메인메뉴 바로가기본문으로 바로가기
네이버 공유 카카오 공유 트위터 공유 페이스북 공유

Interview

Korea’s Legendary Breaker

Interview 2024 SPRING

Korea’s Legendary Breaker Kim Hong-yul, better known by his stage name, Hong 10, became a professional b-boy as a teenager and has never looked back, winning multiple world titles. Now he has his sights set on the 2024 Paris Olympics. Participants cheer on Hong 10 as he shows off one of his signature moves, supported just by his fingers, during the Red Bull BC One Camp Poland, held in Gdańsk in 2021. ⓒ Lukasz Nazdraczew, Red Bull Content Pool 2023 was a banner year for Kim Hong-yul, better known as Hong 10, the face of Korean b-boying. Despite an injury suffered the previous year and the rust of the subsequent layoff, he managed to win a silver medal at the 19th Asian Games in Hangzhou, China. Weeks later, he triumphed at the Red Bull BC One World Final, the largest and most prestigious international breaking competition. The Red Bull title was Hong 10’s third at the event, adding to his 2006 and 2013 championships. The victory etched his name in the record books alongside Menno van Gorp of the Netherlands for the highest number of wins accomplished at the elite competition. This achievement effectively means that Hong 10 now ranks among the world’s top b-boys (break-boys). Breaking developed on the streets of U.S. cities in the 1970s and 1980s. By the next decade, it had grabbed the attention of Korean youth, including Hong 10, a middle schooler at the time. He invented his stage name after hearing b-boys from abroad struggle to pronounce the last syllable of his given name. He chose “10” because it is a homonym for “yul,” the native Korean word for “ten.” Professional breaking requires an extreme blend of strength, balance, and flexibility, and a dash of innovative flair. The signature moves of the highly inventive Hong 10 include the “Hong 10 Freeze,” an inverted headstand with his legs moving quickly to the music, and the “Two-finger Freeze,” an upside-down position supported by only two fingers of both hands. Top gymnasts must possess similar athleticism, as their floor exercise and pommel horse events resemble breaker moves. Most of them retire by their mid-20s but Hong 10, who is already 38 years old, continues to push forward. The injuries have been adding up, but he hopes to qualify for the 2024 Olympics in Paris. How did you feel after winning your third Red Bull BC One crown? After finishing second in 2016, I had the feeling it might be difficult for me to ever be champion again. That’s why I chose to take a break from competing for a while. I was invited again in 2022, but since I wasn’ t in perfect shape, there was no way I could go. Making my comeback last year after being away for so long felt great in and of itself, but being able to win on top of that made me very happy. Weeks after winning a silver medal at the Hangzhou Asian Games in 2023, Hong 10 took first place at the Red Bull BC One World Final. The championship put him alongside Dutch b-boy Menno van Gorp for the most wins ever recorded in the prestigious competition. Please describe the Red Bull final. I wasn’ t feeling my best then, either. I had been dealing with a knee injury before the competition, and I still had some lingering fatigue from participating in the Asian Games only two weeks prior. Strangely enough, though, I was in such a great mood throughout the whole competition that I didn’t feel nervous at all. In the final, I faced off against Phil Wizard, a fellow member of the Red Bull BC One All Stars team and a good friend of mine. Competing with him allowed me to enjoy myself, which must have had a positive impact on my performance. What got you into breaking? I developed an interest after seeing some friends break in my second year of middle school and decided to give it a try myself. One thing I like about breaking is the sense of exhilaration you get when you manage to pull off a technically challenging move. When I first got started, I found great pleasure in learning all sorts of new moves, but as time went by, I felt the urge to develop my own style. This led me to start creating my own moves, and since it was a lot of fun, I just kept at it. How do you invent new moves? Creating your own moves comes with its share of challenges. There’s no fixed formula. It’s difficult to invent something different. And even if you can come up with a great idea, there’s no guarantee that you’ll be physically capable of executing it. That's why it isn’t easy to create even one or two new moves a year. I always jot down ideas before experimenting with them, but this rarely ever leads to success. You just need to persevere and keep trying regardless of the outcome. I think the only reason I’ve been able to keep at it for so long is because I enjoy the process of creating something new. Have you ever been in a slump? I briefly stepped away from b-boying in 2003. The previous year, I had participated in famous international competitions, including the Battle of the Year and the UK B-Boy Championships, events I had known only through videos and ended up winning. It felt like a dream come true, and I found myself wondering what to do next. I took a break and worked a part-time job for about six months. Then, some friends came up to me one day to ask me to join their team for an upcoming competition. Preparing for that event allowed me to rediscover my profound love for breaking. Since then, whenever I feel that I’m in a downtrend, I redouble my efforts to improve myself rather than taking time off. Please tell us about your Asian Games medal. Initially, I didn’t grasp the full scale of the Asian Games, so I didn’t attach much importance to being selected to represent South Korea. However, once the competition got underway, I realized the seriousness of the event, and I began to feel mounting pressure and expectations. Unluckily for me, I had suffered a bad knee injury only two weeks earlier, and despite my best efforts to recover in time, it wasn’t enough. I had no choice but to push through with the help of painkillers. The competition took place over two days. On the first day, my only goal was to survive, and I did just that. On the second day, the first opponent I came up against was Amir Zakirov (stage name Amir) from Kazakhstan, who was considered one of the favorites to win it all. I decided to focus on executing the routine I had prepared instead of thinking about winning, and that gave me the boost of confidence I needed to come out on top. I went on to face Nakarai Shigeyuki (stage name Shigekix) from Japan in the final but had to settle for second place after losing by a single vote, leaving me a bit disappointed. Hong 10, a member of the FLOWXL crew, strikes a pose during a practice session at a rehearsal studio in Seoul’s Hongdae neighborhood. A breaker since his mid-teens, Hong 10 has been in the international b-boy limelight for over two decades. How are you preparing for the 2024 Olympics? If I want to make it to the Olympics, I’ll need to do well in the qualifiers that take place in May and June. Only by securing a spot in the top ten will I be eligible to compete in Paris. That’s why my current focus is on achieving a good result in the qualifiers. How much longer do you plan to compete? The roots of breaking are found in a combative culture. To quit would mean no longer participating in battles. Even if I continue to stay involved in breaking — for instance, as a judge — I’ll have to stop competing eventually. If I ever started battling simply to enjoy myself rather than to win, I think that could also be seen as a form of retirement. I’m not sure how much longer I can continue showing up in battles, but I’d like to keep breaking for as long as I can. That said, considering how hard I’ve been pushing, I’d like to take a little break after the Olympics. What do you hope your legacy to be? I hope people will remember me as someone who did his best to change the breaking scene in Korea. Compared with other countries, we don’t have as many young b-boys here. I’m thinking about ways to attract more young people to the sport. While I don’t have a concrete plan yet, I’m on the lookout for new ideas. I also have my own signature moves like the Hong 10 Freeze, which I hope will live on long after people have forgotten about me. That’s the most I could ask for. Yun DanwooDance Critic Heo Dong-wuk Photographer

Exploring Constant Day-to-Day Jitters

Interview 2023 WINTER

Exploring Constant Day-to-Day Jitters Bora Chung is a fiction writer who uses the surreal to depict the anxiety and fear lurking beneath the surface of everyday life. Her fast-paced narratives are not only gripping but also help console readers. After returning from the Berlin International Literature Festival, she shared her motivation and perspectives. (Clockwise from top left) Midnight Timetable, a new novel collection published in 2023 by Purplerain, a brand specializing in genre literature of Galmaenamu; revised Korean edition of Cursed Bunny released in 2023 by Influential Inc. through its imprint Rabbit Hole; U.S. edition of Cursed Bunny released by Algonquin Books in 2022; Korean novel About Pain published by Dasan Books in 2023; English edition of Cursed Bunny published in 2021 by Honford Star in the U.K. ⓒ Galmaenamu ⓒ Influential Inc. ⓒ Algonquin Books ⓒ Dasan Books ⓒ Honford Star Ltd. Bora Chung and her translator Anton Hur wear T-shirts bearing the title of Chung’s acclaimed novel at the International Booker Prize Shortlist Readings held at the Southbank Centre’s Queen Elizabeth Hall in London in May 2022. In 2022, the English translation of Bora Chung’s short story anthology Cursed Bunny (Jeoju tokki) was shortlisted for the International Booker Prize, one of the world’s most prestigious literary awards. Last year, the U.S. edition was also named a finalist for the National Book Award for Translated Literature. The collection of ten works was praised for offering a chilling portrayal of the underlying fears and pressures of everyday life through a unique blend of horror, fantasy, and science fiction. Five years after its initial release, the book eventually became a bestseller in South Korea, creating quite a stir. Born in Seoul in 1976, Chung grew up watching Korean Ghost Stories, (aka Hometown Legends; Jeonseorui Gohyang), a popular 1977–1989 TV series, and was exposed to her grandmother’s love for detective novels. After graduating from Yonsei University, Chung went to the United States to earn a master’s degree in Russian and East European Studies from Yale University, followed by a Ph.D. from Indiana University, where she wrote her dissertation on Russian and Polish literature.After returning from the U.S., she took up writing while teaching at a university, and had several novels and short story anthologies published. Over the years, Chung has also translated a number of Russian and Polish literary works, but after recently retiring from teaching, she now devotes all of her time to writing. I met with the author at a coffee shop in Seoul’s Hongdae area, a beehive of university students. She had just returned from the Berlin International Literature Festival where she had participated in discussions with fellow writers. What was the reaction to you being shortlisted for the International Booker Prize? Readers from around the world started to share their thoughts with me directly through social media. For example, some readers told me they were too scared to go to the bathroom after reading my story “The Head” (“Meori”) because of the scene in which a head pops out of a toilet bowl. Other than that, I don’t feel that much has changed, except that I spend more time thinking about what to write. How do readers view your stories’ fantasy elements?. At this year’s Berlin International Literature Festival, I participated in two events; one on the topic of horror, and the other on magical realism. Both were panel discussions with other authors, and I had the opportunity to tell many ghost stories. Korean historical texts such as History of the Three Kingdoms (Samguk sagi) and Memorabilia of the Three Kingdoms (Samguk yusa), compiled in the 1 2th and 13th centuries, contain many accounts of unusual events and stories involving mythical creatures. It seems that people have always been fascinated by such stories. Not only do they capture our imagination, but I feel they also serve to broaden our horizons. I also had the opportunity to share ghost stories at events in Singapore and Malaysia, and the response was very enthusiastic. The audience was highly involved in the Q&A sessions, showing a keen interest in all things Korean and asking very pertinent questions. What makes Korean fantasy unique? While the themes and content of stories may vary from one country to another, people all around the world seem to share a particular interest in supernatural phenomena. In this sense, the only distinctive feature of Korean fantasy is the Korean setting. Otherwise, I don’t think readers would be able to relate to my works. Does your childhood influence your work? Yes, indeed. Korean Ghost Stories was a TV series that featured paranormal events, including ghostly apparitions. It was quite intriguing, and I enjoyed watching it as a child. My latest novel, The Fox (Ho), published this spring, is about a man who falls under the spell of a nine-tailed fox—a mythical creature known as Gumiho in Korea— just like in the TV series. That said, I think my story is different in that it offers a reinterpretation of the timeless legend in a contemporary setting. As an activist writer, do you think that writing alone isn’t enough to change the world? I certainly feel that way. Last year, I found out about my nomination for the International Booker Prize right after I had finished a protest against the war in Ukraine in front of the Russian Embassy in Seoul. I’m constantly trying to stay vigilant so as not to get stuck in my own head and become detached from reality. At the same time, I believe that one of the functions of literature is to comfort readers. At the risk of sounding overly ambitious, I hope that my works can evoke in my readers the widest possible range of complex emotions. Do you still see yourself as a realist writer despite your use of fantasy? One of the defining features of magical realism lies in its ability to portray strange scenarios in a strikingly realistic way. Whenever I write about people, I inevitably find myself having to deal with real-world issues. To me, the act of writing is a way of trying to make sense of things I don’t understand. How has your experience with literary translation affected your writing? Doing translation work for so many years has allowed me to learn a lot about writing fiction. To begin with, the process of translating different languages into Korean has helped me improve my writing skills in general. It has also made me think deeply about a number of aspects at the heart of fiction writing, from plot and character development to narrative perspective. I draw a lot of inspiration from early 20th century Slavic literature because all kinds of new writing were widely accepted at the time. How would you like global readers to engage with your stories? Without readers there would be no writers. That’s why I feel like a new writer every time I meet a new reader. I’m filled with infinite gratitude. Given that Cursed Bunny has been translated into many different languages, I hope that readers will put their trust in translators without worrying about how the translation might differ from the original work. What kind of works are you planning to write in the future? I don’t think I have any other choice but to keep pursuing utopia. I plan to continue writing about how we might be able to build a happier and safer society for everyone, while also taking action myself. I believe this is the most meaningful thing I can do. And of course, I also plan to continue writing ghost stories. Originally released in South Korea in 2017, Bora Chung’s Cursed Bunny was translated into English by Anton Hur and published by Honford Star in 2021. The following year it was shortlisted for the International Booker Prize. Although Bora Chung’s stories may seem odd and uncanny, they are rooted in the author’s anger at the social injustices she hears about daily. Cho Yong-ho Culture Desk Reporter, UPI News Heo Dong-wuk Photographer

An Exhilarating Musical Revolution

Interview 2023 AUTUMN

An Exhilarating Musical Revolution Formed in 2020, the duo HAEPAARY reinterprets traditional Korean music with electronic beats. At the 2022 Korean Music Awards, the pair collected the Best Electronic Album and Best Electronic Song accolades. We caught up with them at Mudaeruk, a multipurpose cultural space in Hapjeong-dong, Seoul. Alternative electronic duo HAEPAARY was formed in 2020 by singer MINHEE (left) and instrumentalist HYEWON. Their musical works combine electronic music and traditional Korean music, while reinterpreting both. They are regarded as trend-setters in the Korean electronic music scene. In 2019, the song “Tiger is Coming,” a single by alternative pop band LEENALCHI, made a big splash upon its release. The band’s post-punk reinterpretation of the pansori (musical storytelling) piece Sugungga (Water Palace Song) mesmerized audiences, and people began to pay closer attention to music that combined folk and pop elements. A Shining Warrior — A Heartfelt Joy One of the songs on HAEPAARY’s first EP, Born by Gorgeousness, was released in 2021. The album won Best Electronic Album at the 2022 Korean Music Awards. HAEPAARY, the electronic music duo formed by MINHEE and HYEWON, joined the genre in 2021. Their debut song, “Somu-dokgyeong” (A Shining Warrior - A Heartfelt Joy),” plays over a cold, almost ambient beat, together with Jongmyo ritual music used in ceremonies to honor Joseon kings and queens. While classical Korean percussion shines through, the inclusion of a low-pitched narration in the second half resembles a horror movie soundtrack. Noted for the originality of their musical universe, HAEPAARY’s image is sharp and revolutionary. Although they draw on centuries-old Korean musical traditions, they also deconstruct anachronistic texts and shatter gender roles. For example, they sometimes sing namchang gagok, songs reserved for male performers, and reinterpret the male-dominated culture of the Joseon Dynasty from a female perspective. It is no mystery why young people disillusioned with conventional and conservative music would be excited by such a fresh take on traditional genres. How did your music interests evolve? HYEWON: When I was younger, I was a member of the Kim Duk Soo Children’s Arts Troupe. I was a huge fan of the album collaboration between Kim Duk Soo and the international jazz group Red Sun, and it really made me ask: “How does one play with traditional beats like this?” I also performed with the world music group wHOOL, and I have always been interested in learning new things. After graduating from a high school specializing in gugak (traditional Korean music) and entering college, I fell in love with electronic music. MINHEE: As a child, my father made sure that I learned sijo (traditional Korean poetic songs) and gagok (slow lyrical songs). It was while I was learning sijo, yeochang gagok (songs reserved for female performers), and gasa (longer traditional Korean poetic songs) that I realized I didn’t want to go to a regular high school. In middle school, I loved the American rapper Tupac Shakur and was enthusiastic about songs like “Poppy” by Korean punk rock pioneers Crying Nut. I also listened to the British metal band Black Sabbath, which my brother’s friends were fans of. Then I enrolled in a gugak high school and heard Sujecheon, a traditional instrumental composition, for the first time, which was a real shock to my system. It was way wilder than the progressive rock and art rock I had been used to. I think it was around that time that I realized I wanted to be a very radical artist like the gayageum player Hwang Byung-ki or video artist Nam June Paik. What has been the reaction since your debut? MINHEE: Our biggest goal and challenge was to establish ourselves in the electronic music and even pop music market without being lumped in with the K-pop scene. I think being nominated for Best New Artist at the 2022 Korean Music Awards alongside K-pop groups like æspa and having our album placed next to ambient music duo Salamanda in record stores were both significant milestones in helping us achieve that goal. How is HAEPAARY viewed in electronic music circles? HYEWON: Often the first thing we are asked about are our instrument sources, maybe because we use a lot of unique sounds. Sometimes I sample gugak sources, but usually I make slight variations on sources used by other electronic musicians. We don’t intentionally try to use gugak elements, but I think our music has a gugak feel to it because both gugak and pop influences are prominent in our music. What is your stance on K-pop? go to gpd and then A twisted interpretation of a traditional namchang gagok (a folk song reserved for male performers), this song won the Best Electronic Song accolade at the 2022 Korean Music Awards. MINHEE: As an audience member, I love K-pop. But as creators, we take different paths. They aim for polish, and we aim for different textures. For example, notes that deviate from the average scale, beats that deviate from the norm, things like that. We are different from K-pop in many ways, including in our approach to intellectual property. We have never been trained to perform like idol groups, either, so there is fear that we’ll be dismissed as clumsy and boring before people even have a chance to unpack our intentions.   Mixing old and modern influences must be difficult. HYEWON: It’s a challenge when recording an album, too, but we hit even bigger obstacles when performing live. Minhee’s traditional singing and vocalization often do not work well with the electronic sounds that are projected on stage, so we must adjust the sound mix-up until the very last minute. Working on our album, we even tried using a vocoder, which replaces human pitches with mechanical ones, like the French electronic duo Daft Punk does, but it didn’t work. MINHEE: The Spanish musician Rosalía, who reinterprets flamenco classics in a modern way, and the Israeli group A-WA that mixes traditional Yemenite Jewish music with hip-hop, are good models. Of course, their circumstances are different from ours. In their case, their own traditional influences work well with modern beats, whereas we still struggle to combine the nuances of traditional Korean songs with what we have now. It’s difficult but rewarding. HYEWON: In our music, we often mix the two-beat system of Western electronic music with the three-beat system of gugak. Some people ask us if Minhee’s vocals are off-beat, and whether they shouldn’t be corrected by the mixing engineer, but we find that to be the charm and the appeal. I’m intrigued by the idea of reinterpretations that subvert the gender roles we find in traditional texts. MINHEE: Gender is not the only lens we’re interested in. For one of our performances, we interpreted the famous poem “Has the Sun Risen in the East Window?” by the noted Joseon Dynasty scholar-official Nam Gu-man (1629-1711), and we just couldn’t get over the following line: “Is the boy herding the cattle awake yet?” I mean, that’s exploitation of children, right? And our song “The Night It Started” deals with the love of sexual minorities. To us, it feels very natural to question certain things that were largely taken for granted until the 21st century—misogyny, exploitation of vulnerable people, and other social injustices—and transform them into art. What are your plans for 2023 and beyond? HYEWON: We are preparing our first studio album. In October, we plan to participate in the world music festival WOMEX in Spain. But we would like to play more electronic music than world music festivals. MINHEE: We want to perform for audiences who go wild and get “drunk” on the show, rather than for people who sit and listen quietly. So, moving forward, we plan to make a lot of exciting music. HAEPAARY performing at Mudaeruk, a multipurpose cultural space in Hapjeong-dong, Seoul, on May 20, 2023. The duo strives to create songs that excite the audience into jumping up and down. Lim Hee-yun Music Critic Heo Dong-wuk Photographer

Photographs Transformed into Sculptures

Interview 2023 SUMMER

Photographs Transformed into Sculptures Celebrated sculptor Gwon Osang eschews clay, marble, and metal, as they are too heavy for his liking. But his groundbreaking use of paper is far from lightweight in terms of recognition. Gwon Osang poses between two of his early works. The artist is constantly questioning the essence of sculpture and experimenting with new sculptural forms. “Untitled G-Dragon, A Space of No Name.” 2015. C-print, mixed media. 380 × 176 × 105 cm. In this sculpture, the singer G-Dragon is portrayed as the archangel Michael, defeating the demon Lucifer. © Victoria and Albert Museum Photographs are flat, one-dimensional images. But to Gwon Osang they are building blocks. He pieces together hundreds of thousands of photographs taken from all angles to create three-dimensional paper sculptures. Gwon’s novel approach has garnered international attention, particularly in Britain. This year, the Victoria and Albert Museum in London held the “Hallyu! The Korean Wave” exhibition, which included his work “Untitled G-Dragon, A Space of No Name.” It is the transformation of a photograph of singer G-DRAGON into the archangel Michael slaying the demon Lucifer. The sculpture first became a sensation as the centerpiece of a special exhibition at the Seoul Museum of Art in 2015. Gwon’s genius has also appeared at the Zabludowicz Collection, a contemporary art gallery, and the Roberts Institute of Art, a non-profit contemporary arts organization, both located in the English capital. Even the British rock group Keane has turned to Gwon. The cover of its 2008 album, “Perfect Symmetry,” features Gwon’s photo sculptures of the band members. Gwon has also collaborated with luxury houses Hermés and Fendi and brands like BMW and Nike. While Gwon’s earlier works were largely reminiscent of Cubism, they are now striding toward surrealism and abstraction. The artist’s range of activities is also expanding. We met Gwon at his studio in Gwangmyeong, Gyeonggi Province. There, two photo-sculpture busts dating back to 1993 — his earliest unconventional works — share space with his latest work-in-progress, which incorporates images of actress Kang Soo-young taken from websites. What led to your “photo sculptures”? When I entered the Sculpture Department at Hongik University in 1994, it was a place defined by the ambitions of energetic young professors and the passions of the study-abroad camp. There was an overwhelming sense that we needed “a new kind of art.” This was also the moment that the indie culture of the whole Hongdae [short for Hongik University] area was starting to take shape, along with the emergence of Generation X. The sense of one era ending coexisted with excitement about the start of the new millennium. The sculpture studio I walked into on my first day of school had plastic-covered mounds of clay that people had been working on, and stones and pieces of wood strewn about everywhere. I remember thinking, “I’m on the small side, so the kind of sculpture that requires brute strength is not going to be easy for me to do.” I looked for materials that would be easy to handle and easy to source, and I discovered photo paper. That’s how the photo sculptures began. In a way, I started making them to maintain a level of ease with my own body. “Composition.” 2023. Archival pigment print, mixed media. 110 × 40 × 42 cm. Paying homage to the works of famed sculptor Henry Moore, this piece showcases Gwon Osang’s signature use of gathered images and playful collage to create a unique sculptural aesthetic. © Arario Gallery “New Structure 4 Prism & Macallan.” 2014. Inkjet print, aluminum. 275 × 316 × 197 cm. The “New Structure” series turns “The Flat” series, which consists of countless images cut out of magazines, into three-dimensional works. © Arario Gallery You debuted while still at university. LOOP, Korea’s first alternative space, opened in 1999, and the third exhibit was my “Deodorant Type.” It had the same style as “A Statement of 420 Pieces on Twins,” which is now part of the collection at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea. I was lucky. My first solo exhibition came two years later, at Insa Art Space. After that, I received invitations from numerous galleries. Since 2005, I have exhibited exclusively at Arario Gallery. Seeking a material that was both plentiful and easy to handle, Gwon Osang struck upon photo paper — which then became the starting point of his photo sculptures. Based solely on photographic images found online and in magazines, these miniature cars made of clay and bronze are called “The Sculptures” series. Please discuss the variety of your works. The “Works” section of my website has ten parts. One major thread is the “Deodorant Type” series, which I have continued since my university days. Deodorant only neutralizes odor. It does not actually remove the root of the smell; it just covers it with a different scent. This is similar in nature to photo sculptures, where the combination of photos of an object form an appearance that slightly differs from the original. “The Flat” series has images of watches, makeup, and jewelry from magazine ads, which were composed as sculptures, then photographed and printed out again. Three-dimensional objects are flattened in the pages of a magazine; they become a sculpture once more and are then transformed into a photograph. Then there is the “New Structure” series, where “The Flat” series pops out of its photograph form to become three-dimensional again, and the “Relief” series, where these pieces are affixed to a wall. My works can be organized as busts of humans and animals, and still lifes. The overall theme is representation through sculpting, and an exploration of weight/space/perspective/abstraction. I also started making furniture for my studio because all the leftover wood from my pieces felt like such a waste — and this became my collaborative project with artist Kim Min-ki. In 2021, I started making balloon-shaped sculptures with 2D images, made from photographs attached to 3D forms. What about the cabinet full of car miniatures? I used traditional sculpture materials for these, like clay and bronze. But these are cars and motorcycles made without ever looking at the real thing. They are based only on images I found online and in magazines and things. I call them “The Sculpture” series. I started with cars you see in the Le Mans race, and then I made art cars from BMW’s artist collaborations. I made about 100 miniatures, and not counting those sent to be exhibited there seem to be about 40 left here. These tiny cars are like miniature versions of huge rock formations that showcase nature’s grandeur. Very few people ever get to see the real thing, but we experience them through photographs. What are photography and sculpting to you? The first prize I received, even before the Kim Se-choong Sculpture Award in 2013, was the Sajin Bipyong Award (for photography criticism) in 2001. And my first exhibition abroad was a display of photographs at a Japanese museum. The mold for a sculpture is conceptually comparable to the negative in analog photography. In this respect, I think the essential approach to sculpting and photography can be seen as the same. One reason I continue to experiment is that I would like my own sculptures to stay in touch with the context of sculpture writ large and its history. I have explored the work of Renaissance sculptors like Gian Lorenzo Bernini, and I love the sculptures of impressionist painter Amedeo Modigliani too. Recently, my interest has shifted to abstract sculptures to which I might attach photographs. That, in turn, has brought me to Henry Moore. Most sculptors, when they play with the human body, tend to transform the shape of muscle or bone — but Moore’s work comes as a surprise. They say his freedom of form is something he earned by making charcoal drawings in the dark as he hid in air raid shelters during World War II. My own experience of isolation during COVID-19 helped me to better understand what he went through with the war, as well as his attachment to family. In my new work, you will encounter some of this new freedom I have gained by referencing Moore and his methods. “2011 December.” 2012. Lightjet print, wood frame. 217.6 × 172 cm. “The Flat” series involves taking contemporary images collected from magazines, using them to create three-dimensional constructions, and then re-photographing them. © Arario Gallery Cho Sang-inReporter, Seoul Economic Daily Newspaper Heo Dong-wuk Photographer

Framing a Twist on Zombies

Interview 2023 SPRING

Framing a Twist on Zombies Centipedz, a four-person dance team, is Korea’s first “bone breaking” crew. Jeon Young, the team’s leader and a film choreographer, splits his time between arranging the movements of actors in zombie films and appearing on screen himself. We spoke with him about his widely acclaimed approach to choreographing rabid characters for the screen.   When performing, Jeon Young’s alias is “Undead.” The macabre moniker recalls some of the biggest films he has choreographed. Jeon’s breakthrough came in “The Wailing,” and he quickly moved to the forefront as the choreographer behind the zombies in “Train to Busan,” Korea’s first serious bid at a domestic zombie blockbuster and one of the top-ranked zombie movies globally. Continuing in the horror genre with the Netflix original series “Kingdom” and the movie “Peninsula,” a sequel to “Train to Busan,” Jeon is now regarded as the expert on Korean-style zombies. Drawing on his roots as a bone breaking dancer (a dance style also known as “flexing” that resembles the movement of broken limbs), Jeon breathes new life into the limbs of the undead, adjusting his unconventional choreography to the mood of each project. Where the fast-moving zombies of “Train to Busan” run, jump, and flail with the speed of the bullet train, the premodern zombies in “Kingdom” move more like sleepwalkers. Jeon’s body of work also includes himself. In “Psychokinesis,” a movie about ordinary people waking up with extraordinary abilities, Jeon plays a character with supernatural powers; in “Alienoid” he is an alien locked in a human body and hunted down; and in “The Hunt,” a spy thriller, he is a torture victim. In sum, Jeon is busily leaving traces of himself all over today’s Korean genre films.

Love, and the Ideas Will Come

Interview 2022 WINTER

Love, and the Ideas Will Come Acclaimed playwright and director Koh Sun-woong swings between plays, musicals, and operas with his bold, individual style. Admired by critics and audiences alike, he has gained prestige and achieved box office success. We met him at Theater YONG, at the National Museum of Korea, in Seoul. Koh Sun-woong, often called “the blue chip of the theater world,” has swept up numerous writing and directing awards. He works in various genres, from plays to musicals, operas, and changgeuk (traditional Korean opera). Recently appointed as Director of the Seoul Metropolitan Theater Company, he aims to keep presenting original plays about contemporary lives. Koh Sun-woong defines the work of a director as “taking text that’s lying flat on the floor and standing it up straight.” For Koh, the whole process – from starting with a blank page to staging a story that provokes emotions and brings joy – is about fun. Indeed, “fun” is the cornerstone of all of his projects. But having fun is not only about getting laughs; it is about giving people something to think about. Koh sees a comedic device simply as part of the process that takes us deeper and closer to the tragic. Koh’s relationship with the theater first began at a university club. In 1999, he entered the Hankook Ilbo literary contest and won in the play category with his original work, “The Woman in a Sad Landscape.” In the years since, he has written and adapted many plays and garnered wide praise, reaping countless playwriting and directing awards and earning a reputation for having the Midas touch. Koh also served as the creative director of the opening and closing ceremonies for the PyeongChang 2018 Winter Paralympic Games; an original musical commemorating the 40th anniversary of the May 18 Democratization Movement, titled “City of Light”; and an opera about victims of Japanese military sexual slavery, titled “1945.” Koh’s most recent work was a jukebox musical called “The Love of a Million Roses.” His brilliant use of popular hit songs through the ages to unpack 100 years of modern and contemporary Korean history made it the talk of the town. Good intentions produce good work – this is Koh’s philosophy. His methods are a far cry from the stereotype of the charismatic dictator ruling the stage. Koh communicates clearly and smoothly, not just with his actors but with all his colleagues and collaborators. And last September, he was named the director of the Seoul Metropolitan Theatre, a three-year position. What is most important as a director? The most important thing is to meet the audience where they are, to create audience-oriented work. Of course, aesthetics and artistry are important, too. But no matter how good a work is, if the audience struggles with it and turns their backs, then what is the point? There’s no reason for such works to exist. I think a performance is only complete once an audience has seen it unfold. You need both artistry and entertainment value, which is no easy task. So, I spend a lot of time thinking and talking with the writer, actors, and crew. “The Love of a Million Roses” is a jukebox musical that premiered late 2021 at Uijeongbu Arts Center in Gyeonggi Province. Based on popular songs from the past century, it features symbolic scenes from modern and contemporary history. ⓒ Playfactory Mabangzen Why three plays based on Chinese classics?: “The Orphan of Zhao: Seeds of Revenge,” “Camel Xiangzi” and “The Chalk Circle” The stories are so good. These classics have a very simple, clear storyline. That kind of raw story fits the genre of the play quite well. In those old Chinese classics, you sometimes get stage directions like: “The dead character exits the stage.” But how can a dead person get up and leave? Still, we follow the directions. We stay true to the form of the play. A lot of these works also have themes and issues that fit perfectly with our current era, making us take stock of the present. What about the second run of “The Love of a Million Roses”? Major historical events are not just about great men and heroes – they were also lived by ordinary people. And there are popular songs from these eras about the love, separation, and pain these ordinary people experienced. If you listen to the mainstream hits of the past 100 years in order, you realize how our people have lived over the past century. “The Orphan of Zhao: Seeds of Revenge” is an adaptation of the Chinese classical play “The Orphan of Zhao.” Reworked to reflect contemporary sensibilities, it premiered November 2015 at the Myeongdong Theater in Seoul and was widely acclaimed as the best play of the year. The following year, it was staged at the National Theatre of China in Beijing, where it received standing ovations. ⓒ National Theater Company of Korea What enables you to go back and forth between genres? The genres may be different, but the essence is the same. In theater, you use gestures, and this is almost like dance. It’s the same with lines, too. The same lines you speak, once you take it to the company, become a song. Going back and forth between genres is really a lot of fun. It’s not that difficult. When I encounter s, I can tell which would make a good play or musical. As a director, it is much more enjoyable to experience different genres. And there is such a thing as fate. There are some pieces that just don’t work out. What will be your focus at the Seoul Metropolitan Theatre? Mainstream appeal and entertainment value are both important factors. Inasmuch as we are a public theater company, I think it’s good for us to deal with universal stories that the majority of audiences can relate to and understand. At the same time, we have to present works that are well-made. In other words, we need a high-quality aesthetic. I’m a bit greedy, you see. “The Orphan of Zhao: Seeds of Revenge” tells the story of the last surviving member of the Zhao family, who were unjustly destroyed. Selected as the performance of the National Theater Company of Korea audiences most wanted to see, it returned to Myeongdong Theater April 2021 in response to popular demand. ⓒ National Theater Company of Korea What kind of works do you have in mind, and how many? To start with, I’m going to put on a compelling Western classic. I’m considering works from the 19th and early 20th century. Meanwhile, we’ll take time to prepare and get some original new work up around the year after the next. It’s the Seoul Metropolitan Theatre, so my guess is that the story will be about Seoul. And this will likely involve me hiring a writer, or holding a contest to find a new writer, rather than writing the myself. During my three-year term, I plan to focus completely on the theater. I would like to produce around five plays per year. That’s not a small number. I have plans to re-stage some old favorites from the past, too. Where do you get your ideas, as a director? Back in 2002, the painter Park Bang-young, an artist I deeply admire, gave me a piece titled “If You Love, You Will Come to Know.” At first, I didn’t understand what that meant, but after three years, it dawned on me. And after that my life began to change. It’s not that you have to know something in order to love it; you have to love it to know it. We are mistaken to think that we must accept something first to be able to love it. When you love, you don’t actually need acceptance or understanding – and in work, that means everything speeds up, and you have fewer conflicts. To me, a lack of ideas indicates a dearth of love. If you can just love the work in question more, then strangely, the ideas start to come. I have tried to apply this principle across the board, and along the way, I noticed my relationships with actors and crews have improved, too. Every time I work on a project, I think about those words, and it’s helped me do my work with more ease, without nearly as much strain. Director Koh Sun-woong gives directions at last-minute rehearsals leading to the October 2022 return of the musical “The Love of a Million Roses.” Koh is known for his ability to inject wit in a heavy narrative. Is “love” important to understanding your plays? All my plays come from that process. They are all works that stem from love. When you study a work as you direct it, there is no end to the undertaking. But because I truly love the work in question, I don’t actually need to study it for very long. I love it, so I already know it. There is nothing complicated about it. Of course, this is easy to forget, so sometimes I get stressed, and sometimes I get angry. Still, I remind myself of this, over and over, and that helps me to pull back and stay calm. Isn’t theater getting pushed aside more and more? That may be, but the fact remains that theater is a great thing. Theater must continue. The more technology advances, the more people will become like cogs in a machine, growing lonelier all the time. And that means theater, with its ability to make audiences laugh and cry in real time, will be more vital than ever. We need theater to continue speaking to the dignity of humankind. Do you ever think about trying a new genre? I’d like to make a movie someday. Theater and film are a bit different. With a play, you breathe and age together with the audience, day after day; with a movie, you have to do it well in one go. Movies should feel natural, whereas in theater, you need to go beyond the natural. To make a movie, you need to write a screenplay first. Movies, too, only get made when things fall into place. I haven’t written a screenplay yet, but I do plan to start. Lim Suk-kyoo Reporter, The Hankyoreh Heo Dong-wuk Photographer

Capturing the Still Moments

Interview 2022 AUTUMN

Capturing the Still Moments On any given film set, teamwork is of paramount importance, but one person always works alone – the film’s still photographer. It can get lonely, at times, but the pride of accomplishment is entirely theirs, too. At a café in the college town of Sinchon, we caught up with still photographer Lee Jae-hyuk, who has spent the last 30 years in the thick of the industry. Film still photographer Lee Jae-hyuk has worked on set for legendary directors in Korea and abroad, capturing the shots that determine our first impression of any film. Recently, a collection of Lee’s still photos for director Park Chan-wook’s “The Handmaiden” was published as a book titled “The Moments: The Handmaiden.” The fundraising to publish “The Moments: Handmaiden,” a collection of still photos of director Park Chan-wook’s film “The Handmaiden” (2016), was a complete success this year: 100 million won, raised in just 16 minutes. The book, which successfully reached its fundraising target via the Tumblbug crowdfunding platform this spring, has a total of 520 pages and a hefty price tag to match, but received extraordinary attention from the moment it was first announced. It is filled with 400 still photos documenting the shoot itself and intimate details of behind-the-scenes action. The author of this photo book is still photographer Lee Jae-hyuk. Since the 1990s, Lee has produced still photographs that determine first impressions of a film. Now, known for his unique artistic sensibility and persistence, Lee is a sought-after artist trusted by many famous directors. Even a cursory glance at his filmography reads like a curated selection of representative works from the last 20 years of Korean cinema. In addition to Bong Joon-ho’s “Parasite” (2019), Lee also worked on the set of Han Jaerim’s “The Face Reader” (2013), Kim Jee-woon’s “I Saw the Devil” (2010), and Choi Dong-hoon’s “Tazza: The High Rollers” (2006). A still photograph taken on the set of director Bong Joon-ho’s international hit “Parasite,” Lee’s third project with Bong, following “Snowpiercer” and “Okja.” ⓒ Lee Jae-hyuk What kind of job is film still photographer? I’m essentially the crew member in charge of taking photographs on set. In the old days, studio executives apparently had to sell new films to theaters before they were actually done, based only on still photos. Now, stills are mostly used for marketing before the film’s release, plus promotion in foreign markets. You could say that a still photographer works on the packaging of a film – the wrapping paper. Always trying new and different methods to make his still photographs look like actual movie scenes, Lee Jae-hyeok often finds inspiration in art exhibitions. How did you become a still photographer? My brother actually started working in the film industry first. After that, my father suggested that I try studying something that would be helpful to my brother’s career, too, so I ended up pursuing photography. My first job was taking stills on my big brother’s film set – and I ended up really taking to it. It was fun, making all those instant snap judgements based on the situation. I think that probably has something to do with how I’ve been able to stick with this line of work for so long. What skills are needed? It’s necessary to understand the process of filmmaking; you have to understand how everything works on set. Unlike directors and other crew, a still photographer does his own prep, shooting and post-production. I always want my stills to look like a scene out of a film rather than an ordinary photograph, so I think a lot about how to achieve that effect. I remember being happy when actor Choi Woo-shik saw my stills for “Parasite” on set and said, “It looks like a movie.” What kind of preparations do you make? I focus on the feeling I get after reading the screenplay for the first time. Then, based on that feeling, I consider what colors might best suit the film. I tend to go to lots of art exhibitions to get ideas, because the colors hit me differently when I encounter them in person than when I see them on a computer or mobile screen. Before shooting “The Handmaiden,” it was very helpful to see Picasso’s paintings in Paris. What challenges come with tech-laden movies? Well, those are projects that have a lot of blue screens and green screens on set, and you have to make sure they don’t get caught in the frame. So, you have to work with these limited angles while still achieving a cinematic effect. For example, the screenplay for director Choi Dong-hoon’s “Alienoid” (2022), to me, had the scent of an old martial arts film, so I wanted the stills for it to have that kind of retro feel. I also worked on the short film “Life is But a Dream” (2022), which Park Chan-wook shot entirely on his iPhone, and the climax involved LED walls. In the same way as the director, I had to shoot all my stills with an iPhone as well, so I felt simultaneously limited and invigorated. What about foreign films? I worked on “Equals” (2015), “Avengers: Age of Ultron” (2015) and “Endings, Beginnings” (2019). The languages and locations were new and different, but what moved me the most was meeting some of Hollywood’s still photographers. Most people in the film industry are working toward positions of greater power, whether as director or head crewmember, but in Hollywood I actually met a lot of people who had been at their one job for a very long time, just keeping their heads down and quietly working. It’s like, you keep the same job, and the upgrade comes in the scope and scale of the film you’re working on. It felt closer to something like real artistry. When I was working on “Endings, Beginnings,” I met a photographer in his seventies who’d taken the stills for “Pretty Woman” (1990). His hearing was going, but he was still as energetic as ever on set, and I thought: I’d like to be able to work like that, too, later on. Tell us about “The Moments: The Handmaiden.” There was one moment on set when I felt a real pang of sadness. The director, actors, and crew had all gathered to take a group picture, but I was the one taking the picture, so I couldn’t be in it. Another thing that makes me sad sometimes is how very, very few of the countless shots a still photographer takes are actually released. The rest just sort of disappear. So when the photo book came out, it felt like a real resolution to all that sadness. It’s a way for me to actually share this one trajectory of my life with other people. There aren’t many examples out there of film stills being collected into a book – in a very real way, this was director Park Chan-wook giving me a very big gift. Keeping the quality of the photos as high as possible drove up the printing costs quite a bit, but thankfully, it still got a lot of love from a lot of people. We even held an exhibition at the Mit Dem Bauhaus showroom in Seochon. It meant a lot to me, as a still photographer, because we just don’t get a lot of opportunities to share our work in books or exhibitions. Actor Ryu Jun-yeol in a mid-action sequence of director Choi Dong-hoon’s 2022 film “Alienoid.” For this shot, Lee used retro color tones reminiscent of an old martial arts movie. ⓒ Lee Jae-hyuk How do you spend your time off? Well, I used to travel a lot internationally, but since the start of the pandemic I’ve been traveling more in Korea, doing a lot of camping. I’ll go to art shows, too, and binge watch films I’ve been meaning to see. I especially like nature documentaries. I don’t take many pictures, other than snapshots of food to post on social media. I tend to think the fewer photos you take off set, the more passion you have to pour into the ones you take on set. My stamina and focus actually aren’t that great, so I try to conserve my energy. What are your plans, looking ahead I’m working on shooting the stills for Han Jae-rim’s next OTT series, “Money Game.” It was originally a webtoon, and it’s a story about people stuck in a repetitive cycle of hostility and cooperation as they face some extreme situations. I approach each project thinking that it might be my last; that’s the mindset I bring to every shoot. Sometimes you end up getting hurt while you’re shooting on set. After “The Front Line” (2011), directed by Jang Hun, I actually had to have knee surgery. And now my eyesight is starting to go, too, from aging. I really have no idea how much longer I’ll be able to do this work, and I want to always keep that in mind, so I can give my all to every moment. Now that Korean films are attracting so much interest abroad, I hope my stills will help stoke excitement about Korean culture with foreign audiences, too. Nam Sun-wooReporter, Cine21 Heo Dong-wuk Photographer

Mining the Dark Side of Capitalism

Interview 2022 SUMMER

Mining the Dark Side of Capitalism Critics heap praise on author Yun Ko-eun’s insightful use of metaphor and allegory. Her award-winning novels and stories are known for their lively settings, interesting characters and sharply satirical take on the daily struggles of life in a capitalist society. Yun Ko-eun’s second novel “The Disaster Tourist,” a satirical take on capitalist society, was awarded last year’s CWA Dagger for “Best Detective Novel in Translation” by England’s Crime Writers’ Association. © Yun Ko-eun Since her debut in 2003, author Yun Ko-eun has published four short story collections and four novels. The translation of her second novel, “The Disaster Tourist” (2013), was honored last year with the CWA Dagger award in the thriller category from England’s Crime Writers’ Association. Yun is the first Asian recipient of the award. The novel satirizes the cold-hearted systems that comprise capitalist society. Its characters travel to disaster-stricken areas, where they bolster their sense of safety and security. The CWA called the novel, “A wildly entertaining eco-thriller from South Korea that lays bare, with mordant humor, the perils of overdeveloped capitalism. “Yun debuted in 2003 while attending Donguk University, receiving a literary prize for college students from the Daesan Foundation. Her first novel, “Weightless Syndrome,” published in 2008, earned the Hankyoreh Literary Award.     What inspired the idea of “disaster tourism”? Around ten years ago, when I was actually writing the book, I didn’t have the slightest idea that we would see an infectious disease (like COVID-19) sweep the globe, with everyone getting vaccinated against it. I was interested in tourism at the time, and it occurred to me that there weren’t actually many places in the world completely free of natural disaster or some degree of terrorism or conflict. The specifics might be different, but almost every destination was dealing with a disaster of one kind or another. When I was starting to write this novel, I found myself watching the Great East Japan Earthquake and the tsunami that hit in its wake. It occurred to me that “disaster” kept trying to talk to me. I found the thread of the story as I contemplated the psychology of people who go on disaster tours: first shock, then sympathy and compassion, and perhaps, after that, discomfort, followed by gratitude for my own life and maybe a sense of duty, a lesson learned, or even a sense of superiority about surviving the experience at hand. Do you think “disaster travel” plays into capitalism? Yes. From the very first, all my books regard everyone as an eventual cog in the machine of capitalism. Regardless of how important I may feel, I could actually disappear without a trace, with no consequence at all, making my very existence as replaceable as a toothbrush or a tumbler – this is an aspect of life that undoubtedly belongs to a deeply capitalist world. The novel was called a “feminist eco-thriller.” Yes, that was interesting. I don’t particularly like distinctions between “literary fiction” and “genre fiction” and so on. I think such groupings have very little actual meaning. I don’t think about genre when I write, and I don’t spend much energy on categorization after my books are published, either. The response was strong. Why? I think for many readers, the skeleton of this story (about the brutality of capitalism) struck a chord similar to the one struck by “Squid Game,” the Netflix original series. The profound sense of horror that no matter how hard you work at your own lot in life, you may not be able to avoid catastrophe. My guess is that many found this deeply relatable. In fact, that fear is probably much more widespread now than it was ten years ago, when I actually wrote the novel. What’s a common thread in Korean works these days? I think the keyword would be “survival.” We’re living in an era where our obsession over being a part of society, of not being left out or isolated, has overpowered our consideration of what actually matters and has value in our individual lives. It’s in that vein that works like “Squid Game” or “Parasite,” which won an Academy Award, are considered to be “black comedies.” “Library Runway,” a novel published in 2021 (left), and “If Blue Marble Also Included Pyongyang,” a collection of stories published in 2019. © Hyundae Munhak, Munhakdongne Your novel “Library Runway” – why a library? Whenever I go to a library and walk through the stacks, I feel really great. It’s like these countless books are my audience as I walk through the aisles. When they’re closed, the books don’t take up a lot of space, but the moment you open them, they’re filled with countless thoughts. When I think about how they’re watching me, it feels like I must be a pretty good model after all. The book mentions the idea of “safe marriage insurance.” What is your intent? I was exploring what might be at the core of this act, where two people who could survive on their own nevertheless choose to be together. To say that society sustains itself through the institution of marriage is too grand. Rather, the core of any marriage is two people agreeing to go on an adventure together. And the conditions should be such that both parties can freely choose the terms. You often use ingenious and imaginative premises for your stories. Ultimately, I think I’m interested in “unstable structures.” I want to look under this shaky ground we’re on. I enjoy the quirky elements that pique my readers’ curiosity, of course, but the parts I want to emphasize aren’t actually that bright or fun. It may seem like the ground beneath our feet right now is firm, but there’s a part of me that truly believes it could all give way at any moment. I suppose I could just say that, too, in a serious tone, but I prefer to cloak it in my own style. A lot of writers deal with the subject of travel. Do you often travel? I do travel whenever I can, even if it’s just a little trip. I like the actual traveling part, of course, but I really enjoy the planning, too. My favorite part is choosing places to stay. I spend so much time researching things online that when I actually get to a place and look around the hotel, it feels almost familiar, like I’ve already been there. In my short story “If Blue Marble Also Included Pyeongyang,” there’s an incident centered around reserving a place to stay. [Blue Marble is a Korean board game similar to Monopoly.]   Do your trips impact your writing? Yes, a great deal. It doesn’t have to be international travel, either. There are things to see and experience on a short, domestic trip, or even just a jaunt into the next neighborhood. Something other than the usual crosswalks and shop signs you see every day – just seeing something new is stimulating in itself. Of course, the farther away your destination, the more unfamiliar and dangerous it tends to be, which means more opportunities for exposure and stimulation. Does your radio show influence your writing, too? My show on EBS (Korea Educational Broadcasting System) introduces listeners to new books, so I end up reading a wide range of books in different genres, which I enjoy. It’s not unlike travel, actually, in that encountering books I might not choose for myself can trigger unexpected results. We communicate with our listeners in real time, too, through online comments. In a way, the station studio can feel like a pit stop in outer space. When you close that thick, soundproof door and find yourself alone in there, music flowing, it’s like the radio waves are just drifting through the cosmos. What are you working on now? I’m in the process of serializing a novel in a magazine; it’s called “Burning Works of Art.” The main character, a painter, receives creative support from a foundation, only the chairman of this foundation is “Robert,” a genius dog with an incredible artistic sensibility who has an enormous inheritance from a millionaire. Robert critiques the various weaknesses of human beings and gives a whole spiel about what makes art real or fake. I wanted to satirize the ideas and structures of the art world by setting up this contract where the dog has all the power and the human must submit. It’ll be published early next year. Any comments for your readers abroad? There are people who post reviews on spaces like Instagram, or go to the trouble to identify me via hashtags, or even ask direct questions. Sometimes readers will even take pictures of my books on the shelf of their local bookstore and send them to me. I love being able to have this kind of direct communication. I hope you’ll continue reaching out.

Storylines Enhanced Through Set Designs

Interview 2022 SPRING

Storylines Enhanced Through Set Designs In “Squid Game,” the runaway Netflix hit, the brutality of surviving at all costs was rendered all the more visceral by a backdrop befitting a children’s storybook. We caught up with art director Chae Kyoung-sun, the mind behind the set design, at an underwater filming studio in Goyang, Gyeonggi Province. “Squid Game” was the most-watched Netflix show for 46 days, drawing the viewership of 142 million households after its debut last September. Theories abound on why it was so immensely popular worldwide on the streaming platform. One certainty is that the spectacular and refreshing – and at times surreal – set designs played a big role. Unlike the backdrops of most movies and TV shows, “Squid Game” did not stress realism. It aimed for a blend of reality and fantasy using a bold and limited palette. The result was a striking example of how production design can seamlessly compliment a storyline and characters. Art director Chae Kyoung-sun, who majored in stage design at Sangmyung University’s Department of Theater and Film, made her debut in 2010 with “Come, Closer,” a film about five couples, directed by Kim Jong-kwan. “Silenced,” from director Hwang Dong-hyuk, followed the year after, and then two more of Hwang’s movies: “Miss Granny” (2014) and “The Fortress” (2017). “Squid Game” was the first original series in Chae’s recurring collaboration with Hwang. Her other film projects include “Hwayi: A Monster Boy” (2013) with director Jang Joon-hwan, “The Royal Tailor” (2014) with director Lee Won-suk and “EXIT” (2019) with director Lee Sang-geun. In each production, Chae was credited for creating exactly the right kind of space necessary to open up the narrative at hand. Art director Chae Kyoung-sun poses at a special aquatic set for her next project, the Disney Plus original series “Moving,” in Goyang, Gyeonggi Province. As the art director of “Squid Game,” Chae’s stature soared when the Netflix mega-hit series became an international sensation. She says she feels incredibly lucky for the financial support and creative freedom she has been able to enjoy. “Squid Game” is a far cry from director Hwang Dong-hyuk’s previous works. What was the challenge? Since the spaces we were creating weren’t strictly realistic, I did expect the set design to be quite polarizing for audiences. I figured there would be fairly strong negative reactions, as well, so I tried to prepare myself for that – but luckily, many have reacted positively. It’s not often that an art director gets the chance to try something truly new. We had a generous budget, too, so I was able to fully realize the designs I had in my mind. Getting to be a part of this project was a huge stroke of luck, all around. What were the rules you agreed upon with Hwang? Broadly, it came down to three things. First, let’s not make the world look too dark. Second, let’s imbue the backdrop for each game with a distinct feel all its own. That was important to heighten the fear and confusion of the characters, who had no idea, entering each space, what the game was going to be. At the same time, we wanted the audience to wonder what kind of game was going to take place next, in what kind of space. And last, let’s be bold with color. Compared to Hollywood movies, Korean movies tend to be somewhat conservative in their use of color. We wanted to cast off those limitations and just be really bold with our colors. Though, actually, I will say that recently, as Korean movies have started branching out into new genres like science fiction, the spectrum of colors we tend to see has definitely started to expand. What were the rules you agreed upon with Hwang? Broadly, it came down to three things. First, let’s not make the world look too dark. Second, let’s imbue the backdrop for each game with a distinct feel all its own. That was important to heighten the fear and confusion of the characters, who had no idea, entering each space, what the game was going to be. At the same time, we wanted the audience to wonder what kind of game was going to take place next, in what kind of space. And last, let’s be bold with color. Compared to Hollywood movies, Korean movies tend to be somewhat conservative in their use of color. We wanted to cast off those limitations and just be really bold with our colors. Though, actually, I will say that recently, as Korean movies have started branching out into new genres like science fiction, the spectrum of colors we tend to see has definitely started to expand. What were the criteria for the colors? Initially we considered using mint and pink as our two main colors – retro shades, really, that represent the 1970s and 1980s. In response to that, our costume designer, Cho Sang-kyung, was like, “Let’s go big and use pink for all the guard uniforms!” And then we turned up the saturation on the gym uniforms for the players themselves, and went with a deep green. In this series, pink stands for oppression and violence, while green symbolizes persecution and losers. So, we had the players move through structures surrounded by pink ceilings and walls, and had the guards return to dormitories that were painted in greens. We used the colors to set the worldview and rules of the story. ”Squid Game” players move through a maze of stairs. The juxtaposition of brutal survival games against a backdrop of childlike visuals and pastel hues effectively captures the paradoxical nature of capitalist society. This particular set was inspired by the work of Dutch artist M. C. Escher. © Netflix What about the first game, “Red Light, Green Light”? Well, the concept of that game boils down to “real versus fake.” In that space, the blue sky above and the wall behind the Young-hee doll are fake, but if you don’t get through the game, you really die. We took some of our cues there from the paintings of René Magritte and tried to make a space that would be confusing for the players inside the game as well as the viewers watching at home. Meanwhile, the idea to have the higher-ups watching it all unfold was influenced by the 1998 comedy movie “The Truman Show.” How was the giant doll made? The doll was produced by the special effects team, Gepetto. It’s 10 meters tall, and so they transported it in two pieces: the top half and the bottom half. Originally, Hwang wanted the art team to make 10 different Young-hee dolls, but we didn’t have the budget for that. Also, in the , the doll was supposed to rise up from underground, but that got changed during filming. The arena for the first contest, “Red Light, Green Light,” looked to Belgian surrealist painter René Magritte. Reality and fantasy combined to create confusion. The 10-meter-tall Young-hee doll, an audience favorite, was produced by Gepetto, a special effects team. © Netflix Green and pink, employed throughout the episodes of “Squid Game,” symbolize persecution/losers and oppression/violence, respectively. © Netflix Were the marble game alleys very difficult? Yes, that web of alleyways was one of the hardest sets. This was another space where the fake and the real existed side by side. The director wanted us to make a sunset and a space in which you could smell dinner cooking. He told us about how his mother would call out to him in the evening and how he could smell dinner cooking as he approached his home. Except for grandpa Oh Il-Nam’s house, all the other houses were designed basically as a series of front doors. We wanted many doors, but if you tried to enter, you’d be turned away, like, “This isn’t your home, so you’re not welcome here.” We made the front doors look real with props like door plates and coal briquettes and potted plants, and also created a pattern with them – coal briquettes near the losers and potted plants near the winners. In this and in previous projects, how do you reach for emotional impact? My approach is different for every project. On the most basic level, an art director’s job is to take the story and the characters the director wants to present and make it all richer. The art can’t stand out too much; it has to feel natural. That’s why I’m always working to better understand the , trying to get even deeper into it than the directors themselves. What about “The Fortress,” based on a real historical event? We wanted it to be the most thoroughly researched and accurate period film about Korean history that had ever been made, so we really gave it everything we had. The snow, the cold and the isolated fortress itself, surrounded on all sides by the enemy – we worked hard to bring it all to life. “The Royal Tailor” came before that. Did it influence you during “The Fortress”? The main set for that film was the space where they made the clothes for the royal court, so I spent a lot of time thinking through how to represent that visually, and how to use that space to best render the various characters. It’s a shame that it didn’t do very well at the box office. “The Fortress” depicts 47 days in Namhan Mountain Fortress as the king and his officials seek refuge from Qing invaders in 1636. Through extensive historical research, art director Chae Kyoung-sun successfully blended the snow, the cold and hardship of the winter siege. © CJ ENM What about “Silenced,” set in a school for the deaf where dark things happen? That movie had a shoestring budget, so we were limited in what we could try and do. The only new sets we built from scratch were the principal’s office and the courtroom. Fog was actually really important in that film, and so we went with shades of gray for all the main spaces, and even the props and hallways. As the story unfolded, it was important to suppress color rather than enhance it. The one exception was the human rights center where the protagonist, played by actress Jung Yu-mi, had her office; there, we went a little warmer by throwing in some olive tones. That project was about dialing back my own instinct for more, as an art director, and just sticking as close to the bare bones of the story as possible. The scenery in “EXIT” was distinctly Korean. At first, I thought of it as a kind of classic, Hollywood-style disaster movie. But as I talked more with the director, Lee Sang-geun, I realized that figuring out a way to express a distinctly “Korean space” was actually crucial. I visited countless rooftops all across the country, researching their various characteristics. There was one scene in particular, where the male and female leads run as fast as they possibly can to take this great leap over a pedestrian overpass. The two buildings that are visible on either side are key. I’m very happy with how that turned out, even though it’s only on screen for a second, really. This was a case where the director really listened to the art department, and the art department, in turn, used a lot of the director’s ideas. It was a very collaborative movie, very fun to work on. In this scene, Minister of Rites Kim Sang-heon (played by Kim Yun-seok) crosses a frozen river on his way to the stronghold. © CJ ENM Two principal characters in “The Fortress” are polar opposites in their ideologies, a deep contrast reflected in their costumes. Minister of Personnel Choi Myung-gil (played by Lee Byung-hun) pleads for surrender to protect the kingdom and its people, while Kim Sang-heon argues for taking a final stand against the invaders. © CJ ENM What about your current project, “Moving”? It’s a Disney Plus original series by director Park In-jae. I’m afraid I can’t share any details about it before the official release, but I can say that it’s the first live-action adaptation of the popular eponymous webtoon series by Kang Full. It’s been a new and exciting challenge for me because the story spans over 30 years, from the 1980s to 2018. Born fashionista Lee Gong-jin (played by Go Soo) watches the needlework of Cho Dol-seok (played by Han Seok-kyu), tailor to the royal court for some 30 years. Director Lee Won-suk’s “The Royal Tailor” (2014) is set in the Joseon Dynasty, showcasing gorgeous palace costumes and interiors. © WOWPLANET KOREA

Metal Crafting, Hands-on Only

Interview 2021 WINTER

Metal Crafting, Hands-on Only Made entirely by hand from start to finish, the works of metalsmith Sim Hyun-seok communicate the artist’s restrained aesthetic and warm sensitivity. Each day in Sim’s studio is as regular as clockwork, dedicated wholly to a process guided by his belief that handmade objects enrich our lives. Sim Hyun-seok in his metalsmithing studio in Gapyeong, Gyeonggi Province. Most of his works are variations on common, everyday objects, a result of his process in which he devises solutions to his own needs and then turns the most successful of these experiments into his art. A few years ago, Sim Hyun-seok moved his workshop and home to Gapyeong, Gyeonggi Province – a decision that reflected his longstanding desire to live a life of farming and raising flowers. Until then, he had spent most of his time in Seoul’s Hwagokdong neighborhood, working in the studio of his teacher and mentor. It was an apprenticeship that spanned some 26 years, a commitment that may be difficult to understand for today’s younger generations, who prioritize free time and self-care. After so many years of approaching each day with the mindset of a “student,” the metalsmith remains modest and straightforward even today, simply accepting the various ins and outs of a given process. Sim’s works are all objects that people use in daily life, from fashion accessories and home goods to his signature pinhole cameras, which he made entirely by hand, down to the smallest component. After majoring in arts and crafts at Konkuk University, Sim went on to deepen his study of metalsmithing at the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design, earning a master’s degree. In 2015, he received the Metalwork and Jewelry Award of the Year from the Yoolizzy Craft Museum (founded in honor of Professor Yoo Lizzy, a pioneer of contemporary Korean metalwork), and has since shown his work in numerous galleries and institutions in and outside of Korea, solidifying his reputation as an artist of exceptional skill with a fascinating body of work. Silver seems to be your go-to material. Why? In the royal court of the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910), silver spoons were used to make sure that the food didn’t contain any substances that might be harmful. When certain toxins come into contact with silver, the color of the metal changes to black. This also means that silver is quite good at absorbing harmful ingredients. That’s why I keep pieces of silver in water. It maintains freshness and improves the water quality. Because silver ware is expensive, people tend to lock it away in their display cabinets, but if you do that, it will discolor. Silver that’s used every day doesn’t change color. People also tend to think that silver is tricky to work with because it’s so soft, but that’s not exactly true. We use a lot of sterling silver in metalsmithing, which is actually 92.5 percent silver and 7.5 percent copper, making it quite hard. And more affordable, too. What are you working on now? I’ve been steadily working on a line of accessories, including a dog-shaped brooch, and I continue to work on pieces that explore geometric shapes. I need the fun projects so I can keep working on the meticulous fine art pieces, too. It’s a balancing act. Recently I’ve been making stainless steel cutlery. Stainless steel is a great material for making cutlery. It’s so much stronger than most other materials, and unlike silver, brass, or copper, it doesn’t change color. At the same time, though, it can be rather difficult to work with. It has to be welded rather than just soldered, and there are certain aspects that really require a more industrial set-up than a private workshop – so I’m currently trying to figure out whether and how I’ll be able to work with it in my usual way. Geometric accessories. Sim usually uses sterling silver, a harder metal, and has recently started using stainless steel as well. Courtesy of Sim Hyun-seok Cute, playful accessories. Preferring to give his practice a sense of balance, Sim takes turns between meticulous, aesthetically oriented projects and those more lighthearted and fun. Sim’s most representative work is his fully-functioning, silver pinhole camera. Every part of the camera – from its body to every gear and component inside it – was made by hand. Just one of these cameras takes at least a few months to produce. What is your “usual way”? I mean where the entire process is completed with my own two hands, start to finish. I have a good understanding of what I’m actually capable of doing, and I always want to do the very best I can within the bounds of that ability. Small objects that fit right in your hand can be some of the most challenging to make, and those are the very things that I want to get better and better – and better still – at crafting. How did you get into pinhole cameras, your signature work? The pinhole camera is, indeed, the piece that helped raise my profile in the world at large, but it’s been quite a few years now since I last made one. Around 20 years ago, I lucked into a good deal on a Leica camera, but to take proper pictures of my pieces, I had to purchase a different lens. When I looked into it, I saw that it cost around US$900 to US$1,000. So I thought maybe I’d try making one myself. And so I did. When I used it, the pictures actually came out pretty nicely. Then I thought: I bet I could make the body of the camera, too. That’s how I ended up making a full camera with my own two hands, and the pictures I took with it could be developed properly, too, just like any camera. I’d say that pretty much sums up my creative process. I make something that I need myself in that moment, and if I’m satisfied with the result, then that’s when I begin the work of turning it into an actual piece…. Was there a special reason for your long apprenticeship? When I was in college, I had the good fortune of meeting the artist Woo Jin-soon, by chance. He was invited to lecture at our school, and we got to know one another. There were a lot of things about him that appealed to me, from the way he worked with silver to his general aesthetic. He had pursued his studies at Konstfack in Stockholm, Sweden’s largest university for arts, crafts and design, so he could also teach me what kind of work artists were making in Northern Europe and how, which was great. I was with him from 1992 to 2018, working in his studio every single weekday from five or six in the morning to three or four in the afternoon – with a Saturday thrown in there every now and then, too. Eventually, though, he had to move out of that studio, and that’s when I ended up moving out here myself. These days, I get started at nine in the morning and work until six in the evening. I’m always thinking about living each day as well as I can. Rather than thinking ahead to where I want to end up, I try to be more like a leaf floating along on the surface of a stream – just getting through the day, making a little headway in the direction I’m headed without sinking too far or getting stuck. I tend not to make too many plans. This aspect of my personality probably helped when it came to staying on as an apprentice for so long. “Small objects that fit right in your hand can be some of the most challenging to make, and those are the very things that I want to get better and better – and better still – at crafting.” A piece by Sim Hyun-seok, exhibited at the 2009 Craft Awon group show, “The Peddlers’ Travels.” Many of Sim’s most moving works are tiny, requiring intense concentration and extreme attention to detail. Courtesy of Sim Hyun-seok What was unique about your apprenticeship? Well, to tell the truth, I’m a pretty careless person, and it was only over the course of learning from my teacher that people first began to tell me that I was meticulous. And in following each necessary step all the way through, I became habituated to that kind of thoroughness, and that, in turn, shaped my approach to my own practice. Take sanding, as one example: 240, 400, 600, and so on – as the fineness of the paper goes up, it makes sanding the metal that much smoother. I never skip any steps with sanding and use the sandpaper that fits each stage of the polishing process before moving on to the next. It doesn’t actually make that much difference in the end, even if you do skip a few steps, but this is just the way I’ve always done it. If I were to give you another example, when you’re soldering two panels together, you use this compound called borax. Borax helps the soldering process and prevents oxidization. The thing is, it’s surprisingly difficult to keep the workspace clean when you’re working with those materials, so it doesn’t take long at all for the studio to become chaotic. But both Mr. Woo and I are pretty exacting when it comes to cleanliness, so we were always tidying things up and washing our hands before actually starting to work. Many people find my pieces to be very precise; I think it’s very likely that that’s a reflection of my commitment to this kind of step-by-step process. Is there anything in particular that you’re currently looking forward to? I just want to keep this steady pace going. I do have plans for an exhibition abroad, so I’ll have to make some preparations for that. Ah, come to think of it, I would like to try launching a “Craft Repair Shop.” Since I’m someone who works with metal, I’m actually pretty good at splinting or joining broken kitchen tools and things like that, and bringing them back to life. One of the merits of metal pieces is that they don’t shatter. Even if a metal piece gets crumpled badly, if you can apply enough pressure from the other side, it’s usually possible to recover its original shape, to a certain extent. Just like it’s possible to use a needle to sew up a torn leather sofa. Mending broken objects like that and giving them new life, making it possible for the original owner to keep on using them for a long, long time – now that’s meaningful work.

Bringing Fantasy Back and Forth

Interview 2021 AUTUMN

Bringing Fantasy Back and Forth Bringing Fantasy Back and Forth Jeon Min-hee began her career among the 1990s internet vanguard of fantasy writers. Her books, often revisions of her past works, are blockbusters in China, Japan, Taiwan and Thailand, as well as at home in Korea. She took a break for an interview at a cozy café near Gyeongbok Palace, central Seoul. Fantasy writer Jeon Min-hee made her debut in 1999 on PC network Nownuri with “The Stone of Days.” Her detailed deions and lyrical prose have produced an avid following at home and abroad. No conversation about the past, present or future of Korean fantasy writing would be complete without including novelist Jeon Min-hee. Her first novel, “The Stone of Days,” dispatches Fabian, an 18-year-old store clerk, to find four jewels from a necklace he has received from his father. With a record 4 million page views on the portal site Nownuri, “The Stone of Days” remains a “legend” among diehard fantasy fans. Jeon’s unique fantasy-world creations have devoted fans in the online gaming industry as well. Nexon’s classic 2003 RPG (role-playing game) TalesWeaver and XL Games’s 2013 RPG ArcheAge are both adaptations of her books. Many years have passed since your debut. I began my first series in 1999, so it’s been 23 years now. The first installment of my three-part series, “Children of the Rune,” titled “Children of the Rune – Winterer” (2001-2009), first came out in paperback in 2001, so this is also the year that “Children of the Rune” turns 20 years old. Children of the Rune” also was a huge sensation. Children of the Rune – Winterer” was seven volumes in total, and “Children of the Rune – Demonic” (2003-2020) came to nine volumes. In 2018, we switched publishers and put out a revised edition of the whole thing. We ran the numbers then, and while this isn’t exact, we had sold around three million copies at that point. Why have you constantly revised your books? Most fantasy novelists don’t like to revise their works. There are very few of us who go back and change our writing when the opportunity comes up, the way I tend to do. This is because spending that same time writing new works is generally more enjoyable, not to mention better in terms of generating new income or solidifying your reputation. I revise and polish until I feel satisfied with the new version, but then when I look back again after more time has passed, I invariably see more things I’d like to supplement. For example, when “The Stone of Days” was re-released in 2004 by a different publisher, the parts in it that felt immature were so obvious to me that I couldn’t bear to let it go to print untouched, though of course, I did have a lot of fondness for it as my earliest work. It’s possible, though, that if I had let that go then, I wouldn’t have started returning to and revising my other works either. “People tend to think that fantasy novels are built out of whole cloth directly from the imagination of the author, but in actuality, they have a foundation of wide-ranging research and meticulous study.” Jeon’s signature work, “Children of the Rune,” consists of three parts: “Children of the Rune – Winterer” (2001-2019), “Children of the Rune – Demonic” (2003-2020) and “Children of the Rune – Blooded” (2018-). The storyline is about children struggling to survive and forge an identity amid post-civilization power struggles. How have readers reacted to the revisions? Because these revisions go beyond polishing sentences and actually involve adding in new plot points and episodes, readers’ opinions tend to be split. Some readers who felt like they now had to buy the revised editions probably felt frustrated. But the number of readers who enjoy the revised editions has gradually grown. Some readers even organize everything that’s changed and share details with one another. Why do your stories have a lasting impression? When I first began serializing my writing on the portal site Nownuri in my twenties, I had no real sense of my readership and just wrote whatever I wanted to. Then as my writing got surprisingly popular, it occurred to me that there must be many people whose tastes overlap with mine. That gave me the confidence to concentrate on making sure that my writing continued to be an accurate reflection of my own taste. So I let my stories grow organically, following the ideas as they came to me. I wonder if this isn’t one of the charms inherent to fantasy as a genre. Fantasy novels aren’t limited to any single time period, after all; they have a universality and appeal that can cover and bring together multiple eras. You balance between creating worlds and details. People tend to think that fantasy novels are built out of whole cloth directly from the imagination of the author, but in actuality, they have a foundation of wide-ranging research and meticulous study. For example, to set a story against the backdrop of an imaginary city that doesn’t exist in real life, one must first thoroughly research the cultural history of human cities through the ages. It’s this kind of prep work that makes elaborate compositions and detailed deions possible. How did you start writing fantasy novels? started studying the genre when I was quite young. Back then, I was just writing whatever I wanted to write, but when I looked back, I realized I had been writing fantasy. I became more conscious of the genre distinction as I became active in the fantasy group on Nownuri – and that’s when I really started writing it properly. Thinking back now, I was very lucky. The 1990s were a moment when fantasy novels were just starting to gain traction [in Korea], and there was something about the zeitgeist that just made sense to me. I think now that my personal taste happened to resonate with people who liked those kinds of stories, and that energy ended up being quite powerful. I was a college freshman in 1994, so when I became a senior, in 1997, Korea was experiencing the [Asian] financial crisis. There were just no jobs for anyone, including recent graduates. Since there was no way for me to make money anyway, it was a chance to try my hand at something I enjoyed. What drew you to the fantasy genre? I think it was probably as a young child, as I made my way through a series of “world classics” intended for children. I liked stories that felt distinct and different from everything else. For example, I really loved “The Brothers Lionheart” by the Swedish author Astrid Lindgren, who also wrote the “Pippi Longstocking” series. In fact, I realized later on what a big impact that book had on “Children of the Rune – Winterer.” What distinguishes your novels? I don’t think I’m the right person to try and identify that. Every now and then, there will be readers who write a piece of their own critiquing my world building. For example, there are readers who categorize my works as “young adult fiction.” I think that makes sense. These days, young adult literature has a stable place in the Korean literary market, but when I first started writing, the category didn’t even exist. There was a reason I chose young adults as my target readership. In the pre-modern period, there were coming-of-age ceremonies and rites of passage for children, and I wanted to write about a rite of passage for readers who were that age – in the process of transforming from child to adult. To me that’s the structure of “Children of the Rune – Winterer.” Children find themselves in a situation where no one can help them, not even their parents, and will ultimately come face to face with the original object that they ran from in fear. You must have many long-term readers as well. The last volume of the second series of “Children of the Rune” came out in 2007, and the first volume of the third series, “Children of the Rune – Blooded,” was released in 2018. That’s a gap of over 10 years. There may well be readers who have forgotten my books in that time. Certainly, there must be readers who have grown up and gotten jobs or gotten married. But when I had a book signing at Kyobo Bookstore one snowy winter morning, more than 500 readers still showed up. I honestly couldn’t believe it. These were readers who started with “Children of the Rune – Winterer” when they were in elementary and middle school, and now they had come as adults, in their twenties and thirties. What are your plans moving forward? Actually, my schedule is completely packed for the coming year. I’m in the middle of a for a new game that I’ve got to keep working on, and I’ll be continuing to write “Children of the Rune – Blooded,” as well. Shin June-bong Reporter, The JoongAng Ilbo Han Sang-moo Photographer

Deep Inkwells of Emotion

Interview 2021 SUMMER

Deep Inkwells of Emotion Translations of Keum Suk Gendry-Kim’s graphic novels attract global recognition – and none more so than “Grass,” which delves into the pain of the “comfort women” forced into wartime sexual slavery by the Imperial Japanese military. A scene from “Grass,” a graphic novel by Keum Suk Gendry-Kim, portraying a “comfort woman,” a victim of Imperial Japan’s wartime sexual slavery. Gendry-Kim explores major historical events in her graphic novels while also centering the stories of those on the margins of society. Keum Suk Gendry-Kim dives deeply into human suffering. Her subjects are Koreans and her settings are events in Korean history. Nevertheless, the anguish embossed in her works elicits a cross-cultural understanding and praise. Her 2017 graphic novel, “Grass,” featuring one of the “comfort women” victimized by the Japanese military before and during World War II, is the apex of the recognition she has earned so far. The English edition of “Grass” was released in 2019 by Canadian publisher Drawn & Quarterly and quickly garnered plaudits. The New York Times named it one of the best comics on its list of the best books of 2019, and The Guardian similarly called it one of the year’s best graphic novels. In 2020, “Grass” was showered with 10 awards, including the Krause Essay Prize and the Cartoonist Studio Prize, as well as the Harvey Award for Best International Book at the New York Comic Con. “Grass” was recently made available in Portuguese and Arabic. Other books by Gendry-Kim include “Jiseul” (2014), which depicts the tragedy of the Jeju uprising in 1948 against the division of Korea, and “Alexandra Kim, a Woman of Siberia” (2020), which traces the life and times of Korea’s first-ever Bolshevik. Gendry-Kim’s latest, “The Waiting,”about family separation, is already out in French and in the process of publication in English, Portuguese, Arabic and Italian. At a café on Ganghwa Island, where she now lives, Gendry-Kim shared her thoughts. How did you end up as a graphic novelist? Well, after I majored in Western-style painting in Korea, I went to France where I studied installation art at the École Supérieure des Arts Décoratifs de Strasbourg. To make ends meet, I took part-time jobs translating the work of Korean cartoonists into French, eventually making a bit of a name for myself in that arena. Actually, I translated over 100 Korean comic books and helped them find a French audience. Then one day, a Korean newspaper based in France asked whether I might be interested in trying my hand at drawing comics myself. Meanwhile, translating all those comics had opened my eyes to the possibilities of the art form. I was captivated by the fact that these authors were able to express themselves so freely and fully with justpaper and pencil. So I began drawing, one at a time, and before long I had quite a few. From the very beginning, I spent a lot of time and effort considering the best way to capture the flow of conversation, whether in speech bubbles or otherwise. What works influenced you? In terms of story, I’ve been influenced by many Korean authors. Lee Hee-jae and Oh Se-young, for example, are two that come to mind; they did a particularly fine job of representing the father figures of our generation in comic book form. In terms of the art, as most of my own fine art work has been abstract rather than representational, or even installation or sculpture, I always thought of myself as not being very skilled at drawing. That said, among those artists who have certainly influenced my graphic style are Edmond Baudoin and Jose Muñoz, who published a graphic novel version of Camus’s “The Stranger” – especially in terms of emphasizing the weight of the black brush strokes. The works of David B. and Jacques Tardi, too, have also helped shape mine in many ways. Which early work best introduces you? I tend to weave autobiography together with various things that I’ve felt in the course of daily life and the individual stories of people I’ve met. I try to center the most earnest Translations of Keum Suk Gendry-Kim’s graphic novels attract global recognition – and none more so than “Grass,” which delves into the pain of the “comfort women” forced into wartime sexual slavery by the Imperial Japanese military. Kim Tae-hun Reporter, Weekly Kyunghyang Ha Ji-kwon Photographer42 KOREANA SUMMER 2021 stories that emerge as I forge connections between things I’ve experienced firsthand and various historical events and societal issues. Of these, “Le chant de mon père” (The Songof My Father, 2013) is a story set in 1970s-80s Korea, when economic reasons force an ordinary farming family in the countryside to make the move to Seoul to try to build a new life. That was me using a difficult period in my own family history as a lens to reflect what was a fairly universal Korean experience at that time. I also wanted to capture some of my childhood memories. My father sings pansori, so when I was young, whenever someone in the village passed away, he would perform the funeral song. After we moved to Seoul, though, there was no way of knowing whether anyone in the neighborhood had passed, and there was no occasion anymore for my father to sing Your father and now your mother are your subjects. “The Waiting” (2020) is a work entirely about my mother. Twenty years ago when I was studying in Paris, my mother came to visit me, and it was then that she shared something with me for the first time: that her sister, my eldest maternal aunt, was in North Korea. A long time ago, their family took a big trip from their home in Goheung, South Jeolla Province, all the way to Manchuria, stopping in Pyongyang along the way. Something happened while they were there and my mother returned to the South but my eldest aunt stayed there. Before my mother told me about this, I had no idea that it was part of our family story. My mother was very disappointed when she wasn’t selected to be part of the North-South family reunion efforts run by the Ministry of Unification. This made it feel evenmore vital for someone to tell her story, and I made up my mind that it would be me a kind of gift, an offering dedicated to my mother. Family separation, though, is an issue that goes far beyond the story of my own family; it’s a universal problem faced by all of humanity, happening even now in wartorn areas all over the world. Ultimately, I wanted to cover the way war results in the victimization of the vulnerable, in their displacement and scattering. “Grass” might also be called a tragedy of humanity. If I try and remember when I first started thinking about writing “Grass,” I think the actual inception point was in the early 1990s, when I saw a documentary about the plight of the comfort women. Then later, in France, I actually had a gig working as an interpreter for an event about comfort women, and as I did my research for that, I ended up learning more details. This is how I eventually ended up submitting the short story “Secret” to the 2014 Festival International de la Bande Dessinéed’Angoulême. I wanted to give voice to the lives and pain of the comfort women victims from the perspective of a fellow woman. Because “Secret” was a short piece, though, I was unable to go as deep as I would have liked for such a heavy topic. So I kept at it for three more years, in the end, anddid a whole lot more agonizing, finally turning it into a full length novel. I approached the issue of the comfort women as a matter of violence against the vulnerable, of imperialism and class stratification. Meeting and interviewing Grandma Lee Ok-seon, who appears in the novel, I was especially saddened by how she had been silenced. Grandma Lee was the victim of a cruel and wretched war, unable to speak up. But then even after the war, mainstream society wanted her to stay quiet. I wanted to speak to that very atmosphere. Why do your works have such wide appeal? Well, it’s true that France has seen the release of most of my works in translation. When it came to the Japanese translation of “Grass,” I was quite surprised to see locals put together a crowdfunding campaign to help pay for its Japanese publication and distribution. More than anything, I’m very grateful to all the translators. My stories are fairly distinctive and tend to be about pain, which can’t be easy to communicate across cultures. It’s thanks to people like Mary Lou, who did the Italian translation; Korean-American translator Janet Hong, who did the English; and Sumie Suzuki, who did the Japanese, that readers in so many different countries are able to experience the meaning of the work in full. Do you have a new project now? I’ve been walking my dogs every single day without fail. That’s not the only reason, of course, but I do have sketches complete for a book about the relationship between dogs and humans. The working title, for now, is “Rainy Season.” “I try to center the most earnest stories that emerge as I forge connections between things I’ve experienced firsthand and various historical events and societal issues.” Gendry-Kim’s latest graphic novel depicts the relationship between dogs and humans. It is slated for publication byMaumsup Press in Seoul later this year and Futuropolis in France in early 2022. The graphic novels of Gendry-Kim (clockwise from left): an English-language edition of “Grass,” published by Canadian press Drawn & Quarterly in 2019; “The Waiting,” published in Korea last year by Ttalgibooks; last year’s “Alexandra Kim, a Woman of Siberia” from Korean publisher Seohaemunjip; a French edition of “The Waiting,” released this May in France by Futuropolis; an English edition of “The Waiting,” forthcoming this September from Drawn & Quarterly; a 2017 Koreanedition of “Grass” from Bori Publishing; last year’s Japanese edition of “Grass” from Korocolor Publishers; and last year’s Portugese edition of “Grass” from Brazilian press Pipoca & Nanquim.
첫 페이지
1 2 3
다음 페이지 끝 페이지

SEARCH

통합검색

Integrated search button.
Close the search engine

전체메뉴

전체메뉴 닫기