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Past Series

Challenging Genre Conventions

Past Series 2023 SPRING

Challenging Genre Conventions “Kkokdugaksi” is a collaborative work by Music Coterie Gomool and dance troupe Goblin Party. Their experimental, genre-crossing performance has instrumentalists dance and dancers play instruments, going beyond the simple formula of combining traditional music and contemporary dance to question and challenge the conventions of both genres. Usually when music is played in collaboration with other genres, it is used either to inspire the audience’s emotions or as background music. “Kkokdugaksi” is a collaborative work where the music and dance genres do not suppress one another but instead form a partnership that emphasises the overall message of the piece. Courtesy of Arts Council Korea, Photo by Ok Sang-hoon Collaboration is one of the defining concepts of Korea’s contemporary performing arts scene. Recently, there has been a surge in works characterized by the blending of different genres, which is novel in itself and remarkable in terms of the performers it brings together. However, merely combining different genres does not guarantee that a collaboration is worthwhile; the most important factor is the end result. For collaborative art to succeed, a power balance must be struck. If the work fails to offer a compelling rationale behind the marriage of genres, it may be perceived merely as a form of simple entertainment. In that regard, “Kkokdugaksi” warrants our undivided attention; it has been described as the best collaborative work of our times and has opened up new possibilities for such partnerships. The Arts Council Korea (ARKO) is dedicated to discovering new creative performances. In 2021, “Kkokdugaksi” was selected as one of the New Works of the Year in the traditional arts category of ARKO Selection, an artist support program. Having premiered in February 2022 at the Daehakro Arts Theater, “Kkokdugaksi” was performed in a showcase for the Performing Arts Market in Seoul (PAMS), an international performing arts platform held in September, and was invited to the Seoul Performing Arts Festival in October. One-of-a-Kind The performance features scenes where the roles of the performers for each genre are disintegrated or subverted such as when the dancers manipulate the instrumentalists and intervene in the play. The audience begins to question the identities of the manipulators and manipulated, respectively. At the same time, the members of the audience take a moment to reflect on the social system in which they live. Courtesy of Arts Council Korea, Photo by Ok Sang-hoon Based on traditional music, “Kkokdugaksi” is a collaborative piece by Music Coterie Gomool and the three choreographers of dance troupe Goblin Party. News of the two groups working together raised expectations that something intriguing would unfold. Headed by music director Lee Tae-won, Gomool comprises seven performers who all majored in traditional Korean music. They seek answers to their questions in the experimental format of a “staged documentary.” Constantly considering how traditional Korean music should be understood in contemporary times, the group creates works that critically review the concepts, institutions, rules, and systems governing traditional music. For some time, Gomool has demonstrated the potential of creators imagining what lies between systems or, indeed, beyond the systems themselves. Its members questioned the reason for orthodoxy in current ways of thinking, and why particular genre combinations were not considered. “Kkokdugaksi” is an extension of this line of thought. Goblin Party appropriately takes on the identity of goblins. Korean goblins are both gifted and merry in character, and they symbolize productivity and abundance. Goblin Party is a collective of three choreographers who steer clear of hierarchy in their creative process and have already produced a sundry of works. The team is considered unique, and many regard the idiosyncratic collaboration between music and dance embodied in “Kkokdugaksi” as a sensation. Tearing Down and Crossing Borders The audience can only speculate on the length and depth of the dialogues the five instrument players and three choreographers must have engaged in as they collaborated to produce a perfect ensemble. Courtesy of Arts Council Korea, Photo by Ok Sang-hoon The uniqueness of the two teams’ partnership is directly reflected in the subject of the performance. Kkokdugaksi refers to a dance — commonly performed by children in kindergarten plays or at sports day events at elementary schools — and its musical accompaniment. The average middle-aged Korean likely has memories of taking part in this dance or watching some form of it. The term also refers to a traditional puppet play, performed by troupes of male entertainers called namsadang. During the Joseon Dynasty, these troupes wandered around the country, putting on folk music performances, including song and dance. As a puppet, Kkokdugaksi also embodies the idea of manipulation, like the Western marionette. These diverse meanings and contexts form the basis of “Kkokdugaksi,” in which the movements, acting, music, and passive puppet motifs are assembled in a free and intuitive way. Hence, “Kkokdugaksi” both subverts and divides the existing rules. For example, the musicians and dancers on stage come together such that their roles are blurred. Musicians rise from their seats and break into dance, while dancers play instruments. The movements of playing instruments become dance movements, and sometimes the subject and object are strangely distorted when the dancers intervene in the instrumental performance. The music voluntarily becomes movement, the dancers become music, and the musician becomes the object, leaving music, dance, and theater in apparent disarray, but not separated from one another. Hence, the genre boundaries collapse on many levels. The audience attempts to define the work as either one of the two collaborating genres, which leads them to question the conceptual framework they had, up to that point, internalized. Hence, “Kkokdugaksi” serves to disintegrate and reassemble the rules of each genre and should be embraced neither as music nor dance. This process evokes strange feelings, leading audiences to ask themselves fundamental questions such as “What are music, dance, and theater?” and “How are their concepts similar and how are they different?” Negotiation Table Profile photo taken before Music Coterie Gomool’s video shoot in 2020 during the group’s participation in the National Gugak Center’s music video production project. (From left) Hong Ye-jin on gayageum, Lee Yu-gyeong (guest) on haegeum, Go Jin-ho on daegeum, Jeong Jun-gyu (guest) on janggu, Bae Seung-bin on piri. Since its formation in 2006, Gomool has created work that critically reviews controversial and difficult topics surrounding traditional music. ⓒ National Gugak Center “Kkokdugaksi” is not simply a combination of contemporary dance and traditional music. While most collaborative work converges towards a juxtaposition of different genres, “Kkokdugaksi” is unique in that the nuanced puppet motif serves as a critical link in the collaboration between the two teams. In addition, exploration of the music and movements created in the process must have served as the foundation for reconstructing familiar notions of Kkokdugaksi from a new perspective. Collaboration between music and other genres begins by considering the potential that music offers to the partnership. Gomool and Goblin Party’s “Kkokdugaksi” represents a redefinition of the genre rules, resulting from ceaseless negotiation at each end of the genre boundaries, instead of simply their erasure. The key is the inner strengths of the two teams. In “Kkokdugaksi,” the two genres alternate in taking the lead or following, coordinating the overall flow of the performance. The level of detail is quite impressive; even when the movement is in the foreground, the role of the music can still be clearly detected. Despite its genre-bending nature, “Kkokdugaksi” achieves the difficult feat of creating something new while maintaining the unique characteristics of the traditional and the contemporary. The long and intense dialogues that surely took place during the planning of the show ultimately led to a performance that celebrates true collaboration. Seong Hye-inMusic critic

What People Live By

Past Series 2022 WINTER

What People Live By Choi U-Ram’s “anima-machines” are kinetic sculptures imbued with narrative. From exploring the way human desires are projected onto technological development, he has now turned to questioning the meaning of human existence and symbiosis. “Little Ark.” 2022. Scrap cardboard boxes, metallic material, machinery, electronic device (CPU board, motor). 210 × 230 × 1272 cm. When the 35 pairs of oars on each side of the ship start to move, it blends in with the various sculpture installations nearby, giving the impression of a magnificent performance. Courtesy of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art “What do people live by?” asked Russian author Leo Tolstoy in the 19th century. A century later, French philosopher Albert Camus reminded everyone that, although we may feel powerless in the face of crisis, solidarity and cooperation may salvage humankind. To such fundamental questions about the meaning of life and the value of humanism, contemporary Korean artist Choe U-Ram gives his answers. Choe addresses some weighty issues in the exhibition “MMCA Hyundai Motor Series 2022: Choe U-Ram Little Ark,” running through February 26, 2023, at the Seoul branch of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea. He critiques the inescapable bondage of desire, repetition of unwanted labor, and the age of unlimited competition. Nonetheless, humans dream. We have a will of our own and hold hope in our hearts, which is what makes us human. Hosted by the MMCA and sponsored by Hyundai Motor, the MMCA Hyundai Motor Series has been holding annual exhibitions of acclaimed Korean artists since 2014. Life Metaphors Gazing far ahead as you approach the exhibition hall, you will see three black birds slowly circling the ceiling. Looking as if they came from Vincent van Gogh’s “Wheatfield with Crows,” they seem to be after the ball of straw placed on the round black table underneath. This is Choe’s latest work “Black Birds,” which is paired with the installation on the floor called “Round Table.” Headless figures made of straw form a big circle, shoulder to shoulder, carrying the round tabletop. Close up, a mumbling sound can be heard, and the straw figures begin to move. The heavy, round black table, measuring 4.5 meters in diameter, tilts this way and that. A straw clump placed on the table rolls around like a ball. The squatting figures quickly rise when the straw ball rolls their way. These 18 headless straw figures, unable to think, see, or speak, have lost their sense of direction. They support the round table from underneath and repeatedly stand and squat, just like Sisyphus who repeatedly rolls a boulder up the hill. They are motivated to seize the ball of straw, or the straw head, on the table. When they sense the straw ball coming their way, they quickly get up to claim it, making it roll away in the other direction. If someone were to come out from under the table and get a hold of it, everyone would be spared the hard labor. But no one steps up, and nor do they concede. The birds hovering above mock the scene. They could snatch the straw ball at any moment if they wished to and fly far away. The detail to watch out for in this artwork are the knees of the straw figures when they try to rise. When they bend or unbend their knees, there is a sense of tension, like a gentle tremor in the muscles, and a sense of urgency. This mere machine surrounded by straw seems to encapsulate the history of human life. “The anima-machines that I build represent human life and act as metaphors,” Choe said. He dreamed of becoming a robotics engineer when he was a child, but greater imaginings led him on the path of an artist. After majoring in sculpture for both his undergraduate and graduate studies, he began making anima-machines with intricate movements in the 1990s, when he was in his 20s. Later he founded a virtual international lab called United Research of Anima Machine, combining archeology, biology, and robotics. It is a creative collaborative body, comprising experts from different fields, and its acronym, URAM, coincides with his name. For this exhibition, the Robotics Lab of Hyundai Motor Group participated as technical advisor. “Round Table.” 2022. Aluminum, artificial straw, machinery, motion detection camera, electronic device. 110 × 450 × 450 cm. Eighteen human figures made of straw are holding up a round table with a diameter of 4.5 meters. The harder they try to grab the head on top of the table, the farther it rolls away from them. The irony of the situation makes people think about the message. “Angel.” 2022. Resin, 24K gold foil, stainless steel. 162 × 133 × 56 cm. A golden angel figurehead, which should have been placed on the bow for decoration, is hanging from the ceiling on the left side of the boat, looking frail. It symbolizes modern humans who have lost their sense of direction. Reality Filled with Absurdities Of the 53 works in this exhibition, 49 are new. Inside Gallery 5 is “Little Ark,” the exhibition’s titular work. A grand ship 12 meters long, its external appearance is rather daunting, but it can neither float nor move forward without water. When closed up, it resembles a large rectangular chest, 2.1 meters high, clearing adult height. When the oars fold down, the ark extends out to 7.2 meters. On the sides are 35 sets of oars whose movements are as smooth as a dancer’s. Mesmerized, people stand watching it for a long time. Inside the open ship, two captains have their backs turned on each other, pointing in different directions. Whose instructions should we follow? A 5.5 meter-tall lighthouse stands in the middle of the ship. A lighthouse should be fixed on the ground, but if it moves with the ship, it can no longer serve as a constant reference point. The rotating light emanating from the lighthouse is like a surveillance system rather than a guide. A door opens at the back of the ship. Beyond lies another door, one that is closed. That door opens, too, but to yet another closed door. The title of this video art piece is “Exit.” It depicts a never-ending distant void from which one cannot escape. Positioned on either side of the wall are the anchor and a gilded angel that once decorated the bow. The anchor to hold the ship in place is rolling about in an out-of-reach spot. The angel looks as helpless as Icarus just before his fall, too full of himself and unable to prevent his wings from melting under the sun. Choe U-Ram planned and built these artworks during the pandemic. “Nothing has changed since I was seven years old, when I drew a robot that would save me from nuclear war. The world is still at war now, and nothing has been solved for good. When we work hard to open the exit door, another more tightly locked door is waiting for us,” he said. “Humans thought they had found the solution with scientific development, but we are still living in a pandemic that is taking people’s lives and creating confusion, just the same as smallpox or the black death. In 2022, it seems we still need an ark. I placed ‘little’ in the title, mindful of endless human desires, never being able to load everything on the ark.” The title may be “Little Ark” but it is by far Choe’s biggest work. Its message is also in the realm of meta-discourse, touching upon aspects of the creation and destruction of a civilization from the historical perspective and the life-death cycle. Choe’s works, showing inescapable, absurd situations of lost direction and infinite repetition, speak to the current times. But it is not ridicule. The artist still wants to talk about the hopes and dreams that we hold onto. He has breathed life into things that would otherwise have been thrown out as trash. The “URC” series was created using the headlights and taillights of cars about to be scrapped. The circular sculptures resemble a white planet and a red planet. The lights blink from time to time, showing that they are alive, that hope remains. “URC-2.” 2016. Taillights of Hyundai cars, metal, LED, custom CPU board, PC. 170 × 180 × 230 cm. (left) “URC-1.” 2014. Headlights of Hyundai cars, steel, COB LED, aluminum radiator, DMX controller, PC. 296 × 312 × 332 cm. The two large spherical sculptures installed in the corridor of Gallery 5 are an assemblage of the headlights and taillights recovered from cars that were about to be scrapped. Wreaths for the Present Time The flower installations “One” and “Red” were made from the same fiber (Tyvek) used to make the protective suits worn by medical professionals at COVID-19 testing and treatment sites. Slowly, they go through the repeated motions of blossoming and withering, making a rustling sound. The pace resembles deeply inhaling and exhaling, and it feels nice to breathe deeply with the flowers. Movement means life. In the world’s chaos and confusion induced by a virus, the flowers pay respect and extend gratitude, comfort, and consolation to everyone in a dire life-or-death situation. They are wreaths dedicated to the present time. A flower blooming, withering, and blooming again denotes the circle of life, with humans courageously marching on. The exhibition has the nature of a retrospective, featuring the designs and technical drawings that Choe made before he began building the machines. We can also see the small and shiny anima-machines on which he has continued to work. They make us look closer because they are small and longer because they are so precise. “Cakra Lamp,” in the shape of a turning wheel, resembles “Round Table,” continually lifted and put down by the straw figures. “Ala Aureus Nativitas,” resembling an insect quickly moving its many legs, with golden wings spread wide, is like a miniature of “Little Ark” with its 35 sets of oars. Size does not matter. The whole cosmos is contained in one small machine. The machines ask us – for what do we live and work so hard? “Red.” 2021. Metallic material, Tyvec and acrylic, motor, electronic device (custom CPU board, LED). 223 × 220 × 110 cm. The Tyvec fiber used for the petals is the same material used to make the protective suits worn by the medical professionals at the COVID testing and treatment sites. The artist dedicates this flower to all those who are weathering these difficult times. Choe U-Ram is poses in front of “Little Ark.” The artist combines mundane objects with advanced technology to talk about hope in life at his first solo exhibition at the MMCA in Seoul, conveying messages of comfort and consolation in this age of disasters and crises. Cho Sang-in Journalist, Seoul Economic Daily

Promoting Traditional Performance in Music Videos

Past Series 2022 AUTUMN

Promoting Traditional Performance in Music Videos “Gugak in (人)” is a project initiated by the National Gugak Center in 2020 to produce music videos of traditional Korean performing arts. Released online, the videos present a new way of appreciating traditional performances. In October 2021, AKDANG’s “Nanbong” performance was livestreamed as part of the Gugak in project. It reinterprets the folk song “Nanbongga,” expressing longings for someone you can’t meet because of COVID-19. Courtesy of National Gugak Center The National Gugak Center was founded in 1951 to preserve and promote the legacy of traditional Korean performing arts. In August 2020, the Center started a project called Gugak in (人) to support traditional Korean performing artists by producing videos of their music and dance. The aim of the project was to help artists stage online performances, as their activities had been severely limited during the first year of the COVID-19 pandemic, causing economic and psychological hardship. That year, the National Gugak Center selected 20 acts through a public contest and produced 20 music videos, releasing one each week on YouTube and Naver TV, operated by Korea’s largest web portal. Viewers discovered a new side of traditional Korean music, which continues to change in line with contemporary trends. Moreover, the settings that so beautifully complement the performances have raised curiosity about the filming locations. Above all, the project has given gugak performers the opportunity to record and introduce their music and artistry in a special way at home and abroad. As a result, in May this year, the group SaaWee’s “New Ritual” performance won in the Best World Music category at the 5th California Music Video Awards, hosted by US media company TasteTV. Due to the great public interest, the Gugak in (人) project continued in 2021 and 2022. To date, some 50 music videos have been produced, featuring groups selected every year through the National Gugak Center’s contest. They showcase the current state of traditional Korean performance art to audiences around the world. “TAL” (2020) by Dal:um(2020) Dal:um is a duo formed in 2018 by two instrumentalists, Ha Su-yeon on the gayageum (12-stringed zither) and Hwang Hye-yeong on the geomungo (6-stringed zither). Although the two instruments look similar, they are very different in structure, playing method and tone. Whereas the strings on the gayageum are plucked with the fingers, the geomungo strings are both plucked and struck with a stick called suldae, in the manner of a percussion instrument. Dal:um is famous for testing the possibilities of traditional Korean string instruments by combining the personality and energy of the two instruments with opposite characteristics. “TAL” was inspired by the rhythm and gestures used in traditional mask dance-drama. Tal means “mask,” and is a homonym also referring to an unexpected accident or escape from a certain situation. Like the double entendre of the title, this piece expresses hope for escaping from a world full of trouble. The setting for the video is Namhansanseong, a Joseon Dynasty mountain fortress that was inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage list in 2014. “TAL” (2020) by Dal:um “Puri for Saenghwang” (2020) by Kim Hyo-yeong and Yeon Jeong-heum Played on the saenghwang, a free-reed mouth organ with vertical bamboo pipes, and accompanied by the piano, this piece features several rhythm patterns used in shaman rituals, or gut. Shaman ritual music has an improvisational nature, the mood and pace changing depending on the situation at the ritual site. “Puri for Saenghwang” is also performed with a sense of improvisation on top of the basic consensus between the saenghwang and the piano. On the saenghwang, sound is produced through both inhalation and exhalation as air passes through the bamboo tube inside. Kim Hyo-yeong, one of Korea’s most outstanding saenghwang players, delivers a fast-paced performance that seems to echo the rapidly changing landscape of a modern city and is perfectly in accord with the changes in Songdo International City, where this video was filmed. Adjacent to Incheon International Airport, Songdo has grown into a lively urban center with global companies, international organizations, and universities establishing a presence there. Of the city’s many distinctive buildings, the Tri-Bowl, a building that looks like a spaceship, appears in the video. “Puri for Saenghwang” (2020) by Kim Hyo-yeong and Yeon Jeong-heum “WALZA tightrope walk” (2020) by AJAE Inscribed in 2011 on UNESCO’s Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, Korean tightrope walking, or jultagi, is a performing art featuring a ropewalker executing a variety of acrobatic feats while singing and dancing on a rope, and an earthbound clown who jokes with him and engages him in witty dialogue. They are joined by a team of musicians who accompany the show on string and wind instruments. In the past, tightrope walking was the specialty of troupes who traveled around the country, bringing fun and joy to people. AJAE is a group that creatively expands on the traditional jultagi performance. Their video contains a message of hope for the end of COVID-19. It was filmed at Jukjusanseong, a fortress in Anseong, Gyeonggi Province, presumably built in the mid-6th century during the Three Kingdoms period (57 BCE to 668 CE) and later repaired during the Goryeo Dynasty (918-1392). “WALZA tightrope walk” (2020) by AJAE “New Ritual” (2021) by SaaWee SaaWee is a duo formed in 2018 by percussionist Kim Ji-hye and jazz violinist Chay Bo-rahm (a.k.a. Sita Chay). An ensemble of the janggu (double-headed drum) and the violin, they conduct musical experiments to comfort and heal the suffering of people today. The two performers compose all their own works, taking inspiration from shaman rites and traditional dance, each piece punctuated by musical narratives on different social issues. “New Ritual” expresses the dance of souls who have left the city for nature. The video shows a wonderful performance featuring two instruments with completely different timbre and temperament, crossing between formality and improvisation. It was shot in two places: at the Ganghwa Cathedral of the Anglican Church of Korea, a unique church built in 1900 in the style of a hanok, a traditional tiled-roof house, and at Ganghwa Chojijin, a fortress built in the mid-17th century to fend off enemies from the sea. Both sites are located on Ganghwa Island, off Korea’s west coast. “New Ritual” (2021) by SaaWee “The Indangsoo Sea” (2021) by Jeonju Pansori Chorus Pansori is a genre of traditional vocal music that tells a story through music. It is performed by a duo, a singer and a drummer, who accompanies the song. Jeonju, North Jeolla Province, has been a popular pansori center since old times, and even today it continues to produce many of Korea’s most renowned pansori artists. Founded in 2006, the Jeonju Pansori Chorus pioneered the genre of “choral pansori.” “The Indangsoo Sea” is a newly composed piece based on a passage from Simcheongga (“The Song of Sim Cheong”), one of the major surviving pansori works. The heroine, Sim Cheong, sacrifices herself to the sea god so that her blind father may gain his sight back. The locations for the music video are Chaeseokgang and Sol Island in Buan, North Jeolla Province. Chaeseokgang is a cliff created by years of wave erosion, and Sol Island has a unique sedimentary structure created by volcanic activity. “The Indangsoo Sea” (2021) by Jeonju Pansori Chorus “A Spring Dream” (2022) by Kim Nari Jeongga refers to traditional Korean poetic songs once enjoyed by the nobility. Gagok and gasa are types of jeongga, and each syllable in these songs is elongated and sung slowly to instrumental accompaniment. Today, jeongga has been designated and preserved as national intangible cultural heritage. Kim Nari is a singer dedicated to preserving and transmitting jeongga in its original form, but she also produces creative, modern versions for popular appeal. “A Spring Dream” is one of these newly created jeongga, expressing the emotions felt when looking out the window at beautiful scenery on a warm spring day. The repetitive, dreamy gayageum melody combined with the sounds of the daegeum (transverse bamboo flute) and Kim’s singing is relaxing and comforting. The music video was filmed at Seongyojang, the house of a Joseon Dynasty nobleman located in Gangneung, Gangwon Province. Built in the early 18th century, this house has been well preserved in its original form for over 300 years, earning the impressive complex its designation as national folklore cultural heritage. “A Spring Dream” (2022) by Kim Nari Song Hyun-min Editor-in-chief of Auditorium, Music Critic

Untold Stories About the DMZ

Past Series 2022 AUTUMN

Untold Stories About the DMZ The demilitarized zone (DMZ) that bisects the Korean peninsula is a rich repository of stories. They are told by people who have lived in and around the DMZ for many decades, preserving a unique culture and distinctive memories. Park Han-sol has recorded their lives in “about dmz,” a magazine that unveils unknown aspects of the national division. Life does not always go according to plan. Park Han-sol is an architect and doctor of engineering. She studied landscape architecture as well as architecture, but going a step beyond these fields, she is now working to discover immaterial stories to fill material space. All About is a content company that she launched to chronicle recollections of unheard-of things and places in Korea. The company’s first project was an independent magazine titled “about dmz.” It’s not something she had imagined herself doing, but she says it brings her immense happiness.   Park Han-sol, the president of All About, a content company, preserves the unique culture and memories of inhabitants inside the DMZ through the “about dmz” indie magazine. PEOPLE LIVE THERE “If you google ‘DMZ,’ you’ll find images of natural scenery as well as military images focusing on the truce village of Panmunjom,” Park observes. “But people are living there, making their own memories.” Although All About also explores other locations, the commitment to “about dmz” is permanent. After all, it is the company’s cornerstone. The DMZ is a remnant of the Korean War, which erupted on June 25, 1950. It refers to a strip of no-man’s-land created by the UN Command, the North Korean People’s Army, and the Chinese People’s Volunteer Army, when they signed an armistice agreement on July 27, 1953. Spanning 248 km across the Korean peninsula, the DMZ itself is divided by the so-called Military Demarcation Line. On either side is a 2 km wide band controlled by South Korea and North Korea, respectively. Fifteen border towns occupy the southern side of the DMZ, and stories about three of them have been published in book form. The first book, “about dmz, Vol. 1: Active Cheorwon,” sheds new light on the border town in Gangwon Province. Cheorwon was merely regarded as a cold and quiet place, but it contained a trove of stories passed down through generations. This book vividly captured the town’s sights and sounds, based on these recollections. The second book, “about dmz, Vol. 2: Relieve Paju,” introduces Paju in Gyeonggi Province both as a border town and a holiday destination. It contains stories about a picturesque marsh where flocks of migratory birds stop to rest; places that attract vacationing city dwellers; and Jangpa-ri, which bears the scars left by a U.S. military base once stationed there. The use of “Relieve” in the subtitle has a double connotation – “freed from a burden” and “bringing relief.” “about dmz, Vol. 3: Revive Goseong” just came out in August. The stories about Goseong, a border town in Gangwon Province, differ from those about border towns in Gyeonggi Province. The DMZ still remains a “mystery” to Park, despite her many visits over a long period of time to do research and collect stories. The more often she visits, the more intrigued she becomes. “The houses in Minbuk Village in Cheorwon, near the DMZ, are called House No. 1, House No. 2, House No. 3, and so on. The village was built in an area north of the Civilian Control Line to cultivate fallow land. The residents use house numbers instead of regular addresses for the sake of convenience as they have long been under military authorities’ control. The village also has an armory, and army officers used to conduct roll calls every day to make sure that everybody was accounted for and even carry out military training for local residents – all a legacy of the past. A unique culture has been built there with memories of the times after the Korean War piled up in layers.” In Minbuk Village, there are traces of the abandoned Geumgangsan Line, the electric rail link between Cheorwon and Naegeumgang, the inner part of Mt. Geumgang, currently in North Korea. Built in the 1920s, during the Japanese occupation (1910-1945), the Geumgangsan Line was Korea’s first tourist railway. Remains of buildings erected during the Japanese occupation still stand nearby. Had it not been for the Korean War and national division, the railway would likely still be in service. “This area isn’t as vast as described by mass media. In fact, it looks desolate. It’s because border guards of the South and the North often cut the grass and trees or burn them to ensure clear visibility. The most beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen there was of a f lock of red-crowned cranes [durumi]. The birds arrive in Minbuk Village every winter thanks to the benevolence of villagers who do paddy rice farming. They leave grains of rice on the paddies for the birds, instead of binding threshed rice stalks into sheaves to sell after the harvest. In a sense, the villagers and the birds are living together as partners,” Park says. All About is helping the villagers sell their rice in the market under the brand name “Durumi,” as part of a marketing campaign for their specialty products.   REVIVED MEMORIES Park realized she knew virtually nothing about the DMZ in 2016, when she was studying at Seoul National University’s Graduate School of Environmental Studies. At the time, her thesis advisor was involved in the “Real DMZ Project,” an urban culture and contemporary art project. When she accompanied one of her professors to Minbuk Village, she marveled at the surrounding landscape. Born and raised in Seoul, she had never visited a rural area, and growing up with no brothers, she had no firsthand experience of a military culture or environment. She felt sorry that nobody had told her about the post-war years, and thinks she would have taken an interest in this area much earlier. “The day I first participated in peace and security-themed tourism in Cheorwon, I realized belatedly that everyone was only talking about the Korean War. None of them told us about the post-war period. Then, we visited Minbuk Village, where I stumbled on bits of memories about times before and after the Korean War in every aspect of the villagers’ lives. I wanted to record them myself,” she says. A later visit to the Holocaust Memorial in Berlin with her thesis advisor also motivated Park to launch a magazine telling stories of the DMZ. One of the exhibition rooms was filled with records of the holocaust victims’ ordinary lives, such as diaries and letters. Another room featured family photos in big frames. They looked ordinary enough, but when she approached them, she was overcome with emotions. The captions explained the fate of each person a few years after the photos were taken. They were lumped together as victims, but the exhibition helped Park realize that each person had been an ordinary person living an ordinary life. She broke into tears and decided that day to record the memories of every villager in the DMZ herself. “I was lucky. With three fellow students at graduate school, I took part in a student business plan competition hosted by SNU. Our team was one of the 10 finalists, but the other teams were from startup companies that were already famous. At first, I was curious why we were chosen when we were clearly inexperienced, but I was happy because it seems our ideas about the value of the DMZ were recognized. That made it easier to launch our business,” Park says. With North Korea’s Mt. Geumgang seen just across the border, Myeongpa-ri in Goseong is the most northeastern village in South Korea. ⓒ allabout UNSOUGHT STORIES Since its launch in 2019, All About has conducted a variety of projects, including producing goods, planning exhibitions, and running a camp site, in addition to publishing “about dmz.” One of the projects offers campers a chance to stay overnight at the Seoul Campground in Pyeonghwa (“Peace”) Village in Cheorwon, within the Civilian Control Line. Currently, the company is running the camp site for the Seoul Metropolitan Government, on a contract basis. But one day, Park plans to build a space for those researching memories of the DMZ and bring more people to the area. The DMZ is not the only target. All About’s next goal is to present the public with pertinent content about other places in Korea that have so far failed to attract widespread attention. She plans to introduce visitors to the “local culture and memories of local people,” not from the viewpoint of locals, but from the perspective of “outsiders.” “We’re also going to widen our horizons to other regions. But the DMZ is still our reason for being. Whenever we visit residents in any border town to collect stories, nearly all of them welcome us warmly – whether it was the people in Cheorwon, Paju, or Goseong. They seem to find comfort in realizing that somebody is curious about stories that nobody has asked them about before,” she says. Until not long ago, Park was overloaded as she put the finishing touches to “about dmz, Vol. 3: Revive Goseong.” This border town abounds with stories, too. Though it has the longest coastline in Korea, mountains blanket 70 percent of the region, which means residents lead a very idiosyncratic life. Metaphorically speaking, North Korea lies a stone’s throw away, with the Geumgang mountain range straddling both sides of the DMZ and stretching to this area. Myeongpa-ri, which was recently separated from Minbuk Village’s administrative jurisdiction, is the northeasternmost village in Korea. Here we find Myeongpa Beach at the northernmost tip of Goseong. While the land remains divided between the South and the North, the mountains and seas are connected to each other. A few years ago, massive wildfires engulfed the area. Park hopes a revival will occur; thus, the title of Volume 3, “Revive Goseong,” conveys her company’s wishes along with its presentation of the residents’ memories. “As COVID-19 increased interest in nonface-to-face travel, Goseong began to emerge as a popular destination, which is also linked to revival,” she says. Local villagers help run a camp site after converting an abandoned school in Minbuk Village in Yugok-ri, Cheorwon. ⓒallabout An article titled “In Search of Traces of Mt. Geumgang” contains cherished memories of the last peak of the mountain range that stands in Goseong. It appeared in “about dmz, Vol. 3: Revive Goseong.” ⓒallabout Park Mi-kyeongFreelance Writer Han Jung-hyun Photographer

Magnificent but Depressing Self-portraits of the Modern Man

Past Series 2022 SUMMER

Magnificent but Depressing Self-portraits of the Modern Man Ahn Chang-hong has built his own independent art world, not swayed by any current trends. As part of the celebrations for the 60th anniversary of diplomatic ties bet-ween Korea and Ecuador, his exhibition, held in Ecuador in 2021, continued this year at the Savina Museum of Contemporary Art in Seoul. “Ghost Fashion 2021-19” 2021. Oil pastel on cotton paper. 162.2 × 112.1 cm.© Savina Museum The northern part of Seoul, where the peak of Mt. Bukhan is visible, is home to an art museum in the shape of a triangle. This is the Savina Museum of Contemporary Art, an important private art museum in Korea. From February 23 to May 29 this year, the museum hosted the solo exhibition “Ghost Fashion” by Ahn Chang-Hong. Introducing the artist’s latest works and new endeavors, the exhibition was special as it formed part of the cultural exchange events commemorating the 60th anniversary of diplomatic ties bet-ween Korea and Ecuador. Before delving into “Ghost Fashion,” another exhibition must be mentioned first. In the winter of 2020, at the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic, the solo exhibition “National Painter of Ecuador: Oswaldo Guayasamín” was held at the Savina Museum. The works of Guayasamín (1919-1999), who is highly respected not only in his home country but all over Latin America, are preserved and designated as national heritage of Ecuador. The first showing of his art in Korea moved viewers and left them in awe. As a reciprocal event, Ahn Chang-Hong held a special exhibition in Ecuador at the Casa Museo Guayasamín and La Capilla del Hombre, or the Chapel of Man. This is where Guayasamín’s masterpieces are on permanent display, and Ahn is said to be the first artist from another country to have held an exhibition there since the Spanish master Francisco Goya. A Style of His Own Ahn Chang-hong, born in 1953, is an artist with a free spirit and a fierce mindset. His oeuvre over the past 50 years proves this. He has remained unbound by any system or framework and his steadfast pride as an artist has kept him going. Korea is a country highly obsessed with education, and the competition to enter a good art school is fierce. But rejecting the standardized admission system, Ahn decided not to study art in college. As such, he created his own style at an early age, distancing himself from the broader institution of art. The result has been a body of work that is mature in form and serious in theme, and which critically views problems such as the alienation of human beings and the need for justice in history. Many art critics in Korea consider Ahn a very idiosyncratic artist. Removed from the group-centrism, camp logic and academism of the domestic art circle, he expresses the tragedies of individuals in history using personal narratives. He is also recognized for his distinct personality, critical awareness of society and differentiated formative characteristics. The selection of materials, themes and expressive methods that embody his works are also varied and free. His latest works, the “Ghost Fashion” and “Mask” series, can also be understood in this context. “Ghost Fashion” Ahn said he was very moved by the Oswaldo Guayasamín exhibition at the Savina Museum. When it was decided that his own solo exhibition would be held in Ecuador, he worked intensively to complete his “Ghost Fashion” series. Consisting of oil paintings on large canvases, the series actually began very small. Ahn collected images of fashion models on the internet, drew on them using a digital stylus pen on a smart device and made digital prints of the results, creating a new field of “digital pen drawings.” Then he went a step further and recreated the images in the most traditional way – that is, using oil paints and brush on canvas. His work is a combination of technology and art, digital and analog techniques. The poses taken by the models in this series vary widely, just as there are various ways of living human life, and the clothes they wear are colorful and arresting. But the key is that the faces, hands and feet of the models have been erased. The body disappears and only the clothes remain, like a ghost whose body and soul have escaped to leave only the shell behind. “Ghost Fashion 2021-1” 2021. Oil pastel on cotton paper. 162.2 × 112.1 cm. “Ghost Fashion 2022-1” 2022. Oil on canvas. 162 × 133 cm. “Ghost Fashion 2021-10” 2021. Oil pastel on cotton paper. 162.2 × 112.1 cm. “Ghost Fashion 2021-8” 2021. Oil pastel on cotton paper. 162.2 × 112.1 cm. “Mask” Underlying all of Ahn Chang-hong’s works is a keen interest in and affection for human beings. The human manifestation is the face, which contains various emotions, from hope and a longing for life to pain and despair over growing old, falling ill and dying. The French philosopher Gilles Deleuze clearly differentiated the “head” from the “face.” For example, animals also have heads, but theirs differ from human faces because the head of an animal has no expression. In other words, the human face is a special body part that bears expressions. “Mask 2019-14” Mixed Media on FRP.(HWD) 155 × 110 × 50 cm. “Mask 2019-23” Mixed Media on FRP.(HWD) 155 × 110 × 50 cm. On the third floor of the museum, visitors can see 150 digital pen drawings through a transparent display. On display on the second floor are 23 works from the “Mask” series and three 2D paintings scaled up to 3D. Ahn Chang-hong, one of Korea’s most important artists today, built his own distinct art world with no regard to any system or rules. Of course, emotions can be sensed from other parts of the body, such as how the rough hands of workers or farmers might betray lifelong toil, or bent shoulders might signal fatigue. However, with the eyes, nose and mouth, it’s the face that reveals human emotions most directly. The eyes are especially important because the messages they deliver can be interpreted in various ways. In this context, the “Mask” series is made up of powerful, symbolic works that provoke thoughts about the face, and therefore, about human beings. “The ‘Mask’ series is the story of a crazy world. People are turning ignorant, collectively selfish and violent, and they all run toward a seemingly noble cause with ulterior motives. The series is about this collective unconsciousness. The bandages that cover the eyes and the keyhole on the forehead symbolize the lost self and the unconsciousness. Their lives are like duckweeds, each decorated in beautiful colors, but floating like ghosts upon a closer look. Through ‘Mask,’ I wanted to express the dual phenomenon of us destroying ourselves or being destroyed by others because we have succumbed to the sophisticated conspiracy of capital and power, and allowed greed to get the better of us. After all, we are both subjects of greed and its victims at the same time,” the artist said. Hard hit by COVID-19, the world is called upon to reflect on greedy capitalism and humankind as a desire-driven species. Oswaldo Guayasamín was a pioneer when he expressed his thoughts on humankind and the historical pain experienced in Latin America, and Ecuador in particular, during the 20th century. In the same vein, Ahn Chang-hong also contemplates the problems facing mankind in the 21st century. The works we come across at the Savina Museum of Contemporary Art are self-portraits of the modern man, splendid on the outside but empty on the inside. Exhibited on the fourth floor of the museum are about 100 of Ahn’s drawings, sketches for his oil paintings and large-scale installations. His excellent drawing skills are evident. From small drawings, he has crossed almost all boundaries in art, venturing into oil painting, digital pen drawing, installation art and photography. These works are the precious outcome of a passionate spirit unafraid to challenge himself.

Films Recording the ‘Today’ of North Korean Defectors

Past Series 2022 SUMMER

Films Recording the ‘Today’ of North Korean Defectors Veteran movie director Jéro Yun tries to shed new light on people living today, without stereotypes or prejudice. This is also why he makes both documentary and dramatic films. Award-winning film director Jéro Yun applies cinematic skills honed in France to delve intothe lives of those on the margins of society, particularly North Korean defectors. Film director Jéro Yun, released two full-length films in 2021: “Fighter,” a drama, and “Song Hae 1927,” a documentary. The former is about Jin-a, a young North Korean defector who faces discrimination in the South and struggles to save money. She does menial work in a restaurant and takes on a second job cleaning at a boxing gym, where she is inspired by the sight of confident female fighters. The latter is about Song Hae (1927-2022), the late singer and host of KBS TV’s long-running music show “National Singing Contest,” who fled from his native town in Hwanghae Province, North Korea during the Korean War. These films tap into the deep emotions and scars of defectors’ hearts. Jin-a learns how to box, but “Fighter” is less about her bouts than her struggle to adapt to living in South Korean society. As for Song, he talks candidly about his only son, who died in a motorcycle accident in 1986. A Defector’s Life Throughout his directing career, Yun has gazed into the lives of those on the margins of society, particularly North Korean defectors. His works are cool-headed observations of the inner side of characters, attracting attention at top Korean and international film festivals. In 2011, Yun won the Grand Prix at the 9th Asiana International Short Film Festival with “Promise” (2010), a documentary about a Korean-Chinese woman who never stops hoping to reunite with her son. He also won awards for best documentary at the 38th Moscow International Film Festival and the 12th Zurich Film Festival with “Mrs. B, A North Korean Woman” (2016), whose protagonist goes to China to make a living. “Mrs. B” is related to “Beautiful Days” (2017), Yun’s first full-length film starring actress Lee Na-young. The opening film at the 23rd Busan International Film Festival, “Beautiful Days” is about how Zhenchen, a Korean-Chinese college student, regards her North Korean mother. Yun has also introduced various features of lifestyles in the two Koreas to filmmakers. He showed his short film “Hitchhiker” (2016) at the 69th Cannes International Film Festival Directors’ Fortnight, and “Fighter” in the 71st Berlin International Film Festival’s Generation Section. Student in France When Yun was in his early 20s, he went to France with a friend to satisfy his desire for a totally new environment. The day of his departure was memorable on a level that was more than just personal – it was September 12, 2001, the day after the 9/11 terrorist attacks on the United States. Airport security was on heightened alert and all flights to the United States were canceled. Yun managed to make his way to Nancy, a small town in northeastern France. Once there, he traveled and learned to speak French. Suddenly, without any preparation, he decided to apply for a local arts school and passed the practical skills enrollment test. Becoming a full-time student outside of Korea was totally unplanned, but he overcame his apprehension and reveled in being impetuous. “I was afraid of living a new life all by myself in an unfamiliar place. But it was fun. I was able to think only of myself at the time,” he says, looking back. The experience expanded his horizons. At school, he took courses in video and installation arts, while outside, interaction with classmates from other countries further widened his scope. When a Belgian friend lent him a box of 100 DVDs, Yun found himself in a cinematic world that was totally new to him. Inside the box were classic movies of the 1950s and 1960s made by legendary directors such as Francois Truffaut, Jean-Luc Godard, Ingmar Bergman and Orson Welles. Up until then, Yun had only seen movies brimming with violence, but before him, for the first time, were movies with intellect and experimentation. “I watched all 100 of the DVDs over and over. It was hard to understand them, but they were that mesmerizing,” Yun recalls. What beguiled him most was the fact that filmmaking is a process that cannot be done alone. Needing input from many people, Yun assembled friends to pick their brains and collaborate. “Mrs. B, A North Korean Woman” is a full length Documentary about the life of a North Korean woman who has crossed into China to make a living. © CINESOPA “Beautiful Day” is the first full-length dramatic film Yun directed. It explores how protagonist Zhenchen, a Korean-Chinese college student, regards her North Korean mother. © peppermint&company “Fighter” is a movie about Jin-a, a young North Korean defector who struggles to survive financially and adapt emotionally to her new life in South Korea. © INDIESTORY Life Today Yun and his friends introduced their first joint movie in 2004. Its protagonist was a South Korean woman in France questioning her identity. “Why do I live here?” “Why here and not there?” These were tormenting questions that Yun had asked himself. Fittingly, the budding filmmakers invited other foreign transplants to a preview of the movie. From that point on, Yun’s self-questioning about his life in France morphed into a sustained interest in the life of defectors from North Korea. When formulating his works, Yun focuses especially on his marginalized characters in the context of time. He delves into their past to see how their experiences shape their present behavior and thinking. “Though we live today, today eventually becomes yesterday. And tomorrow can change depending on how we live today. So I usually leave out people’s past stories and try not to cling to their future, either. I just want to show how they’re living today. If the me of today changes, the me of tomorrow will surely change as well. That’s the message I want to deliver,” Yun says. This principle applies equally to his documentary and drama films. For three years while making “Mrs. B,” he traveled together with Mrs. B herself. On the first day of shooting “Song Hae 1927,” he interviewed Song for more than four hours. In his movies, Yun attempts to express the little things that he feels from observing moments in daily life. “What do defectors think of?” “What do they feel here in South Korea?” Yun and the actors repeatedly ask themselves such questions. In addition to conferring with defectors, the actors try to bring their personal experiences into their scenes, while Yun filters out stereotypical images of defectors often seen in the media. “Song Hae 1927” vividly shows the life of Song Hae, the late singer and host of KBS TV’s long-running music show “National Singing Contest.” Questions, not Answers Yun makes films that pose questions to viewers. He does not supply answers. His films normally end with a palpable possibility for the future instead of a denouement. Will the hopes of the mother and her son in “Beautiful Days” be realized? Will Jin-a win a boxing match in “Fighter”? Yun always leaves the audience dangling. But he hints that the characters may wind up living a tomorrow that differs from yesterday. In this way, his characters gain some dignity at the margins of society. “Everyone has a different definition of happiness. I want to give my film characters as much of an open ending as possible. This way, the audience will begin to think hard about how defectors can be happy in South Korea, won’t they?” he asks. Audience reactions to Yun’s films run the gamut, largely depending on the viewer’s personal experiences. Defectors have mixed reactions; some feel embarrassed at the true-to-life depiction of their fate while others express gratitude, thanking the filmmakers for listening to them and absorbing what they heard. Human rights activists and students studying the reality of a divided Korea have differing impressions based on their own background knowledge. For foreign viewers, the films are more of an eye opener on the way the Korean peninsula has been divided into totally different spheres marked by separation and animosity. “I just want my films to be of value, even if it’s to one single person. Nobody knows what kind of work that person could do later, or where,” Yun said. Yun makes films because he believes in the power of every individual, including himself, to influence others. When asked what motivates him, he said that it is “love.” “If there’s a problem somewhere, be it war or national division, there is surely a lack of love.”

In Search of a Lost Name

Past Series 2022 SPRING

In Search of a Lost Name Choi Wook-kyung (1940-1985) was a prominent abstract painter who embraced new international art trends. An extensive retrospective titled “Wook-kyung Choi, Alice’s Cat” was held from October 27, 2021 to February 13, 2022 at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art (MMCA) in Gwacheon. To most people today, Choi Wook-kyung is not a familiar name. Like Park Re-hyun (1920-1976), for whom the MMCA held a large-scale posthumous retrospective on the the centennial of her birth, it seemed that Choi’s name would be forgotten soon after her sudden death – a consequence of art history being written mostly from the male perspective. Revisiting the trajectory of Choi’s life as she vigorously built her identity in art and literature from the 1960s to the 1980s, traveling back and forth bet ween Korea and America, is tantamount to filling a void in Korean women’s art history and, eventually, rewriting Korean art history itself. “Tightrope Walking” 1977. Acrylic on canvas. 225 × 195 cm. Leeum Museum of Art.Choi Wook-kyung’s paintings from the mid- and late 1970s are characterized by the vibrancy created from the mixture of organic shapes resembling flowers, mountains, birds and animals.   “Martha Graham” 1976. Pencil on paper. 102 × 255 cm. Private collection.A large pencil drawing inspired by the performance of American contemporary dancer Martha Graham. The white shape with wings stretched out as if dancing, or flying, has a lofty, epic feeling. To a Bigger World The exhibition comprised three themes arranged in chronological order, with an epilogue featuring portraits and archival material shedding light on the artist’s world. In the last section, visitors found the “college prep art” that Choi learned while attending Seoul Arts High School. Her paintings from those early years did not show her individual style so much as the conventional techniques handed down from the colonial period. As a Western painting major at Seoul National University, she submitted her artworks in competitions and received prizes, which brought her to the attention of the art circle. But until she went to study in America, her work most probably remained an extension of the art education she had received to get into university. Choi had taken private lessons from famous painters from her middle school days. The training method in those days was largely in line with the customs of patriarchal hierarchy, so she was likely required to follow the styles of her teachers. In an interview with the Korea Herald in 1978, she pointed out the fundamental differences between American and Korean art education, saying that the former respected the identity of individual artists’ works. The MMCA retrospective included a poem titled “An Old Story that My Mother Told Me,” which Choi wrote in 1972. In the poem, she meets a wolf in the woods and walks hand in hand with it as friends would, although her mother had told her never to look a wolf in the eye if she ever came across one, never to answer back if spoken to, and to refuse if invited for a walk. By saying that she held hands with a wolf, she probably indicated her determination to break the taboos of her familiar world and move on to a bigger world. In 1963, her life abroad began at the Cranbrook Academy of Art in Bloomfield Hills, a small city in Oakland County, Michigan, United States, where she experienced big changes in her work and life. Exploring Her Identity The first section of the exhibition, “To America as Wonderland (1963-1970),” shed light on Choi’s life as a student at Cranbrook and then as an assistant professor at Franklin Pierce College in New Hampshire. The 1960s in the United States was a period of transition from Abstract Expressionism to Post-painterly Abstraction. Studying under Professor Donald Willett (1928-1985), whose style reflected this era of change, Choi worked on abstract paintings marked by strong brushwork and colors. Her exposure at the Cranbrook Art Museum to the works of Abstract Expressionists such as Willem de Kooning, Mark Rothko and Jackson Pollock greatly helped to increase her understanding of contemporary art. After graduating from the Cranbrook Academy of Art in 1965, she attended the Brooklyn Museum Art School in New York for one year, and then in the summer of 1996, participated in the residency program at the Skowhegan School of Painting & Sculpture in Maine. During this period, Choi came into contact with the diverse styles and media of the East Coast, including figurative art, graphic art, print and Pop Art. Under their influence, she glued torn pieces of newspaper to her canvas, juxtaposing them with the colored surface, or coloring over magazine images. Through these methods, she attempted to express her reaction to the modernism of Neo-Dada and Pop Art. As indicated by “Alice’s Cat” and “Wonderland” constituting the titles of the exhibition, a significant part of Choi’s art world is dedicated to Lewis Carroll’s novel, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” (1865). In 1965, when many related books were published to celebrate the novel’s centennial, Choi painted “Alice, Fragment of Memory.” “Like Unfamiliar Faces,” her poetry book published in 1972, included a poem titled “Alice’s Cat.” Curator Jeon Yu-shin, who directed the MMCA retrospective, explained it as a metaphor for a “foreign woman from Asia.” Confused about her own cultural identity, Choi could easily empathize with Alice’s story. Exploring her identity through such works as “Fate” (1966), “In Peace” (1968) and “Who Is the Winner in This Bloody Battle?” (1968), in which she spoke up against racial discrimination and war, Choi gradually adapted to American society. The second section of the exhibition, “Korea and America, In Between Dream and Reality (1971-1978),” looked back on the period when Choi traveled back and forth between America and Korea, working in both countries. She returned to Seoul in 1971 and stayed until 1974, during which time she held two solo exhibitions and submitted three installation works, including “Curiosity” (1972), to the Independent, a competition to select artists for the Paris Biennale. It seems those works intentionally followed the trends of the times. At the same time, she was also interested in dancheong (decorative paintwork on wooden buildings), minhwa (folk paintings) and calligraphy, and experimented with different styles accommodating these traditional visual arts. “Alice, Fragment of Memory” 1965. Acrylic on canvas. 63 × 51 cm. Property of the artist’s family.As an Asian woman searching for her artistic identity in America in the 1960s, Choi found Lewis Carroll’s “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” to be a source of inspiration. This is known to be her first work on the theme of Alice. “Untitled” 1966. Acrylic on paper. 42.5 × 57.5 cm. Leeum Museum of Art.While studying in the U.S., Choi painted many self-portraits exploring her true inner self. She tried to overcome her perceived limitations as an Asian woman. Her Own World In 1976-1977, Choi joined the residency program at New Mexico’s Roswell Museum & Art Center. These years were another inflection point in her life, affecting significant changes in her work. She focused on large paintings, vividly expressing organic shapes resembling mountains, birds and animals, as seen in “Collaged Time” (1976) and “Joy” (1977). Inspired by the exotic landscape of New Mexico, she mixed in surreal dream scenes from “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” to develop her own painterly rhetoric. Then, back in Korea again, she held a touring exhibition titled “Impressions of New Mexico (1978-1979),” which drew critical comments about “being American.” By that time, however, Choi was headed to her own world – one that defied such a simple definition. “Mt. Gyeongsan” 1981. Acrylic on canvas. 80 × 177 cm. Private collection. “Mountains Floating Like Islands” 1984. Acrylic on canvas. 73.5 × 99 cm. Private collection.Choi returned to Korea in 1979 and taught at Yeungnam University in Daegu. She was drawn to the natural scenery of the Gyeongsang provinces and contemplated the forms of mountains and islands. Choi poses in her studio in this photo taken in the early 1980s. Born in Seoul in 1940, she studied painting at Seoul National University and then the Cranbrook Academy of Arts in the U.S., where art was in transition from Abstract Expressionism to Post-painterly Abstraction. She experienced the change first-hand and vigorously explored her artistic identity. Courtesy of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art The third section, “To the Mountains and Islands of Korea and the Home of Choi’s Painting (1979-1985),” showcased her works from the years she taught at Yeungnam University in Daegu and Duksung Women’s University in Seoul after returning to Korea in 1979, where she would remain until her death in 1985. Her days at Yeungnam University brought about yet more changes in her art. She painted “Mt. Gyeongsan” (1981) and “Mountains Floating Like Islands” (1984), inspired by the mountains and seas of the Gyeongsang provinces. The mid-tone colors and restrained lines and compositions give the impression that Choi was no longer confused but peacefully settled in “Wonderland.” She studied the forms of mountains and islands, and her deepening interest in the shapes and order of flower petals as well as intense colors led her to paint works like “Red Flower” (1984).   “Wook-kyung Choi, Alice’s Cat,” a large-scale retrospective at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Gwacheon, held from October 27, 2021 to February 13, 2022, shed light on Choi Wook-kyung, an outstanding abstract painter who was active from the 1960s to the mid-1980s. © Gian Lost Name In her poem “My Name Is,” Choi calls herself a scared child with big eyes when she was little, a mute child who lost her voice among unfamiliar faces when she studied abroad, a child who lost her way chasing rainbows when she was finally adapting to her American life, and a nameless child who lost her name after she returned to Korea. To find her name, it seems that she constantly strived to form herself in poetry and paintings. But this wasn’t easy. During the 1970s and 1980s when she was most active, the mainstream trend in Korea was monochrome painting, which shared the style of Post-painterly Abstraction. Art historian Choi Yeol said that Choi Wook-kyung had fully assimilated Abstract Expressionism, but the Korean art circle belittled it as something passé. She must also have been confounded by the male chauvinism in the art community, which referred to Lee Krasner as “Mrs. Jackson Pollock.” There is no knowing what took the heaviest toll on her, but in 1985 she died in her mid-forties. In 2021, the Pompidou Center in Paris staged an exhibition, “Women in Abstraction,” featuring some 500 works by 106 female artists around the world who contributed to abstract art. Three of Choi’s paintings were included. It would have been difficult to introduce the language she searched for and wished to speak through those three paintings alone. That said, the Choi Wook-kyung retrospective must be taken as a starting point for rewriting her story, as well as women’s art history.

Journey to the Realm of Contemplation

Past Series 2022 SPRING

Journey to the Realm of Contemplation   © Gian The entrance is narrow and the hallway is long. Light seeping from the darkness is constant with unwavering intensity. The pace of time slows. From the left wall, a misty light introduces itself. Something lies there, supine; something vast and firm, a great stone or block of ice. It gradually loses any discernible form, turning into water which slowly vaporizes. The ascending mist transforms into another world. But it is short-lived; eventually a stone reappears. Making our waypast video art by Jean-Julien Pous, we are christened by his vision of the “Cycle” of the universe. Finally, the “Room of Quiet Contemplation” is before us. Our five senses awaken. Every pore of our body opens and our inner space expands – infinite. As consciousness and calm become one, the floor inclines upwards, little by little, barely noticeable, leading to where light and darkness intersect around two mystical beings. This room, opened in November 2021, is a collaboration between architect Choi Wook and a team of “brand story” experts commissioned by the National Museum of Korea. Most people first associate the Louvre in Paris with the Mona Lisa. In much the same way, visitors to the National Museum of Korea are now sure to think first of the Room of Quiet Contemplation and its bodhisattva statues, which have rarely been displayed together. A full millennium separates the Mona Lisa and the two sculptures. Leonardo da Vinci painted the portrait, measuring 77 × 53 cm, in the early 16th century. The sculptures, less than a meter tall, were made in the late 6th and the early 7th centuries. They represent the height of Buddhist art from the Silla period and are designated Korea’s National Treasures No. 78 and No. 83. These masterpieces share two similarities that define them. First, unlike other seated, standing, or reclining Buddhist images, they hover somewhere between sitting and standing, draped over a small round stool, right foot perched on left knee. Meanwhile, their right hands are raised, the tips of their index and middle fingers grazing their chins, showing an attitude of deep thought. What are the Maitreya Bodhisattvas supposed to be thinking? We can only speculate, just as we do with “The Thinker,” Auguste Rodin’s iconic sculpture unveiled some 1,300 years later. Buddhists assume these figures to be contemplating the four phases of life: birth, old age, sickness and death. Yet, encountered in a museum after enough time has passed, even Buddhist images can break free of religious connotations. True contemplation calls for surrendering and finding oneself simultaneously. Perhaps the subtle smiles of these two pensive bodhisattvas are a nod to the faint vibration that lives between this very surrender and discovery, an internalization of time and space that is both broad and deep.

Message on Isolation and Freedom

Past Series 2022 SPRING

Message on Isolation and Freedom An isolated village on the southern side of the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) is a remnant of the Korean War armistice agreement of 1953. Two award-winning South Korean artists have reinterpreted the village for their latest collaboration. The aim, as the duo explain, was “to reflect on the ironic, institutionalized conflicts and tensions that beset human history in general.” The division of Korea may be a subject that most artists from this country want to avoid. It is typically deemed too self-evident for much texture, or overly grandiose to encapsulate. Those who take up the subject must often endure criticism that they chose an all too familiar episode. International artists look to their Korean cohorts for cues, but few step forward to venture into the theme from a faraway land. Moon Kyung-won and Jeon Joon-ho were undaunted. They boldly put on “News from Nowhere – Freedom Village,” a multi-faceted exhibition that recently ended at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art (MMCA) in Seoul. Their next stop this year is the 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art in Kanazawa, Japan (May 3-September 11), and shortly afterwards, the London-based Artangel and then the Art Sonje Centre, back in Seoul. A U.S. showing is also being discussed. Moon teaches Western painting at Ewha Womans University in Seoul and Jeon is based in Yeongdo, a seaside area of his native Busan. They have collaborated since 2009, forming a rare duo on the Korean fine arts scene. They constantly explore the role of art in coping with the universal issues of mankind, such as contradictions of capitalism, historical tragedies and climate change. Moon Kyung-won (left) and Jeon Joon-ho pose with a part of their collaborative project, “News from Nowhere – Freedom Village,” displayed at the Seoul branch of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art for the “MMCA Hyundai Motor Series 2021” (September 3, 2021-February 20, 2022). The duo defined Freedom Village, the only civilian settlement on the southern side of the Demilitarized Zone, as a place created by human confrontation and conflict – a symbol of the isolation endured by numerous people amid the coronavirus pandemic. LOOK BACK “News from Nowhere” is a long-term project that has had several iterations. The title is from the eponymous utopian novel written by William Morris (1834-1896), an artist, designer and socialist pioneer who led the British Arts and Crafts Movement. In the novel, the narrator falls asleep and awakens in a future agrarian society that has no class, no systems of money or authority, no private property and no courts or prisons. Through the novel, Morris hurled scathing criticism at the social problems of his time. Moon and Jeon borrowed not only the title, but also the novel’s style of keenly dissecting the present from a perch in the future. “Our future-based view is not an attempt to diagnose the future but an effort to discuss the present agenda,” they explain. The duo’s “News from Nowhere” premiered in 2012 at documenta, a contemporary art exhibition held every five years in Kassel, Germany. The subtitle then was “The End of the World.” The exhibition led them to win the Artist of the Year 2012 Award from the MMCA and the Noon Award at the 9th Gwangju Biennale in the same year. In the ensuing years, the project, with input from other artists, appeared under different subtitles in various forms, including video works, installations, archival photographs and publications. Previous venues include the Sullivan Galleries at the Art Institute of Chicago in the United States (2013); the Migros Museum of Contemporary Art in Zürich, Switzerland (2015); and Tate Liverpool in the United Kingdom (2018). The duo also represented the Korean Pavilion at the 2015 Venice Biennale, presenting a multi-channel film installation titled “The Ways of Folding Space & Flying.” “News from Nowhere” had never appeared in Korea on an expansive scale before the artists were picked for the MMCA Hyundai Motor Series 2021. Starting in 2014, Hyundai Motor has annually sponsored a solo exhibition by a leading Korean artist at the MMCA. The previous pick was Yang Haegue, an installation artist of international renown. As to why they chose to reinterpret the division of Korea through a unique civilian settlement within the DMZ, Jeon said, “This project has reflected the identity, history and pressing issues of local regions in each different country and city. We thought long and hard about what to do about Korea. We wanted to break from the cliché about a divided nation. But after all, it was a sort of duty that any Korean artist ought to fulfill. So we decided not to make it a simple ref lection of the political situation in Korea, but an immersive experience for visitors to help them think of the universal history of humankind.” “News from Nowhere – Freedom Village” revolves around huge back-to-back screens that show different videos. They help immerse viewers in the installation art, comprising lights, sounds and images appearing on the screens connecting with the exhibition space. On the screen, “A,” a man who longs for freedom (played by actor Park Jeong-min), roams around in the mountains, looking for wild plants to study. © CJY Art Studio BYPRODUCT OF CONFLICT “News from Nowhere – Freedom Village” refers to Daeseong-dong, the only civilian residential settlement on the southern side of the DMZ, the heavily fortified strip of land running across the Korean Peninsula separating the North and South. Everything about the village is atypical. Its name doesn’t ascribe to the usual rendition of topographic characteristics or legends, and despite being inside South Korean territory, the village is controlled by the UN Command. Under the Korean War armistice agreement of 1953, both sides of the war recognized Daesong-dong in the South and Kijong-dong in the North as the only civilian residential areas within the DMZ. Afterwards, the two villages were given new names: “Freedom Village” and “Peace Village,” respectively. But the benign monikers were outright misleading; the villages became emblems of Cold War vitriol. A still from “News from Nowhere – Freedom Village” shows “A,” an amateur botanist, making plant specimens. Having never ventured outside of his native village, he collects and studies plants. © MOON Kyungwon & JEON Joonho In the hope of making his existence known to the outside world, “A” flies balloons carrying his plant specimens. He thus begins communication with “B,” another young man who lives in the future, occupying a small, hightech facility. © MOON Kyungwon & JEON Joonho Yeongsanjae, or the Rites of Vulture Peak, which was placed on UNESCO’s List of Intangible Cultural Heritage Currently, some 200 people in 49 households live in Freedom Village, surrounded by heavily armed troops and barbed wire fences due to its close proximity to North Korea. Private property is not allowed in the village. There’s a midnight curfew and roll calls are regularly held. The residents’ livelihood is mostly farming or raising livestock; commercial ventures don’t exist. Residents are afforded tax benefits and men are exempted from compulsory military service. If a female resident marries a non-villager, she must leave the village, but a male resident can stay if he marries an outsider. The two artists didn’t depict the village merely as a byproduct of the geopolitical situation of the Korean Peninsula. Rather, they used it as a symbol of a world molded by confrontation and conflict. Moon said, “At first, we were thinking of setting the project in an urban area with a more clear-cut identity. But we accepted Freedom Village as our keyword because it is an extremely unrealistic space for us, blurring the border between reality and fiction.” Jeon agreed, saying, “Perhaps for the last seven decades, the residents of this village have lived in a more disastrous situation than the pandemic we are currently in. In the present, when humanity is waging a war on COVID that has lasted for more than two years, the isolation of this village seems like the right keyword that can help us draw a universal consensus and look back on our own lives.” The result is a significant example of how South Korean artists are approaching the DMZ, going beyond the “easy path” of reiterating notions of ideological division and conflict. INFINITE LOOP The exhibition was an ambitious project, consisting of videos, installations, archives, photos, a huge painting and a mobile platform for affiliate programs. The centerpiece was two 15-minute videos shown on large, back-to-back screens. On the first screen, actor Park Jeong-min appeared as “A,” a 32-year-old amateur botanist and village native. “A” studies indigenous plants growing in the DMZ but has never ventured outside of his birthplace. To make his existence known to the outside world, “A” floats a balloon carrying plant specimens that he has collected and studied, along with notes about his daily life. The balloon lands near “B,” a man in his early 20s on the other screen. “B,” played by Jinyoung of boyband GOT7, is living in the future. He occupies a small, high-tech facility, occasionally glimpsing the outside. Startled and deeply puzzled, “B” scrutinizes the balloon for a few days before he finally musters the courage to remove its contents. Thereafter, he continuously receives balloons from “A,” persuading him to step outside of his facility. The spiritual link between the two young men turns out to have no endpoint, reminiscent of the infinite loop of time. Past these videos were photos of Freedom Village, provided by the National Archives of Korea with one proviso. “We were permitted to use images on condition that we would protect the anonymity of the people in the photos. So we obscured faces or superimposed new images on the originals by combining several different images together,” Moon explained. “Sometimes, we put face masks on those people’s faces through airbrushing technology, which resulted in a kind of masterstroke, as if it foretold the current pandemic situation.” In the last exhibition room, a snow-covered forest where “A” searched for plants was depicted in a huge landscape painting. Moon labored for more than six months on the canvas, which measures 2.92 meters by 4.25 meters. The hyper-realistic oil piece is so precise and elaborate that it could almost be mistaken for a photo. A quote from John Berger (1926 -2017), a British art critic, painter and poet, served as a thought-provoking epilogue for visitors. It read: “Sometimes a landscape seems to be less a setting for the life of its inhabitants than a curtain behind which their struggles, achievements and accidents take place. For those who are behind the curtain, landmarks are no longer only geographic but also biographical and personal.” “Mobile Agora,” a set of cube shaped, stainless steel objects placed outside the exhibition hall, can easily be disassembled and reassembled. It served as a venue for monthly discussions by experts in architecture, science, design and the humanities during the exhibition. “Landscape,” an oil and acrylic painting by Moon Kyung-won, measuring 292 x 425 cm, depicts a barren place where “A” roams. It recalls an area in Paju, Gyeonggi Province, adjoining the DMZ. The scenery resembles an image of Freedom Village provided by the National Archives of Korea. © CJY Art Studio

A Local Jukebox Musical Hits Home

Past Series 2021 WINTER

A Local Jukebox Musical Hits Home Pop ballads by the late composer Lee Young-hoon (1960-2008), which stirred up the emotions of youths in the 1980s and 1990s, remain ever popular. The musical “Gwanghwamun Sonata,” a compilation of these old-time favorites, was successfully staged this fall for a third run, setting a new milestone in homegrown jukebox musicals. “Gwanghwamun Sonata” is a jukebox musical based on hit ballads of Lee Young-hoon (1960-2008), a popular composer of the 1980s and 1990s. The stage design features Gwanghwamun, the main gate of Gyeongbok Palace, and the road along the wall of Deoksu Palace – the backdrop for Lee’s song lyrics that evoke nostalgia among those who loved his songs. © CJ ENM The most popular musicals these days are either “moviecals” based on well-known movies of the past, or jukebox musicals woven with old pop songs. “King Kong,” featuring a giant gorilla doll roaming the stage, or “Mary Poppins,” adapted from the movie of the same name directed by Robert Stevenson, are examples of the former genre. “Jersey Boys,” seasoned with popular tunes of American rock band The Four Seasons, and “Mamma Mia!” featuring the hits of the Swedish group ABBA are synonymous with the latter. Currently, numerous jukebox musicals, also known as pop musicals, are enjoying popularity on the global stage. The rage for jukebox musicals has made its way into Korea as well. Deserving particular attention is “Gwanghwamun Sonata,” which was performed at the Seoul Arts Center from July to September and will be touring other cities around the country until year-end. “Gwanghwamun Sonata” is a so-called tribute musical, with a story spun around songs composed by Lee Young-hoon and sung by Lee Moon-sae. It’s difficult to discuss Korean popular music of the 1980s and 1990s without mention of these two names. Lee Young-hoon in particular left behind numerous hits, as if he had Midas’ golden touch. Audiences of the musical hum along to Lee’s hits, including the eponymous “Gwanghwamun Sonata” (1988), “When Love is Gone” (1987), “Under the Shadow of Street Trees” (1988) and “Old Love” (1991). Therefore, it can be said that, like most popular jukebox musicals, “Gwanghwamun Sonata” successfully plays on nostalgia, attracting not just dedicated musical fans but also those who loved the late composer’s songs. When “Sunset Glow” (1988), remade by the idol group Big Bang in 2008, plays during the curtain call, the audience finds it difficult to stay seated. This “sing-along curtain call,” which brings the audience to their feet to sing at the top of their voices, is an extraordinary experience. Sing-Along Curtain Call Uniquely, three different versions of “Gwanghwamun Sonata” have been staged. The first attempt to build a musical around Lee Young-hoon’s songs was made by Gina Lee, a popular musical director, and was staged in 2011 at the Sejong Center for the Performing Arts. Some say that the composer created the basic plot himself when he was in the terminal stage of his cancer. Depicting the intertwined love and lives of a young woman and two men, the show was a huge hit with middle-aged audiences, making it a rare box office success for a local creative musical premiered on a large stage. A follow-up run opened at the LG Art Center the following year. “Gwanghwamun Sonata 2” by director Kim Gyu-jong, performed in 2013, was a spin-off of the previous work. As emphasis was placed on live performance, it was staged mainly in small theaters, with each musician positioned on a checkerboard-shaped set, adding to the appeal of its music elements. This concert-like version went on tour in several Chinese cities, such as Shanghai, Hangzhou, Nanchang and Fujian. Musical actress Cha Ji-yeon, who leads the narrative in her role as a time travel guide, received rave reviews for her display of explosive energy. This latest version of the musical “Gwanghwamun Sonata” was written by playwright and director Ko Sun-woong, mixing memories, reality and fantasy, and directed by Gina Lee. © CJ ENM Three Versions The third version of “Gwanghwamun Sonata,” re-written by famous playwright and director Ko Sun-woong and directed once again by Gina Lee, premiered in 2017 at the Grand Theater of the Sejong Center for the Performing Arts and had a second run in 2018. It had its third run this year. The story traverses memory, reality and fantasy as the dying protagonist revisits his past to find true love. Living up to the name of its director, who is known for her stylish staging, this version earned acclaim for its dreamy yet poignant mood and effective presentation of Lee Young-hoon’s music, which remains as appealing as ever. The gender-bending casting, where actors were given roles regardless of their gender, was another attention-grabbing factor. The success of this show can be attributed to the skillful production crew, the cast of well-known singers and actors, good chemistry between the director and music director, and the sophisticated stage design. The marketing strategy and perfect timing contributed as well. Lee Young-hoon didn’t get his start in the popular music scene. He began his career composing background music for plays, broadcasts and dance performances, expanding to popular music in the 1980s when he was in his mid-20s. That’s when he met singer and TV host Lee Moon-sae, who, despite having debuted in 1978 and released his second album, was more famous as a radio DJ than a singer at the time. However, when the two musicians collaborated to put out Lee Moon-sae’s third album in 1985, the title song, “I Don’t Know Yet,” was so popular that it stayed in the number one spot for five consecutive weeks on a TV music program. Many of the other songs on the album were also hits and Lee Young-hoon emerged as the top lyricist and composer in the Korean pop music world. Lee Moon-sae’s fourth album, “When Love is Gone,” released two years later, sold 2.8 million copies and is listed on Korea’s 100 best pop music albums. A Legendary Duo The duo worked together up until Lee Moon-sae’s 13th album, “Chapter 13,” released in 2001. When their collaboration became less frequent, Lee Young-hoon made music for TV dramas and movies. He also released an orchestral album featuring rearrangements of the songs he had written for Lee Moon-sae. Today, a monument erected in praise of Lee Young-hoon’s songs on the road along the wall of Deoksu Palace in Jeong-dong, near Gwanghwamun in central Seoul, continues to attract people who fondly remember those times. In Korea, “Mamma Mia!” is considered the be-all and end-all of jukebox musicals, but there’s a lot more to talk about when the genre is segmented. Jukebox musicals can be divided into two types: compilation musicals like “Rock of Ages,” which introduces rock from the 1980s, weaving together various songs from unspecified musicians under a common theme; and tribute musicals like “Gwanghwamun Sonata,” which only use the musical assets of a specific artist. While the former has the advantage of freely mixing the music of various artists to suit the given theme, time or format, the latter holds appeal not only for musical fans but also the fans of the chosen artists or their music. If the musician in question is no longer active or has passed away, the interest is bound to double. In a flashback to the 1980s, when young people took to the streets to protest military dictatorship, rock singersongwriter Yoon Do-hyun in the lead role plays the piano and sings Lee Young-hoon’s 1988 hit, “My Old Lover.” © CJ ENM It can be said that, like most popular jukebox musicals, “Gwanghwamun Sonata” successfully plays on nostalgia, attracting not just dedicated musical fans but also those who loved the late composer’s songs. Familiarity The reason for the popularity of moviecals and jukebox musicals is simple: the audience doesn’t have to deal with unfamiliar songs and stories at the same time. It isn’t always easy to sit through dozens of new songs performed on stage for a few hours straight. While it’s natural for any composer to attempt to present as many beautiful songs as possible, employing all their musical capacities, an audience may not be able to digest it all. Therefore, they might repeat variations of the main melody or create and distribute a concept album before the curtain goes up for the premiere of a musical. In that sense, the jukebox musical format certainly has advantages. The songs performed on stage are already familiar to the audience and, as they are played live, the vibrancy and dynamism are incomparable to listening on the living room audio or through a small speaker on the desk. This is the reason jukebox musicals attract not only musical aficionados but also fans of the original songs or artists. Furthermore, as the audience already knows the content, the producer can be relieved of the burden and risks of promotion.

Podcast Airs Voices for Change

Past Series 2021 WINTER

Podcast Airs Voices for Change “Sabujak,” a podcast produced by university students, hands a microphone to North Korean refugees in hopes of increasing acceptance of the group in South Korean society. The radio broadcast helps them let down their guard through candid conversations under assumed names. “To tell the truth, I’m from North Korea.” Any North Korean refugee living in South Korea needs considerable courage to utter this simple statement because it typically invites suspicion, derision and discrimination. “Sabujak” (podcast_sabujak) attempts to soften these hardened attitudes through candid conversations with North Korean refugees. The radio podcast, run by university students in Seoul, thereby aims to remove prejudice toward resettlers from the North and break through the emotional wall that segregates them. In the student operators’ ideal world, “I’m from North Korea” should elicit a response as nonchalant as, “Oh, yeah? I’m from Daegu,” rather than condescension. Hence the name of their podcast: a crafted mashup of Korean words that mean “a small, amicable chat with friends from North Korea.” Most of the guests are reluctant to be identified for fear that their families in the North may face abuse. They prefer using nicknames, which have included “Kyongsong Pine Mushroom” and “Hyesan Potato Rice,” suggesting links to Kyongsong County in North Hamgyong Province and the city of Hyesan in Ryanggang Province, with their signature foods. Most guests on Sabujak, a podcast produced by university students, want anonymity. But some guests allow their real name or face to be revealed. Park Ye-young, head of the Unified Korea Cooperative, appeared in a three-part program from October 11 to 13 this year, under the nickname “Kim Chaek Hairy Crab.” From left: Sabujak staff members Park Se-ah and Ahn Hye-soo, and Park Ye-young. © Sabujak GUESTS The promise of anonymity helps persuade North Koreans to accept an invitation to the talk show. At the beginning of the podcast, most guests waver. But soon, nostalgic thoughts seemingly melt away the hesitation to speak candidly about their life and birthplace. After leaving the recording studio, many say they feel more confident about coping with their life in the South and being more forthcoming. “After each program recording, guests say, ‘I’ve tried so far to forget bad memories about North Korea. But speaking about my experiences today, I’ve come to accept my past somewhat more.’ I feel happy then, because of whatever small, positive effects our podcast can have on them,” said Park Se-ah, a Yonsei University student and a producer of the program. She joined the podcast as a volunteer, a follow-up after tutoring children from North Korea and a budding interest in North Korean refugees. The podcast began in 2018. It was the brainchild of Park Byung-sun, then a business administration student at Yonsei University. Now he works at a consulting company. “I launched it in the hope that South Koreans would feel no distance from, and become more friendly with, North Korean refugees if they heard about refugees’ experiences on a podcast,” said Park. “I thought I shouldn’t turn away from the prejudice and discrimination that refugees experience in our society. I therefore concluded that I should launch a podcast that would broadcast their unedited stories as they are.” THE BEGINNING The first broadcast aired in August 2018 through Project Jieum, a social startup club at Yonsei affiliated with Enactus. An international non-profit organization, Enactus was founded by the U.S. National Leadership Institute in 1975. Jieum, whose metaphorical meaning is “intimate friends,” has expanded its membership base beyond Yonsei to include students from Catholic University of Korea, Sogang University, Seoul National University, Sungshin Women’s University, Ewha Womans University and Chung-Ang University. Three teams of three student staffers operate the podcast. Everyone has to be a multitasker, extending invitations and serving as a host, editor or director from one broadcast to the next. The podcasts are recorded at Studio Bombyeot (Spring Sunray) near Hongik University nearly every week of the fall and spring semesters, with each term considered a “season.” A show usually consists of three parts, each lasting 12-15 minutes; the first segment is about life in North Korea and foods from the guest’s hometown, the second about escaping the North, and the third about settling down and living in the South. Before recording, producers have an online chat with the guests to create a natural rapport and outline the program, but no defined is drafted. The format is a free-flowing conversation. Political or religious topics are off limits in principle, but are sometimes lightly touched upon at a guest’s behest. During the initial seasons, most guests were college students; it was easier to invite them as they were the same age as the producers. Of late, guests from various age groups are appearing as the program becomes better known and previous guests introduce it to their relatives and acquaintances. So far, the show has hosted about 130 guests. Most can be described as ordinary people; this is by design. In addition to addressing the emotional distress and barriers refugees endure in South Korea, the producers aim to chronicle the stories of North Korean individuals who have never been in the spotlight and to convince South Koreans that refugees have more in common with them than they realize. One of the most memorable guests was a businessman who was wanted by the North Korean State Security Department for his activities as a broker for defectors from the age of 15. Another impressive guest was a high school student nicknamed “Kilju Meatball.” He was born and grew up in Kilju County in North Hamgyong Province, home of the Punggye-ri nuclear test site. A few guests have revealed their real names. One was Na Min-hee. With a solid family background, she enjoyed a comfortable life in Pyongyang and secured work in Europe to earn hard currency for the North Korean regime. Another identified guest was Joo Seong-ha, who now works as an international affairs reporter for the Dong-A Ilbo, a prestigious Seoul daily. Park Ye-young, head of the Unified Korea Cooperative, wanted to reveal her real name, though the producers had given her the nickname “Kim Chaek Hairy Crab.” “We were cheered up when Park thanked us South Korean university students for running a podcast with a deep interest in issues of the divided Korean nation and unification,” said Ahn Hye-soo. Ahn, a senior law student at Sungshin Women’s University whose grandfather hailed from Hwanghae Province, North Korea, joined the podcast after hearing about it by word of mouth. Sabujak tries to present the details of each North Korean refugee guest as candidly as possible without exaggeration or generalization. The podcasts are recorded at Studio Bombyeot (Spring Sunray) near Hongik University. The photo shows Sabujak staff at the studio. They are, from left, Ahn Seong-hyeok, Ahn Hye-soo and Park Se-ah. OPERATIONS Students from North Korea have also participated in the podcast’s production since Season 3, which began in September 2019. They include Ahn Seong-hyeok, a senior political science student at Yonsei, and Park Beom-hwal, a sophomore physical education student at Seoul National University. Ahn fled from Chongjin, North Hamgyong Province with his parents and arrived in the South in December 2011. He is the current head of the podcast. Audience feedback is Sabujak’s most important communication tool. Listeners submit comments or messages on Instagram. Response has mostly been positive. Some listeners even send “card news,” rearranged from broadcasts of the previous week. © Sabujak “I joined the staff at the suggestion of a friend of mine who works at the podcast,” said Ahn. “I feel overwhelmed with pride when guests say they’re too busy to think of their hometown often but can talk about memories of the old days thanks to our program.” Season 7 began in August 2021. The podcast receives support, including expenses for renting recording studios and costs for live broadcasting, from agencies such as the Wooyang Foundation, a charity organization; the Cultural Center for Inter-Korean Integration under the Ministry of Unification; and Yonsei University’s Institute for Higher Education Innovation. The accumulated number of online searches for Sabujak topped 200,000 in September 2021, a healthy number considering that radio podcasts have to compete for attention among troves of video platforms and audiobooks. Listeners give feedback via comments or send direct messages on Instagram. Response has been positive, with encouraging and supportive comments, which naturally buoys the volunteer staff. Among the refugees, the podcast is a popular attraction, making it easier to secure guests. To supplement the podcast, producers have published an essay book titled “I Will Live an Ordinary but Special Life,” a collection of stories from 12 guests from Seasons 1 and 2. The book sheds light on what motivated them to flee North Korea, how they resettled and what difficulties they encountered in the South, revealing their thoughts, emotions and memories, and stressing similarities and differences between the two Koreas. The producers say that in the process of talking with their guests, they came to realize their own view of North Korean refugees was too general. They admit that when they first became involved with the podcast, they assumed that all of the refugees would think similarly and could be placed in a “single category.” In contrast, they have learned that their guests have more sophisticated perspectives and behavior. For one, they seldom describe South Koreans in broad strokes, but tend to see Southerners as “individuals with characteristics and peculiarities.” An essay collection titled “I Will Live an Ordinary but Special Life” introduces unique North Korean foods with illustrated recipes. In the book, 12 podcast guests introduce their hometown food, along with their own experiences and memories related to the foods. © Project jieum CHANGED PERSPECTIVE Thus, the producers have gradually detached themselves from generalities, acknowledging that the parade of guests has presented a much more nuanced cohort. Now, they try to portray North Korean refugees not as a group of people with a particular image, but as distinct individuals, each with their own aspirations and difficulties. “When we have a debate on national unification in class, students are equally divided in their opinions. It’s most heart-wrenching to hear young people call each other ‘enemy,’” Ahn Seong-hyeok said. “I want to broadcast North Korean refugees’ stories for a long time, so that our podcast can faithfully play the role of a bridge between South and North Koreans to help them have a better understanding of each other.”

Dreaming of Peace

Past Series 2021 WINTER

Dreaming of Peace Springtime in the 1960s. A young soldier stationed at the Demilitarized Zone, or DMZ, I would make my way to a barren riverbank nearby to lose myself in the dazzlingly beautiful scenery. On the edge of the cliff bloomed a riot of pink azaleas, and all along the river – where a village once stood, before the war – overgrown weeds lined the site of a rectangular wall. Peach and apricot blossoms were scattered here and there. The soldier is now deep into his twilight years. But the standoff between the two Koreas remains in place. Along that quiet riverbank, too, the flowers still bloom, I’m sure, and the fruits ripen, along with the seasons. ⓒ Park Jong-woo On July 27, 1953, three years after the start of the Korean War, a ceasefire agreement created the Military Demarcation Line (MDL). East to west, the truce line stretches some 240 kilometers, sawing the Korean Peninsula into North and South. A 4-kilometer-wide buffer zone straddles the MDL, 2 kilometers to either side, to avoid further armed conflict. This is the DMZ. Around 907 square kilometers in total area, the zone is marked with high fences and patrolled by soldiers from both sides. Being called “demilitarized,” it should be devoid of weaponry and military activity. But the reality isn’t even close. The area is laden with landmines and the armed forces of both sides constitute one of the highest concentrations of military firepower in the world, a remnant of the Cold War. On the MDL itself is a joint security area, 400 meters in radius, guarded by troops from the South, North and the UN. This is Panmunjom, a spot of international attention to this day. Meanwhile, some 10 kilometers to the north and south of the DMZ, another set of fences has been put up to keep civilians from trespassing, marking what is called the Civilian Control Line. Within the area, however, in accordance with the ceasefire agreement, there are some civilian residents living in Daeseong-dong Village in the South and Kijong-dong Village in the North. With no human inhabitants, the DMZ is one of the most well-preserved natural habitats in the world. Many endangered animals and plants thrive freely. Each year, in early October, thousands of white-naped cranes flying south to escape the Siberian cold come to subsist on the grains of rice that lay strewn across the Cheolwon Plain, north of the Civilian Control Line. Then in early November, we see the arrival of the birds most sacred to our people: the red-crowned cranes. I leaf through pictures of the birds returning, dreaming of the day when the DMZ is fully transformed, at long last, into a peaceful ecological park that people from North and South alike can enjoy.
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