Koreana Winter 2011 (English)

w i nt er 2011

Korean Culture & Arts

vo l. 25 n o . 4

Special Feature w i n ter 2011

Tripitaka Koreana Introduction; Millennial Celebration; Original Edition; Prints in Japan; Woodblocks; Digital Knowledgebase

ISSN 1016-0744

v o l. 25 n o. 4

After 1,000 Years, Tripitaka Koreana Opens New Era for Buddhist Research

PUBLISHER EDITORIAL DIRECTOR EDITOR-IN-CHIEF EDITORIAL BOARD

COPY EDITOR ASSOCIATE EDITOR ASSISTANT EDITORS

TRANSLATORS

Kim Byung-kook Zeon Nam-jin Lee Kyong-hee Bae Bien-u Elisabeth Chabanol Han Kyung-koo Kim Hwa-young Kim Moon-hwan Kim Young-na Koh Mi-seok Song Hye-jin Song Young-man Werner Sasse Dean Jiro Aoki Lim Sun-kun Teresita M. Reed Cho Yoon-jung Charles La Shure Chung Myung-je Hwang Sun-ae Kim Young-kyu Min Eun-young

CREATIVE DIRECTOR ART DIRECTOR DESIGNER LAYOUT & DESIGN

Kim Sam Lee Duk-lim Kim Ji-hyun Kim’s Communication Associates

Subscription Price for annual subscription: Korea 18,000, Asia by air US$33, elsewhere by air US$37 Price per issue in Korea 4,500

Subscription/circulation correspondence: The U.S. and Canada Koryo Book Company 1368 Michelle Drive St. Paul, MN 55123-1459 Tel: 1-651-454-1358 Fax: 1-651-454-3519 Other areas including Korea The Korea Foundation 2558 Nambusunhwan-ro, Seocho-gu, Seoul 137-863, Korea Tel: 82-2-2151-6544 Fax: 82-2-2151-6592

ADVERTISING CNC Boom Co., Ltd Towercrystal Building, 1008-1, Daechi 3-dong, Gangnam-gu, Seoul 135-851, Korea Tel: 82-2-512-8928 Fax: 82-2-512-8676 LAYOUT & DESIGN Kim’s Communication Associates 384-13 Seogyo-dong, Mapo-gu, Seoul, 121-839, Korea Tel: 82-2-335-4741 Fax: 82-2-335-4743 www.gegd.co.kr Printed in winter 2011 Samsung Moonwha Printing Co. 274-34, Seongsu-dong 2-ga, Seongdong-gu, Seoul 133-831, Korea Tel: 82-2-468-0361/5

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

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

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS Winter 2011 Published quarterly by The Korea Foundation 2558 Nambusunhwan-ro, Seocho-gu, Seoul 137-863, Korea

The second edition Tripitaka Koreana woodblocks produced in 1236-1251.

The first edition, which marks the 1,000th year since its inception in 1011, was destroyed by fire in 1232 during the Mongol invasion.

So, We Mark the Millennium “Thus I have heard…” So begin the early sutras of Buddhism. This famous phrase is evidence that the teachings of the Buddha were passed down through generations by monks who memorized and recited the words of their great teacher for several centuries before they were written down on tree leaves and stored in “three baskets.” The Tripitaka was a source of wisdom as well as an object of worship. Monks of East Asia traveled across mountains and deserts and seas to seek the words, risking their lives. Not everyone returned, but those who survived brought back hand-copied scriptures, which were translated into Chinese, the universal script of East Asia back then. The words were then engraved onto woodblocks to be printed and dispersed widely; a millennium later the scriptures were mass produced with movable type and read by broader masses; a century

thereafter these same words were digitalized to be shared with all humanity via the Internet.

In this edition, we attempt to look back at this historical process of how people in Asia have documented, studied, propagated, and preserved these invaluable sources of knowledge and wisdom, and how Koreans have benefited from and contributed to this effort. This is a humble endeavor to help mark the one thousandth anniversary of the Tripitaka Koreana, with a hope that the wisdom contained in these ancient woodblocks might shed light on the path to a better world.

Lee Kyong-hee Editor-in-Chief

© Horim Museum

A woodblock print of an illustration for the Sutra Spoken by the Buddha on the Sevens of Life to be Cultivated in Preparation for the Ten Kings (detail), dated 13th century.

Special Feature Tripitaka Koreana

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introduction

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Lewis Lancaster

Millennial Celebration

Diverse Festivities Unravel the Woodblocks’ Profound Mystery

Charles La Shure

Original Edition

Ancient Wisdom Preserved in Scrolls of Goryeo Mulberry Paper

Kim Hak-soon 26

Prints in Japan

Majority of Original Tripitaka Koreana Prints Preserved in Japan

Kim Hak-soon

Woodblocks

Printing Blocks Remain in Perfect Condition after 760 Years

Park Sang-jin

Digital Knowledgebase

Venerable Jongnim Pursues ‘Computopia’ with Digitized Canon

Kim Yoo-kyung 04

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54 60 64

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After 1,000 Years, Tripitaka Koreana Opens New Era for Buddhist Research

Focus

Prehistoric Petroglyphs in Jeopardy Due to Drinking Water Project

Lee Kwang-pyo

Art Review

‘Leafie, a Hen into the Wild’ Vaults Korean Animation to New Heights

Han Tae-sik

ON THE GLOBAL STAGE

International Debut of Lim Yi-jo’s ‘Swan Lake’ in Shanghai

ARTISAN

Kim Jung-hwa: Dye Artist Infuses Fabric with the Colors of Nature

Choi Hae-ree

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Park Hyun-sook

DISCOVERING KOREA

‘The Great Mountain Range Changed My Life’

Park Jung-won

On the Road

A Nostalgic Stroll around Seochon

Kim Yoo-kyung

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Books & More Kim Hak-soon, Kim Ho-joung Translation of ‘The Cartography of the Traditional East and Southeast Asian Societies’ (Korea Section) Published “Cartography in Korea” Written by Gari K. Ledyard New CD by Chung Myung-whun and the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra

Debussy’s ‘La Mer’; Maurice Ravel’s ‘Ma Mère l’Oye’ and ‘La Valse’ Compilation of Ancient Writings on Korean Tea and Tea Ceremony ‘Korean Tea Classics’ Written by Hanjae Yi Mok and the Venerable Choui

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Gourmet’s Delight

Gukbap : A Savory and Original Fast Food

Ye Jong-suk

Entertainment

The Making of Korean Dramas: Tantalizing Flexibility Comes at a Cost Lifestyle

At K-Pop Concerts Fans Sing Along Joyfully

Surh Jung-min

journeys in Korean literature

Critique: Love Stories and Layers of Ice First Love by Joun Gyoung-rin

Uh Soo-woong

Kim Dae-oh

Tripitaka Koreana

Introduction

After 1,000 Years, Tripitaka Koreana Opens New Era for Buddhist Research

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The massive compilation project for the entire Chinese language Buddhist canon in the year 1011 in Korea, during the Goryeo Dynasty, was tantamount to a revolution in the history of knowledge in East Asia. The commemoration of the 1,000th anniversary of the Tripitaka Koreana this year sheds renewed light on the far-reaching significance of this landmark event.

Lewis Lancaster Professor Emeritus of East Asian Languages and Culture, University of California, Berkeley | Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

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his year, we celebrate the 1,000th anniversary of the start of a massive publishing project begun by the Goryeo court in 1011.

Back in 991, the Northern Song Dynasty sent a royal gift to Korea: a set of prints of the Chinese Buddhist canon. That first segment of the canon, comprised of more than 120,000 pages, was followed by other parts over the succeeding years. A decade later, the Goryeo court commissioned a set of printing blocks to be made from those Northern Song prints. Later, the Kaifeng court would send a second gift comprised of new translations made from Sanskrit texts that were then found in China. A third gift contained the translations from the previous dynasties that had not been included in the first segment.

Four East Asian Editions The woodblocks that were carved in Korea in 1011-1087 survived until around 1232 when they were destroyed by fire during the invasion of the Mongols. Other sets of blocks were

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made by the Liao (Khitan) and the Jin (Jurchen) kingdoms. Thus, by the 11th century, there were four such sets existing, in Northern Song, Goryeo, Liao, and Jin, but none of them survives today.

Examples of the rubbings made from them exist, but the blocks have long since disintegrated. Fortunately, Goryeo made a second set of blocks in the 13th century and those still exist at Haein Temple, representing the oldest complete set of printing blocks for the Chinese Buddhist canon. What is perhaps miraculous is the fact that the 13th century blocks have survived intact and remain in excellent condition. This means wooden blocks that are nearly 800 years old are still stored at the temple.

It is remarkable that we are able to pinpoint an event that occurred 1,000 years ago. History records the great events of political and social entities, but those are received traditions that have been spoken of and perhaps even celebrated down through the years. The 1,000th anniversary of the carving of the printing blocks is quite different from these long-lasting rituals and lore.

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3 1. A print from the Kaibao Tripitaka from the Northern Song Dynasty; it is stored in the rare books library at Nanzen Temple in Kyoto, Japan. The Kaibao Tripitaka, published in 983, is the oldest Tripitaka in the classical Chinese cultural sphere, but none of the woodblocks remain today.

2. Scrolls of paper and a sutra from the Khitan Tripitaka.

3. Monks of Haein Temple carefully carry woodblocks of the 760-year-old second edition Tripitaka Koreana for the millennial festivities.

It represents the contemporary ability to identify the exact time a small group started to work on a national project. Having knowledge of what happened 10 centuries ago indicates the strong cultural continuity that exists in Korea.

Printing had existed for some centuries in East Asia before 1011, but the scale of printing had never reached the level of being able to produce more than 100,000 pages in a standard format, with recognized use of Chinese characters, and the ability to produce thousands of bound volumes of those pages on handmade paper. This technological feat, represented by thousands of 11th century printing blocks, brought Korea into the forefront of collecting and storing information.

An Epochal Event in Printing History I began my research on the printing blocks 45 years ago when the University of California, Berkeley purchased one of the 12 sets of rubbings from all of some 83,000 blocks stored at Haeinsa.

This project in the 1960s was the last major use of the entire set of blocks. At that time, little was known about the printing blocks K o r e a n a 覺 W i n t e r 2 0 11

of Korea and my catalog of the prints could only be published by the University Press as a subsidized project. During these ensuing decades, however, I have been joined by a host of researchers who today are uncovering new information and understanding of the history of the blocks.

One of the most exciting projects has been the discovery of thousands of pages of prints from the 1011 edition stored in the rare book archive at Nanzenji temple in Kyoto, Japan. The abbot of Nanzenji has allowed a Korean team to make digital images of these prints and they are now freely available on the Internet. We are also learning a good deal more about the physical blocks currently at Haeinsa.

For example, it now appears that they were not carved from just one type of wood. Older records said that they were carved on birch wood and some of them are. However, a larger number of blocks seem, on first research count, to be made from wild cherry wood.

Other studies have been made of the buildings which have housed the blocks for many centuries. The more they are studied, the more remarkable they appear because they have provided a perfect environment for the preservation of the woodblocks, and it is hard to

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1. A woodblock of the second edition Tripitaka Koreana; a layer of ink builds up on the woodblock after it is used for printing, forming a thin film of carbon that delays aging and weathering.

2. Haein Temple; the buildings located on the highest terrain of this temple compound (at an altitude of 645 meters) are the Tripitaka Koreana woodblock repositories, with their backs to the summit of Mt. Gaya, surrounded by many peaks.

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Even if they didn’t know it, scholars have for nearly a century depended on the Goryeo woodblock prints for research on the Buddhist literature of East Asia.

imagine that we could equal them in contemporary times.

Digitization of the Canon In the last decade of the 20th century, the entire content of 52 million characters found on the printing blocks was put into digital format and made available for scholars around the world. One thousand years ago, the new technology of information transfer was reverse image printing, while today the new technology is digital. In one sense, we are living in a time with much in common to the 11th century. With the digitization of the canon stored at Haeinsa, a new method of reading, reproducing, and analyzing has arrived, just as a similar shift occurred with the start of large-scale printing a thousand years ago. The digital version of the canon is changing the way we do research. In one sense, we are now able to let the content of the blocks speak out. The computer can show us patterns and word usage that give us the ability to understand the texts in a new and more comprehensive manner.

The woodblocks at Haeinsa still carry the reflection of those made in 1011. When Japan made a “modern” edition of the Chinese K o r e a n a ı W i n t e r 2 0 11

Buddhist canon, they turned out the readings found on the Korean blocks. As the Taisho edition from Japan went out to become the standard for the Chinese Buddhist canon around the world, few were aware that it was disseminating texts that were directly copied from Haeinsa. Even if they didn’t know it, scholars have for nearly a century depended on the Goryeo woodblock prints for research on the Buddhist literature of East Asia.

There are still a host of questions about the blocks that have yet to be answered. We are not certain of the nature of the workshops that carved the blocks. Was the work done in one location or spread out to a number of temples? What was the history of the two centuries when the first set of blocks existed? How many times were they used to make prints and where did the prints go?

The conferences and workshops that have been sponsored for this 1,000th anniversary are bringing new interest and wider participation to research. In this volume of “Koreana”, readers are able to get a good sense of the nature of the blocks and their significance.

We are seeing a new era of study and we can expect to know even more about these important objects in the years to come.

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Tripitaka Koreana

Millennial Celebration

Diverse Festivities Unravel the Woodblocks’ Profound Mystery The spirit of the Korean people, the treasured printing culture of Goryeo, and the teachings left behind by the Buddha to better humanity are all worth preserving for another one thousand years. The festivities surrounding the Millennial Anniversary of the Tripitaka Koreana are the first step on that journey.

Charles La Shure Professor, Graduate School of Interpretation and Translation, Hankuk University of Foreign Studies | Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

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et us step back in time, not ten years, not a hundred years, but a thousand years, to the dawn of the past millennium, when there was a very different world from what we know today.

In Europe, peace at last from outsider invasions leads to a population explosion and the development of society in the High Middle Ages. Africa is ruled in the north by the Fatimid Caliphate, a Shi’ite Muslim dynasty, while the Sahara and all lands south of the great desert are home to numerous empires, kingdoms, and tribes. The Americas would not have their ill-fated encounter with sea-roving Europeans for another five centuries; the classical Mayan civilization centers have been abandoned in Mesoamerica, and the mound builders of the Mississippian culture dominate what is now the central and southwestern United States.

Halfway around the world, in East Asia, the nation of Goryeo is fending off Khitan invaders of the Liao Dynasty in what is now northeastern China and eastern Mongolia. Goryeo does indeed drive back the Khitans, but the victory is not won through valor and force of arms alone. Sensing that this national crisis calls for more than just military might, King Hyeonjong orders the carving of woodblocks for the canon of Buddhist scriptures. For 76 years, monks secluded in mountain temples around the country carry out this monumental task, demonstrating not just the spirit of Goryeo but also its advanced printing culture.

Only a century and a half later, though, tragedy strikes when the Mongols overrun Goryeo and burn the woodblocks in 1232. “This crisis became the greatest opportunity,” says Venerable Sungahn, director of the Preservation Department of the Institute of the Tripitaka Koreana at Haein Temple. In only 16 years, dedicated monks carve a new version of the Buddhist canon that is more accurate than the original and incorporates advances in technology. Today,

this Tripitaka Koreana, inscribed on the UNESCO Memory of the World Register and housed in Haein Temple, is the beating heart of the festivities celebrating its millennial anniversary this year.

Home of the Tripitaka Koreana Our journey begins with a visit to Haein Temple. We follow the crowds up the sun-dappled road leading deeper into the folds of Mt. Gaya, but along the way, something catches the eye. It is a sign pointing away from the foot-worn path. We follow it, and soon find ourselves alone, standing before a pit in the ground. Within the pit are half-buried statues of seated Buddhas, and on the other side stand two young men, with a pick and a shovel, who are discussing the best way to continue the excavation.

This is not an archaeological site, though. It is “Excavation Project,” by the artist Cho Duck-hyun. A combination of installation art and performance art, this work is one of many scattered around Haein Temple and its environs as part of the Haein Art Project, a collection of some 50 artworks that expresses the meeting of art and religion. “The Sound of the Buddha,” located near the entrance of the temple, is a bronze statue of the Buddha by Ahn Sung-keum. But this is no ordinary statue. It is split into two, with a space in between the two halves for you to discover your inner Buddha nature and become whole.

Korean artists are not the only contributors to this project. As we near the front gate of the temple, a strange sight comes into

1. The entrance to the first of the two Tripitaka Koreana repositories, Sudarajang, where the woodblocks are stored.

2. Circumambulation in the main courtyard of Haein Temple; visitors meditate as they walk around the stone pagoda in the center.

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“Kalchakura,� by the Chilean artist Magdalena Atria; one of the works at the Haein Art Project for the Millennial Anniversary of the Tripitaka Koreana.

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view: rainbow-colored plasticine mandalas attached directly to the gate’s stone foundation. This is “Kalchakura,” by the Chilean artist Magdalena Atria. We pass over the mandalas and through the single-pillar gate on the way to the main grounds of the temple. In the first courtyard is a stone pagoda with an elaborate, winding path around it. Simply walking around the pagoda is an act of meditation, and as we follow the path we have time to contemplate where we are and why we are here. It is not easy to slow our steps when we know that the 81,258 woodblocks of the Tripitaka Koreana await us at the rear and uppermost level of the temple complex.

Not too long after, the sun is bright in the blue sky as we make our way up the last flight of stairs to the buildings where the woodblocks are housed. We step over the lintel of the lotus-shaped doorway to find ourselves in the midst of the Tripitaka; behind wooden grates, tall shelves housing the woodblocks stretch out to either side. The air is fresh, thanks to the windows specifically designed to facilitate ventilation, but at the same time the weight of history hangs in the air. It is incredible to think that the woodblocks have been housed here for over 750 years, yet they are still capable of producing crisp prints of the scriptures.

Copies are rarely printed from the original blocks these days, of course, as Venerable Sungahn tells us later over a cup of oolong tea in his quarters. “Warm conversation needs warm tea,” he says as he prepares the drink for us himself. Over the next few hours we discuss many things, and along the way we learn just how sparse our knowledge of the Tripitaka Koreana really is. Near the end of our conversation, though, he says something interesting. “Everything is change,” he says with a smile, “and accepting that fact is the key to escaping the troubles of life.”

At first, this seems like a strange thing to say for someone who is charged with the preservation of the centuries-old set of woodblocks. Is not the act of preservation an attempt to hold back the tide of change? But then his meaning becomes clear. “The Tripitaka is a very difficult text. We need to create a link or code that can connect us to it.” Indeed, everything is change, and preservation of the Tripitaka does not simply refer to the physical preservation of the woodblocks but the preservation of everything that the Tripitaka represents.

Celebrate the Tripitaka’s Spirit Our second day begins early at the main event site. The venue is scheduled to open at 10:00 a.m., but so many people are waiting to

1. “The Sound of the Buddha,” by the Korean artist Ahn Sung-keum; a statue of the Buddha is split in two with a space in between for visitors who seek to discover the Buddha within themselves.

2. “Millennial Chorus,” a digital installation art project; AMOLED screens display images in place of the faces of a thousand seated Buddha statues.

3. The World Citizen Hall at the main event site; thousands of pieces of paper bear the wishes of visitors.

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get in that the gates are opened early. Beyond the central Millennium Plaza is the Tripitaka Millennium Hall, the main venue of the exhibition and our first destination.

Inside the hall, our journey begins in the imposing Tripitaka Exhibition Room, a cylindrical room that draws the eye upward along a gently sloping spiral walkway, not unlike the Guggenheim Museum in New York. In the center of this space, a holocube displays the 3D image of a Tripitaka woodblock.

The walls are decorated to resemble shelves, and as we walk up the spiral pathway we see that there are also actual shelves here, housing what look to be woodblocks. In fact, these are copperplate reproductions of the Tripitaka. Just over a thousand have been completed so far, but the work will continue after the festival and the shelves lining the walkway will eventually hold 81,258 plates.

At the top of the walkway, on the second floor of the hall, are a number of rooms that lead visitors deeper into the Tripitaka Koreana experience. In one room, life-size exhibits depict in detail the production process of the Tripitaka. It all began with the painstaking process of proofreading and editing the contents and then preparing the master text. This text was then placed onto the individual blocks, in reverse, and carved into the wood, character by character.

In another room, a video shown on a large screen explains the scientific knowledge that went into the construction of the buildings that have housed the Tripitaka for all these centuries. From the floor lined with charcoal and then salt to allow the earth to breathe, to the specially designed windows, every element serves one purpose: to preserve the Tripitaka in the pristine state in which it remains today. As our eyes adjust to the darkness, we see that this room is not just a theater — it is, in fact, a reproduction of the interior of the buildings where the woodblocks are stored.

There are plenty of exhibits located around the hall that allow visitors, young and old, to experience the Tripitaka Koreana firsthand, from woodblock-style printing stations to specially designed chairs for visitors to pause and listen to sutra recitations. Without a doubt, the biggest draw of the Tripitaka Millennium Hall is the room that contains woodblocks and other print materials from Korea and around the world. The star of this show is an original woodblock from the Tripitaka on display within a glass case. It’s hard to believe that this was created 750 years ago; look closely and you can still see the careful marks of the craftsman’s tools.

There are four other halls in the main event site, two located on each side of Millennium Plaza. To the right as we exit the Tripitaka Millennium Hall is the World Exchange Hall, where the artworks

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1. In the Tripitaka Preservation Science Room, woodblocks of the Heart Sutra and the Flower Garland Sutra are on display.

2. Life-sized models show the production process of the Tripitaka Koreana, from engraving the woodblocks to printing the sutras.

3. The spiral corridor of the Tripitaka Millennium Hall.

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The star of this show is an original woodblock from the Tripitaka Koreana on display within a glass case. It’s hard to believe that this was created 750 years ago; look closely and you can still see the careful marks of the craftsman’s tools. and installations created by over 60 artists from around the world capture the spirit of the Tripitaka. Next door is the World Citizen Hall, where visitors can participate in the festivities. Sculptures hang from the ceiling here, weighed down with thousands of multicolored strips of paper. A closer look shows that they are not just for decoration: on each is a wish written down by a visitor. Also here is a small room for the “108 bows relay.” One hundred and eight is a significant number in Buddhist thought as it represents the number of illusions that cause all human suffering. The goal is to have 81,258 visitors complete the Buddhist ceremony of bowing 108 times, thus setting a Guinness world record. At the time of our visit, 15,000 visitors had already done so.

On the opposite side of Millennium Plaza are two larger halls.

The Knowledge Civilization Hall begins with a timeline outlining the history of print culture in both the East and the West. On display here are many relics and reproductions of stone tablets, woodblocks, handwritten manuscripts, and other materials that show the development of print culture through time. In the dim light of the hall, though, one exhibit shines brightly: a collection of Buddhist sutras penned in gold ink by the contemporary Korean calligrapher Hur Rak. The precise beauty of the tiny characters is breathtaking, and the detailed illustrations call to mind some of the finest illuminated manuscripts housed in museums around world. At the end of the hall we reach the modern age with an exhibit of one thousand small digital displays, orchestrated in a symphony of light and color that symbolizes the only constant in human life: change.

At the Spiritual Culture Hall visitors can learn about the influence that Buddhism has had on everyday life. Everything from common phrases, tea culture, and art forms, such as bronze bells and stone pagodas, all have their roots in Buddhism. But this is no passive experience — a winding walkway encourages visitors to enter a meditative state of mind, and at the end of the hall is a special room set aside for visitors who would like to meditate.

Experience the Tripitaka Firsthand Back outside, Millennium Plaza beckons with its white and orange peaked tents. The tents are filled with people eager to try their hand at carving their own woodblocks, printing from replica woodblocks, or making arts and crafts like wind chimes and lotus lanterns. Having been impressed by exhibits on the process of making Tripitaka prints, we decide to try the woodblock printing. The first step is to apply the ink. Traditionally, this would be

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done with a brush, but we use a modern ink roller to ensure that the woodblock is fully coated. The rich, pungent smell of ink is in the air as we position a sheet of Korean paper on the woodblock. All that remains is to rub the paper gently with a cloth-covered rubbing sponge, and our very own woodblock print takes form. When it is finished, it feels like we are holding a piece of history made with our own hands.

As the sun climbs higher into the sky, the crowds around us grow larger. Soon a line of people snakes through Millennium Plaza and an announcement is made that the wait to see the original Tripitaka woodblock is now two hours. Many visitors decide to recharge with food and snacks at the restaurant pavilion, where skewers of meat and other tempting foods beckon.

But there is a bustle at the other side of the event site: men, women, and children dressed in traditional attire stand in rows, as if waiting for a parade. This is a reenactment of the Tripitaka procession by which the woodblocks were transported. The procession is led by musicians playing drums and gongs and escorted by fierce-looking soldiers in full armor and with weapons at the ready.

Next is a group of women with replica woodblocks on their heads, affixed with ribbons tied beneath their chins. They walk the sandy path in straw shoes, their hands clasped in front of them in reverence. Behind them are a group of young children, all of whom are excited to be carrying the woodblocks on their backs. Older children, and men and women with A-frame carriers on their backs, and finally oxen bearing bundles of woodblocks bring up the rear.

For those walking in the procession and those cheering them on, it is another chance to experience the Tripitaka.

As Venerable Sungahn says, the Tripitaka is indeed a difficult text. The exhibitions, events, and celebrations of the Millennial Anniversary of the Tripitaka Koreana, though, are the first link that brings us closer to its profound mystery. We leave the event site with a greater understanding of the history behind the Tripitaka and the wisdom and effort that went into its creation, but perhaps most importantly, the Tripitaka Koreana is no longer something of which we have only heard or seen. It is now a living, breathing part of our lives.

1. Visitors watch a video explaining the scientific principles behind the preservation of the Tripitaka Koreana.

2. A reenactment of the procession for transporting the Tripitaka woodblocks.

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Tripitaka Koreana

Original Edition

Ancient Wisdom Preserved in Scrolls of Goryeo Mulberry Paper The original Tripitaka Koreana text has been preserved over the past one thousand years in the form of woodblock prints. Today, of the thousands of original volumes, some 300 volumes remain in Korea and another 2,400 volumes in Japan.

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Kim Hak-soon Journalist

Ko re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

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just could not believe that this scroll, which looked like it had been printed only recently on fresh Korean paper (hanji ), was actually one thousand years old. I was filled with wonderment the moment I set eyes on the nearly 100 volumes of original Tripitaka Koreana prints on display at the Horim Museum, near Seoul National University. My heart pounded with the realization that these were thousand-year-old prints from the Tripitaka Koreana, a comprehensive compendium of all the Buddhist scriptures and teachings of Sakyamuni Buddha as well as all concerned texts.

Most of the prints are perfectly maintained, with no discoloration or distortion. There was an occasional flawed print but it was due to the fact that the preservation efforts required enormous caution.

Paper and Ink What piqued my curiosity was the mystery of how these prints were able to survive one thousand years in such pristine condition. Curator Park Jun-yeong of the Horim Museum, which houses the largest collection of original Tripitaka Koreana prints in Korea, offered an answer to this riddle: the key is the paper of Goryeo, which was undoubtedly the world’s finest at the time.

Goryeo paper was made from fibers of the paper mulberry tree, which were pounded over hundred times. Then the fibers would be immersed in a vat of liquid, and then a porous frame was repeatedly dipped into and out of this liquid until layer upon layer of fibers accumulated on the surface, which contributed to the paper’s durability. The sheets were then laid out on a fulling block and pounded thoroughly to produce a smooth, lustrous paper. The fibers adhered so tightly to each other that it seemed like the paper was coated with a special finish. The secret behind the paper’s incredible durability and its original color and sheen remaining intact lies in its special materials and production methods. In addition, Goryeo paper is pH neutral, so it can last for centuries, even when exposed to air and light.

The superiority of traditional Korean paper has long been well known, as indicated by the old saying: “Paper lasts a thousand years, silk lasts five hundred years.” Goryeo paper in particular was widely recognized for being of the finest quality, even by the prideful Chinese. There is a Chinese reference that reads: “Goryeo mulberry paper is fair and lovely in color and is called ‘white beaten paper.’

Goryeo paper contains threads from silkworm cocoons and thus is glossy and durable like silk, and when it is used for calligraphy it takes the ink well and so is highly prized.” According to legend, Su Shi (1037-1101), one of the eight masters of Song and Tang and the

© Horim Museum

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The first edition of the Tripitaka Koreana, printed one thousand years ago and surviving today in the form of scrolls.

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© Horim Museum

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foremost poet of the Song Dynasty, expressed his desire to possess Goryeo paper and Goryeo celadon.

The royal protocols of the Joseon Dynasty, or uigwe , which had been stored at the Outer Gyujanggak on Ganghwa Island, are remarkably well-preserved in terms of the outstanding condition of the paper and clarity of the content. The copy that was prepared for the king was produced on the highest quality paper available, but experts are confident in stating that Goryeo paper was superior to that of Joseon.

The unique qualities of the paper used for making the original Tripitaka Koreana prints have been brought to light by the research team of Professor Nam Gwon-hui, of the Department of Library Information and Science at Kyungpook National University. Professor Nam and the Research Institute of the Tripitaka Koreana (directed by Venerable Jongnim) carried out a project, dubbed “Analysis of the Paper and Binding of the Original Tripitaka Koreana,” in the second half of 2010. They uncovered the secrets of the paper, rollers, backing paper, binding, adhesive, and covers of every original Tripitaka Koreana print in existence. The findings were based on detailed analyses of the size, thickness, and color of the paper, as well as the shape of frames used to make the paper, extent to which the paper was pounded, and density of the paper.

The research results are scheduled to be posted on the institute’s website in November 2011.

“Korean paper made from the paper mulberry tree is perfectly capable of lasting for 2,000 years, barring external factors

or causes of damage, so there is no real point in talking about the secret of how it lasted for 1,000 years,” says Professor Nam. No less important than the paper’s unique properties is the specially prepared ink. The ink was made by combining a kind of glue with the soot obtained by burning pine branches and knots with high resin content. Ink prepared in this way can maintain a vivid blackness, when used for printing or calligraphy, for over one thousand years.

Naturally Fermented Adhesive The ability of these scrolls to retain their original form for 1,000 years is related to the exceptional adhesive that was used in their preparation. The backing paper, which connects one page of the scroll to the next, was affixed with a glue made from natural wheat,

1. Volume 12 of the Discourse on Conscious Body (Abhidharma Vijnaya-kaya Pada Sastra) from the original Tripitaka Koreana (collection of Horim Museum) 2. Volume 11 of the Commentary on Higher Teaching (Abhidharma Vibhasa Sastra) from the original Tripitaka Koreana (collection of Horim Museum)

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which had been aged for up to ten years and then combined with medicinal herbs. Thanks to this meticulous process, the pages remain adhered to the backing and the scrolls have maintained their original shape for all these centuries. There is only two to three millimeters of overlap between the pages, so it is truly amazing that they have remained so firmly in place.

The paper used for making the original Tripitaka Koreana prints shows significant differences depending on the period when the printing was undertaken. Professor Nam says that the existing prints in Korea are mostly on thick sheets of white paper, while those housed at Japan’s Nanzen Temple and other places are on thin and yellowish paper.

Print Collections Curator Park Jun-young notes that Horim Museum keeps the largest collection of national treasure and treasure-level original Tripitaka Koreana volumes in Korea. Among these, the second

volume of the Avatamsaka Sutra (Buddhavatamsaka Mahavaipulya Sutra , National Treasure No. 266), 12th volume the Discourse on Consciousness Body (Abhidharma Vijnaya-kaya Pada Sastra , National Treasure No. 267), and 11th volume of the Commentary on Higher Teaching (Abhidharma Vibhasa Sastra , National Treasure No. 268) are especially impressive.

To commemorate the thousand-year anniversary of the original Tripitaka Koreana woodblocks, Horim Museum staged a special exhibition entitled “1011-2011, Thousand-Year Wait: The Original Tripitaka Koreana” at its Sinsa branch, in Gangnam-gu (May 18-August 31), and its Sillim branch, in Gwanak-gu (May 30-October 31), in Seoul, so that the general public could view the first edition prints. At this large-scale exhibition, the prints were grouped into various categories, such as national treasures and treasure-level relics, depending on the style of binding and condition of the prints.

Meanwhile, the Sung Am Ancient Book Museum is well-known for its original Tripitaka Koreana woodblock prints of the North-

The original Tripitaka Koreana seems to exude a palpable living wisdom of a thousand years. Suddenly, I recall the words of National Preceptor Uicheon of Goryeo: “The creation of the Tripitaka Koreana is the gathering of the wisdom of one thousand years and sending it one thousand years into the future.”

© Horim Museum

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ern Song imperial commentary titled Yuzhi micangquan , the only such volume still in existence. The text itself is a kind of Buddhist poetry anthology, containing some 1,000 poems that praise the Buddha and delve into the profound meaning of his teachings. The prints depict figures teaching the principles of Buddhism against a background of graceful landscapes wreathed by auspicious clouds.

These exceptional works from the early Goryeo period depict elaborately formed topographical features, such as mountains and rocks, flowing clouds and rivers, trees in all their varied forms, buildings, and people.

The prints are presumed to have been made in the late 11th century, when the original Tripitaka Koreana woodblocks were carved. With extant paintings from the early Goryeo period being so

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rare, these prints are precious works of art that offer a glimpse of early Goryeo landscape paintings and sutra illustrations.

The Sung Am Ancient Book Museum also houses sutras from the Goryeo period that have been marked with a stylus, which enhances the value of its collection. A stylus was made from a hard material, like ivory or wood, which would be carved to a point for marking the paper to indicate the order in which a sutra should be read, or to provide an explanation or commentary of the sutra. The marking can be difficult to see clearly with the naked eye, but it can be discerned when viewed from an angle or with special equipment.

The Horim Museum and Sung Am Ancient Book Museum each house nearly 100 original Tripitaka Koreana prints, accounting for Ko re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

83 percent of all such prints in Korea. Additional volumes are at Keimyung University (5), the National Museum of Korea (4), Ho-Am Art Museum (4), Gacheon Museum (4), Guin Temple (3), Cheongju Early Printing Museum (3), Yonsei University (3), Seoul Museum of History (2), Yeungnam University (2), Pan-Asia Paper Museum (2), Gyeonggi Provincial Museum (1), Myongji University Museum (1), and Samseong Museum of Publishing (1).

At the National Museum of Korea, its copy of Acclamation of the Scriptural Teaching (Prakaranaryavaca Sastra , National Treasure No. 271) was donated by the late Song Seong-mun, the author of popular English study books. When this volume was designated a national treasure in 1992, experts were abuzz with excitement, calling it “the oldest Tripitaka Koreana print to retain its original form.”

Professor Nam suspects that there are other people who might own original Tripitaka Koreana prints but prefer to keep it a secret.

Today, some 300 volumes from the original Tripitaka Koreana prints are known to exist in Korea, but the number in Japan is about 2,400. Most of these volumes are housed at Nanzen Temple and Tsushima Folk History Museum. As such, the total number of existing volumes in Korea and abroad amounts to some 2,700.

According to survey results thus far, there are 154 volumes (78 titles) from original Tripitaka Koreana prints that exist only in Korea. There are 66 volumes (50 titles) at Nanzen Temple, and eight volumes of a single title at the Tsushima Folk History Museum. Among the prints in Korea, some 70 are from the same sutras and the same volumes as those in Japan. This includes one sutra with three copies, involving at least three printings, either in whole or in part, after the completion of the original set of woodblocks.

Professor Nam notes that even in prints from the same volumes, some 20 differences have been found after comparing the Japanese and Korean versions. Even after completion of the Tripitaka Koreana woodblocks, the caretakers of the canon continued to make partial revisions to the texts or needed to replace woodblocks due to problems with their storage.

Frontispiece for the first volume of Yuzhi micangquan ; a variety of features such as mountains and rocks, clouds and rivers, trees, and people are all sublimely expressed through elaborate carvings.

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Scroll Volumes The Tripitaka Koreana prints were bound in scroll form by joining together a number of woodblock-printed sheets. This is the oldest known method of producing books, and indeed the first books in Korea were in scroll form. The covers of the prints were made of paper dyed in dark blue, though some were left uncolored. Gold ink was used to print the name of the sutra on the dark blue covers, while regular black ink was used for plain covers.

Curator Park Jun-young says that the calligraphic style of the original Tripitaka Koreana is of a higher quality than the second edition. The original Tripitaka Koreana seems to exude a palpable “living wisdom of a thousand years.” Suddenly, I recall the words of National Preceptor Uicheon of Goryeo: “The creation of the Tripitaka Koreana is the gathering of the wisdom of one thousand years and sending it one thousand years into the future.”

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Tripitaka Koreana

Prints in Japan

Majority of Original Tripitaka Koreana Prints Preserved in Japan Kim Hak-soon Journalist | Park Bo-ha Photographer

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s a citizen of Korea, I could not be more disappointed with the fact that a large majority of the original Tripitaka Koreana prints are held in Japan, rather than in Korea. It has been found that 2,400 or so Tripitaka prints are housed in Japan, mainly at Nanzen Temple in Kyoto and the Tsushima Folk History Museum.

Not only is this amount eight times greater than the number in Korea, many are of a higher quality as well.

Nanzen Temple is home to some 1,700 volumes, or more than one-half of all extant prints of the Tripitaka Koreana. Professor Nam Gwon-hui says that these volumes are presumed to have been printed from the earliest of the woodblocks, all around the same time. Only the Acclamation of the Scriptural Teaching (Prakaranaryavaca Sastra ), at the Seoul Museum of History in Korea, has been confirmed to be older. The prints at Nanzenji are highly valued for their content as well.

Since the structure and content of the original Goryeo Tripitaka Koreana are based on China’s Kaibao edition (971-983) published during the Northern Song Dynasty, the prints are a precious resource for research into the situation of Goryeo, and for efforts to reconstruct the Chinese version, of which only a handful of volumes still exist. The seventh volume of Discourse on the Stages of Concentration Practice (Yogacarabhumi Sastra ), along with a version extant in Korea, is an especially important sutra that includes stylus notations, which makes it a key reference for the interpretation of classical Chinese sutras and research on historical Korean.

In addition, Yuzhi micangquan, Yuzhi xiaoyao yong, and Yuzhi fofu are rare editions that contain large woodcut print works illustrating imperial poetic commentaries of Northern Song. Although one of the 20 original volumes has been lost, they feature some 100 elaborate woodcut prints with intricate details. Only one volume with woodcut prints remains from the Chinese version.

The printed volumes of the original Tripitaka Koreana at Nanzen Temple are mostly made with one or two types of paper, but some have papers of varying quality. Their existence had been known prior to the 1930s, during the Japanese colonial period in Korea.

However, even for Japanese scholars, they were made available only on a limited basis, while Korean scholars had no opportunity

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to view the volumes. When Dr. Kim Du-jong and Professor Cheon Hye-bong of Sungkyunkwan University were able to study a few volumes in the 1960s, it marked the first-ever experience of the kind for Korean researchers.

Some 600 volumes are also housed at the Tsushima Folk History Museum and other locations in Japan. These prints were originally stored at Ankoku Temple on the island of Iki, near Tsushima, and Josho Temple in Tsushima. Ankoku Temple once had the same name as Haein Temple in Korea, where the second edition of the Tripitaka Koreana is maintained, but changed its name in the Ko re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

1. Professor Nam Gwon-hui, who participated in the joint Korea-Japan original Tripitaka Koreana digitization project from 2004 to 2010, surveys the original edition Tripitaka Koreana prints at Nanzen Temple in Kyoto, Japan.

2. The archives of original Tripitaka Koreana prints at Nanzen Temple.

first half of the 14th century, when Japan built temples and pagodas across the country to console the spirits of those who had died in war and to pray for the nation’s welfare. (The temple’s current name means “Temple of the Peaceful Nation.”)

Among the Maha Prajnaparamita Sutra at Ankoku Temple, 219 volumes are from the original Tripitaka Koreana, and of these, six contain notes indicating that they were printed and enshrined in pagodas in 1046 by Heo Jin-su, an official of Goryeo who served in Gimhae, as a plea for the peace of Korea, longevity of his mother, and repose of his departed father. This is the only definitive record of the printing of copies of the original Tripitaka Koreana. It is said that Heo offered the printed volumes to the Buddha at Seobaek Temple near Gimhae. Korean scholars believe that some of these volumes might have been looted by Japanese invaders and taken back to Japan.

The prints at Josho Temple are from the very inception of the Tripitaka and thus represent the whole. Being the largest in content, they are called the “600 Prajnaparamita,” which are regarded as the most important sutras.

Of the 1,700 or so volumes at Nanzen Temple, there is no copy of the Maha Prajnaparamita Sutra, so it is thought that these volumes may have been brought to Japan at the same time and later distributed to various locations. Since some of the Nanzenji volumes have documents prepared in Gimhae on their backside, it is also possible that they were all from the same lot. The volumes at Ankokuji were originally maintained near Nagasaki and thereafter taken to the temple. The Tripitaka volumes at the Tsushima Folk History Museum were originally held at Josho and Ankoku temples.

It is believed these volumes were created at Cheonhwa Temple, located to the east of the Goryeo capital of Gaeseong, based on bibliographical information of the Tripitaka volumes, which indicates the temple where they were printed. According to records of “The History of Goryeo” (Goryeosa ) and the “New Augmented Survey of the Geography of Korea” (Sinjeung dongguk yeoji seungnam ), Cheonhwa Temple was founded in the early 12th century and existed until sometime in the 15th century.

The Ankoku Temple prints were stolen in the 1980s, leaving a K o r e a n a ı W i n t e r 2 0 11

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remainder of only 33 volumes. It is said that some of the stolen volumes were later discovered in Korea. In 2005, some of the Tripitaka prints that had been held in Tsushima were brought to Korea, which created quite a stir among the domestic academic circles.

Relics brought back to Korea through improper means have been discovered by bibliographers during the process of registering the items as cultural properties. And some of these volumes had indeed been designated as cultural properties. However, because these relics had previously been registered as Japanese cultural properties, Japan is currently calling for their return.

(Professor Nam Gwon-hui made note of the immense hardship that he and his team endured while conducting their study of the Tripitaka prints in Japan. The research was carried out during the summer and winter breaks in rooms without windows or any air conditioning or heating facilities. As such, in winter they had to endure biting cold that chilled them to the bone, no matter how many layers of clothing they wore. And in summer, wearing masks and protective clothing that left only their eyes exposed, they suffered greatly from the oppressive humidity, which required them to take frequent breaks. Still, they continued with their research for five years.)

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Tripitaka Koreana

Woodblocks

Printing Blocks Remain in Perfect Condition after 760 Years The Tripitaka Koreana woodblocks are not beautiful works of art. They simply appear to be wooden tablets carved with hundreds of characters and covered in black ink. They are, however, a massive and intricate artifact of Korea’s early printing culture, infused with the tenacity and devotion of the people of Goryeo, who hand-carved each of the 52 million characters of the Buddhist sutras.

Park Sang-jin Professor Emeritus, Group of Forestry, Wood Science & Technology, Kyungpook National University Ahn Hong-beom, Suh Heun-gang Photographers

A woodblock from the second edition Tripitaka Koreana (the last of the 660 volumes of the “Perfection of Wisdom” sutras); handles are attached to the sides of the woodblocks for ease of use when printing or storing.

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uman beings progressed to civilization thanks to the development of writing technology that enabled them to record knowledge so that it could be preserved and conveyed to others. At first, they marked images and symbols on animal skins, cloth, clay tablets, and tree bark.

When the technology developed further, they would write on thin strips of bamboo or wood.

As Buddhism spread, there was an urgent need for the printing of sutras in order to propagate the Buddha’s teachings. If the scriptures were carved onto wooden tablets, large numbers of prints could be made whenever needed. Such printing technology developed very early on in Korea; by around the eighth century, Korea had already produced what is now the world’s oldest printed text, the “Pure Light Dharani Sutra,” which was printed from woodblocks. Later, the zenith of woodblock printing technology was attained with the carving of the Tripitaka Koreana woodblocks, the largest set of sutra woodblocks extant today.

Production of the Woodblocks The Tripitaka Koreana consists of 81,528 woodblocks engraved with sutras that comprise some 52 million Chinese characters. Each woodblock is engraved with about 640 characters and has metal handles attached to each end. They vary in length, but most of the woodblocks measure 68 to 78 centimeters long. They are 24 centimeters wide and approximately 2.8 centimeters thick, while weighing about 3.4 kilograms each. If all the woodblocks were to be stacked atop each other they would reach a towering height of 3,200 meters, and if they were laid end to end they would extend over a distance of 60 kilometers. Their total weight is approximately 280 tons, and they account for a volume of about 450 cubic meters.

After taking minute samples from the woodblocks and examining them with a microscope, it

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An illustration block for the “Sutra Spoken by the Buddha on the Sevens of Life to be Cultivated in Preparation for the Ten Kings�; this is a temlpe-carved printing block made after the second edition Tripitaka Koreana.

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Even an experienced artisan can only engrave about 40 characters onto a woodblock in one day. Thus, it is estimated that the equivalent of some 1.3 million man-days were required to complete the mammoth task of engraving the Tripitaka.

was determined that 64 percent of the woodblocks were made from sargent cherry trees (Prunus sargentii ) and 15 percent from sand pear trees (Pyrus pyrifolia ), both of which are common to Korea’s southern and central regions. The remainder is made from costata birch (Betula costata ), giant dogwood (Cornus controversa ), painted mono maple (Acer mono ), thunbergii camphor (Machilus thunbergii ), and david poplar (Populus davidiana ), which account for shares of 1-9 percent. The sargent cherry tree yields a consistent wood with a specific gravity of around 0.6, making it ideal for engraving, and is generally found in easily accessible locations.

To produce printing blocks, trees of at least 40 centimeters in diameter are cut down and then left in the mountains for one to two years to relieve any growth stress. Teams of two then cut the trunks into pieces in appropriate sizes for making the blocks. To reduce the risk of splitting or warping during the drying process, the wood pieces are boiled in salt water. After at least six months of open-air drying, the surfaces are made smooth with a plane. The pieces are trimmed to the proper size, and then metal handles slightly thicker than the woodblock are attached to both ends. The handles prevent the engraved surfaces of the woodblocks from making contact while being handled or stored, and also help to prevent warping.

Next, a piece of Korean paper, on which a sutra has been written with an ink brush, is placed on the woodblock face down to create a reverse image. Because the characters can be difficult to see clearly from the backside, the paper is brushed with vegetable oil during the engraving. After an engraved woodblock is brushed with ink, a sheet of paper is placed on the inked surface. Then, gently rubbing the paper will produce a print of the engraved characters. After several printings, some of the woodblocks were coated with lacquer, a traditional material for painting in East Asia. The lacquer’s oil ingredient (urushiol) prevents the absorption of moisture and so is used as a natural preservative as well as an insect repellant. But since only some of the Tripitaka Koreana woodblocks have been lacquered, it seems that this was done mainly for decorative purposes.

Even an experienced artisan can only engrave about 40 characters onto a woodblock in one day. Thus, it is estimated that the equivalent of some 1.3 million man-days were required to complete the mammoth task of engraving the Tripitaka. The actual production period involved 16 years, according to “The History of Goryeo.” But notes engraved in the woodblocks indicate the engraving was completed over a period of 12 years, from 1237 to 1248. Therefore, about 110,000 man-days were needed for each year. Though the number of woodblocks engraved varied from year to year, at times the number of project artisans would have reached several hundred thousand.

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1. The Tripitaka repositories are two long, south-facing buildings running parallel to each other, 16 meters apart with an open space in between. The two small buildings on either end of that space are used to store other sutra woodblocks belonging to Haein Temple.

2. Venerable Sungahn (left), director of the Preservation Department of the Institute of the Tripitaka Koreana, demonstrates the process of using the sutra woodblocks to make a print.

Optimal Natural Ventilation Despite the fact that wood is susceptible to damage from rotting, insect infestation, and fire, the woodblocks have been preserved intact for 760 years, thanks to a variety of scientific mea-

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1. The interior of a Tripitaka repository.

2. The lower windows at the front of the repositories are four times larger than the upper windows to allow humid and heavy air to quickly escape from the building.

sures, including the structural design of the repository buildings where the woodblocks are stored.

The woodblock repositories are arranged in two rows, 16 meters apart, each 646 square meters in area. They face south to receive the maximum amount of sunlight, which helps to increase the dry air within the buildings. The building interiors are devoid of unnecessary decorative elements and designed to facilitate natural ventilation. Crossbeams, supported by the exterior columns, are connected to the central columns of the building. Each crossbeam is supported by smaller columns on both sides of the central columns, creating the widest possible interior space.

In addition, the upper and lower windows in the buildings are of different sizes in the front and the rear. Since humid air sinks, the rear windows on the north side are designed so that the lower window opening is smaller than that of the upper window, to reduce the flow of humid air into the building. Air within the building absorbs moisture from the woodblocks and then sinks toward the floor. The lower windows on the southern side are thus four times larger than the upper windows to help vent this humid air to the outside. Since the drier air rises, the upper window openings on the south side are very small to retain this dry air within the building.

The floors of the buildings are left as bare earth. Dirt naturally helps to maintain a constant level of humidity by absorbing excess moisture and preventing dampness during periods of high humidity. However, during recent renovations, the floor was covered with a thin layer of powdered quicklime to prevent the stirring up of dust. But it is possible that the quicklime could impede the absorption of moisture by the earthen floor and disrupt the regulation of moisture in the buildings.

So, this measure needs to be scientifically and comprehensively examined over time. Another secret to the effective preservation of the woodblocks is their method of storage. The repositories are built with long shelves that extend the length of the buildings. The shelves have five sections, and the woodblocks are placed with their broad side down.

Each shelf section holds two rows of woodblocks, for a total of about 2 80 woodblocks. Because the handles are somewhat thicker than the woodblock, this creates an air space between adjacent woodblocks that functions as an exhaust vent. This natural circulation device allows air within the repository buildings to flow vertically according to convection currents. The water content of the woodblocks remains at around 16-17 percent, with minimal seasonal change because of the natural ventilation within the repositories and the shelf arrangement.

The layers of ink that have dried on the woodblocks after they are used for printing also contribute to their preservation. Since the wood surface is covered with minute pores, the dried ink helps to cover these openings during storage. The woodblocks are left with a coating of ink, which forms a carbon film on the surface that serves to deter the aging, weathering, and decaying of the woodblocks due to exposure to heat, light, and moisture.

Dedication of the Monks No matter how well the woodblocks might be preserved with such scientific measures, losses due to theft or fire can still occur. Such a threat came about in 1592, when the Japanese invaded Korea, but Korea’s “righteous defenders” were able to resist the invaders. Again, in 1950, during the Korean War, orders were given to bomb partisans who had taken refuge in Haein Temple, but the Air Force colonel in charge wisely decided to mount an attack with smallarms fire, thus averting catastrophe. But above all, the Tripitaka Koreana woodblocks have remained in such an extraordinary condition over 760 years thanks to the Buddhist monks who have dedicated themselves to their protection.

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Digital Knowledgebase

Venerable Jongnim Pursues ‘Computopia’ with Digitized Canon While viewing the digitized Tripitaka Koreana on the computer screen, my mind was filled with thoughts of the many people who had contributed so much to this effort, in terms of initiating projects, arranging for financing, and overseeing the production process. The figure at the center of all this is the Venerable Jongnim.

Kim Yoo-kyung Journalist | Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

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he Venerable Jongnim, chairman of the board of the Research Institute of the Tripitaka Koreana (RITK), is the driving force behind the 21st century digitalization of the second edition of the Tripitaka Koreana some seven and a half centuries after its compilation.

Venerable Jongnim became a Buddhist monk in 1972. During the 1980s, while serving as director of the library at Haein Temple, he thought: “We’ve reached the limits of print media. I want to create computerized versions of the Buddhist scriptures suited for this day and age.” A voracious reader and Seon (Zen) monk, he came to envision a “computopia dream,” in which computers would help to validate concepts of Buddhist philosophy, such as dependent origination, through broadened access to the massive body of texts.

Tripitaka Koreana Knowledgebase Since its founding in 1993, the RITK has sought to create a new Tripitaka that would include the second edition of the Tripitaka Koreana housed at Haein Temple, the original edition of the Tripitaka Koreana (created 1011-1087) that was destroyed by fire, and all relevant texts in between, including Goryeo National Preceptor Uicheon’s supplemental edition, known as Gyojang chongnok , so that these authentic texts of Buddhist studies could be viewed on the Internet.

Numerous issues had to be addressed in order to input the 52 million Chinese characters of the Tripitaka Koreana, such as selection of a font for the Chinese characters, treatment of variant characters (different in appearance but similar in meaning), insertion of punctuation, and financial challenges. Nevertheless, this monumental undertaking was eventually completed in 2000.

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No other country with a Tripitaka, including China, Taiwan, Japan, and Tibet, had completed such a daunting task. Since its completion, the entire text has been proofread another six times for added accuracy and refinement. In this process, researchers have published about a dozen studies related to variant characters, Buddhist terminology, Tripitaka annotation, sutra bibliographies, and other matters, opening new horizons in the field of Buddhist studies.

The restoration of the stone sutras of Hwaeom Temple has been completed as well. Shattered into some 13,000 pieces during the Japanese invasion of 1592, the sutras were photographed piece by piece and reassembled into their original form. “This would have been impossible without the search function of the digitized Tripitaka Koreana,” explains Venerable Jongnim. “After we put them all back together, we found that we had the 60-volume Flower Garland Sutra.”

Beginning in 2004, Venerable Jongnim sought out relics to document the original edition of the Tripitaka Koreana, which included photographic images and a bibliographical study of almost 1,800 volumes housed at Nanzen Temple in Japan. With these materials and the 300 or so extant volumes of the first edition in Korea, from such sources as the Horim Museum, the original edition Tripitaka Koreana database was established in 2009.

In 2011, a photographic edition of the original Tripitaka Koreana was published. This comprehensive project preserved as much of

Venerable Jongnim, chairman of the Research Institute of the Tripitaka Koreana, is the driving force behind the digitization project.

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Photographic edition of the original Tripitaka Koreana published by the Research Institute of the Tripitaka Koreana in 2011; this version brings to life all the original elements from the Goryeo period, including the storage chests.

the original Goryeo-period materials as possible, and went beyond the photos and text to include such details as the paper, ink, glue, wood, dyes, and storage chests. This offers insight into the broad scientific spectrum involved with the 11th century collection of Buddhist texts.

All these materials are available on the RITK website (http:// www.sutra.re.kr/home_eng/index.do) in the “Tripitaka Koreana Knowledgebase.” Venerable Jongnim calls it “a journey on the sea of information,” which contains, in addition to the Buddhist scriptures, an ever-growing selection of related dictionaries, bibliographies, and even information on the individuals who carved the Tripitaka woodblocks.

21st Century Digital Resources Venerable Jongnim is now carrying on with additional projects.

He has already completed collecting reference materials on the 4,700 volumes of Buddhist commentaries, known as gyojang , gathered by the Goryeo monk Uicheon (1055-1101). And he has completed “A Comparative Study of the Tripitaka Koreana and the Dunhuang Documents,” based on Dunhuang scriptures scattered in England, Germany, France, and Russia. This project will become the foundation for “A History of the Publication and Editing of Buddhist Documents.” His ultimate goal is to make available online some 30 Tripitaka versions from around the world, such as those in Pali, Sanskrit, Japanese, Chinese, and English. This includes the Hangeul version of the Tripitaka Koreana, which is currently being translated, and a special Tripitaka created as a prayer for the reunification of North and South Korea.

In essence, he intends to breathe new life into Buddhist scholarship, or what is referred to as “Tripitaka studies,” blazing a trail for efforts that are broader and deeper than existing research.

“Now anyone can easily and conveniently access online this massive collection of materials that brings together not only all the documents that comprise the Tripitaka Koreana, but all Tripitakarelated documents from around the world,” Venerable Jongnim explains. “It will also shed light on the progression from handwritten manuscripts to woodblock prints, from movable type prints to digital text. There has been some trial and error, but progress has been more or less as I had expected. I would not hesitate to call this the digital collection of the 21st century, following the four historical collections after the passing of the Buddha.

“The three East Asian nations of Korea, China, and Japan have changed places throughout history when it comes to the Tripi-

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1. The paper used in the photographic edition of the original Tripitaka Koreana was produced by the master paper artist and intangible cultural heritage Kim Sam-sik.

2. A copy of the Tripitaka Koreana with spacing and punctuation; dividing the original text into sentences and inserting punctuation marks was one of the most important parts of the digitization project.

taka. China took the lead early on, when the Buddhist scriptures were translated into Chinese and the Song Dynasty created its own Tripitaka. Thereafter, thanks to the editing and proofreading of Venerable Sugi, Goryeo developed and improved on this to create the woodblocks for the Tripitaka Koreana, which remain well preserved today. The Japanese failed to publish a Tripitaka of their own, but they came to Joseon and took home prints of the first edition Tripitaka, as well as handwritten manuscripts, to create a Japanese version of Tripitaka, which has been maintained to this day.

“Then, in the 1920s, less than one hundred years ago, Japan succeeded in mass producing a movable type version of the Tripitaka complete with an index and modern materials. Since then, Buddhist scholars around the world have come to look upon this Japanese version. The Tripitaka Koreana lost its practical value and Japan took the lead in Buddhist research.

“Yet by completing a digital version of the Tripitaka in 2000, before anyone else, we have opened an era in which Buddhist scholars can search the Tripitaka Koreana Knowledgebase. If we had not been so fast to digitalize, Korean Buddhist studies might have become subordinate to that of the West, China, or Japan.”

Venerable Jongnim formed teams, ranging from 5 to 15 researchers, for the purpose of tackling any critical issues that came up during the digitalization project, and has since published the results of the project. The following is just a sample of the resultant achievements.

There are numerous variant characters in the Tripitaka Koreana. The newer Japanese version, which used the Tripitaka Koreana as a baseline, standardized each set of variant characters, but the digital version of the Tripitaka Koreana preserves the approximately 30,000 variant characters used in the woodblocks. Of the 7,486 sets of variant characters, there is one set with 65 variants.

Professor Yi Gyu-gap of Yonsei University and his team of researchers published the “Dictionary of Variant Characters in the Tripitaka Koreana,” which organizes the different variant characters and defines their relationships with the standard characters.

This is the first and largest project of its kind in the history of the K o r e a n a ı W i n t e r 2 0 11

study of Chinese characters. This dictionary is a critical reference for the digitalization of the Tripitaka by other countries. When a country reports its own unique variant characters, the RITK will add them to the list and create digital characters for their reference.

“Bibliographical Notes of the Tripitaka Koreana” and the “Buddhist Dictionary,” created by a research team led by Professor Jeong Seung-seok of Dongguk University, include far more entries than previous efforts.

The task of supplementing the woodblock editions of the Tripitaka Koreana with specified spacing and 10 separate punctuation marks for the digital version was painstakingly conducted by hand in the 1990s, making use of available human resources in both North and South Korea. Veteran North Korean scholars from the Academy of Social Sciences with expertise in classical Chinese participated in the project via China.

As a result, the digitized Tripitaka Koreana surpassed the Japanese version, which only contained standardized spacing, commas, and periods. The photographer Park Bo-ha also took 160,000 photo images of the Tripitaka Koreana printing blocks to preserve them in photographic form.

“The Integrated Tripitaka Cata2 log” thus reveals the interrelation of all Tripitaka texts and serves as the blueprint and central nervous system for the Integrated Tripitaka project, which will be carried out in the years ahead.

A Truly Passionate Intellectual Endeavor The RITK is located within the Bota Temple complex in Anamdong, Seongbuk-gu, Seoul. Venerable Jongnim left his post as director of the institute in 2005, and now serves as chairman of the board. “Before the various projects are well on their way, I have to be hands-on. Then, we form teams, and dissolve them when the project is done. It’s hard labor,” he says.

The institute is such a humble facility that it’s hard to believe such immense projects have been undertaken there. Several longtime comrades, including the monks Daeseok, Junghyeon, and Cheolhwan, and Kim Mi-yeong regularly work there. Oh Yun-hui, who recently published the book, “The Tripitaka Koreana: A Ves-

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sel that Holds the Wisdom of a Millennium,” was formerly the Venerable Hyemuk, who worked alongside Venerable Jongnim in the early days of the digitalization project. Of those who have worked on Tripitaka Koreana projects, seven have since become Buddhist monks, and seven have received doctorates in Tripitaka research from institutions such as Peking University.

In 1986, Venerable Jongnim published his thoughts on such matters as the Buddhist concept of dependent origination, the practice of Seon meditation, and the philosophy of emptiness, in his book, “The Songs of Wandering Spirits” (Mangnyang-ui norae ) “Even without material goods that make us more comfortable, or ideological concepts like god, the Buddhist concepts of dependent origination (pratiya-samutpada ) and emptiness (sunyata ), and meditative wisdom, provide a way of breaking through the problems of this world. I want to shatter the ideas of independent nature, or ontology, which run counter to dependent origination.

“These philosophies seek the ultimate concept that remains at the end of all things in existence, but the Buddhist principle of depen-

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dent origination seeks the relationships between all things, so it differs from the Western philosophy of ontology and could be called a type of epistemology. The sutras I find fascinating are the ‘Diamond Sutra’ and ‘The Treatise on the Middle Way.’ Even up until the ‘Diamond Sutra,’ one of the earlier sutras, the concept of emptiness did not exist. It appeared after that, and ‘The Treatise on the Middle Way’ takes the concept of emptiness to its logical conclusions.

“Even now, if I could help others understand this way of thinking, I would consider my work done. Yet, ‘The Songs of Wandering Spirits’ had its limitations, so I have been working on the digitalization of the Tripitaka as a way to confirm my own logic.”

One example would be using the concept of dependent origination to verify how the answer, “A pine nut tree in the front yard,” developed throughout the ages in response to the question “What is the dharma?” He thus intends to differentiate the words and actions of hundreds of Seon monks through the compilation of quotations and related materials, according to the era, sect, and people to whom the words were spoken.

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With the development of the Research Institute of the Tripitaka Koreana Knowledgebase, anyone can now read the original text of the Tripitaka Koreana and search for related resources on the institute's website.

Ultimately, the grand digitalization project of the Tripitaka Koreana all began with the intellectual passion of a single individual. It has since transcended a single person, and even the world of Buddhism, to become a heritage of all people. But had Venerable Jongnim’s dream not endured, this undertaking would never have even been started.

Choe U, his son Choe Hang, and his brother-in-law Jeong An were financiers who privately funded the second edition of the Tripitaka Koreana. When Venerable Jongnim undertook the project to digitalize the Tripitaka, Venerable Songdam of Incheon simply stated: “This is the sole task of the Buddhist community of this era.”

Buddhist believers raised 1 billion won for the project, the largestever fund-raising event for the Korean Buddhist community. Samsung Electronics, the Cultural Heritage Administration, the National Research Foundation of Korea, and other organizations contributed to the project, but the donations from those who respected Venerable Jongnim and his work played a vital role as well.

There are a dozen or so records from the Joseon period regarding the printing of the Tripitaka, a labor-intensive enterprise that required the printing and binding of over 6,000 volumes to complete one set. Hence, such endeavors were in large part led by the royal family or senior Buddhist monks. Although Joseon society abided by a strict Confucian order, King Taejo, King Sejong, and King Sejo all contributed to these efforts as a way of appealing to the Buddha to bless the nation, the people, and the royal family.

Those Who Have Contributed So Much While viewing the digitized Tripitaka Koreana on the computer screen, my mind was filled with thoughts of the many people who had contributed so much to this effort, in terms of initiating projects, arranging for financing, and overseeing the production process.

Uicheon was a prince who became a monk at the age of 10.

From his journeys to the Song Dynasty, Liao Dynasty, Japan, and Okinawa, he returned home with some 4,700 Buddhist commentaries, which were published as three woodblock print volumes, titled “Gyojang chongnok .” This was a huge task that neither China nor Japan had even considered tackling at the time.

The monk Sugi, of Gaetae Temple in Gaeseong, edited the second edition of the Tripitaka Koreana by comparing it with the existing first edition prints, Liao “…I would not hesitate to call this the digital prints, Song prints, and Buddhist scriptures he had gathered himself, correcting mistakes and rectifying collection of the 21st century, following the four historical omissions in some 60 sutras. Thanks to this editing work, the Tripitaka Koreana became the most perfect collections after the passing of the Buddha.” collection of Buddhist scriptures, and the manuscript with the fewest errors, revealing the high standards of Goryeo Buddhist studies and print culture. Monk Sugi Lady Shin, the wife of King Yeonsangun, had three sets of the also left behind 10 volumes that record his editorial and proofreadTripitaka printed for her husband who was a notorious tyrant, while ing processes. the queen dowagers Insu and Inhye, during the time of King Seong“Venerable Sugi’s records were the first writings to set down an jong, led projects to renovate the Tripitaka repository. King Gojong independent system for proofreading, over 200 years before Erasprinted the Tripitaka at his own expense and preserved the prints at mus did the same for the Christian scriptures in the West,” noted Jeongyang Temple on Mt. Geumgang (Diamond Mountains), while Venerable Jongnim.

Queen Eom and Lady Im helped to clean and maintain the woodA woodblock from these records was displayed in the Tripitaka blocks.

Special Exhibition held at the Central Buddhist Museum, located More recently, 12 sets of rubbings were made at Haein Temple in Seoul’s Jogye Temple. Although a rather ordinary woodblock in 1963, of which a set of over 6,000 volumes has been stored on the blackened with ink and featuring Chinese characters carved in second floor of Sudarajang (Storage of Sutra), one of the two Tripireverse, it seemed to be infused with the noble spirit of monk taka repository buildings, where you can see these volumes from Sugi. Venerable Sungahn, director of the Preservation Departthe outside through a window. ment at Haein Temple, said of Sugi: “When I think of him, I feel a thrill in my heart.”

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Focus

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Prehistoric Petroglyphs in Jeopardy Due to Drinking Water Project Appropriate measures are urgently needed to preserve the prehistoric rock carvings of Bangudae in Ulsan. Today, there is a serious conflict between the Cultural Heritage Administration, which is responsible for preserving cultural resources such as these petroglyphs, and the Ulsan city government, whose efforts to secure a stable water supply for local residents could jeopardize the prehistoric site. The central government suggested a compromise, but economic factors have led to an impasse.

Lee Kwang-pyo Cultural Reporter, The Dong-a Ilbo | Kwon Tae-kyun Photographer

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he Bangudae Petroglyphs, designated National Treasure No. 285, are prehistoric rock carvings found along the lower reaches of Daegok Stream in Daegokri, Ulju County, Ulsan. They were discovered in 1971 by an archaeological exploration team from Dongguk University led by Professor Mun Myeong-dae.

Records of Prehistoric Life The streamside rock carvings consist of about 300 images of human and animal figures, including tigers, deer, and wild boars, as well as whales and seals. The carvings date back to sometime between the later Neolithic Period and the Bronze Age, according to scholars.

The figures, carved onto a large section of rock, measuring some 10m wide and 4m long, provide insight into the way of life of the prehistoric people who settled on the Korean Peninsula. The dynamic and even comical figures include a man dancing about with his genitals exposed, a seafarer hunting a whale, a tiger caught in a trap, wild boars mating, a whale with a harpoon stuck in its back, and a whale spewing water from its blowhole. Few prehistoric rock carvings anywhere else in the world feature such a vivid collection of imagery as that found at Bangudae, which depicts the lives of prehistoric people and their yearning for abundance. An epic representation of early human life and culture, they are also significant as the earliest known prehistoric rock carvings with a realistic depiction of whale hunting.

Also found nearby the same stream are the Cheonjeon-ri Petroglyphs, National Treasure No. 147. These rock carvings include abstract geometrical forms, such as dots, circles, concentric circles, diamond shapes, waves, and patterns that are thought to represent god’s face. Markedly different from the Bangudae Petro-

The Bangudae Petroglyphs are located in Daegok-ri, Ulju County, Ulsan. Engravings are concentrated on a vertical face of the widest and smoothest rock among a series of rocks along the lower reaches of Daegok Stream.

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The Bangudae Petroglyphs could be described as an epic poem that depicts the way of life and culture of prehistoric people in Korea. They are also significant for being the world’s earliest known rock carvings with a realistic portrayal of whale hunting.

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1. The rock carvings of Bangudae Cliff are submerged for four to eight months each year since a dam was built nearby. (The photo was taken by Yim Se-gweon, professor of history at Andong National University, on August 23, 2008.)

2. A whale (left) and fish are engraved on the rock face of Bangudae Cliff.

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glyphs, these carvings are a collection of images which reflect the prehistoric people’s spiritual world. The proximity of the two sets of carvings enhances their value as they attest to the importance of the Ulsan region in the livelihood of the peninsula’s earliest inhabitants.

Korea is hopeful that the Bangudae Petroglyphs will be granted World Heritage status. In 2010, the Bangudae and Cheonjeon-ri rock carvings, along with the surrounding area, were placed on UNESCO’s list of tentative world cultural heritage sites, under the name “Daegok Stream Petroglyphs.”

Preservation Status The Bangudae Petroglyphs have survived the natural elements over the ages because they are carved on a section of rock not fully exposed to the weather, while the rock’s smooth outer surface is somewhat impervious to rainwater. Of course, the rock surface has experienced natural weathering over the course of thousands of years. But the imminent problem today is the risk of serious damage to the rock carvings due to development of the surrounding area.

Back in 1965, when the significance of the carvings was not yet known, the Ulsan city government built Sayeon Dam, some 4km away, to provide water for a nearby industrial complex and drinking water for local residents. As a result, the rock carvings have been worn down because they are submerged repeatedly for periods of four to eight months each year. In winter, when water seeps into the rock crevices, it freezes and melts, which accelerates the structural damage.

According to a study conducted by a team of specialists from Kongju National University in 2010, the petroglyphs are in urgent need of preservation since 24 percent of the rock surface has already been damaged, with some 3-4mm of the outermost rock layer eroded from the periodic submergence.

Dispute with Ulsan City Authorities Alarmed by the extent of damage, concerned officials of the Cultural Heritage Administration (CHA) and the Ulsan city government began to discuss solutions in the mid-1990s. Around 2003, they came up with three options: lower the water level K o r e a n a ı A u t u mm 2 0 1 1

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of the dam’s reservoir, change the course of the stream, or build an embankment.

Specifically, the first option called for lowering the water level of Sayeon Dam, from 60m to 52m above sea level, to prevent the carvings from being submerged.

The second option was to change the course of Daegok Stream by building a tunnel to divert the water flow from directly underneath the rock carvings. Under the third option, a cofferdam or embankment would be constructed beneath the carvings to divert the water flow.

The majority of relevant experts and the CHA supported the proposal to lower the dam’s water level, arguing that building a tunnel or cofferdam would spoil the landscape and the construction work could damage the rock carvings, thereby threatening the chance for acquiring UNESCO World Heritage designation. The city government, however, argued that lowering the dam’s water level would mean a decrease in the city’s water supply, including less drinking water for residents.

The debate continued for several years amid a sharp division of opinion. Gradually, public opinion came to favor the first option, but the city government held out, maintaining that the water level could not be lowered before an adequate water supply was assured. In 2009, the Prime Minister’s Office suggested a compromise that called for reducing the water flow of Daegok Stream by lowering the water level of Sayeon Dam, and making up for any shortage with water drawn from elsewhere. More specifically, the proposal envisioned supplying Ulsan with 120,000 tons of water daily, including 70,000 tons from Unmun Dam in the nearby city of Cheongdo. This was the so-called “clean water supply project” for Ulsan.

In 2010, the city finally agreed, provided that the water shortage was resolved, apparently putting an end to the protracted debate on the best way to preserve the Bangudae Petroglyphs. The CHA then worked out a plan to lower the dam’s water level and install a floodgate in the second half of 2011, based on the results of a site survey of Unmun Dam. Lowering the water level to 52m would serve to decrease the period when the petroglyphs are submerged to 55 days per year. Installation of a floodgate would then essentially eliminate their submergence throughout the year.

Irreplaceable Cultural Resources In July 2011, however, there was an unexpected development: a preliminary feasibility study by the central government concluded that the “clean water supply project” was not feasible for implementation. Thus the plan to draw water from Unmun Dam was abandoned.

In light of these circumstances, the city of Ulsan again refused to lower the dam’s water level and informed the central government accordingly. This put everything back to square one. People criticized the central government for hastily concluding that drawing water from elsewhere would be unfeasible due to economic concerns, thereby ignoring the obvious damage to the invaluable cultural resources.

While it is important to lower the water level of Sayeon Dam, preserving and reinforcing the rock carvings are more urgent matters. But this effort must proceed with caution, since reinforcement will mean a change to the rock’s composition.

“Preservation treatment would form a thin film on the surface, which in turn could give rise to unintended side effects,” said Kim Chang-joon, director of the CHA’s Heritage Conservation Bureau. “More importantly, preservation treatment could lead to serious harm to the rock carvings 10 to 20 years later.” Kim thus called for prudence, pointing out that such treatment would only be effective if the stream

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The Cheonjeon-ri Petroglyphs are located near Daegok Stream. The rock engravings depict prehistoric people’s religious and spiritual world in abstract geometric patterns.

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water flowing beneath the rock can be completely drained. On all counts, the situation is certainly daunting.

The water supply issue has been continually coming to a head, posing a hurdle to undertaking proper preservation measures for the petroglyphs. Therefore, the central government must find a way to relieve Ulsan city’s anxiety over a foreseeable water shortage. But even in the midst of this controversy, it is fortunate that there is a broad-based consensus that the Bangudae Petroglyphs are a precious cultural treasure that serves to enrich people’s quality of life and spirit, which should be valued over typical economic considerations.

Indeed, preservation of the petroglyphs should take precedence over any debate of economic rationale. Around the world, heritage preservation efforts are extended not only to the cultural site itself but also the surrounding landscape and environment. And this applies to the Bangudae Petroglyphs as well. It is hoped that the dispute will be settled as early as possible, based on an understanding that the duty of preserving our cultural heritage for posterity is far more important than any immediate convenience.

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Art Review

‘Leafie, a Hen into the Wild’ Vaults Korean Animation to New Heights

“Leafie, a Hen into the Wild” is a family-oriented animated film about a farm hen that ventures out into Mother Nature. With the mountains and fields of Korea as a backdrop, the film’s animal characters reveal a great depth of “acting” talent that helps to remind the audience of the need to understand and respect others.

Han Tae-sik Film Critic

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he lead characters of “Leafie, a Hen into the Wild” are a hen that escapes from a poultry farm and a wild duck who is brooded and raised by the hen. Directed by Oh Sung-youn, this animated feature attracted large numbers of viewers this past summer, especially family groups. Along with “Green Day,” directed by Han Hye-jin and Ahn Jae-hoon and released earlier in the year, and “The King of Pigs,” directed by Youn Sang-ho and slated to debut in November, this popular movie can be credited with opening a new chapter for Korea’s animation sector.

Collaboration of Animation and Live-action Sectors The Korean market for original animated features has been rather bleak since the showing of “Yobi, The Five Tailed Fox,” by director Lee Sung-gang in 2007. This situation was mainly due to a lack of project investors. In Korea, animated works will often fail to attract a sufficient audience to turn a profit, regardless of their quality. So, even before their release, many believed that these three films would set the tone for the

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future of Korean animation.

As it turned out, “Leafie, a Hen into the Wild” has been a runaway success, thanks in part to its timely opening during the summer vacation season and newly adopted production techniques.

In Korea, the planning, production, promotion, and distribution of commercial films, including animation features, are typically handled by the production company. As compared to the live-action film sector, the animation sector is relatively backward and inefficient, creating a need for closer cooperation between the two groups.

The first animated film to benefit from such cooperation was “Leafie, a Hen into the Wild,” which combined Myung Film’s expertise in project planning and story-telling with the creative ideas and heartwarming drawings of Odolddogi. The project costs included 3 billion won (about $2.6 million) for production and another 1.8 billion won for marketing. The result was a smash hit. The original children’s story was cleverly adapted for the big screen, where the beautifully rendered animal characters came alive with vivid colors.

The fairytale story about the relationship between nature and humankind is presented with a remarkable sense of creative insight.

Powerful Storyline “Leafie…” is based on a children’s book of the same title, written by Hwang Sun-mi, which recorded one million sales, a true rarity for Korean children’s literature. In the original story, Leafie is an egg-laying hen

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living on a poultry farm who yearns to sit on her eggs like other hens. So Leafie runs away. At first, this may remind you of the British-made animation “Chicken Run,” but “Leafie…” has a more serious theme and philosophical message. For example, as Leafie departs the chicken farm, goes through the front yard, and ventures on to a reservoir, the story touches on somewhat complex and even dark issues, such as life and death, racial matters, freedom and flight, civilization and nature, and modernism and postmodernism.

After deciding to take the children’s book to the screen in 2004, the production team sought to create an animated film that could be enjoyed by the entire family, while delivering the sensibility of the original story.

Six years later, the team produced a beautiful and heartfelt story of growth, life, and nature, smoothly integrating the book’s original theme into the movie. In particular, Leafie, who sits on an egg for the first time in her life, and Green, the duck born thereof, form a unique mother-and-son relationship. This bond serves as the platform for delivering the life experiences about a child’s growth and a mother’s instinctive love. And it is this relationship that gives the film a kind of Korean sentiment.

Popular with Adults The film does not have a typical good-triumphs-over-evil ending. “We didn’t want to portray the common struggle of good vs. evil, with the hen representing good and the weasel being evil. There are all kinds of people in real life, from really good people to really bad people. That’s the kind of thing that makes us think.”

And, in a rather bold move for a family movie, the director chose to not have a happy ending.

“Leafie…” is particularly outstanding for its vivid depiction of the various characters and their personalities. Above all, the character of a chicken or duck can be a challenge to personalize. Furthermore, this

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To create an animated film that features the traditional Korean ink brush painting style, thereby distinguishing it from Hollywood and Japanese works, the artists made on-site surveys of Korea’s mountains, lakes, and fields, and then created more than 1,000 background scenes based on pencil sketches from the field trips.

movie is a 2D animation based on countless drawings, which entails much more manpower effort than a 3D production. A total of 120,000 drawings were made by hand by the design and animator staff of Odolddogi, a true labor of love, hard work, and artistry.

To create an animated film that features the traditional Korean ink brush painting style, thereby distinguishing it from Hollywood and Japanese works, the artists made on-site surveys of Korea’s mountains, lakes, and fields, and then created more than 1,000 background scenes based on pencil sketches from the field trips. The latter part of the movie features a particularly memorable scene of a swamp bathed in the brilliant colors of the afternoon sunlight, along with a lake reflecting the surrounding mountains and forests. The voice acting of popular movie stars and the background music by Lee Ji-su also contributed to creating a movie that is even more impactful than the original book.

As hoped for during the planning phase, the movie drew audiences of a wide range of ages through wordof-mouth promotion among viewers. Industry records say that it attracted more than 720,000 viewers in the first month, a box-office record for a Korean animated feature. As of the end of September, the turnstile count passed the 2-million mark, well beyond the break-even point of 1.5 million.

New Era for Korean Animation Despite minor flaws in the scenes presented with 3D imagery, “Leafie, a Hen into the Wild” has what it takes to signal a new era for the Korean animation industry, thus far limited to a student-age audience, in terms of its uplifting theme, advanced technology effects, brilliant artistry, and beneficial synergy created through the joint efforts of the animation and live-action film sectors. Korea has already seen a number of its animation directors and animators receive high praise at prestigious international film festivals abroad. As such, the doors have now been opened wider for their growing ranks.

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ON THE GLOBAL STAGE

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im Yi-jo, artistic director of the Seoul Metropolitan Dance Theater, rearranges the signature corps de ballet of swans from the original production of the Tchaikovsky masterpiece in a graceful curvilinear formation. The en pointe technique and dynamic pirouettes of the ballet classic are recreated by adopting the elegant didim footwork of traditional Korean dance.

Despite a number of attempts by Korean choreographers and dancers to increase the presence of traditional Korean dance on the global stage, few have succeeded in earning the acclaim of international audiences. To overcome what he has perceived as the shortcomings of these previous efforts, Lim’s “Swan Lake” takes a detour. He embraces the classical ballet repertoire but combines it with elements of traditional

Korean dance, marking a critical departure from conventional approaches that reflect a general ambivalence toward a blending of Korean and Western styles.

The Korean maestro, whose dancing career spans more than five decades, acknowledges that he had global audiences uppermost in his mind from the moment he conceptualized his Korean-style “Swan Lake” project. In fact, he is rather hesitant about approaching the international stage with wholly Korean themes, such as “Sim Cheong,” “Chun-hyang,” or “Hwang Jin-yi.” He thinks that these traditional storylines often fail to strike a clear emotional chord with foreign audiences, who are not familiar with Korea’s traditional culture and arts.

“I am aware that, from the viewpoint of Korean aesthetics, an application of Korean traditional dance to a Western narrative may not be the most ideal artistic achievement. However, global audiences want to experience non-Western performing arts in an easily comprehensible and accessible manner,” Lim notes.

International Debut of Lim Yi-jo’s ‘Swan Lake’ in Shanghai Maestro Lim Yi-jo showcases his dance drama “Swan Lake” at the 2011 China Shanghai International Arts Festival, featuring a fresh interpretation of the Tchaikovsky ballet classic.

Choi Hae-ree Researcher, Korea Dance Resource Center

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1. A scene from Lim Yi-jo’s choreography of “Swan Lake” staged during the 2011 China Shanghai International Arts Festival. Lim is artistic director of the Seoul Metropolitan Dance Theater.

2. Lim Yi-jo performs salpuri (exorcist dance).

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Lee Jin-young of the Seoul Metropolitan Dance Theater dances the lead role of Princess Seolgoni in Lim Yi-jo’s “Swan Lake.”

Overcoming Domestic Skepticism In April 2010, Lim and the Seoul Metropolitan Dance Theater debuted “Swan Lake” as one of their regular program offerings. An enhanced second version was staged in May 2011, which received high marks as well as question marks from the domestic art circles.

Indeed, Lim seemed to be facing a daunting challenge.

Tchaikovsky’s orchestral masterpiece “Swan Lake” is so much a quintessential classical ballet work that any reinterpretation of the original has been an easy target for a critical, if not chilly, reception. A lyrical narrative, musical and choreographic perfection, graceful swan costumes, and fantasy-like theatrical romanticism have already been engraved so deeply in the minds of

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ballet fans around the world. Some in the local theatrical circles thus worried that Lim’s efforts would prove futile.

However, global audiences have been far more receptive to his creativity.

The China Shanghai International Arts Festival invited the Korean choreographer and his dance company to perform their version of “Swan Lake” at the Shanghai Grand Theater. This marked a notable confirmation of international recognition for Lim’s efforts to broaden the horizon of Korean traditional dance abroad. The China performance is subtitled “Seoul Metropolitan Dance Theater in grand companionship with Tchaikovsky.”

“Traditional Korean dance is highly adaptable to diverse styles of music. My interpretation of Tchaikovsky is intended to celebrate a meeting between Korean dance and Western classical music,” he explains. The classical ballet masterpiece beloved the world over was reinterpreted with the integration of traditional Korean dance, focusing on its elegant moderation, restraint of movement, and Ko re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

controlled breathing techniques.

Lim’s “Swan Lake” plays out at an imaginary setting in ancient Korea, which is dominated by the three kingdoms of Buyeon, Biryung, and Mangang. The four major roles in the original are also adapted: Princess Seolgoni of Biryung (for Princess Odette), Prince Jigyu of Buyeon (Prince Siegfried), the evil sorcerer Nodubalsu of Mangang (central antagonist Von Rothbast), and Nodubalsu’s dark creature Geomunjo (Odile). Lim provided necessary training for young dancers to understand his artistic concepts. In addition to the circular formations that replace the dramatic movements in diagonal or straight lines of the original group dance of swans, Lim harmonized Korean sensibilities with the Tchaikovsky music through various traditional motifs, such as the sword dance, fan dance, monk’s dance, and royal court dance taepyeongmu .

having thoroughly inherited Lee’s consummate dance style. He is waiting to be designated by the government as an authentic performer of the monk’s dance, which is Important Intangible Cultural Property No. 27. Lim is also one of a few salpuri (exorcism) dancers officially recognized by the government.

Lim never ceases in his efforts to promote traditional Korean dance on the global stage. He strives to create dance works that convey Korea’s traditional lyricism and vitality by incorporating aspects of Korean folklore and religious rituals into his choreography. The Seoul Metropolitan Dance Theater staged his choreographic work “Heaven and Earth” at the “Fall for Dance Festival” of the New York City Center in 2006. In recognition of his outstanding endeavors to promote Korean dance culture, the government presented him with a national medal of honor in October 2006.

Korean Traditional Dance on the World Stage Lim’s “Swan Lake” was presented at the Shanghai Grand Theater for two nights, November 4-5, as one of the featured performing arts programs of the 13th China Shanghai International Arts Festival. Jointly organized by the Chinese culture ministry and the Shanghai metropolitan government, this festival is the biggest of its kind in China, and one of the top three international arts events in Asia. During the festival’s one-month period, some three million artists and presenters gathered together in Shanghai. Performing arts programs are at the center of the festivities, which include symphony orchestras, dance performances, visual arts exhibitions, musicals, and ballet works from both home and abroad.

Since 1999, a diverse range of prestigious performers from around the world have headlined the annual event, including the Kirov-Mariinsky Ballet, British Royal Ballet, Taiwan’s Cloud Gate Dance Theatre, Orchestre Nation-

Popular Appeal and Creative Spirit Not only as a choreographer but also as a dancer, Lim Yi-jo is a distinguished figure in Korean performing arts. Many critics highly regard his dancing ability, characterized by extremely delicate control and profound spirituality. His body movement is noted for its sparse beauty. His footwork, hand gestures, and serene gaze embody an exquisite subtlety. Compact and good-looking, he is endowed with the necessary physical attributes to perform traditional dance in a masterful style.

Lim says it was his destiny to become “Traditional Korean dance is highly adaptable to diverse styles of a dancer. His mother was a contemporary dancer, who introduced him to a wide music. My interpretation of Tchaikovsky is intended to celebrate a variety of Western and traditional dances.

At the age of six, Lim began to learn balmeeting between Korean dance and Western classical music.” let from maestro Song Beom. Encounters with traditional musicians and dancers have left a lasting influence on him. While still in his youth, he was tutored in traditional music al de France, and Zubin Mehta and the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra. This by master pansori singer Kim So-hee and trained by year, the Seoul Metropolitan Dance Theater was invited to the festival, along with 24 performing artists and groups, such as Béjart Ballet Lausanne, Berlin renowned modern dancer Eun Bang-cho. At age 19, Philharmonic Orchestra, violinist Itzhak Perlman, and the Broadway musical he became a student of traditional dance maestro “Zorro.”

Lee Mae-bang after watching his performance of the Lim’s “Swan Lake” is the first Korean invitee to the Shanghai festival, whose monk’s dance (seungmu ). “I got goose bumps while organizers are known to be highly selective when inviting artists to perform as watching Maestro Lee perform the monk’s dance. I part of the main program. Chinese artists involved with the festival’s executive think I had a glimpse of what is the essence of Korecommittee expressed their surprise at Lim’s interpretation of “Swan Lake,” an traditional dance — the immense self-control and saying that their own similar attempt 10 years earlier fell short of the hopedrestraint of expression.” for results. They say they reached a unanimous agreement to invite Lim and Even today, he continues to learn dance from Lee the Seoul Metropolitan Dance Theater to the festival after viewing, by chance, a Mae-bang. Their teacher-student relationship has lastvideo of their “Swan Lake” performance in May 2010. ed almost four decades and Lim is widely regarded as K o r e a n a ı W i n t e r 2 0 11

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ARTISAN

Kim Jung-hwa

Dye Artist Infuses Fabric with the Colors of Nature Kim Jung-hwa uses the blue from natural indigo to express the ocean’s deep blue, the red from safflower to represent the sun’s blazing heat, and the black from chestnut tree bark to symbolize Mt. Jiri at dusk, as in an ink - and - wash painting. To complete a single work, she repeatedly dyes the fabric, sometimes more than 1,500 times, in a process that can take three to five years.

Park Hyun-sook Freelance Writer | Ahn Hong-beom, Kwon Tae-kyun Photographers

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im Jung-hwa, a natural-dye artist who has dedicated herself to reviving Korea’s traditional craft of fabric dyeing, might bring to mind a literary character: a girl named Kkonni from “Spirit Fire” (Honbul ), a novel written by Choi Myung-hee.

In this novel, Kkonni, the daughter of a seamstress for a noble family, grows up surrounded by luxurious fabrics and garments of exquisite colors, which she herself would never have a chance to wear. When her mother gives her scraps of scarlet silk, purple hemp, and jade-green ramie cloth, she is dazzled by the brilliant colors, cherishing every piece like a precious treasure. In this way,

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she acquires a sensitive eye for the colors of nature. Seeing how fascinated she is by the radiant beauty that was not meant for a servant’s daughter, her mother laments: “If she could only swim and play in a river of these gorgeous colors!”

Traditional Korean dyeing uses the natural pigments of flowers, leaves, stems, and fruits of plants and trees. Thus, the fabrics dyed by experienced artisans feature the rich and pure colors of nature.

During the Joseon Dynasty, when a social class system was deeply entrenched, fine fabrics dyed in exquisite colors were a luxury reserved for the nobility.

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"Explodes: Cosmos 3" (2007). 1600cm × 120cm. Gallnut, pine needle, peony, sappanwood, cinnamon, silver magnolia and mixed dyes on cotton and linen-blend fabric.

Kim Jung-hwa, the eldest daughter of a family that owned an orchard in Yeongcheon, North Gyeongsang Province, has been enchanted by the colors of nature from the time she was a young girl.

As for her childhood attachment to colors, Kim notes: “When I was very young, I was very weak and often had seizures. To comfort me at these times, my mother would carry me on her back and wander about the village. The sights I saw while clinging to my mother’s back are deeply engraved in my memory: the flaming color of the rising sun and my mom’s orange-colored profile in the K o r e a n a ı W i n t e r 2 0 11

sunlight, the dull but warm color of manure on the ground, and the grayish, purplish color of the pears in our orchard. While lying on the grass, I would look straight at the sun and then close my eyes to enjoy a kaleidoscope of colors bursting forth behind my closed eyes. Later, when I first saw a mandala , I was surprised to find it contained all the colors and lights, and their traces that I saw after looking directly at the sun.

“I truly wished to become an artist so I could express all these wondrous colors of nature. When I started to use crayons, however, I was disappointed with the gap between the colors I had seen

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“Every time I set out to start a new work, I seek fresh inspiration. And for this, the grass, sunshine, wind, dew, and moonlight come to my aid.�

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1. Kim Jung-hwa sprinkles persimmon juice on her canvas. To work on a large-scale project, she goes out to the fields outside her workshop.

2. "Sees: Sees 20" (2009). 74cm × 122cm. Polygonum indigo, sappenwood, persimmon juice and mixed dyes on cotton.

and the colors available to me. One day when I was in elementary school, I went home full of tears after an art class because I became totally frustrated by the lack of colors in my crayon box to properly depict the colors of a tree.”

This girl’s thirst for nature’s colors would not be quenched for another 20 years. When Kim’s father passed away while she was in middle school, her family faced financial difficulty, so she started to work to help support the household. After graduating from high school, she passed the civil service examination in 1974 and was employed as a home economics extension agent of the Agricultural Technology Service Center. By the time she was in her mid-thirties, her childhood dream to be an artist had become a pain that pricked at her heart from time to time.

Chasing an Ancient Craft Above all, Kim’s passion for colors never subsided. “One day, when I was in my mid-thirties, it suddenly occurred to me that our ancestors had obtained all the colors they needed from nature. I then realized that I should also turn to nature to find the answers to my quest. I read historical literature and found records on natural dyeing techniques in several materials, including ‘Women’s Encyclopedia’ (Gyuhap chongseo ), ‘Sixteen Treatises Written in Retirement’ (Imwon gyeongje ji ), ‘Regulations for the Bureau of Royal Attire’ (Sangbang jeongnye ), and the Chinese classic ‘Compendium of Materia Medica’ (Bencao gangmu , or Boncho gangmok in Korean),” Kim recalls.

However, Kim did not rely much on these references to learn about natural dyeing. She was aware that dyers in the past, who came from the lower social classes, were often illiterate. Therefore, the books on natural dyeing seemed secondhand at best, containing information that had been passed on by actual dyers. Due to her questions about the reliability of information she could glean from ancient books, she decided to learn from living artisans. Since the 1980s, Kim has traveled across the country, whenever she had time, seeking out dyers who had learned about the process of natural dyeing through firsthand experience.

Since traditional dyeing was on the decline in Korea, the artisans she hoped to meet — individuals with hands-on experience in natural dyeing — were mostly in their 80s and 90s. The knowledge she gained from talking with these dye artists was indeed different K o r e a n a ı W i n t e r 2 0 11

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from what she had read in books. The plant used for a certain color will yield different results depending on the time of the year when it is collected as well as the weather conditions. Mordant, an agent used to enhance color fastness for fabrics that are difficult to dye, can be obtained from a variety of materials, such as natural alum or lye derived from the ash of mugwort or bean stalks. The concentration of the mordant can noticeably affect the results of fabric dyeing.

Kim listened intently to the experienced dyers and experimented with their techniques on her own. Whenever a question arose, she would visit them over and over, if necessary, for a satisfactory solution. She made frequent visits to Naju and Muan, where a large number of traditional dyers lived. Her insatiable curiosity was enough to cause the elderly dyers to complain, with mock annoyance: “Stop pestering me with your ceaseless questions!” But then, they would introduce her to their friends and relatives who had specific knowledge about her problem. As a result of her tireless efforts, she has managed to revive certain colors that had long been forgotten.

“In 1996, while I was wandering around Jeju Island in search of its indigenous colors, I ran into an old horse driver who tended cows and horses,” Kim said. “He introduced me to a special blackish-yellow color, which he said was the color of the wolda horse, a

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reddish horse with a black mane. The name of the color in Korean is yuhwang; yu refers to the wolda horse and hwang to yellow. I was impatient to see with my own eyes the color which was said to be halfway between black and yellow. And eventually, I did. It was blackish yellow, a sort of midtone brown.”

Thus far, she has worked with 204 kinds of natural dyestuffs, ranging from plants wellknown for their natural colorants, such as indigo, 3 safflower, and persimmon, to uncommon sources like the cloud mushroom, privet fruit, apple tree leaf, grape skin, and black beans. It takes a full day to dye a fabric just once, dipping the fabric in the dye bath and fixing the color with mordant. For an acceptable color that won’t wash out and without blotches, the dipping should be repeated 40-50 times. Considering the number of dyestuffs that Kim has used, it is estimated that she has repeated this step more than 8,000 times, in what she calls her “experiments with the colors of nature.” She also has roamed about mountains and fields to gather leaves and fruits to use as the raw materials in the dyeing process. She then works more days to condition the dyed fabrics by exposing them to moonlight and dew.

For years now, Kim’s typical day starts at around four in the morning with work that lasts all through the day and into the wee hours of the next day. Enthralled by the variations of colors that change with every dipping of the fabric into the dye bath, she is hardly aware of the time passing, while in a blissful state her body is exhausted. Through this labor-intensive process, she has identified 40-50 plant species that are optimal dyeing agents. At last, she has found the “right colors” that enable her to express nature on her canvas.

In July 2007, Kim held an exhibition that featured over 100 works of natural-dye paintings, which had been organized by Site Creations, a nonprofit art organization in California’s Silicon Valley. The

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organization’s CEO Gerald Brett commented on her works: “Kim Jung-hwa conjures a world we long to be in. As divine as she is as a godly master of color, she is an even greater manipulator of vision. And while she reaches back historically in the color processes she employs, her imagery is even more timeless, back and forward.”

Kim expresses Korea’s natural environment and cultural tradition in her works, as exemplified in a wrapping cloth that depicts craggy mountains with patchwork patterns dyed with indigo, ramie, and safflower; a work of flowers and a tortoise, traditional motifs of people’s wishes for good fortune, honor, and 1 longevity; and a tie-dye work with a thousand Buddhas and a thousand pagodas. In another work, “Seeing with Eyes Closed,” she portrays an image of the sun that had so mesmerized her as a child, using colors from indigo, rhubarb root, onion skin, sappanwood, and persimmon juice. “Spirit Trees,” rendered on two large panels of fabric (6m x 4m each) and “The Cosmos” series (20m x 2m, combined) that delve into the mystery of the universe, are grand-scale works, which can overwhelm viewers with their huge size and elaborate, free-flowing depictions.

All her works require three to ten years to complete through a laborious and repetitive process of dyeing. In her works, the representational merges with the abstract, while the distinction between oil painting and ink-wash painting loses all relevance.

Kim’s effusive praise of natural colors is never ending: “There is something profound and beautiful about natural dyeing which synthetic colors can never emulate. Colors from nature never turn dull or darken no matter how many times the dyeing process is repeated. So, they offer a wider range of expressive techniques. When dyed properly, natural colors don’t fade either. Every time I set out to start a new work, I seek fresh inspiration. And for this, the grass, Ko re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

1. Dyed with safflower for bright red colors ranging from pink to scarlet, fabrics are hung out to dry.

2. Fabrics dyed with the juice of persimmon are laid out on the grass to catch the evening dew.

3. Materials for natural dyeing (clockwise from top left): chestnut tree bark, fresh safflower, persimmon, dried safflower blossoms, and indigo leaves.

4. Designs on the dyed fabric are outlined by hand stitching.

sunshine, wind, dew, and moonlight come to my aid. In my quest to find the essence of colors — more natural and human tones – the art of natural dyeing is like a good teacher who is there to give me valuable lessons throughout my life.”

From Royal Red to Peasant Brown Among the intriguing colors of nature that she has created, a mixture of deep red and brown caught my eye. Under the rigid class system of the Joseon Dynasty, the two colors would never be combined. The vivid and deep red, called daehong in Korean, was reserved for the royal court’s use, as in the kings’ robes. Producing this color was especially expensive and time-consuming. To dye a bolt of fabric about 30 centimeters wide and 22 meters long, some 120 kilograms of safflower are needed to dye and then rinse the fabric 25 times. It is also critical to maintain an optimal acidity of the dye bath, for which Kim tried out all the fruit vinegars mentioned in ancient literature, including those made with the schisandra (omija ) berry, persimmon, grape, and apple, as well as citric acids. Eventually, she found that grape vinegar was the most ideal.

The color known as gal , about halfway between orange and brown, was produced by applying a crude dye from persimmon juice. Perfect for concealing stains or dirt from working in the fields, fabric of this color was a favorite among the working classes. Since these two colors had such contrasting associations, the people of Joseon would never have dreamed of the beautiful hues that could result from a combination of the regal red and the rustic brown.

Slow Colors in a Speed-obsessed Age Kim notes: “Natural dyeing is a process that goes hand in hand with the seasonal changes and our daily living. To produce the red color, for example, it takes over six months just to prepare the flowers — planting safflower seeds in spring, picking the flowers in summer, extracting the yellow pigment by soaking the flowers K o r e a n a ı W i n t e r 2 0 11

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in water, and then leaving them to ferment. Including a final step of kneading the fermented flowers in lye, the entire process should be completed by early fall. You should also make the vinegar, from grape, persimmon, or schisandra, to fix the dye onto the fabric. The finest and richest red can be produced by using the gaeogi method, under which the dye is first applied to a highly absorptive fabric like cotton. Then extracts of the pigment are used to dye the desired fabric. Even a single mishap during the entire process will result in failure and starting all over again the next year. Indeed, they are such ‘slow’ colors in our speed-obsessed age.”

Kim Jung-hwa does not regard herself as an artist. Preferring to think of herself as “a dyer crazy for the colors of nature,” she showed me her hand with a strained tendon, a painful injury sustained from years of hard work in her labor of love.

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DISCOVERING KOREA

‘The Great Mountain Range Changed My Life’ Roger Shepherd, an avid mountaineer from New Zealand, is one of very few foreigners who can claim to know nearly every nook and cranny of Baekdu Daegan, the chain of mountains that stretches north to south along the entire length of the Korean Peninsula. He recently published a mountain trail guidebook, based on his 70-day trek of the South Korean section of the range, along with compatriot Andrew Douch, his hiking companion and co-author.

Park Jung-won Editor, Monthly Mountain

Mt. Baekdu

Kaema Plateau

DMZ ge k ran baetain Taeoun m

Hyangno Peak

Mt. Odae

Mt. Taebaek

ge Mt. Worak k ran bae tain Mt. Songni So oun m

Mt. Jiri

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Roger Shepherd (right) and Andrew Douch on a trek along Baekdu Daegain, the spinal mountain ridge of the Korean Peninsula.

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oger Shepherd saw two years of his hard work bear fruit in July 2010, with the publication of “Baekdu Daegan Trail: Hiking Korea’s Mountain Spine” (publisher: Seoul Selection), the first guidebook in English for trekking the alpine spine of Korea. For Shepherd, it was a labor of love for mountaineering: soon after he began hiking the mountain trail that traverses six Korean national parks, he undertook a mission to share his “really exciting and amazing experience” with hikers around the world.

First Adventure along the Spinal Ridge The 452-page guidebook systematically provides a wealth of hiking information by roughly dividing the 740-kilometer-long trail from Cheonwang Peak of Mt. Jiri, the southern terminus of Baekdu Daegan, to Hyangno Peak in Gangwon Province, its northernmost point in South Korea, into 17 sections, which are subdivided into daily trekking routes. It also includes detailed maps and charts that delineate the highlights along each route. Featured throughout the book are about 200 photographs of religious monuments as well as historic and scenic sites to be discovered along the trail, with background notes on their cultural and ecological significance.

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What made this New Zealand trekker take such a keen interest in Baekdu Daegan, or the Great White Head Ridge? Shepherd says he’s been bitten by wanderlust and curiosity since his childhood, which made him leave home from early on to travel and explore new places. He left for Britain when he was 21, and arrived in Africa, then an “unknown” continent to the young man, a year later.

For the next nine years, he worked as a national park ranger and a safari guide in South Africa, Mozambique, and Zambia. Eventually, his wanderlust brought him to Korea in 2000 when he felt a strong attraction to Korea’s natural environment. But he returned to New Zealand in 2001, and became a police officer.

In 2006, Shepherd took a three-month leave from work and visited Korea again. It was then that he undertook his first venture to hike Baekdu Daegan. He hiked it alone for six weeks, reaching the half-way mark before being forced off the ridge by heavy monsoon rains. However, he also realized that he had seen enough to want to attempt it again, but next time he would document his experiences in a guide book. He returned to New Zealand with a deeply ingrained impression of the great mountain range.

Arduous Trekking for 70 Days In September 2007, Shepherd returned to Korea with a resolute determination. This time he asked his hiking friend Andrew Douch to join him. They started at Jungsan-ri, in South Gyeongsang Province, at a mid-slope point on Mt. Jiri, on September 2 and reached Peak 502 (so named for its 502-meter height) just north of Chupungnyeong Pass, in 20 days. They then hiked up Mt. Songni in late September, and headed for Mt. Worak in early October. They reached the Cheonjedan heaven worshipping altar on the ridge of Mt. Taebaek in mid-October. On October 27, they arrived at Mt. Odae National Park near the northeast coast of Gangwon Province.

On November 7, near the end of their trek, they were given permission to bound forward and hike up Hyangno Peak, within the civilian control line near the DMZ, the northernmost point of the

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spinal mountain range in South Korea. On November 10, the duo reached Masan Peak via Jinburyeong Pass, completing a 70-day trek of the South Korean section of the range.

Along the way, they experienced several memorable incidents. Once, while searching for shelter on a pitch dark and rainy night, they eventually made their way toward a flickering light and knocked on the door of a lodging house. But the appearance of two weary foreigners so startled the proprietor that he slammed the door shut, shouting: “Ghosts!” Another time, they stumbled upon the mountain house of a family who made their livelihood by searching for wild ginseng.

Significance of the Spinal Mountain Range “Baekdu Daegan is a beautiful chain of mountains and an excellent place of culture, comparable to any mountains in the world,” Shepherd says. “The trail has good potential to develop as an international tourist attraction, like the Appala-

chian Trail in the United States. I hope many foreigners will learn about this and come trekking here.”

Shepherd’s passionate interest began with his vague curiosity about a world new to him. Then, his enthusiasm developed into a keen interest in Korean culture, including the pungsu geomantic traditions and mountain spirits.

“A sacred spirit of the Korean nation dwells in Baekdu Daegan.

Hiking up its mountains, you can get a sense of being infused with a mysterious energy emitted by a living, superhuman presence. It is not only a geographic space with magnificent and charming landscapes, but a spiritual entity on its own right and the origin of the transcendental perceptions of the Korean people. I believe that for today’s Korea, Baekdu Daegan exists as a symbolic being, not merely as a large mountain chain.”

Upon completing their adventure, Shepherd and Douch began writing a trail guidebook in English. David Mason, 1 an American professor at Kyung Hee

“A sacred spirit of the Korean nation dwells in Baekdu Daegan. Hiking up its mountains, you can get a sense of being infused with a mysterious energy emitted by a living, superhuman presence.”

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University, agreed to edit the text. Mason, a cultural anthropologist deeply interested in local mountain spirits, has traveled across Korea in search of their presence.

Baekdu Daegan in North Korea In 2009, Shepherd was named honorary public relations ambassador for the Korea Tourism Organization, an affiliate agency of the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism. He resigned from his service as a police officer in New Zealand in 2010 and moved to South Korea to start a company, Hike Korea, which specializes in introducing Korean mountain culture and other lesser known features to the world via publishing and photography.

Shepherd’s venturesome eyes are now set on a long-term project involving the North Korean segment of Baekdu Daegan, which has hardly been seen by outsiders since the division of North and South Korea. In May 2011,

he visited North Korea to talk with concerned officials about his desire to photograph the northern sections of the Baekdu Daegan for a pictorial essay. With assistance from the Korea-New Zealand Friendship Association, a nongovernmental group, he was granted permission to return to North Korea in October to embark on his project. He spent 18 days in the North, photographing 10 districts along Baekdu Daegan.

In 2012, Shepherd plans to visit North Korea again to photograph the remaining sections of the mountain ridge over the four provinces of North and South Hamgyong and Yanggang. The 40-day expedition will cover the famously beautiful regions of the Paektu (Baekdu) and the Kaema plateaus near Samjiyon, Puchon and Changjin. He will take photos of the mountains in these areas, which South Koreans have had no chance to see up close, let alone hike, for nearly 70 years since national division.

Enticed by Korea’s mountains and waters, Shepherd enjoys hiking up practically any mountain peak and visiting islands across the country. “Korea’s natural landscape has charming beauty, distinctively different from the vastness of New Zealand’s. It bears comparison with any other country’s natural landscape,” he says.

1. Shepherd (center) with his trekking companions at Jochimnyeong Pass.

2. Shepherd refers to a map to explain trekking routes along Baekdu Daegan.

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On the Road

A Nostalgic Stroll around

Seochon

Seochon, or “Western Village,” is the name of a district that extends from the western edge of Gyeongbok Palace to the foot of Mt. Inwang in central Seoul. Sajikdan, the altars for gods of the land and grain, was built here soon after the Joseon Dynasty’s founding in 1392, as a religious symbol of its legitimacy. Sitting at the base of a handsome mountain, Seochon was also one of the favorite residential districts for Joseon’s influential officials as well as renowned artists.

Kim Yoo-kyung Journalist | Suh Heun-gang, Ahn Hong-beom, Lee Sun-hee Photographers

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A scene from the rite for the gods of the land and grain held at Sajikdan in 2011. The rite is held annually on the third Sunday of September. In 2000, it was included in the list of Important Intangible Cultural Properties of Korea.

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eochon district in Seoul consists of 15 neighborhoods, including Hyoja-dong, Sajik-dong, and Ogin-dong. Counting only the residential areas, it covers about 143 acres. Seochon started to prosper during the Joseon Dynasty when it became home to lowerlevel court officials, such as eunuchs and clerks, who were known as “middle people” (jungin ), a social class below the nobility but above the commoners. In this sense, Seochon’s nickname, “the upper village” (utdae ), reveals the bourgeois awareness and pride that burgeoned among the middle class of pre-modern Korea.

The quaint atmosphere that has long been preserved in Seochon now stirs up nostalgia among Koreans. Without being familiar with Seochon, it is difficult to have a proper appreciation of how Seoul as a city can connect the past with the present, as is the case with Bukchon, or “Northern Village,” one of the few remaining places in Seoul that provides a glimpse of Korea’s traditional way of life.

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Hyojaro: Main Street near Cheong Wa Dae Since the 1980s, Seochon has lost a large part of its original layout as its three main north-south streets — Hyojaro, Jahamunno, and Pirun Daero — have been repeatedly widened and fire lanes added throughout the former housing clusters. Still, there are narrow alleyways meandering through the area that retain traces of long ago Seoul. The remaining 15 neighborhoods are so compact that you could easily walk from one to another in a matter of minutes. Seochon’s residential areas enjoy Mt. Inwang as a graceful backdrop, while its small commercial pockets with traditional markets and mom-and-pop stores are an intimate aspect of the residents’ daily lives.

I begin my walk in Seochon near Hyojaro, which starts at Yeong­ chumun, the western gate of Gyeongbok Palace. Thanks to the enforcement of building height restrictions, the street is lined with

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Baeksong: 600-year-old White Pine I walk deep into the alleys behind the fancy art galleries and restaurants that have suddenly popped up all over Seochon since it started to gain popularity as a visitor attraction. Along one narrow alleyway that twists sharply like a labyrinth, turning corners six times in less than 100 meters, I come across rows of tiled-roof houses of various sizes, renovated in a blend of traditional and modern. At midday, some houses are locked tight and so quiet that there seems to be something secretive about them. Are these the houses where the eunuchs lived? The quiet calmness has attracted a number of publishing houses, which maintain offices here. Also, there are several classy and secluded restaurants that could easily be mistaken for private residences.

At the center of this neighborhood is the remnant of an ancient white pine tree that died about ten years ago. The tree was almost 600 years old, practically as old as the city Over the last few decades, Seoul has steadily lost much of its valuable of Seoul itself. Now, only the stump architectural heritage. In various parts of the city, however, winding alremains, revealing what is left of its white bark, surrounded by young pine leys that seem to be little changed for centuries still remain in the shad- trees. An old photograph of the area, posted on the wall of a house nearby, ows of modern high-rise buildings along the bustling streets. shows how impressive the site looked when the majestic pine tree still proudly stood there. Today, however, earthenware vessels and miscellaneous articles presumably left by homes.” “They once had a labyrinthine passage running from their nearby restaurants or homes are scattered about the lot, blocking main gate to the inner quarters. But all of this was demolished for the view of the stump, which is quite imposing nevertheless. the sake of redevelopment,” he said. Now that almost all the tradiThe alleys leading to this area are suffused with a leisurely tional houses still remaining here are of a uniform style, Hwang’s sense of relaxation. While walking along, I come across an unexwords aroused my curiosity to see those special houses for myself. pected guitar decorating a half-demolished wall where the alley Over the last few decades, Seoul has steadily lost much of its valuturns off. The oddity of this scene adds to the area’s poetic mood. It able architectural heritage. In various parts of the city, however, is in these tangible and intangible legacies of time, now embedded winding alleys that seem to be little changed for centuries still in the everyday, that the intrinsic value of this old neighborhood can remain in the shadows of modern high-rise buildings along the be found. bustling streets. low-lying modern buildings. The tiled-roof traditional houses in the vicinity are relatively new since most have been built in the premodern era, from the late 19th century to the early 20th century.

Seochon’s three main streets create three separate areas, each with a distinctive character. Hyojaro is adjacent to Cheong Wa Dae, the presidential residence. Because of the government offices in the neighborhood, the street is filled with people in suits who look like civil servants, giving the area an unmistakably bureaucratic atmosphere. This demographic characteristic harkens back to traditional times, when many government officials and members of the Joseon nobility lived here, when the king resided at Gyeongbok Palace.

Hwang Doo-jin, an architect who lives in the area, notes that there are a number of unique old houses, known as “eunuch

1. An alley in Tongui-dong leads to Ryugaheon, a small photo gallery in a traditional tiled-roof house, where a poster on the front gate informs passersby of an ongoing exhibition.

2. Gingko leaves color Hyojaro yellow.

3. Gallery ZeinXeno in Changseong-dong, another small gallery in one of the numerous alleys of Seochon K o r e a n a ı W i n t e r 2 0 11

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1 © Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art

Anyone who can head straight to the white pine without hesitation is a person who knows Seochon well. The streets teem with art galleries and cafés. Artists invariably flock to this area while their varied exhibitions reveal a kaleidoscope of tastes. I come across an antiquated building, which has been converted from an inn into a gallery. With a small signboard that reads “A General Store Carrying Art” posted at the entrance, the gallery exhibits surrealistic artworks in its many rooms. A group of visitors peer into a room where calligraphy works are on display. Yi Sang’s abstruse modernist poetry is written on the windows in a free, cursive style that takes on the form of an abstract painting.

The afternoon sun shines brightly over Yeongchu Gate. In the shade across the gate, a young man sitting in a chair reads a book while eating a snack. On the wall of a roadside house with its plaster flaking off, I notice a mural of a tree blooming with purple flowers. It looks as if the peeling plaster has revealed an attractive painting underneath. To a layperson such as myself, it looks like the work of a talented artist. While I reflect on the mural, a poker-faced man makes his way into the house through the metal gate, toting an armful of tools. Could he be the artist who painted this mural?

An endless stream of people crams the sidewalks. Groups of young people touring the area are mixed with neighborhood residents passing by, hardly casting a glance at the art gallery or the mural.

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Sajikdan: Site of State Rituals It is said that the renowned calligrapher Kim Jeong-hui (17861856) lived in Seochon about two centuries ago, somewhere near the white pine. He is known to have made frequent visits to his friends’ houses on the fringe of the village. Now, it takes about 15 minutes to get to Sajik-dong from Hyojaro, across the street of Jahamunno.

This is where Sajikdan, the altar site for gods of the land and grain, is located. In accordance with Joseon’s ruling philosophy, the altars for the gods were situated to the west of the main palace, in juxtaposition to Jongmyo, the royal ancestral shrine, to the east.

Even today, elaborate rituals are held every autumn at the altars.

Sajikdan is comprised of two earthen altars — one for the god of the land and another for the god of grain. The square altars made of compacted earth and enclosed by two layers of walls on all four sides are associated with a primitive form of religion rather than Confucianism, Joseon’s governing ideology. The spirit tablets for the two gods are enshrined in a building, but the altar for the god of the land includes a stone monument that looks like a spirit tablet stuck in the ground. The sleek granite stone is square at the bottom (symbolizing the earth) and round at the top (symbolizing the heavens). Although I had heard about such ancient views of the universe, it was enriching to see a ritual object that manifested this philosophy.

Ko re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

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When King Jeongjo (r. 1776-1800) visited the altars, he asked the official in charge: “What is that stone on the altar over there?” The official answered: “The ‘Manual of the Five State Rites’ (Gukjo orye ui ) prescribes that a stone pillar be placed near the god of the land.

So the stone has been placed on the altar to comply with that provision.” The small stone has aroused the curiosity of visitors, including the king as well.

1, 2. The painting “After Rain at Mt. Inwang” by Jeong Seon (left) and today’s view of the same place (right).

3. The granite monument on the altar for the god of the land at Sajikdan.

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Legacy of Artistic Residents Seochon’s rich history cannot be fully appreciated without mentioning the artists of Mt. Inwang. Streams that start in the mountain wind their way through picturesque valleys. The magnificence of this scenic beauty attracted many artists who came to explore, paint, and write poetry about the scenery, and even built homes nearby their favorite spots. For example, Jeong Seon (1676-1759), a prominent landscape artist, painted “After Rain at Mt. Inwang,” depicting a towering mountain peak shrouded in mist. At the foot of the peak, a home is nestled among some trees, which some say represented the house of writer Yi Byeong-yeon, the artist’s lifelong friend.

The scene in the painting epitomizes the life of the artists who settled in Seochon and the natural environment that so inspired them. The massive boulder in the painting is still there to be seen by anyone walking along the street of Jahamunno. The only dif-

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1. A promenade in Cheongun Park at Mt. Inwang.

2. “A Rock that Rolled Down Mt. Inwang,” an installation artwork in Cheongun Park.

2

ference is that the street is now lined with tightly packed buildings instead of the graceful, solitary house in the painting.

In the late 18th century, the middle-class residents of Seochon demanded that the government liberalize the restrictions which had prevented them from being appointed to high-level government positions. After realizing a measure of success, their contributions to the areas of medicine, translation, art, and technical fields played a key role in advancing Korea’s modernization.

From Girin Bridge at the top of Ogin-dong, along the base of Mt. Inwang, I could imagine how poets and artists would have been inspired by this exquisite scenery. It is said that Prince Anpyeong (1418-1453), an accomplished writer and calligrapher, took up residence in this neighborhood. Girin Bridge also appears in another landscape painting by Jeong Seon, titled “Suseong-dong,” the former name of Ogin-dong. Many other prominent figures of Joseon resided in this area, including Empress Yun’s maiden family and Prince Regent Heungseon, although only the sites remain. More recently, Seonungak, a high-class Korean restaurant, which once stood here, served as the venue for various political and historical events for decades from the 1960s.

In the more recent past, Seochon has been the home of several renowned figures. In 1920, Yi Beom-seung (1887-1976), a political leader, established the first private library in Jongno-gu, which has developed into the current municipal Jongno Library in Sajikdong. To recognize his contributions, a commemorative bust of Yi is exhibited in the library.

The Jongno District Office made Poet’s Hill within Cheongun Park at Mt. Inwang, in the vicinity of the poet Yun Dong-ju’s home in Nusang-dong. The hill is said to be where the poet “went for a stroll to contemplate his poetic thoughts.” Near the hill, there is an artwork entitled “A Rock that Rolled Down Mt. Inwang,” with a steel frame in the shape of a landmark boulder of the mountain. Built in 2007 by three architects, visitors are encouraged to fill the frame with stones from the mountain.

Around Pirun Daero, the street closest to Mt. Inwang, small stores have appeared in large numbers, while rows of houses line the alleys leading to the mountain. Along with a butcher shop, K o r e a n a ı W i n t e r 2 0 11

hardware store, grocery store, supermarket, stationery store, beerhouse, and others, there is a small tiled-roof house with one of its rooms opening up toward the alley. In the small room, no more than six square meters in area, a 30-year-old woman named Ju Eui-mi sells fabric handicrafts and various handmade sundry items. “It’s fun to do my own business in this neighborhood, making and selling my crafts in this small shop,” she said.

Next to her shop is an old bookstore. A young boy proudly walked by, wearing a birthday hat decorated with a flower, clearly handmade. A young man from the butcher shop, wearing ten or so earrings, comes out for some fresh air.

Traditional Markets In Seochon, there are two traditional markets. Tongin Market looks fairly modern, with stalls set up on a paved surface. Recently, art students had conducted an installation art project at the market, decorating each stall with a theme related to the goods that it sells. At the market, for the first time in a long time, I notice an elderly man who sharpens knives for his livelihood. At Ogin Market, the ground is bare dirt. An elderly woman sells tteokbokki (rice cake with spicy sauce or soy sauce) from an open-air stall with only a stove and a few boxes. She has been selling her traditional street food from this very spot since she was a young woman. Among her customers, the man who comes by for soy-sauce ddeokbokki with his daughters is a college professor whose home is in Changseongdong across the street. Now, at dusk, a group of men enters a bar to have a boisterous evening.

Shuttle buses navigate the alleys in the neighborhood, loading and unloading passengers. Unlike many commercial districts in Seoul, Seochon does not empty out at night. The residents have a special attachment to their neighborhood, and once settled, most will stay for more than 20 years. In Chebu-dong, among the concentration of traditional Korean houses there is a Western-style house that must have been built by an architect. An elderly couple lives there, using just the first floor of the large house. A number of well-tended flower pots reflect the everyday life of this quiet house at the corner of Seochon.

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Books & More

Translation of ‘The Cartography of the Traditional East and Southeast Asian Societies’ (Korea Section) Published

“Cartography in Korea” Written by Gari K. Ledyard, University of Chicago Press; Translated by Jang Sang-hoon, Sonamoo Publishing Co., 406 pages, 35,000 won

An old adage compares a map to a balance scale. It is a compass at the crossroads

of life and death, and a balancing counterweight in life’s agonizing decisions. In this way, Korean maps of the past may have served as a balance and a compass for the people of those times.

Gari Keith Ledyard, Sejong Professor Emeritus of Korean History at Columbia Univer-

sity, notes that the excellence of Korean cartography was widely recognized, citing the time Chinese rulers of the Qing Dynasty asked Korean cartographers for help on an atlas,

“Huangyu quanlan tu ” (皇輿全覽圖), which included a collection of maps created with modern cartographical concepts. Professor Ledyard says that the Chinese sent a delegation to

Joseon to acquire the country’s geographical and cartographical knowledge, marking an integration of the West’s modern cartography and Korea’s indigenous mapmaking techniques.

Professor Ledyard’s “The Cartography of the Traditional East and Southeast Asian

Societies” was published by the University of Chicago Press in 1994. It is Volume 2, Book 2 of the eight-volume series “The History of Cartography,” which traces the historical

evidence related to the development of cartography in different areas of the world. The

recently translated “Cartography in Korea” (Hanguk-eui gojido ) is based on the second volume of this series. Its publication is intended to commemorate the 150th anniversary of

the completion of “Daedong Yeojido ” (Detail Map of Korea, 大東輿地圖), the masterpiece by Kim Jeong-ho, the renowned Joseon geographer and cartographer.

“The Cartography of the Traditional East and Southeast Asian Societies” has made a

significant contribution to the growing global recognition of Korea’s traditional cartography.

The author highlights the important cultural and technical influences of cartography, and

compiles and interprets the historical evidence of cartographical developments in Korea. In the preface, he offers critical insight into how Korean culture has never failed to maintain its originality while readily adopting institutional characteristics and technological exper-

tise from China. He says: “Just as Korea's culture freely absorbed many of the features and institutions of Chinese civilization yet retained a strong individual Korean identity, so

too Korea's mapmakers, applying general cartographic norms developed in China, adapted these norms to their own circumstances and created maps of both utility and beauty.”

Professor Ledyard’s astute commentary on traditional Korean cartography runs parallel with his overall view of Korean history and culture. He provides a succinct summary of

the achievements of ancient Korean cartographers. “Ocheonchukguk do ” (五天竺國圖, Map

of the Five Indian Kingdoms) from the Goryeo Dynasty, for example, is the world’s first map drawn based on Buddhist philosophy and world view. He also highly acclaims “Honil

gangni yeokdae gukdo jido ” (混一疆理歷代國都之圖, Map of Integrated Lands and Regions of Historical Countries and Capitals) from the Joseon Dynasty. Created during the early years of Joseon, Ledyard calls it the first real world map produced in East Asia. Interestingly, he points out that the history of this map’s creation also reveals the perceptual differences

between Koreans and Chinese. Based on the same cartographical information from Arabia

Kim Hak-soon Journalist Kim Ho-joung Culture Reporter, The JoongAng Ilbo

and the West, China produced a map with an expansive Ming Dynasty, suggesting its ambition to rule the world, while Korea’s world map enhanced existing Chinese maps with the cartography of the Korean Peninsula and the Japanese Islands.

Overall, Professor Ledyard’s book is well-balanced in its historical and cultural interpretation, and at the same time maintains rigorous academic standards.

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Ko re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

New CD by Chung Myung-whun and the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra

Compilation of Ancient Writings on Korean Tea and Tea Ceremony

Debussy’s ‘La Mer’; Maurice Ravel’s ‘Ma Mère l’Oye’ and ‘La Valse’

‘Korean Tea Classics’

Deutsche Grammophon, $17.25

Written by Hanjae Yi Mok and the Venerable Choui, Translated by Brother Anthony of Taizé, Hong Kyeong-hee and Steven D. Owyoung, Seoul Selection, 196 pages (paperback), 18,000 won

Korea’s classical music lovers have been impressed with the recent

An ancient writer expresses his appre-

efforts of Chung Myung-whun, the internationally acclaimed conductor.

ciation of the flavor of Korean tea in a poet-

Since 2005, when Maestro Chung took the helm, the Seoul Philharmonic

ic sentence: “The water flows and flow-

Orchestra (SPO) has made noteworthy progress. Regarding the orches-

ers blossom.” This is meant to imply that

tra’s dramatic improvement over the past few years, the classical music

the harmony of nature is reflected in the

critic Satoru Takaku of Japan wrote: “My evaluation of the Seoul Philhar-

delectable taste of Korean tea. Compared

monic Orchestra a decade ago was better left unsaid. Recently, however,

to coffee, Korean tea is neither imposing

it has emerged as one of the top-rated performers in Asia.” The notable

nor exerting. But this quality of tea made it

ascent of the orchestra began with the injection of younger-generation

the constant companion of the literati and

musicians who helped to upgrade the group with their youthful yet refined

scholars of the past.

skills under Chung’s guidance. The conductor also recruited foreign musi-

At the forefront of Korea’s tea culture

cians for the string section, thus reinforcing what had long been regarded

are two prominent writers and connois-

as a weakness of Korean orchestras.

seurs: Yi Mok (1471-1498) and the Venerable Choui (1786-1866), both from

The Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra’s remarkable advancement under

the Joseon Dynasty. The latter, especially, is widely referred to as the “Saint

Chung is manifested in its CD recording of French music released in July.

of Korean Tea” by those who respect his expertise and exquisite taste for

The CD marks the initial product under the first-ever recording contract

tea. “Cha Bu ” (Rhapsody to Tea) by Yi Mok, and “Cha Sin Jeon ” (Chronicle

between Deutsche Grammophon and an Asian orchestra. The French

of the Spirit of Tea) and “Dong Cha Song ” (Hymn in Praise of Korean Tea)

compositions include Debussy’s “La Mer” (The Sea), followed by two live

by the Venerable Choui are the three classical texts of Korea’s tea cul-

recordings of Maurice Ravel’s “Ma Mère l’Oye” (Mother Goose) and “La

ture. “Korean Tea Classics” is an abridged compilation and translation of

Valse” (The Waltz). The album boasts the SPO’s delicately refined harmo-

the three writings, which seeks to convey the delicate and subtle flavors of

ny and its disciplined string section. A master of French classical music,

Korean tea to an international audience.

Chung has provided the orchestra members with the necessary technical

“Cha Bu ” is the oldest writing on Korea’s tea culture, preceding Yi Deok-

training and musical interpretation to set a new standard for the Korean

li’s “Ki Da ” by over 300 years, and “Cha Sin Jeon ” by over 340 years. The text

music scene.

is acclaimed for its literary quality and significance to the history of Korean

The album features the repertoire that the SPO performed during a

tea. Except for certain connotations based on general knowledge of tea, the

tour of nine major European cities from May to June in 2010. Prior to this

text is a purely literary creation by Yi Mok. The tea-loving author elaborates

tour, the orchestra had already presented nine concerts in Korea, featur-

on his motivation for writing about tea and his knowledge of tea cultivation,

ing the works of Ravel and Debussy. This series of performances at home

infusion, and preparation, and discusses the benefits of drinking tea. The

and abroad noticeably enhanced the musicians’ artistry and technical

content consists of three sections: “Seven Bowls of Tea,” “Five Merits of

skills. The total recording time of 54 minutes 11 seconds is relatively short

Tea,” and “Six Virtues of Tea.” The author concludes with his philosophy on

for an orchestral album, but this indicates that the album is the SPO’s first

savoring tea.

release for the global market and Chung decided to have the orchestra concentrate on the pieces that they know best.

The Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra and conductor Chung are under contract to release 10 albums over the next five years with Deutsche

The second source text, “Cha Sin Jeon ” by the Venerable Choui has long been a must-read among Korean tea lovers. It provides a comprehensive guide on harvesting tea leaves, the ideal kind of soil for tea cultivation, and ways to boil, infuse, serve, and savor tea.

Grammophon, the longest-term recording contract for a Korean orches-

“Dong Cha Song ,” also written by the Venerable Choui, is a classic tea

tra. The second album, a recording of Mahler’s “Symphony No. 1,” was

poem. The author’s tea philosophy is expressed in a part of the poem that

released in October.

reads: “True tea is attained through water. The harmony between tea’s

While Korea can lay claim to an impressive number of globally suc-

essence and spirit is attained through brewing. When body and spirit are

cessful pianists, violinists and other soloists, the recent CD recordings of

blended, strength and spirit are combined. Achieve this and the Way of Tea

the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra serve as the groundwork for a blos-

is perfected.”

soming of its symphonic music as well. As for Chung, who used to lament

For the benefit of readers, the three translators provide explanatory

the disappointing standard of Korea’s classical music groups, he is doing

notes about the two authors and a brief introduction to Korea’s tea culture

his part to bring about far-reaching changes and to set new standards.

and its history.

K o r e a n a ı W i n t e r 2 0 11

73

Gourmet’s Delight

Gukbap

A Savory and Original Fast Food

Gukbap is a popular Korean meal of soup and rice served in one bowl.

There are numerous varieties, named after their main ingredient and associated with particular regions throughout the country.

Ye Jong-suk Professor of Marketing, Hanyang University | Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

S

oup is a mainstay of all food cultures, which is usually served as a separate dish during the meal. Combining rice with soup is unheard of in China and Japan, Korea’s neighbors, and is taboo in Japan. Koreans, however, have long enjoyed adding rice to their soup.

This practice is behind the enduring popularity of gukbap , a one-dish meal of soup and rice. As an indication of its widespread enjoyment, there is a dish known as ddaro gukbap , meaning “soup and rice separately,” to distinguish it from the regular soup-rice versions.

Nonetheless, for most people, a serving of ddaro gukbap, with rice and soup in separate bowls, will eventually end up being mixed and eaten together.

Native Fast Food Throughout Korea, various kinds of gukbap are distinguished by their main ingredient and identified with particular regions. Around Seoul, people have long enjoyed the soy sauce-flavored jang gukbap , while soybean-sprout gukbap is typically associated with Jeolla Province and pork gukbap with Gyeongsang Province. In North Korea, gukbap with the sausage-like sundae is a longtime favorite, along with onban , a version of soy sauce gupbap, in Pyeongan Province, and garit gukbap , yet another soy sauce-type gukbap, in Hamgyeong Province. Additional varieties include kimchi gukbap, oyster gukbap, and ox-head gukbap, as well as various well-boiled meat gukbap, such as gomtang , seolleongtang , and yukgaejang , all lunchtime favorites for office workers.

The specific origin of this rice-soup favorite of Korean cuisine is not known, but it seems reasonable to assume that it emerged from the everyday life of ordinary people. The journalist Yi Gyu-tae asserts: “Lower class Koreans struggled to survive, so if a large family needed to share a small amount of meat, for example, one or two geun (a geun is equal to 600 grams), they would make a soup with rice. Also, since the Korean people experienced periodic invasions, it seems that a quickly made rice-soup meal was well-suited for a family who might need to suddenly

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1. Ox-head gukbap boils in a cauldron. The soup is made of longboiled ox head together with beef leg bones, radish, and ginseng.

After boiling for about five hours, the ox head is taken out, leaving the rest to boil longer. The meat is cut in slices and later added on top of gukbap. Salt is added during the meal according to taste. On weekdays, 32 ox heads are boiled each day at Choe Mija Ox-Head Gukbap in Gwangju, Gyeonggi Province.

2. Sundae gukbap is usually served with side dishes of seasoned chives, kkakdugi (cubed radish kimchi), and cabbage kimchi.

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flee their home in an emergency.” Yi thus suggests that gukbap’s origin is related with Korea’s tragic past, its vulnerability to foreign invasion and the widespread poverty among the common people.

Some think of gukbap as a practical solution to the need for a quickly prepared meal during the time of Korea’s modernization that got underway in the late 19th century. Yi Seong-u, a food scholar, explains that rice-soup emerged when Koreans needed to eat outside their home, while at school or work. This led to the proliferation of restaurants and cafeterias that could supply food quickly for a nation hard at work with modernization, which could not afford the luxury of home cooking. In this way, it was an original form of Korean fast food.

The basic version for all of today’s gukbap varieties is undoubtedly jang gukbap, the soy sauce-flavored soup and rice. These days, seolleongtang and gomtang (with hearty beef stock) are more popular, but for a long while, people preferred the simple, soy sauce K o r e a n a ı W i n t e r 2 0 11

soup. Even up to the 1950s, jang gukbap was still the most popular.

According to “Gyugon Yoram ” (Lady’s Essential Guidebook), a cookbook published in 1869, “Jang gukbap is cooked like a noodle soup but with rice instead of noodles. Meat is boiled down until most of the broth is reduced. The meat is then placed on top of rice, and the remaining broth is poured over the meat.” The name is derived from the traditional Korean soy sauce, Joseon ganjang , with which the dish is prepared. In the 19th century, many restaurants specializing in jang gukbap flourished in Seoul, which competed for customer attention by putting up a tall pole with a white paper banner attached to signify the availability of jang gukbap.

Among these establishments, Mugyo Rice-Soup, located near Cheonggye Stream, attained legendary status and is still remembered today. Not only common people but also the yangban (elite) class frequented the restaurant, accompanied by their servants; even the king was known to eat there, disguised in humble attire.

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When Koreans wake up with a hangover, a bowl of steamy soybeansprout gukbap is said to be the perfect remedy. Between spoonfuls, they will invariably exclaim: “Ah, it’s so refreshing!” The dish is an age-old comfort food.

When upper-class customers arrived, the commoners would give up their seats so they could be served, and only thereafter completed their own meal. Even during a time of strict class discrimination, a gukbap restaurant attracted the highborn and lowly people alike.

The novelist Bak Jong-hwa recalled the delectable taste of gukbap at Mugyo Rice-Soup: “This restaurant’s boiled brisket alone would have been tasty enough, but they also added cuts from the udder and specially seasoned and broiled beef, served warm, with the combined flavors of the udder and the beef being as flavorful as any great dish in the world.” It is also documented that the price of this special dish at Mugyo Rice-Soup in the 1930s was three times higher than the standard popular dishes, like the heavy beef soup and rice (seolleongtang ), cold noodles (naengmyeon ), and rice mixed with vegetables and shredded beef (bibimbap ). Apparently, this specialty’s expensive price did little to deter its popularity.

At the Marketplace In Seoul, gukbap was offered at downtown restaurants, but outside the capital it was usually sold at the temporary markets where itinerant merchants hawked their wares. Whenever such a market was open, huge kettles of gukbap would be cooked over wood fires on the busy streets to offer a market favorite. The merchants and customers, who journeyed from afar to reach the marketplace, would have their fill of hot gukbap, accompanied by makgeolli (fermented rice wine), to reinvigorate themselves.

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Ko re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

Refreshing, Savory Flavor While Seoul is associated with jang gukbap, Jeonju is the home of soybean-sprout (kongnamul) gukbap, which is a popular remedy for hangovers. Not only is it a source of refreshment, the asparagine content in soybean sprouts is effective for invigorating the body and absorbing residual alcohol. When Koreans wake up with a hangover, a bowl of steamy soybean-sprout gukbap is said to be the perfect remedy. Between spoonfuls, they will invariably exclaim: “Ah, it’s so refreshing!” Indeed, the dish is an age-old form of Korean comfort food. Soybean-sprout gukbap goes well with moju , a warm beverage made from the residue of rice wine.

The pork gukbap enjoyed in Busan and Miryang is satisfying and savory enough for even the most discriminating palate. With fermented baby shrimp for added flavor, along with seasoned leek, this pork gukbap has a surprising appeal that makes it a welcome addition to any dining table. Sundae gukbap , which is made with pork intestines, originated in North Korea, then spread to the South during the Korean War, and is now served throughout the country. Sundae is a sausage with a pig intestine skin that is stuffed with various vegetables and grains. It can be eaten alone, or added to a gukbap dish. Sundae gukbap is even tastier when seasoned with minced perilla leaves and combined with spicy fermented halibut.

Also worthy of mention is seonji gukbap , another favorite of Koreans. Made by mixing congealed ox blood (seonji ) with dried radish greens, the taste of this soup is quite unique. Moreover, being a rich source of iron, vitamins, and protein, seonji is helpful to revitalize the body and mind after heavy drinking, and to recover from an anemic condition.

The tradition of offering delectable gukbap is being preserved at eateries in Seoul, where you can savor authentic regional versions of the rice-soup, enough to conjure up memories of your hometown in the countryside. Examples include Pyeongnaeok in Jeo-dong and Joseonok in Euljiro 3-ga, which with little fanfare serve flavorful jang gukbap. Waeng-yi House in Jeonju, and Jeonju Grandma Yu’s Place in Bukchang-dong, Seoul, offer superb soybean-sprout gukbap, while pork gukbap can be enjoyed at Songjeong Three Generations Gukbap in Seomyeon, Busan, as well as Kettle Pork Gukbap in Chung­ muro, Seoul. Hamgyeong Sticky Rice Sundae in Sinsa-dong is popular for its namesake gukbap, while the ox-blood gukbap of Cheongjinok in Cheongjin-dong is another famous delicacy.

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77

Entertainment

The Making of Korean Dramas

Tantalizing Flexibility Comes at a Cost “M

edical dramas are all about the love stories of doctors, legal dramas show only the romances of lawyers, and historical dramas always deal with the secret love affairs of people in the royal palace.”

Viewers otherwise eager to enjoy television dramas in Korea are wont to complain about their formulaic content: nothing more than love stories all the time. When viewers contrast Korean drama shows with Mid , shorthand for Miguk drama, that is, “Americanmade drama,” they will grumble: “Korean dramas aren’t like the Mid. They aren’t realistic.”

Knack for Telling a Love Story Koreans can nevertheless take pride in the fact that their TV dramas are being exported to numerous countries around the world.

For example, the hit MBC series “Dae Jang Geum” (Jewel in the Palace), a historical drama depicting the medical practice in the royal court, was extremely popular in Iran, earning the top program rating there in 2007.

The drama “Boys Over Flowers,” based on a Japanese anime of the same title and broadcast by KBS, has been exported to Kyrgyzstan, where it is creating a stir over hallyu (Korean Wave of pop culture). Propelled by the program’s popularity, a feature movie based on the drama’s main character has recently been produced by a Kyrgyz film company. A local screenwriter wrote the script for the movie featuring a cast of local actors and actresses. Back in Korea, the original production team and cast had not been aware of the Kyrgyz movie project until recently. The movie’s title, “How to Marry Gu Junpyo,” was a tribute to the leading man of “Boys Over Flowers.”

Korean dramas have gained a phenomenal following not only in China, Japan, and other East Asian countries in which viewers

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share a common cultural background, but also in the countries of Central Asia, like Kyrgyzstan, and even the Middle East, where most people have little familiarity with Korean culture. This proves that there is something special about Korean dramas.

A recent issue of Nikkei Trendy, a weekly magazine published by the Nihon Keizai Shimbun, reported that Korean drama shows aired on all Japanese TV broadcast channels (four terrestrial and six satellite networks) during October amounted to 93 hours and 40 minutes per week. This clearly reveals the widespread demand for Korean dramas among viewers in Japan. Whereas Korean viewers complain about an endless recycling of banal love stories, the Japanese appear to be enamored with these dramatic love stories starring an attractive cast of actors and actresses.

Last Minute Changes In reality, Korean TV dramas are not as well crafted as those produced in countries with more favorable conditions for drama production. Korean dramas, however, develop their stories with a quick-reflex approach, which can mean veering off the expected path.

A drama series needs to be attuned to viewers’ responses after every episode in an attempt to boost its viewership ratings. For this, an extremely flexible storyline is essential, above all. Of course, Korean dramas start with a basic plot, but as a series proceeds, the screenwriters will tweak the storyline and the lead-up to the endings in response to viewer feedback. As such, the dramas will often take off in unexpected directions, and then have a surprise, or even shocking ending, quite the opposite from what might have been anticipated. As a drama series approaches its conclusion, viewers will engage in fierce debate, on online message boards, about the anticipated ending, while various spoilers might be circulated via Ko re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

Drama series rule the airwaves on all but one of Korea’s four terrestrial TV channels. More than 20 drama serials are shown each week, with daily or weekend episodes, in addition to miniseries aired on weekdays. All too often, the production of these programs proves to be a psychological wringer that can fray the nerves of producers and actors.

Kim Dae-oh Team Head, Oh My Star

the Internet.

Accordingly, the production team needs to come up with an unpredictable ending while trying to keep it a secret until the actual broadcast. This kind of situation can cause confusion in the storytelling process, resulting in an absurd plot that defies believability. Nevertheless, Korean viewers are known to give high marks to surprise endings, rather than more predictable feel-good or tragic conclusions.

For example, the recent drama series, “Scent of a Woman,” tells the story about a lead character who, after being diagnosed with a terminal illness and given only six months to live, is determined to experience everything on her wish list during her remaining time.

As the series unfolds, the viewers naturally expect the story to conclude with her death. Then, during its last episode, viewers are riveted, hanging on every word of her voice-over as the final scene plays out: “Well, I’m still alive after seven months and two days.”

An Actress Walks Off the Set The negative side of a flexible storyline reveals the many problem areas of Korea’s drama production environment. For example, the production team will film deep into the night because they receive the jjok-daebon , or “daily script,” from the screenwriter on the very morning of the shooting. Doing everything within a 24-hour cycle is not unusual — including filming, editing, and even broadcasting! To develop a story that responds to viewers’ reactions, producers of Korean dramas cannot utilize pre-production plans and above all must maintain a very flexible approach.

To protest the chaotic conditions, a lead actress recently boycotted shooting and abruptly walked out during a filming session. She later returned to her role and finished shooting the drama series, but K o r e a n a ı W i n t e r 2 0 11

before her return, she tried to justify her actions: “People now know how terrible our situation is. I am sorry for inconveniencing the production team, but I felt I had to do this to make things better.”

Her performance fee amounts to $30,000 per episode. When the leading man’s fee of $20,000 is included, the performance fees for the two stars account for 20 percent of the total production budget. The heavy reliance on popular stars results in ever-rising fees for the lead roles. And to justify these expensive contracts, the lead characters have to be featured to the maximum extent in each shooting.

Consequently, because the high performance fees distort the project’s production budget, the funding for lighting, video/audio recording, equipment, and personnel expenses is constantly cut back, wherever possible. That is also the reason why every scene has to be filmed quickly, within the shortest time possible. Given these circumstances, the actress’s protest of the production conditions and her temporary refusal to work received a mixed reaction, especially since she stood to earn the equivalent of several hundred thousand dollars for a single drama series.

This incident sparked a lively discussion of the urgent need to improve the television program production environment in Korea.

The Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism announced plans to extend financial assistance to miniseries production companies by subsidizing 50 percent of pre-production costs. Currently, the three terrestrial TV channels outsource over 90 percent of their drama series production and 100 percent of miniseries, which discourages pre-production planning due to the highly competitive nature of the outsourcing market. As such, structural improvements are required to assure the betterment of Korea’s drama programming.

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Lifestyle

At K-Pop Concerts Fans Sing Along Joyfully

When musicians from abroad perform in Korea, they are often pleasantly surprised and inspired by the outpouring of enthusiasm from audiences. Especially noteworthy in this regard is a unique Korean penchant for wholehearted audience participation by singing along with the performers, which is known as ddechang .

Surh Jung-min Staff Reporter, The Hankyoreh

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s soon as the local rock band Deli Spice struck the first chords of the guitar prelude to its hit song “Chau Chau,” a thundrous roar erupted, resounding with a power that seemed capable of blowing the domed roof off the arena. In spite of rainy weather, even the large crowd standing outside, too far away for any chance of seeing what was happening on the stage, was seen bouncing gleefully in the downpour.

“I hear your voice… ,” the song began. All at once, the audience started to sing along. Despite the song’s dark, downcast theme, the performance created a festive and even exhilarating atmosphere.

At the Jisan Valley Rock Festival, held on July 29-31 in Icheon, Gyeonggi Province, audience members far from the stage area could hardly hear the voice of the singer, or the music, as incessant waves of ddechang swelled around the arena. But that seemed to matter little; they were immersed in the pulsating crescendos, swayed to and fro by powerful sing-along waves, and carried away deep into the night.

Intensity of Crowd Singing Recalling the concert, Deli Spice bassist Yoon Jun-ho said: “In those moments, ‘Chau Chau’ was not just our song. It was the song of the audience. How did I feel? I was moved beyond words. At one moment, my eyes met the tear-filled eyes of someone beaming in the audience, and a great warmth surged up inside of me.”

That is the intense power of audience sing-along, which can connect the performers on the stage with the audience as one. The term “ddechang ” combines the Korean word dde, for “group” or “crowd,” with the Chinese-based word chang , for “singing,” to form an informal expression not found in the dictionary. Different from the singing of a choir group, hapchang , ddechang is known for its spontaneous and freewheeling nature. As the musicians on the stage perform, the audience will sing along with them. It might not be as refined and harmonious as a choir’s singing, but its intense resonance is just as moving, and perhaps even more so.

Among the musicians from overseas who have performed in Korea, this peculiar audience response is well known. In October 2009, the rising British star Mika gave his first live concert in Korea. He had already released two albums, from which he performed all the songs at the concert. Amazingly, the audience joined in to sing each of his

The audience responds during a performance by Deli Spice at the Jisan Valley Rock Festival 2011.

(Photo by courtesy of CJ E&M) K o r e a n a ı W i n t e r 2 0 11

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A rain-soaked, exultant crowd at the Pentaport Rock Festival 2010.

songs together with him. Even for me, a journalist who has covered numerous concerts, this was truly extraordinary.

No doubt Mika was deeply touched; he returned in 2010 and again this year to stage additional performances. Just before his most recent concert on September 20, he wrote in an email interview: “It was like a party from beginning to end. The audience sang along with us and became a part of the performance itself. An artist wants to give more to an audience that applauds his music so wholeheartedly. I really think I should give my best in return.”

Similarly, in July 2000, at a concert by the legendary 1990s alternative rock group Smashing Pumpkins, the entire audience joined in, singing along and continuously bobbing up and down in a state of frenzy. Front man Billy Corgan, who witnessed this raucous scene from the stage, later admitted: “Only now am I performing here in Korea.

What a fool I was not to come earlier!” This concert of Smashing Pumpkins concluded with everyone in a feverish pitch. Soon after the concert, the group disbanded, as had been previously announced, disappeared from the scene, and then got back together in 2005.

In August 2010, a decade after the breakup of Smashing Pumpkins, the reunited group again visited Korea to stage its second concert here. Corgan remarked: “I couldn’t forget the Korean audience of 10 years ago, so I dropped everything and came back.”

The Audience Comes Prepared Just as musicians need to rehearse for a concert performance, Korean audiences prepare just as seriously in order to sing along. Those who plan to attend a concert obtain the list of songs to be performed and begin to practice.

They spend time to learn and memorize the songs, primarily the works that have been performed in other countries, but since the playlist for a world tour will often be varied, they try to learn as many songs as possible. For the hit song “Starlight” by the English rock band Muse, they even practiced the clapping beat, 1-2-1-3.

Audiences do not necessarily sing along throughout the whole concert. Especially when a melancholy song is performed, they will sit back and listen quietly. The sing-along experience is a way of becoming one with others, but knowing when to sing, or not to sing along, is a basic principle of etiquette.

Although ddechang can be thought of as a phenomenon unique to Korean audiences, it has since spread to Japan

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“It was like a party from beginning to end.

The audience sang along with us and became a part of the performance itself,” the British singer Mika marveled.

as well. Japanese audiences are widely known for being well mannered. In Japan, when a concert gets underway, the audience will stand and wave glow sticks, with everyone moving in unison, but that would be the extent of their participation. They applaud only during the brief pause between songs. It seems that they maintain a culture of courteous behavior so as to not distract the musicians on stage or others in the audience.

At the Yokohama Arena, on September 20, when the Korean girl group 2NE1 (“To Anyone”) gave its first concert in Japan, however, everything changed. They still stood and waved their glow sticks, but occasionally they would scream aloud and applaud in the middle of songs. At the end, when the finale, “Ugly,” was performed, everyone in the audience sang along with the group, while bouncing around in frantic excitement. It seems that K-pop fever has infected the Japanese audiences with a bit of Korea’s singalong culture.

Concert Hall as a Giant Karaoke Room Some observers attribute ddechang behavior to the Korean people’s age-old tradition of reveling in group singing and dancing. Koreans enjoy singing more when they can join in, rather than simply listening, as can be seen through the audiences who enthusiastically sing along at concerts.

From its origins in Japan, karaoke arrived in Korea in the early 1990s, and has since spread widely among the general population here, to a far greater extent than in Japan.

Koreans, regardless of age or gender, enjoy singing and dancing in “singing rooms,” called noraebang , the Korean form of karaoke. The concert hall is thus a kind of giant noraebang.

Immersed in the waves of audience sing-along, people are connected with each other, forming a whole. While enjoying a concert of their beloved musicians, they are filled with a sense of camaraderie. As they join to sing their favorite songs with all their hearts, they are naturally and inevitably united as one. This exhilaration energizes the musicians on stage, who are inspired to open their hearts to the audience, and eager to return.

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Journeys in Korean Literature

Joun Gyoung-rin Some would say that Joun Gyoung-rin (1962- ) is Korea’s foremost author when it comes to writing love stories. This reputation can be attributed to the powerful imagery and dramatic expressions that she wields to plumb the depths of love and relationships, and passion and the uncanny, which characterize her prose.

CRITIQUE

Love Stories and Layers of Ice Uh Soo-woong Arts & Culture Reporter, The Chosun Ilbo

In the dictionary, jeongnyeom (정념, 情念), here translated as passion, is defined as “a thought born of emotion that is difficult to suppress.” Joun Gyoung-rin’s writing is often associated with passion and the uncanny. Joun’s gift for getting under the skin of her readers, with the full effect of this passion, was demonstrated to me personally in the following incident.

It happened during my time as a bachelor living alone in Seoul’s Myeongnyun-dong, when I began serious efforts to take better care of my body. I returned home after my morning workout and got in the shower. The problem was getting out. Inexplicably, the shower doors would not open from the inside, as if someone had locked them from the outside. That was when I thought of the young lady who lived upstairs — specifically, the Post-it note she had left me on the front door once: “Let us be considerate of our neighbors.”

While I will admit that I may like to play my stereo while I went to bed, I can swear that the volume was as low as possible. In any event, what occurred to me at that moment was that someone with such sensitive ears was exactly what the situation needed. Putting aside any thought of losing face, I banged on the bathroom ceiling and screamed for help; miraculously, she came to my aid.

The young woman called a locksmith for me, reading the number off a sticker on the front door, and 30 minutes after that a cheerful looking man managed to open the door and let me out. She was with him. Regrettably, I had left my fresh underwear outside of the shower. “I owe you my thanks,” I called to her, “but I’m afraid I’m not in any state to greet you. If you would go back upstairs, I’ll be there shortly to express my gratitude.”

I wanted to give her a gift of some kind, but all I had on hand

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were books. And even then, I found myself reluctant to give away something I might want later, and so I picked a book I happened to have two copies of: Joun Gyoung-rin’s novel “The Habits of Passion.” “Oh, but it’s too much,” she said when I presented it to her.

“Really, it’s nothing,” I assured her, “I happen to work in the field.”

The following day, when I ran into her in the stairwell, the young woman avoided my eyes entirely. It seemed that she had read the book. Perhaps she imagined me as someone who lived and breathed passion.

After graduating from university, Joun Gyoung-rin worked as a guest producer and scriptwriter for Korean Broadcasting System (KBS) in the southern city of Masan. She married a man who had been active in the student movement and lived as an ordinary housewife until the birth of her second child, when she began to write. In 1993, Joun and her family moved from Masan to the remote reaches of rural Jinjeon. It was in this place, according to the author, where she felt “something beginning to express itself externally.” She shut herself away and did nothing but write.

In 1995, she made her debut with “Desert Moon,” which won an award for the novella category of the Dong-a Ilbo annual spring literary contest.

The primary objects of Joun’s literary interest can be summed up as follows: the feminine life, and individual women who struggle with the effects, tension, and demands of straddling the chasm between an inner world loyal to personal desires and an outer world that has become increasingly ordered and systematized.

Over the course of her career, Joun has earned numerous awards, including the Hankook Ilbo literary award (1997) for her Ko re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

short story “The Woman Who Herds Goats”; the Munhak Dongne novel award (1997) for “The Man Who Was Nowhere”; the 21st Century Literary Award (1998) for “Merry-go-round Circus Lady”; the Korean Novel Award (2004) for the short story “Summer Vacation”; and the 31st Yi Sang Literary Award (2007) for the short story “The Angel Stays Here.”

Joun has published a number of short story collections and novels, including “A Special Day That Will be the Only One of Its Kind in My Life,” “I am Drifting on a Strange Sea in a Boat Made of Glass,” and “The Habits of Passion.” These works are all characterized by her impressive prose and critical insight into the conflicts that can arise when women who pursue their personal desires happen to clash with society’s institutions.

Joun Gyoung-rin once likened her public persona to that of an “ice mountain” and a “lion.” The ice mountain constantly melts when exposed to the sun’s warmth. The fierce lion circles round and round the ice mountain, chasing the rays of sunlight. Joun herself is both the lion that guards the ice mountain and the melting ice mountain itself. Between the sun and the lion, the ice mountain continuously melts and freezes again. The interaction between the tension and anguish, and the harmony of the lion, the sun and the ice mountain, form the shape and order of the ice layers.

This intriguing metaphor can, in fact, be a representation of the essence of life as well. Those who struggle their way to the far extreme reaches of life, or love, or literature are, after all, bound to come face to face with the implacable abyss of life. Joun Gyoungrin’s life and works have themselves formed these same layers of ice.

If I were to pick a single concept to characterize this author, it would be mong (몽, 夢), translated as “dream.” Indeed, this dreamlike sensation could even be said to sum up Joun Gyoung-rin as a human being.

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Many months ago, I had the opportunity to visit Uljin, in North Gyeong­ sang Province, together with the author and a number of other writers. Unlike those of us who had traveled down from Seoul, she came up from Haman, in South Gyeongsang Province, where she is a professor of creative writing at Gyeongnam University. I had assumed that her journey would have been much shorter, considering that she was already within the Gyeongsang region, but I was mistaken. Her trip had been as long as everyone else’s — nearly four hours. Explaining this, she went on, speaking as if she was in a dream: “It’s so hot.” Such sweetly lethargic language. Her thin floral dress flowing gently in the breeze, the author made an expression that looked as if she had fallen in love with the heat.

Novelist Kim Hoon, who describes himself as having “hereditary machismo,” has said the following about Joun, his junior in the literary world: “Her speech and affect are shy and well-mannered, finely patterned with feminine delicacy. And hidden behind this delicacy is a risky and unstable proclivity toward provocation. From time to time, she seemed to be like a bomb with a hidden detonator. She would not settle down. Again and again she moved about, always without a trace, changing room after room, and now her whereabouts are unknown. In Joun Gyoung-rin’s writing, the place in this world where life itself is situated has a name: wound. Life is lack and loss, so self-sufficiency is unattainable. It is as if Joun Gyoungrin’s words are saying that lack and loss are the natural phenomena of life. Therefore, our very will to live, a denial of this same lack and loss, must also be a phenomenon of life. When these two sides come together and collide, Joun Gyoung-rin’s writing is piercingly beautiful. Even now, she may be packing her things, ready to leave yet again for destinations unknown.”

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IMAGE OF KOREA

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hen spring arrives, the light that dwells within all living things — the grasses, the trees and every living creature — shines through. Trees push out fresh green shoots, unable to resist the itching of their bark. Flower buds erupt with brilliant colors. The heavens awaken with the fragrance of flowers.

The green canopy throbs, dense and expectant, as the leaves on the trees grow broader, their color deepening. The air is heady with the smell of grass. The fervor of life overflows, causing all breathing things to gasp for air. Thirsty trees extend their roots deep into the earth and draw up water. Thunder crashes, lightning flashes, rain showers fall. And people run. All of creation is abuzz in a joyful tumult.

At last, leaves begin to fall in a forest tired by so much green. Broad spaces open up between the branches and a cold wind blows. The heavens sway.

People gradually turn their gaze toward the distance, their steps growing slower. The roads are sucked into the dark woods. Even the last leaves on the tips of branches, like a postscript to summer, have disappeared. Wind and time pile up indifferently on the fallen leaves.

Then, one day, snow falls. The snow covers spring, summer, and autumn, obliterating memories of the seasons gone by. All things complex turn simple. Four become two, and two become one. Yet the things living in the mundane world remain complex and impure. All beings are spots in the void and movement of blemishes. Only nothingness, only death is pure. Purity is an interim state that allows us to approach the sacred.

For hundreds of years, the kings and queens of the dynasty reigned over the people and, when they died, their spirits were enshrined in a simple structure in the shape of the numeral 1.

The great house stands there mute. The house where no one lives is simple, thus all the more desolate. Over this absolute simplicity, a layer of snow is draped like a shroud.

Yet this white purity and simplicity is evanescent. As if in rejection of the abstraction and symmetry of death, of its simple purity, the forest of bare trees holds up the evening sky behind the solitary shrine. Until spring comes again.

On Purity and Evanescence Kim Hwa-young Scholar of French Literature Suh Heun-gang Photographer

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1 Jongmyo, the royal ancestral shrine of the Joseon Dynasty, in Seoul.