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Art Review

Challenging Genre Conventions

Art Review 2023 SPRING

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

What People Live By

Art Review 2022 WINTER

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

Promoting Traditional Performance in Music Videos

Art Review 2022 AUTUMN

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

Magnificent but Depressing Self-portraits of the Modern Man

Art Review 2022 SUMMER

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

In Search of a Lost Name

Art Review 2022 SPRING

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

A Local Jukebox Musical Hits Home

Art Review 2021 WINTER

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

Candor and Humor of a Father-Son Duo

Art Review 2021 AUTUMN

Candor and Humor of a Father-Son Duo A rare art exhibition by a father and son duo proved to be pleasantly entertaining as well as poignant and insightful. Joo Jae-hwan was an important figure in the minjung art movement, which resisted military dictatorship in the 1980s. His son, Ho-min, a popular webtoon artist, has clearly inherited his father’s knack for storytelling with wit and humor. “Portrait of Homin” (left). Joo Jae-hwan. 2020. Acrylic on canvas, plastic toy. 53.2 × 45.5 cm. “Portrait of Joo Jae-hwan.” Joo Ho-min. 2021. Digital drawing.Painter Joo Jae-hwan and webtoon creator Joo Ho-min, who are father and son, pose in front of their portraits of each other, hung side by side at the Seoul Museum of Art. Joo Jae-hwan, the father, has viewed the major incidents of modern history with a keenly humorous eye, and his son is famous for the webtoon “Along with the Gods,” which is a witty take on the boundary between life and death based on Korean myths. © Park Hong-soon, Monthly Art Are you tired of lofty, incomprehensible art exhibitions and simply want to enjoy art without having to think too much? “Homin and Jaehwan” delivered just that. Held from May 18 to August 1 at the Seoul Museum of Art, the exhibition seemed lighthearted at first glance, but was never without depth. The uniquely acerbic exhibits brought social issues to the fore without feeling grim; the candor and humor underlying the two artists’ works were thought-provoking as well as entertaining. Joo Jae-hwan has delivered his messages mostly through a combination of image and text. His texts are poetic metaphors that prompt viewers to imagine an implied narrative. In contrast, Joo Ho-min explicitly presents text as a narrative message in speech bubbles, offering cinematic imagination. The joint exhibition by this father-son duo highlighted the similarities and differences in their methods of employing image and text in their respective genres. “Spring Rain Descending a Staircase.” Joo Jae-hwan. 2010. Acrylic on canvas. 193.7 × 130 cm.This work was first displayed in the inaugural exhibition of the Reality and Utterance art collective in 1980. A parody of Marcel Duchamp’s “Nude Descending a Staircase,” it satirically expresses the absurdities and oppression suffered by the socially marginalized. Over the following 10 years, Reality and Utterance led socially engaged art through the minjung misul (“people’s art”) movement. The Father Joo Jae-hwan began studying Western painting at Hongik University in 1960, but dropped out due to family circumstances. He tried his hand at several jobs before settling as an artist when he was nearing 40. “I began my career as an artist naturally, as if I was born to do so,” he said. The art collective, “Reality and Utterance,” which was formed in 1980 and dissolved 10 years later, initiated the minjung misul (“people’s art”) movement, a turning point for art to become more socially engaged. As one of the founding members, Joo made a strong impression at the group’s first exhibition with his painting, “Spring Rain Descending a Staircase,” a parody of Marcel Duchamp’s “Nude Descending a Staircase.” Several variations have since been made on the theme. The “spring rain” refers to the urine of the men on the staircase. The streak of “rain” that grows thicker as it cascades down the stairs symbolizes the absurdity and oppression that people at the bottom of the social ladder must endure. As can be seen in his installation works, “Water vs. Illegitimate Children of Water” (2005) and “A Stolen Towel” (2012), Joo gets inspirations from his everyday surroundings. The former is composed of empty beverage bottles and cans hanging from a huge drying rack, hinting at environmental issues; the latter raises the question of a lack of morality in modern society through a towel supposedly stolen from a neighborhood sauna. Joo recycles abandoned everyday objects to convey a social message with a touch of humor and satire, which are the defining characteristics of his art. In a recent interview, he compared his extensive art world and sense of humor to “an intransitive verb rather than a transitive verb.” He added, “I have had this unchanging belief to this day that I should not make viewers yawn at my exhibition. But time has taught me that every artist has a world of their own.” During his younger years, Joo rebelled against social inequality, military dictatorship and Korea’s stereotypical monochrome paintings. Living in a democratized society, he has now calmed down and often finds himself thinking deeply about how “everyone has reasons of their own.” He learned that “there are always two paths in society – a path of hope and a path of despair – intertwined to go along together. It is human fate to embrace both positivity and negativity.” He went on to confess that he also learned how helpless an artist is. “Once your work is hung on the wall for exhibition, you become powerless. Evaluation is entrusted to the viewers. And when the viewers find something new that you’ve never thought of yourself, then it becomes a whole new learning experience.” On this very point, Joo Ho-min is in rapport with his father. He strongly values what his readers think. He grew up watching his artist father at work from over his shoulder. Probably influenced by his father, he began drawing cartoons in middle school and was pleased to see his friends having a good laugh over his work. He has since become “addicted” to the instant feedback of people reacting to his cartoons. Wanting to “give them bigger laughs,” his career began in 2000 when he started uploading his cartoons to an internet community site. “Water vs. Illegitimate Children of Water.” Joo Jae-hwan. 2005. Aluminum drying rack, various drinks. Dimensions variable.Empty PET bottles and cans hang from a large drying rack as a warning about environmental issues. In this visual commentary on modern man’s desires and double standards in consumption, Joo focused on the fact that the more carbonated drinks you consume, the thirstier you get. “8601 Diamonds vs. Stone Rice.” Joo Jae-hwan. 2010. Pot, stones, copy of a photo in glass frame.70.8 × 53.7 cm.The story of a mother living in a poor neighborhood in Brazil who has to put a hungry child to sleep isjuxtaposed with Damien Hirst’s “For the Love of God,” a platinum human skull covered in diamonds, to pinpoint income disparity in a capitalist world. “A Stolen Towel.” Joo Jae-hwan. 2012. Acrylic on canvas, towel collage. 66 × 53 cm.This work satirizes the lack of ethics in people who steal towels from public baths in their neighborhood.Joo Jae-hwan selects familiar, mundane objects and episodes as his motifs for intuitive expression. “Happy Tears.” Joo Jae-hwan. 2008. Acrylic on canvas, marker ink. 96.3 × 96.5 cm.This is a parody of Roy Lichtenstein’s “Happy Tears.” Involved in a case of illegal funds accumulated by a Korean conglomerate, which made headlines in 2008, it delivers a message about polarized society. Father and son, fine arts and webtoons, analog and digital, image and text, all placed side by side, “Homin and Jaehwan” was a jubilant festival for everyone who enjoys a bit of storytelling. “What Are They Doing Down the Stairs?” Joo Ho-min. 2021. Digital flex print. 740 × 220 cm.Joo Ho-min’s large installation parodies his father’s well-known painting, “Spring Rain Descending a Staircase.” It is his reinterpretation of his father’s sense of humor and resistance. The Son The younger Joo made his name known with “Jjam” (2005), his official debut work about military life, and became one of Korea’s most famous cartoonists with the hit series, “Along with the Gods” (2010-2012), a fantasy action story about death and reincarnation through seven trials in hell. “Along with the Gods: The Two Worlds” (2017), the film adaptation of the web comics, attracted over 14 million viewers, the third largest audience in the history of Korean cinema. The sequel, “Along with the Gods: The Last 49 Days” (2018), was also successful, drawing over 12 million viewers. As a YouTube streamer with 230,000 subscribers, Ho-min confessed that he “wanted to run away” while preparing for the “Homin and Jaehwan” exhibition because “comics are not for exhibition, so they look awkward when displayed on a museum wall.” He was nervous about how it would be received by viewers, but such worries turned out to be needless. The paintings and installations of Joo Jae-hwan that filled the second floor of the museum provided plenty to see. In comparison, the third floor looked somewhat bland, with digital prints of important scenes from Joo Ho-min’s major works and his sketchbooks of storyboards on display. Nonetheless, many visitors carefully examined them and lost themselves in the stories he created. Just as book readers can take flights of imagination by reading between the lines, the sparse space provided a break, allowing visitors to relive the scenes and enjoy the stories even more. The books that the cartoonist used for reference in his creative work were also displayed, showing how ordinary objects can turn into valuable sources of imagination. Visitors look at scenes from Joo Ho-min’s webtoon “Along with the Gods: The Two Worlds,” which reflects Koreans’ view of the afterlife. The exhibit features elements from various myths and stories that appear in the webtoon. Collaboration Most notably, the exhibition was a collaboration by a father and son who work in different genres. Portraits of the two artists, hung side by side at the entrance of Gallery 1, drew the attention of visitors: “Portrait of Homin” (2020), by the father, is a collage of an ice cream and sunglasses, and “Portrait of Joo Jaehwan” (2021), by the son, is a webtoon-style digital drawing. Both father and son were pleased with each other’s rendition of themselves. The father said that looking at his portrait done by his son made him feel he had “aged well.” The son said that his father’s work was “just so funny.” The younger Joo created the gigantic installation, “What Are They Doing Down the Stairs?” (2021), which is a parody of his father’s work, “Spring Rain Descending a Staircase.” The father’s work is about descension from top to bottom and movement from left to right, but the son’s work features multiple characters in upward movement, helping and pulling one another, thus extolling cooperation and synergy. It is his own reinterpretation of his father’s spirit of resistance and sense of humor. Joo Ho-min said that he had taken his artist father “for granted” when he was young, but now, as an artist himself, he realizes “how difficult and wondrous” it all was. He expressed respect for his father, saying, “I already find it challenging, but my father, who is 80 years old, is still working so hard. It amazes me how he kept it up all these years.” The exhibition concluded with a video show by the streamer son and the painter father. In the format of “pick your favorite” tournament, the younger Joo repeatedly showed his father two of his works at a time and had him choose his favorite. The elder Joo shared stories about the particular artwork he picked, his hopes at the time he created it, and relevant memories about his son. Asked whether he was displeased to find his name didn’t appear first in the title of the exhibition, Joo Jae-hwan replied that he liked it better that way. “It doesn’t matter if the genre is paintings or cartoons, and it certainly isn’t important whose name comes first. That kind of thinking is very old,” he added. Father and son, fine arts and webtoons, analog and digital, image and text placed side by side, “Homin and Jaehwan” was a jubilant festival for everyone who enjoys a bit of storytelling.

Stars Shining Together in the Dark

Art Review 2021 SUMMER

Stars Shining Together in the Dark From the 1930s to the 1950s, Korea was shrouded in poverty. But writers and artists persevered and pursued their dreams, assisted mostly by friends and colleagues. A rare exhibition at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Deoksu Palace, Seoul, traces how these creative minds overcame manifold obstacles through camaraderie and cooperation. “Still Life with a Doll” by Gu Bon-ung (1906-1953). 1937. Oil on canvas. 71.4 × 89.4 cm. Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art. When academism centered on impressionism was in vogue, Gu Bon-ung was attracted to Fauvism. As suggested by the French art magazine Cahiers d’art in this painting,Gu and his friends appreciated the contemporary art trends of Western countries. The 1930s was a difficult time in Korean history when Japanese colonial rule grew more oppressive. But it was also a time of modernization and great social change, particularly in Seoul, then called Gyeongseong. Trams and cars ran on paved roads, and luxurious department stores were in business. The streets were swarming with “modern boys” and “modern girls,” who showed off their style in trendy suits or high heels. With hopelessness about reality coexisting with romantic ideas about the modern times, Gyeongseong was a city of artists and writers as well. They frequented the coffeehouses, called dabang, which had emerged in the downtown area. Creative minds found more than just coffee and tea in these spots. Surrounded by exotic interior decorations and the deep scent of coffee, they discussed the latest trends in the European art scene, such as the avant-garde movement, as Enrico Caruso played in the background. Coffeehouses and Avant-Garde Art The poverty and despair of a colonized country could not dampen this creative spirit. The fervor for creativity amid difficult circumstances was underpinned by friendships and collaborations between artists and writers who shared the pain of the times and sought a way forward together. Today, at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Deoksu Palace, Seoul, the exhibition “Encounters between Korean Art and Literature in the Modern Age” is enjoying considerable public interest for revisiting those years of “paradoxical romanticism.” Despite inconveniences due to social distancing in the COVID pandemic, the exhibition has drawn a steady stream of visitors. As the title indicates, the exhibition sheds light on how painters, poets and novelists traversed genres and fields, shared ideas and influenced one another to realize their artistic ideals. Introducing the activities of some 50 artists and writers, the exhibition consists of four parts. “Confluence of the Avant-Garde” in Gallery 1 focuses on Jebi (meaning “swallow”), the coffeehouse run by the famous poet, novelist and essayist Yi Sang (1910-1937), and highlights the relationships among the artists and writers who were regulars there. Having trained as an architect, Yi worked as a draftsman in the public works department of the Government-General of Korea for a time, but he quit and set up the coffeehouse when he was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Known for his surrealist oeuvre, including the short story, “Wings,” and the experimental poem, “Crow’s Eye View,” Yi is one of the pioneers of modern Korean literature of the 1930s. Jebi didn’t have much to show for itself, other than a self-portrait of Yi and a few paintings by his childhood friend Gu Bon-ung (1906-1953) hanging on the bare walls. Though humble with no remarkable visual attraction, the shop was a favorite hangout of poor artists. Aside from Gu, regulars included novelist Park Tae-won (1910-1986), who was on close terms with Yi, and poet and literary critic Kim Gi-rim (1908-?), to name a few. They huddled together in the coffeehouse, discussing not only art and literature but also the latest trends and works in different media, such as film and music. To them, Jebi was not just a gathering spot but a creative lab where they absorbed knowledge and inspired one another. They were especially interested in Jean Cocteau’s poetry and René Clair’s movies. Yi hung up quotes from Cocteau’spoems, and Park wrote “Conte from a Movie: The Last Billionaire,” a parody of Clair’s satirical piece on fascism, “Le Dernier milliardaire” (1934). It’s fascinating to see how their works reveal their comradeship and the marks they left on one another’s lives. In Gu’s painting, “Portrait of a Friend” (1935), the man sitting askew is none other than Yi himself. The two were four years apart in age but close friends from their school days. Meanwhile, Kim spared no praise for Gu’s Fauvist style, which broke free from conventions. And when Yi died at the age of 27, Kim mourned his premature death and published the first collection of Yi’s works in 1949. While alive, Yi had designed the cover of Kim’s first poetry anthology, “Weather Chart,” published in 1936. He also did the illustrations for Park’s novella, “A Day in the Life of Kubo the Novelist” (1934), which was serialized in the daily Joseon Jungang Ilbo. Park’s unique literary style and Yi’s surrealist drawings created idiosyncratic pages that were hugely popular with readers. “Self-portrait” by Hwang Sul-jo (1904-1939). 1939. Oil on canvas. 31.5 × 23 cm. Privatecollection. Hwang Sul-jo, who belonged to the same artists’ group as Gu Bon-ung, accomplished aunique painting style, mastering different genres including still lifes, landscapes and portraits. Thisself-portrait was done the year he died at the age of 35. Gallery 2 shows printed artworks dating to the 1920s-1940s. On display are books withbeautiful covers as well as magazines carrying the works of illustrators, mostly published by newspapercompanies. Cheongsaekji (Blue Magazine), Vol. 5, May 1939 (left); Vol. 8, February 1940. Cheongsaekji, which was first published in June 1938 and ended withits eighth volume in February 1940, was a comprehensive art magazineedited and published by Gu Bon-ung. It covered many fields, includingliterature, theater, film, music and fine arts, and provided quality articlescontributed by famous writers. Poetry and Painting Inserting illustrations in serial stories guaranteed a steady income for artists, even if only temporarily, and promoted the image of newspapers as a medium capable of reflecting both popular and artistic tastes. Many of these are featured in Gallery 2, which, resembling a neat library, brings together the achievements of print media, including newspapers, magazines and books, published between the 1920s and 1940s. Titled “A Museum Built from Paper,” this section offers the rare experience of flipping through the installments of serialized novels in newspapers, featuring drawings by 12 illustrators, including Ahn Seok-ju (1901-1950). Some newspaper companies also published magazines, giving birth to a genre of illustrated poems called hwamun. “Natasha, the White Donkey, and Me,” a famous poem by Baek Seok (1912-1996), is a noteworthy example dating to 1938. Illustrated by painter Jeong Hyeon-ung (1911-1976), it begins with the lines, “Tonight the snow falls endlessly / because I, a poor man, / love the beautiful Natasha.” The illustration, marked by its orange and white spaces, echoes the tone of Baek’s poem, which describes a peculiar sense of emptiness captured with a vague warmth. The illustrated poem appeared in the literary magazine Yeoseong (Women), which the two men created together to be published by the daily Chosun Ilbo. Baek wrote many lyric poems with a distinct local color, and Jeong worked actively as an illustrator. Although the two started off as work colleagues, their friendship grew much deeper. From time to time, Jeong would admire Baek seated next to him in the editorial office. In a short piece titled “Mister Baek Seok” (1939), published in another magazine, Munjang (Writing), Jeong praised the poet as being “as beautiful as a sculpture” and drew him immersed in his work. Their friendship continued after they both left Yeoseong; Baek went to Manchuria in 1940 and from there sent a poem titled, “To Jeong Hyeonung – From the Northern Land.” In 1950, after the two Koreas were divided, Jeong went to the North, where he reunited with Baek. He compiled a collection of Baek’s poems, with the back cover of the book featuring his own drawing of the poet, looking older and more mature than in the illustration for “Mister Baek Seok.” The fervor for creativity amid difficult circumstances was underpinned by friendships and collaborations between artists and writers who shared the pain of thetimes and sought a way forward together. “Natasha, the White Donkey, and Me” by Baek Seok (1912-1996) and Jeong Hyeon-ung (1911-1976). Adanmungo.This illustrated poem appeared in the March 1938 issue of, a magazine published by the Chosun Ilbo. The collaboration by poet Baek Seok and artist Jeong Hyeon-ungshowcases the frequent exchange between writers and painters mediated by the new hwamun (“illustrated writing”) genre. “Family of Poet Ku Sang” by Lee Jung-seop (1916-1956). 1955. Pencil and oil on paper. 32 × 49.5 cm. Private collection. Lee Jung-seop, who was staying at poet Ku Sang’s house in the wake of the Korean War, drew Ku’s happy family. At the time, Lee was missing his wife and two sons, who were in Japan. Covers of the magazine, Contemporary Literature (Hyeondae Munhak), which was inaugurated in January 1955. They were illustrated by renowned artists, such as Kim Whanki (1913-1974), Chang Uc-chin (1918-1990) and Chun Kyung-ja (1924-2015), among others. Writings by Artists Gallery 3, “Fellowship of Artists and Writers in the Modern Age,” stretches into the 1950s, bringing into the spotlight the personal relationships among the artists and writers of the day. At the center of their personal network was Kim Gi-rim, and his connections expanded beyond his contemporaries to artists of the next generation. Using his profession a a newspaper journalist to advantage, Kim led the initiative of discovering new artists and introducing them to the public through his reviews. This baton was then passed onto Kim Gwang-gyun (1914-1993), a poet and businessman who played a similar role by providing financial support to talented artists. It’s no surprise, then, that quite a few of the exhibits in this gallery come from his personal collection The one work that probably makes most visitors stop to look is the painting, “Family of Poet Ku Sang,” by Lee Jung-seop (1916-1956). In the piece from 1955, Lee looks upon Ku’s family with envy. Lee had parted with his wife and two sons during the war; he sent them to Japan because the family was enduring extreme financial distress. Though he had hoped to be reunited with them by selling his paintings, the only private exhibition he barely managed to put together failed to bring in the money that he needed. “Family of Poet Ku Sang” is displayed in Gallery 3, along with letters sent to Lee by his Japanese wife, recalling the tragic story of the family and the genius artist’s lonely death in poverty and illness. The final part of the exhibition in Gallery 4, “Writings and Paintings by Literary Artists,” features six famous artists who were also literary talents. They include Chang Uc-chin (1918-1990), who cherished the beauty of simple and trivial things; Park Ko-suk (1917-2002), whose love of the mountains would last throughout his life; and Chun Kyung-ja (1924-2015), who enjoyed popularity for her colorful painting style and candid personal essays. Also gracing this section are four dot paintings by Kim Whanki (1913-1974). As you approach these paintings and gaze at the microcosmos created by the countless dots that fill the canvas, the names of all the artists and writers you’ve met in the exhibition come back to mind. It seems all the creative talents who shone brightly together in a dark and gloomy period of Korean history have been summoned to gather in one place – at last. “18-II-72 #221” by Kim Whanki. 1972. Oil on cotton. 49 × 145 cm.Kim Whanki, well-versed in literature and close to many poets, published illustrated essays in various magazines. The lyrical, abstract dot paintings that marked the late period of Kim’s career first appeared in his oeuvre in the mid-1960s, when he was in New York. Early signs of these paintings can be found in the letters he sent to poet Kim Gwang-seop (1906-1977).

The Mundane Becomes Abstract

Art Review 2021 SPRING

The Mundane Becomes Abstract Installation artist Haegue Yang, internationally active from her bases in Berlin and Seoul, interprets everyday household objects in varied ways. Her latest exhibition at the National Museum of Modern and ntemporary Art (MMCA) in Seoul highlights the ongoing expansion of her genre-defying boldness as she muses on new questions. Haegue Yang explores the potential of mundane objects such as laundry racks, Venetian blinds and light bulbs as her motifs – and has been remarkably successful in doing so. In one of her seminal works, “Salim” (Korean for “homemaking”), presented at the Korean Pavilion for the 2009 Venice Biennale, she created a kitchen out of steel frames, fans and yarn. Yang’s multimedia installations typically consist of standard household objects that have been transformed for a variety of new possibilities, often set against digital wallpapers with graphic design. Disconnected images are interwoven in a complex way; critics say they find the high image density difficult to take in all at once. She responds that abstruseness characterizes her works. Her latest exhibition at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Seoul, “MMCA Hyundai Motor Series 2020: Haegue Yang – O2 & H2O” (September 29, 2020-February 28, 2021), is no exception. What first greets visitors is a huge piece, “Silo of Silence – Clicked Core.” With its inscrutable title, the 11-meter-high installation takes the form of a large mobile composed of Venetian blinds and lighting fixtures. Dark blue and black blinds revolve in their respective orbits. Visitors can freely appreciate the exhibit from afar and from underneath; the impressive size and colors moving in slow motion create enigmatic spatial experiences. Haegue Yang poses at the inaugural Taipei Dangdai art fair, held at Taipei Nangang Exhibition Center in January 2019. © Sebastiano Pellion Di Persano / Courtesy of MMCA “Silo of Silence – Clicked Core.” 2017. Aluminum Venetian blinds, powder-coated aluminum and steel hanging structure, steel wire rope, revolving stage, LED tubes, cable. 1105 × 780 × 780 cm. KINDL – Centre for Contemporary Art in Berlin invites one artist every year to present a single artwork in the 20-meter-high Boiler House, a typical post-industrial site. This cylindrical, moving installation by Hague Yang was exhibited from September 2017 to May 2018. © Jens Ziehe / Courtesy of Haegue Yang One Object, Varied Interpretations The Venetian blinds used here are the same as those featured in Yang’s best-known work, the “Sol LeWitt Upside Down” series, which can be seen further inside the exhibition hall. Created out of white blinds, it has strong minimalist features, as can be inferred from the name of the American artist in the title. Regarding the Venetian blinds, Yang said that some people may perceive them as an Asian material and others as a Western material. Depending on individual perspectives, then, some may be reminded of Asian bamboo blinds whereas others might associate them with a Western office space. Evident in Yang’s other works is the artist’s same intention to show how an object can take on altered meanings in different contexts. A view of “Ornament and Abstraction,” Yang’s first solo exhibition in Latin America, held in Mexico City’s kurimanzutto art gallery in 2017. The works on exhibit are: “The Intermediate – UHHHHH Creature Extended W.” 2017. Artificial straw, powder-coated stainless steel hanging structure, powder-coated stainless steel frame, steel wire rope, Neoseul, Bupo. 580 × 750 × 60 cm. “Big-eyed Tongue-tied Mountains beneath Solar and Lunar Orbs – Trustworthy #315.” 2017. Various security envelopes, graph paper, origami paper, and sandpaper on cardboard, framed, self-adhesive vinyl film. 11 parts. 86.2 × 86.2 cm; 57.2 × 57.2 cm; 29.2 × 29.2 cm. “Sol LeWitt Upside Down – K123456, Expanded 1078 Times, Doubled and Mirrored.” 2017. Aluminum Venetian blinds, powder-coated aluminum hanging structure, steel wire rope, fluorescent tubes, cable. 878 × 563 × 1088 cm. © Omar Luis Olguín / Courtesy of kurimanzutto Mixed Boundaries Most prominently on display in Gallery 5 is a group of sculptures entitled “Sonic Domesticus,” which are built of artificial straw, plastic ropes and brass bells. The brass bells lining the surface of these sculptures create an initial impression of exotic living organisms. Gradually, one can make out the shapes of irons, computer mice, hairdryers and pots. While she attempts to define differences between East and West in her works built of Venetian blinds, here Yang appears to probe the boundary between animate and inanimate objects. Hairdryers take on the form of a crab; two computer mice stacked on top of one another resemble the body of an insect; and irons are adjoined to evoke a pair of scissors. The pieces stand on wheels and produce sounds when moved. The wall to the right of these sculptures features four types of handles attached in nonagonal formation, apparently designed for a similar effect. The artist clearly wanted to demonstrate how contexts change the meaning of objects: doorknobs attached to the wall lose their original function of opening a door. Some may say that this is a familiar strategy dating back a century to the Dada artists. Long before Yang crossed two irons to create a shape reminiscent of scissors, visual artist Man Ray created “Cadeau” in 1921. He attached a row of nails to the bottom of an iron to nullify the object’s function and meaning. Going back even further, Yang’s work recalls Marcel Duchamp’s 1917 piece, “Fountain,” a urinal brought into a museum. There is no doubt that a marked trend in today’s international art scene is to freely draw inspiration from ideas dating back to any era in art history. This may lead one to naturally search for Yang’s own unique voice in borrowing ideas from conceptual art. From exploring the boundaries between East and West, and animate and inanimate objects, the artist seems to be moving toward questioning the divide between real and virtual, and between genuine and fake. At “MMCA Hyundai Motor Series 2020: Haegue Yang – O2 & H2O,” held from September 29, 2020 to February 28, 2021, Yang displayed new forms of art, including her voice replicated via artificial intelligence and a digital collage on banners. (Left) “Genuine Cloning.” 2020. AI (Typecast), Haegue Yang’s voice, speakers. Dimensions variable. Technology by Neosapience. (Right) “Five Doing Un-Doing.” 2020. Water-based inkjet print on polyester banners, ad balloons, eyelets, steel wire rope, hanji. Dimensions variable. Graphics by Yena Yoo. © Cheolki Hong / Courtesy of MMCA In this series of works, Yang created hybrid vessels by adjoining or crosslinking mundane items such as irons, hairdryers, computer mice and pots. “Sonic Domesticus.” 2020. Powder-coated stainless steel frame, powdercoated mesh, powder-coated handles, casters, black brass and brass plated bells, red stainless steel and stainless steel bell, metal rings, plastic twine. From left: “Sonic Domesticus – Scissor Pressing.” 208 × 151 × 86 cm. “Sonic Domesticus – Blow-Dry Crawl.” 155 × 227 × 115 cm. “Sonic Domesticus – Clam Tongs.” 291 × 111 × 97 cm. “Sonic Domesticus – Pot Atop.” 224 × 176 × 122 cm. Reality and Abstraction That voice is perhaps clearest in a new form of art that Yang introduces in “Five Doing Un-Doing,” a collage of digital images on banners; and “Genuine Cloning,” a collection of speakers that transmit an AI-generated voice. In her own words, “Five Doing Un-Doing” is “characteristic of loud graphics and overblown typography resembling political propaganda.” On the five banners are written the names of the five elements (wood, fire, earth, metal and water) symbolized by the colors representing the five cardinal directions (blue, red, yellow, white and black). The bottom of the banners is adorned with tassel-like shamanic paraphernalia created using traditional Korean paper, hanji. This installation in particular appears highly relevant to the title of the exhibition, “O2 and H2O.” Yang says she keyed in on how oxygen and water, both ubiquitous elements of everyday life, are coded as O2 and H2O. Thus, she explains that she has abstracted reality into five elements in her own way. “Genuine Cloning” is an installation of speakers hung between the five banners. The speakers play Yang’s voice, cloned using AI technology. From exploring the boundaries between East and West, and animate and inanimate objects, the artist seems to be moving toward questioning the divide between real and virtual, and between genuine and fake. Between Berlin and Seoul Born in Seoul in 1971, Yang moved to Frankfurt, Germany in 1994 and graduated from Städelschule, the State Academy of Fine Arts. Since 2005, she has lived and worked in Berlin; in 2014, she set up an additional studio in Seoul and now travels back and forth between the two cities. In 2018, she made headlines by becoming the first Asian woman to receive the Wolfgang Hahn Prize, which honors contemporary artists. Last year, despite the coronavirus pandemic, Yang’s works were exhibited in many venues around the world. She presented six dynamic sculptures in an exhibition titled “Handles” (October 21, 2019-February 28, 2021), commemorating the reopening of the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York; and “Strange Attractors” (October 24, 2020-September 26, 2021) at Tate St Ives in Cornwall, England. The MMCA Hyundai Motor Series is the museum’s annual event held in support of major artists. This marks Yang’s first solo exhibition at the MMCA.

The Art and Life of Park Re-hyun

Art Review 2020 WINTER

The Art and Life of Park Re-hyun “A constant rollercoaster ride and a document of human victory through art and love.” This is how artist Park Re-hyun (1920-1976) described her life. The National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art is commemorating the centennial of her birth in an impressive retrospective. The National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Deoksugung Branch is presenting “Park Re-hyun Retrospective: Triple Interpreter” (September 24, 2020-January 3, 2021). The exhibition looks back at Park’s works created over three decades in four parts: figurative paintings of the 1940s and 1950s; records of exhibitions held in tandem with her husband, Kim Ki-chang, and essays offering glimpses of her thoughts; abstract paintings of the 1960s; and prints of the 1970s. The title of the exhibition, “Triple Interpreter,” evokes Park’s role of interpreting for her hearing-impaired husband in Korean, English and lip reading. Park Re-hyun explored many materials and techniques in her quest to produce paintings that were Korean and modern at the same time. Her trailblazing print works came after ardent effort to create a profound art world of her own. “Work.” 1966-67. Ink and color on paper. 169 × 135 cm. Museum SAN. The work showed that Park had already moved deep into the realm of abstract painting. Bold Changes Park Re-hyun started learning art during the Japanese colonial period. While attending Keijo Normal School (later the College of Education of Seoul National University), she studied painting under Japanese art teacher Keishiro Eguchi. In 1940, she entered Women’s School of Fine Arts in Tokyo, around which time she began to seriously pursue a career as an artist. She debuted in 1943 at the 22nd Chosen [Korean] Art Exhibition, winning the Governor-General’s Award for her painting “Makeup.” Depicting a young Japanese girl in a black kimono in front of a red makeup table, the painting shows strong color contrast. While it follows a customary Japanese painting style, the sensual and bold composition can be traced back to Park’s very early work. When the Korean War broke out in 1950, Park and her husband relocated to Gunsan, where her parents lived. They would move back to Seoul four years later, but until then, the couple was able to devote themselves to their art despite the wartime conditions. As a result, Park would win the Presidential Award in two national exhibitions in 1956, organized by the Ministry of Education and the Korean Fine Arts Association, for “Open Stalls” and “Early Morning,” respectively. Up until the mid-1950s, Park had mostly painted women, but as she experienced war and life in refuge the women in her paintings grew humbler. Compared to “Makeup,” her postwar works “Open Stalls” and “Early Morning” reveal a huge shift. This is only natural in light of the drastic changes that occurred around her: her country of residence, personal circumstances after marriage and the country’s political situation were all in flux. The most notable change was in her attitude toward art and her painting style. “I began to think about the convergence of form and color; I thought about the unique unity of the canvas formed by a change in colors; I noticed how sometimes certain lines suggest three-dimensionality.” This passage comes from her essay “Abstract Oriental Painting,” written for a monthly magazine in 1965. Her thoughts translated into an expression of objects in a succinct, three-dimensional manner through an appropriate convergence of lines and colors. This new style was already evident in her 1955 work “Sisters.” At first the painting appears to be a simple depiction of two ordinary girls, but a closer look reveals that the older sister’s skin and jacket are the same color, rendered indistinguishable with no clear delineation of which begins where. Nor can one tell where the younger sister’s skirt begins and ends. In traditional Korean painting, ink is primarily used to outline an object, but Park freely applied brush strokes to express outlines as well as coloring. “Makeup.” 1943. Ink and color on paper. 131 × 154.7 cm. Private collection. This painting earned Park an award at the Chosen [Korean] Art Exhibition while she was attending Women’s School of Fine Arts in Tokyo. “Open Stalls.” 1956. Ink and color on paper. 267 × 210 cm. National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. Park received the Presidential Award at the 1956 National Art Exhibition of Korea for this work which shows a new style influenced by cubism. Abstract Experiments The “three-dimensionality” that she mentioned is a reference to cubism, whose influence on the Korean art scene began to be felt in the mid-1950s. Park thought of Picasso as a “versatile artist who always shows the freshness of youth.” She made a print featuring a collage of images from his works and his obituaries from April 1973. Through the late 1950s, objects in Park’s paintings grew increasingly simple. In January 1960, as a member of the White Sun Group (Baegyanghoe) that had been formed to explore new possibilities for Korean-style ink wash paintings, she visited Taiwan and took part in her first overseas group exhibition, “Korean Contemporary Artists.” The exhibition continued in Tokyo and Osaka, Japan, the following year. Park’s overseas travels led to her realization that contemporary East Asian painters were skeptical about traditional styles, looking for a breakthrough. The Art Informel movement swept through the Korean art community in the 1960s. Also known as Informalism, meaning unstructured art, the European trend spread after the Second World War in revolt against geometric abstract art. Informalism emphasized lyrical abstraction, focusing on the texture of thick oil paint. Park embraced this trend and at the same time began to create her own canvases, taking advantage of the characteristics of materials used in traditional Korean painting. This change was evident in the sixth joint exhibition held by Park and her husband in December 1962. In many of her works, objects lost their form, replaced instead by reddish brown masses of color. Her paintings certainly stood out among the works of her contemporary Korean artists who experimented with Informalism mostly by applying rhythmical lines all over their canvases. Park wrinkled the paper that was her canvas and would sweep an ink brush across it to make stains on the creases. She would also spill pigment on the paper to let it flow and smudge, and later produced the effect of black ink and color paints intermixed. Such experimentation continued until 1963. In 1966, she began to add thin, repeated ink lines in her “Straw Mat Series.” “Work” (1966-67) shows that, while embracing Informalism, Park didn’t use the dynamic lines employed by other Korean artists. Instead, she painted very thin lines on thin but tough traditional Korean paper, letting the ink seep through – a method rooted in the handicraft tradition. Park’s journey was not over yet. In 1969, she went to New York to study at the Pratt Graphic Art Center and Robert Blackburn Printmaking Workshop. During the same period, her eldest daughter studied at Pratt Institute. At first, Park mainly used an etching technique to transform her earlier Asian-style paintings into prints. After “Symbol of Joy” (1970-73), she moved on to study the unique characteristics of printmaking and would later create the effect of a raised texture that was readily distinguishable from Asian paintings. Unlike painting, print is a medium that allows an artist to feel firsthand the properties of the material. Thus, Park’s signature touch, fine and detailed, must have shown immediately. The work process probably gave her much joy. “I began to think about the convergence of form and color; I thought about the unique unity of the canvas formed by a change in colors; I noticed how sometimes certain lines suggest three-dimensionality.” “Recollection.” 1970-1973. Etching. Aquatint. 60.8 × 44 cm. Private collection. The copperplate print features a diversity of motifs, including the mask of a female character in a traditional masked dance, the womb, grains and ancient gold earrings. Park skillfully expressed her various areas of interest, such as history, life and the earth. Kim Ki-chang and Park Re-hyun caused a sensation when they married in 1947. Starting the following year, the two artists held a total of 12 joint exhibitions. Kim widened the horizon of Korean painting with his idiosyncratic style encompassing traditional and modern as well as abstract and figurative art. Time for Repose Park Re-hyun was an outstanding artist who built her own art world, constantly trying new things over three decades. But she was better known as the “wife of Kim Ki-chang.” Park met Kim in 1943, by which time Kim had already made a name for himself, winning several awards at the annual Chosen Art Exhibition. They married three years later, causing quite a sensation because, in Kim’s own words, he “had very little education and was poor and deaf, whereas she was a landowner’s eldest daughter who had graduated from the best school.” Park taught her husband lip reading over five years so that he could mimic sounds and communicate on his own. In 1974, when a women’s group awarded her the Shin Saimdang Prize, Park commented that her life was like a rollercoaster ride and a document of human victory through art and love. Art may have been her small, precious niche for peaceful moments – a shelter where she could slip into her own world. 

Music for Global Outreach

Art Review 2020 AUTUMN

Music for Global Outreach By adding contemporary elements to traditional Korean music, young artists are creating a new brand of the Korean Wave, which is distinctly different from K-pop. The growing international recognition they are garnering owes much to the caliber of the masters who performed on the world stage before them and the efforts of promoters behind the scenes. Awhile back, I was accompanying a group of musicians for an overseas performance. We decided to go on a picnic after the show was over. It was spring and we had a day off in the desert. Everyone was carefree because we had promised to “forget about art for just one day.” Humming to ourselves, we made our way to a “cool stream.” The moment we dipped our feet in the water, we were pleasantly surprised at how warm it was. Just as we were truly relishing being in the Arab region, we heard a rhythmic sound from across the stream. We looked up and saw a few boys carrying something resembling drums and playing a beat. Forgetting our promise to stay away from music for the day, we approached the boys one by one, and soon enough found ourselves singing and dancing to their drumbeat. We only knew two Arabic phrases – “as-salamu alaykum” (peace be upon you) and “shukran” (thank you) – but that was sufficient to keep us talking and laughing together. As part of the 8th edition of the Seoul International Dance Festival in 2005, “The Perfect and Precious Dances by Virtuosos” was staged at CJ Towol Theater of the Seoul Arts Center, featuring six veteran dancers showing off the beauty and power of traditional Korean dance. Shown here are four of them: from left, Kim Su-ak (1926-2009), Kim Deok-myeong (1924-2015), Kang Seon-yeong (1925-2016) and Lee Mae-bang (1927-2015). © NewsBank Kim Hae-sook performs “Gayageum Sanjo” with the string quartet of the University of Music Franz Liszt Weimar at the Rudolstadt Festival in July 2014. She was the first Korean to headline the German world music festival. © Jeonju International Sori Festival Masters on the World Stage “The Perfect and Precious Dances by Virtuosos” was a performance given in 2005 by six dancers with an average age of 80. Renowned for their brilliance, the masters danced to tunes played by yet another group of talented musicians who sat in a long row on a floor mat on the stage. The show was planned by Jin Ok-sub, a producer of traditional art performances and current president of the Korea Cultural Heritage Foundation. It was part of the eighth edition of the Seoul International Dance Festival, also known as SIDance. Among the audience was Gisèle Depuccio, deputy director of Festival Montpellier Danse. She decided then and there to invite the masters to France a year later for a show to be named “Trésors Vivants” (“Living Treasures”). With 2006 marking the 120th anniversary of diplomatic relations between Korea and France, the Korean Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism eagerly agreed to cover airfare and freight transport for the performers, while the festival headquarters would pay the high booking fees and other costs. There were to be two performances, one at the Opéra Comédie in Montpellier and the other at the Chateauvallon National Theater of Dance and Image in Toulon. Time was not kind to the dancers, however. Over the course of the ensuing year, some of them would follow the path to heaven, the skirt of their long robes fluttering gracefully behind them. The team managed to get on the plane only after a few members had been replaced, slightly lowering the average age. After their performance at the Opéra Comédie in Montpellier Square, the front of the theater was packed with audience members who didn’t yet want to go home. The cast were tired, but felt obliged to celebrate with the crowd. Noreum Machi, who participated as supporting instrumentalists, played some madang nori (traditional outdoor theater) pieces. It was a gala affair, and both local media and Le Monde interviewed farmer-cum-dancer Lee Yun-seok, who, when at home, would occasionally stop watering his grape vines to come out and dance in the empty rice paddies before returning to his greenhouse. Correspondents of the Agence France-Presse (AFP) were busy sending pictures of Kim Deok-myeong’s masculine crane dance to their news desk. One of the theater staff commented, sobbing, “I think Jang Geum-do’s salpuri (exorcism) dance would have consoled my dead mother’s soul.” “Gayageum Sanjo: École Choi Ok-Sam” produced by Ocora Radio France in 2012. Harmonia Mundi released the album in more than 60 countries, introducing sanjo instrumental music to the world. “Chant Arirang et Minyo,” released by Ocora Radio France in 2014, contains recordings of Lee Chun-hee, master singer of folk songs handed down in the Gyeonggi region. Lee Chun-hee sings at a joint concert by master musicians held in April 2011 at Deoksu Palace, hosted by the Korea Cultural Heritage Foundation. © Yonhap News Agency The fusion gugak band Jambinai plays at Palác Akropolis in Prague in April 2017. In the front are: from left, Kim Bo-mi on the haegeum, Lee Il-woo on the guitar and Shim Eun-yong on the geomungo. At the back is Yoo Byeong-gu on the bass guitar. © Song Jun-ho A scene from “North Korean Dance,” premiered in 2018 by the Ahn Eun-me Company at Arko Arts Theater in Seoul. It was selected as a seasonal event of the Théâtre de la Ville of Paris in 2019, and also as the closing show of the Festival Pays de Danses, hosted by Belgium’s Théâtre de Liège in February 2020. © Gadja Productions International Credibility On Amazon, buyers can find masterpiece albums sought after by fans of traditional Korean folk music. In 2012, prestigious record label Ocora Radio France produced “Corée: Gayageum Sanjo: École Choi Ok-sam,” featuring Kim Hae-sook playing the solo gayageum piece. Maison des Cultures du Monde (World Cultures Institute) released albums by two other master instrumentalists, Kim Young-gil on the ajaeng and Lee Jae-hwa on the geomungo, in 2012 and 2013, respectively. These albums received favorable reviews from British and German music critics. That same year, when the Korean folk anthem “Arirang” was inscribed on UNESCO’s Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, Gyeonggi minyo (folk song) master Lee Chun-hee gave a congratulatory performance at the UNESCO headquarters in Paris. And in 2014, Festival de l’Imaginaire, a dream stage for most Korean artists, invited Lee to perform in the opening show. When long years of hard work and training pay off and put you at the top, it seems that even the sound of your breathing becomes art. Numerous talented young musicians would die for an opportunity that practically fell into Lee’s lap. However, it is not talent alone that puts them on the world’s most coveted stages. The promoter who had opened the doors for Korean performers to the Rudolstadt Festival as well as Festival de l’Imaginaire humbly refused to take credit, saying, “I’m happy as long as the masters who have devoted their lives to their art are given due respect.” But all these achievements would not have been possible without international credibility built by, among others, Kim Sun-kook, the only Korean music producer at Radio France and CEO of Just Music & Publishing, Inc. The Korean music community keeps cheering on emerging talents, and in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, world music agents quick to notice them are counting the days until they can fly again. Star Artists Thanks to young artists who have kept up traditions and injected a modern edge, more and more Korean musicians are performing overseas, and many native Korean musical terms and expressions are being translated into different languages. The band Jambinai, in particular, stunned the world music industry by merging classical gugak (literally “national music”) with rock almost resembling heavy metal. Recognized as “trendsetters, not trend followers,” this amazing group is more often found overseas than at home. They have strategically utilized music retail markets and signed a contract with a famous record label. On the back of the band’s success, other musicians are partnering with industry experts to take a systematic approach toward global outreach. Out of many different music genres, world music featuring “fusion gugak” is especially active, with performers having a relatively better shot at landing an overseas show. However, the Korean artist that the foreign performance community welcomes with open arms is none other than Ahn Eun-me. She studied traditional Korean dance, continued her studies in New York, and eventually debuted as a contemporary dancer. Her performances are a vibrant mixture of spectacular colors and vigorous movements. Every piece has a story, and she always reaches out to the audience to communicate her message: “Let’s be happy together now!” It’s probably because of this message that French promoter Jean-Marie Chabot works hard to make Ahn an international success. Chabot says that seeing Ahn perform warms his heart and makes him happy. Adding idiosyncratic elements of Ahn Eun-me’s dance and philosophy to the folk song genre, Lee Hee-moon began his career as a student of master singer Lee Chun-hee. This “Joseon Idol” has created a sensation with his “seeing music.” He is at once a singer who shouts, “Let’s play!” to his audiences and an actor who has imbibed the fabulous magnificence Ahn Eun-me displays on stage. Donning fishnet stockings, high heels, spangled dresses, and a pink, yellow or blue wig, Lee plays hard on stage and draws fervent responses from his audience. He was lead vocalist for the group SsingSsing when it was invited to globalFEST 2017 in New York, attracting attention as the only Asian group. His radically innovative performance there earned him the nickname “Lady Gaga of Minyo,” and America’s National Public Radio (NPR) called SsingSsing one of its top discoveries of the festival. In 2019, the group became the first Koreans to perform on NPR’s Tiny Desk Concerts, a video series that has featured the likes of Adele and John Legend, with their show racking up more than five million views on YouTube as of August 2020. Singer Lee Hee-moon (center) formed the project group OBANGSINGWA (OBSG; meaning “Along with the Deities of the Five Directions”) with the folk song duo NomNom and the band Heosongsewol (“Waste Time”). Lee and Shin Seung-tae (left) from NomNom were members of the group SsingSsing, which caused a stir with their performance in 2019 for NPR’s Tiny Desk Concerts in Washington, D.C. © Kwak Ki-gon Toward the Digital Stage The Korean music community keeps cheering on emerging talents, and in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, world music agents quick to notice them are counting the days until they can fly again. The epidemic has changed the world overnight, leaving us wondering on which digital platforms we should upload the beautiful music and mesmerizing dances we want to share with audiences worldwide. We don’t have the financial resources to compete with Netflix or the technology to impress the new media generation who are now into extended reality (XR). Nor is there any telling how long audiences will wait patiently for offline performances to resume. Nonetheless, we should give time to the artists who have worked hard to promote Korea to the rest of the world – who are holding tight to their microphones and instruments, craving the loud applause, as they continue to put in long hours of practice – until the day they can deliver on screen the vivid excitement of their live stage performances. 

Connecting with the Invisible

Art Review 2020 SUMMER

Connecting with the Invisible “Korean Video Art from 1970s to 1990s: Time Image Apparatus” at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art (MMCA) in Gwacheon was a meaningful opportunity to look back on the history of Korean video art. Regrettably, the exhibition was closed for much of its originally scheduled period between November 28, 2019 and May 31, 2020, due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Video art in Korea developed in tandem with contemporary Western video art, but outside of the world-renowned artist Nam June Paik (1932-2006), the genre remains rather unfamiliar to most Koreans. “Korean Video Art from 1970s to 1990s” displayed more than 130 works by some 60 artists, spanning from the art’s nascent years to its maturity. The exhibition represented a rare occasion to explore the history of video art and how it took root in Korea, and to appreciate early works from artists who would later attain international repute. The 1970s were characterized by many experimental and avant-garde movements in contemporary Korean art. Against a backdrop of radical attempts including happenings, installations, photographs and images, a handful of artists conducted pioneering projects in the field of video art. Ironically, the harsh political reality under military dictatorship served to nurture a progressive spirit in the art community. “Untitled” by Park Hyun-ki. 1979. 14 stones, 1 TV monitor. 260 × 120 × 260 cm (WDH). National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. “TV Buddha” by Nam June Paik. 1974/2002. Buddha sculpture, CRT TV, closed-circuit camera, color, silent. Variable size. Nam June Paik Art Center. Avant-Garde Experimentalism Rather than using video as an independent new medium for aesthetic images, most artists embraced it as a tool for practicing avant-garde or conceptual art. At the vanguard of this movement were Kim Ku-lim, Lee Kang-so and Park Hyun-ki. Through the novel medium of video, they began to visualize thoughts about temporality, process and action, sense and existence, and concept and language. For example, Kim Ku-lim’s early work “Wiping Cloth” (1974/2001) condenses the process of wiping a desk with a cloth that gets dirtier and dirtier, almost turning black and disintegrating into pieces in the end. Fellow video art pioneer Park Hyun-ki began working in the genre around 1973. His “Untitled” series, better known by the nickname “TV Stone Tower,” is a juxtaposition of real stones and video footage of stones – a work that studies the issues of nature and technology, reality and fantasy, and originals and reproductions. Park had been impressed by Korean War refugees who, while evacuating from their homes, took the time to pick up little stones, pile them into small towers and pray in front of them. To him, a stone functioned both as matter and as a cultural-anthropological object projecting human aspirations, and his art offers a glimpse of the relevance of stones in Korean shamanism. Through his work, viewers can see the occult shamanic qualities of traditional Korean art reincarnated with advanced technology. “Good Morning, Mr. Orwell” is a video art piece edited from Nam June Paik’s satellite installation show of the same name, which aired live across the world on January 1, 1984. This was a pivotal moment that introduced wider Korean audiences to video art. From very early on, Paik took notice of the aesthetic characteristics of light-emitting cathode-ray tubes used in TV sets, distinct from photographic images and movies that are mere shadows. He had originally studied music and had been active in Japan and Germany as an experimental contemporary musician. At the beginning of the 1960s, Paik’s work showed his attempt to arbitrarily manipulate TV in order to break away from the one-way communication of commercial broadcasting. Around 1965, he began employing new video technology in his works, opening a new chapter in media art. Paik had discovered artistic possibilities in TV. By transforming TV equipment and images, he was able to appropriate the medium for a usage other than its inherent objectives. He thus enabled the fixed medium of TV to take on a formative experiment and incorporate philosophical thinking, ultimately breathing new life into it. Though not included in this exhibition, “TV Buddha” (1974) is representative of his early meditative and ritualistic art. A monitor is placed on an elongated base facing a bronze Buddha statue, seated cross-legged. A camera placed behind the monitor shoots the front of the Buddha, his visage displayed on the screen, while he calmly gazes at his own image. This installation was acclaimed for combining Eastern religion and Western technology. The Buddha intended to reach the absolute void transcending time and space through meditation, but the image in the monitor shows the body that he cannot shed. “Heaven, Earth & Man” by Oh Kyung-wha. 1990. 16 TVs, video and computer graphics, color and with sound, 27 minutes and 4 seconds. Artist’s collection. Video Sculpture In the latter half of the 1980s, video sculpture emerged as a new art form. Born out of interest in post-2D, post-genre, mixed media and technology, most of the earliest works consisted of multiple TV monitors piled together or superimposed. After the mid-1990s, however, kinetic video sculpture emerged, combining physical motions and moving images. Among the artists in this group, Kim Hae-min and Yook Tae-jin are in a similar camp with Nam June Paik and Park Hyun-ki in that their work reflects ideological and existential themes. With profound insight into the medium, Kim Hae-min has created subtle boundaries between virtual and real, past and present, and existence and non-existence. “TV Hammer” (1992/2002), one of his early installations, provides the unique experience of jumping between the real and the virtual with a TV monitor that shakes whenever the hammer shown within hits the screen with a loud bang. Meanwhile, Yook Tae-jin incorporated objects like antique furniture with images of repetitive action, opening up an ingenious realm in video sculpture. In “Ghost Furniture” (1995), two drawers open and shut repeatedly, automated by a motor. Inside the drawers are video images of a man continuously ascending a flight of stairs, reminiscent of humans who, like Sisyphus, struggle toward new heights but are destined to confinement in the absurdity of existence. It is interesting to see how the supernatural communication and ecstasy inherent in Korean shamanism connect with the up-to-date medium of video. This is one of the most attractive features of Korean video art. The MMCA exhibition served as a reminder of that. “Ghost Furniture” by Yook Tae-jin. 1995. 2 monitors, VCR, antique furniture. 85 × 61 × 66 cm (WDH). Daejeon Museum of Art. Shamanic Art Artists are alchemists. They touch and connect trivial materials and turn them into something new. Artists are also shamans who can read the souls of matter. In so doing, they can turn stones and trees into people and they also breathe life into dead matter, turning them into living things. This is not based on human-centered thinking but on respect for all beings as equal. Shamanism is rooted in hylozoism, the philosophical point of view that all matter is alive. The power that animates matter is called god. Shamanism and animism erase all dichotomic divisions and barriers that separate life and death, darkness and light. Shamanism facilitates communication with and travel to the world of death. Similarly, art may be intended to communicate with the dead, show the invisible around us, or allow us to reach the unreachable. Through art, we can therefore escape from a world dominated by that which is visible. It is interesting to see how the supernatural communication and ecstasy inherent in Korean shamanism connect with the up-to-date medium of video. This is one of the most attractive features of Korean video art. The MMCA exhibition served as a reminder of that. 
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