 2018 and February this year, according to an analysis by WITH Innovation, the operator of the accommodation app, “How About Here?”

The total number of searches for “a warm pool” and the like increased by about 40 percent year on year. This new trend has also been sparked by an increase of hotels equipped with recreation facilities and social media posts about different types of hocance experiences, WITH Innovation added.

Besides night packages, hotels have scaled up offerings for holiday periods. Before last year’s Chuseok, a hotel on Jeju Island offered a package

A variation of homecance is a “staycation” (“stay” and “vacation”), or “holistay”(“holiday” and “stay”). It involves turning part of one’s home into a vacation site. Mobile operator SK Telecom reported that the most-searched keywords related to summer vacation included “homecance” and “veterpark” (“veranda” and “water park,” which means a veranda in which a mini plastic pool is set up), based on an analysis of a total of 1,317,420 data points collected from news reports, blogs, online bulletin boards and social networking sites in July last year when temperatures spiked above 33ºC. To accommodate staycation home transformations, manufacturers and retailers supply equipment to help pass time away from crowded resorts and sweltering heat.

“Over the 15 days from July 16 to 30 when the vacation season began last year, sales of mini laser beam projectors and Bluetooth speakers grew by 40 and 30 percent, respectively,” a spokesman for Lotte Himart, a home electronics outlet, said. He suggested that those items seemed to be in high demand because they could turn a wall into a screen and produce the sound quality of a movie theater.

Finally, ready-to-eat camping meals sold on home shopping channels can replace cooking, completing the sense of truly escaping daily routines and enjoying a vacation away from home.

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JOURNEYS IN KOREAN LITERATURE

CRITIQUE

Ethical Time Lapse That Follows Loss Kim Ae-ran made her debut in 2002 at the age of twenty-two. She has since produced a series of lively and warm-hearted works, but in her most recent stories she has begun to explore themes of loss, separation and longing. She is using a quiet tone instead of the cheerfulness that characterized her earlier work.

Choi Jae-bong Reporter, The Hankyoreh

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im Ae-ran began writing around ten years earlier than her peers, establishing the trends that were to characterize Korean fiction by writers born in the 1980s. The narrow, shabby spaces such as convenience stores, gosiwon (literally, “tiny dwellings for those studying for public service exams”), reading rooms, and basement and rooftop rooms are part of those trends.

They form the settings of Kim’s early works, including the short story “I Go to the Convenience Store,” published the year after her debut [see Koreana Winter 2017, Vol. 31 No. 4].

Her first collection, “Run, Daddy, Run” (2005), brought together nine short stories, more than half of them featuring a father as the main character. In these works, the father is either absent, incompetent, or otherwise only a faint presence. In the title story, the father has left his pregnant wife and never returns home again; in “Love’s Greeting,” he disappeared ten years earlier and never appears in the story at all. In “There is a Reason Why She Cannot Sleep,” the father, who is “the one who ruined the family,” shares his daughter’s rented room and fans her insomnia by watching TV until late at night. By contrast, the father in “Pogo Stick” is competent, almost normal. This father, who runs an electric store, one day dreams that his eldest son, who left home after failing to get into college, has returned. That day, he says that he is going to repair a broken street light, but he too is shown to be a rather insipid type: he climbs the lamp post only to come back down again, saying that his hands are cold.

In that sense, “Who is Thoughtlessly Setting off Fireworks on the Beach?” is especially suggestive. A boy, the story’s protagonist, asks one day how he was born. The father answers his young son’s questions in many ways, but none of them is truly convincing. In the end, the child decides to make up his own story about his birth. Here, we are told that “since the child cannot believe what his father says, he sets out to tell himself stories.” It is meaningful that the child is reborn as a storyteller in place of the father’s voice. This is the very theme of her first full-length novel, “My Palpitating Life” (2011), which can be regarded as the story of the birth of the writer Kim Ae-ran.

Running through her second short story collection, “My Mouth is Watering” (2007), is an atti-

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© Gwon Hyeok-jae

Kim Ae-ran: “I have come to realize that there are situations where I cannot joke.” tude that overcomes objectively disadvantageous and unfavorable situations with subjective aesthetics. For example, in “Lofty Air,” someone keeps banging on the keys of a piano in a basement room that is flooded during the rainy season.

In contrast, the title work tells of the substitution of a physiological phenomenon for the main character’s longing for her mother, who slipped her a pack of gum before disappearing many years ago. “Noodles” features a mother who spends her life selling noodles to provide for her children, which is consistent with Kim Ae-ran’s autobiographical background.

We can sense that the main characters in her stories do not lose their lofty air in difficult situations thanks to the strong support of their mothers.

Kim Ae-ran’s first full-length novel, “My Palpitating Life,” was published in the tenth year after her debut. A great commercial success, it was turned into a film, producing a kind of “Kim Ae-ran phenomenon.” This novel is about a 17-year-old boy afflicted with and prematurely dying from progeria. The boy presents to his parents their own story, the encounter and love of two people who gave birth to him at a young age. The story is remarkable in that it maximizes the attitude of overcoming sorrow and suffering with humor, one of the main features of Kim Ae-ran’s fiction.

However, “Kim Ae-ran-esque humor” almost completely disappeared in her following two short story collections,

“Vapor Trail” (2012) and “Summer Outside” (2017). There seem to be two main reasons for this. First, the author may have decided to distance herself from the lightness and vivacity of youth after passing 30. Second, there was a series of events that had a deep impact on Korean society as a whole.

It might be that any impulse toward humor was suppressed by the social pain arising, for example, from the Yongsan tragedy of 2009, in which five tenants and a policeman were killed when a fire broke out during a police raid to arrest demonstrators opposing redevelopment compensation measures, and the Sewol ferry disaster in 2014, which claimed hundreds of lives, most of them secondary school students on a school trip. Regarding this, Kim Ae-ran said in an interview, “I have come to realize that there are situations where I cannot joke.” At the end of “Summer Outside,” she explains in the writer’s postface, “Rather than worrying about what words I need to use, now I tend to stop and take the time to consider things other than words.”

These “other things” include the dark side of demolition for urban redevelopment, portrayed by a dystopian imagination in two short stories, “Insects” and “Goliath in Water,” from the collection “Vapor Trail.” The sinking of the Sewol is not mentioned but strongly evoked in “Onset of Winter” and “Where Do You Want to Go?” contained in the latest collection, “Summer Outside.”

“The Utility of Landscapes” amounts to the title work of “Summer Outside.” Though not exactly the same, the title of the book comes from a sentence in this story, in which the protagonist feels he is holding a glass snowball while traveling in Thailand. The time difference described in the sentence, “Inside the glass ball, a white blizzard raged, while outside it was high summer,” is also connected with the theme of the entire collection, which contains stories of people who go on living after death and loss, or “past the cliff” as the author puts it.

“The Utility of Landscapes” is the story of a man whose parents divorced after his father committed adultery. He grew up with a sense of hostility toward his father that goes beyond a mere sense of distance. It is not surprising that he does not harbor positive feelings for his father, yet the author questions whether the ethical superiority claimed by the son is justified.

At the end of the story, the son hears the voice of someone shouting “double fault” at him, while he mutters, “I have never wanted to have anything for free.” All his life, the son has blamed and condemned his father on ethical grounds, but in the end, it is the son, not the father, who is being judged. Might that not be called an “ethical time difference”?

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 89

A JournAl of the eAst AsiA foundAtion

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