Koreana Autumn 2015 (English)

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Special FeaTure

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.koreana.or.kr ISSN 1016-0744

A Southern Harbor City with Myriad Charms

Tongyeong Beckons with Unexpected Charm

; In the Shelter of Islands, N

ourished by the Sea; Hom

e of Artists Who Dream

ed of Freedom

Korean culTure & arTS

Tongyeong

IMAGE OF KOREA

Unchanging Wishes of Autumn

“M ay all 365 days of the year be just like Hangawi!” When Chuseok comes around, Koreans make this simple wish. Hangawi, another name for Chuseok, falls on the fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month. It is the traditional harvest moon festival,

which comes in autumn when food is abundant. Along with the lunar New Year’s Day, Chu-seok is the biggest holiday of the year for Koreans everywhere.

Around Chuseok, the weather cools down and the skies are clear and high. The rice fields are covered with waves of gold. The grains that have been raised with such hard labor over the year are now ripe and ready for harvest. At this time of the year, people who have left the countryside to live in the cities turn to thoughts of their hometowns, where their aging parents continue to live and work on the land passed down from generation to gen-eration.

This year, Chuseok falls on Sunday, September 27 by the solar calendar. The official Chuseok holidays are three days long. But when a national holiday falls on a Sunday, anoth-er day is added, so this year’s Chuseok holidays will be extended to four days. When the time draws near, with 75 percent of all Koreans intending to visit their hometowns to cel-ebrate Chuseok, the “great migration” gets underway. The expressways are jammed and railway tickets sell out in a matter of minutes.

At Chuseok, a festival of abundance and thanksgiving, people visit the graves of their ancestors to cut the overgrown grass on the mounds and hold rites to thank the ancestors for watching over their lives. One food that is irreplaceable on the ritual table and dinner table on this festive day is songpyeon. A symbol of Chuseok, these half-moon shaped cakes are made with rice, the staple food of the Korean people. Rice flour is mixed with warm water to prepare the dough for this traditional delicacy. Small pieces of dough are stuffed with fillings made from nuts, red beans, sesame seeds, pine nuts or dates, formed into half-moon shapes, and then steamed. To prevent the carefully made rice cakes from sticking together and infuse them with a subtle pine scent, they are steamed on layers of pine nee-dles. That’s why they are called songpyeon, literally meaning “pine cake.” Songpyeon sym-bolizes so much in the lives of Koreans — the scent of the pine trees that grace the land-scape all over the country, the loving hands that make the rice cakes, and the joy and laugh-ter of the people eating the cakes together.

But times have changed, and rather than making their own songpyeon more people sim-ply buy them. And rather than leaving the city and going home to the countryside, a kind of “reverse homecoming” is taking place, with elderly parents visiting the big cities to be with their children for the Chuseok holidays. Today, many younger Koreans prefer packaged snacks rather than traditional rice cakes. Life changes in this way. But still the bright full moon rises high in the autumn sky. And the people’s wishes for plenty remain unchanged: “May all 365 days of the year be just like Hangawi!”

Kim Hwa-young Literary Critic; Member of the National Academy of Arts

PUBLISHER Yu Hyun-seok EDITORIAL DIRECTOR Yoon Keum-jinEDITOR-IN-CHIEF Lee Kyong-heeEDITORIAL BOARD Bae Bien-u Choi Young-in Emanuel Pastreich Han Kyung-koo Kim Hwa-young Kim Young-na Koh Mi-seok Song Hye-jin Song Young-man Werner SasseCOPY EDITOR Dean Jiro Aoki ASSOCIATE EDITOR Kim Jeong-eunASSISTANT EDITORS Teresita M. Reed Cho Yoon-jungCREATIVE DIRECTOR Kim SamEDITORS Noh Yoon-young, Park Sin-hyeART DIRECTOR Lee Young-bokDESIGNERS Kim Ji-hyun, Lee Sung-ki, Yeob Lan-kyeong

LAYOUT & DESIGN Kim’s Communication Associates 385-10 Seogyo-dong, Mapo-gu Seoul 121-839, Korea www.gegd.co.kr Tel: 82-2-335-4741 Fax: 82-2-335-4743

TRANSLATORS Chung Myung-je Hwang Sun-ae Min Eun-young Suh Jung-ah

Price per issue in Korea 6,000 won Elsewhere US$9Please refer to page 104 of Koreana for specific subscription rates.

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© The Korea Foundation 2015All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without the prior permission of the Korea Foundation.The opinions expressed by the authors do not necessarily represent those of the editors of Koreana or the Korea Foundation.Koreana, registered as a quarterly magazine with the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism (Registration No. Ba-1033, August 8, 1987), is also published in Arabic, Chinese, French, German, Indonesian, Japanese, Russian and Spanish.

Published quarterly by The Korea Foundation2558 Nambusunhwan-ro, Seocho-gu

Seoul 137-863, Koreahttp://www.koreana.or.kr

At this time, when the final proof pages of this issue of Koreana are being checked before going to press, the situation surrounding this divided peninsula is apparently entering a new phase. In marathon negotiations that began amidst heightened military tension and stretched out over three days until midnight of August 24, the two Koreas finally agreed to avoid an armed clash and continue talks to resolve the crisis and improve relations.

The past history of inter-Korean relations precludes any hasty optimism. Many people probably suspect that this is just another short-lived respite. Reunions of separated families may again end up as a one-off political event, and the borderline loudspeakers may resume blasting propaganda messages. But few would doubt that a vast majority of the Koreans on both sides are hoping for the best.

Especially, the latest standoff must have made the residents of Daeseong-dong, the so-called Freedom Village, hold their breath. Incidentally, this edition has a story about the everyday life of residents of this isolated community within the DMZ, dubbed the world’s most heavily fortified border. The village faces its North Korean counterpart, Kijong-dong, across the Military Demarcation Line just a mile away.

“Tales of Two Koreas” is a new series that deals with issues related to Korea’s territorial division from social and cultural perspectives. It is sad that the two Kore-as’ frontline villages, born as tools of their Cold War rivalry, are somehow reminis-cent of the two Koreas’ separate music festivals to commemorate the same com-poser, Yun I-sang (internationally known as Isang Yun), held annually in Pyongyang and Tongyeong.

This issue’s special feature is about Tongyeong, of South Gyeongsang Province, the hometown of Yun I-sang where he was never allowed to return due to politi-cal machinations. Tongyeong is also the home of so many distinguished artists and writers, as well as the seat of the naval headquarters of the Joseon Dynasty, com-manded by Admiral Yi Sun-shin, an invincible hero of the 16th century. We invite our readers to enjoy a glimpse of this charming port city.

Toward One Village, One FestivalEditor’s Letter

“Sounds of the Tongyeong Seaside” Suh Hyung-il Oil on canvas, 45.5cm x 53.0cm, 2011

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS Autumn 2015

Lee Kyong-hee Editor-in-Chief

SPECIAL FEATURE

Tongyeong: A Southern Harbor City with Myriad Charms

SpeCiAl FeATUre 1

TongyeongBeckons with Unexpected CharmHan Kyung-koo

SpeCiAl FeATUre 2

In the Shelter of Islands, Nourished by the SeaKang Je-yoon

SpeCiAl FeATUre 3

Home of Artists Who Dreamed of FreedomLee Chang-guy

SpeCiAl FeATUre 4

Traditional Handicrafts Revived with Modern SensibilitiesLee Kil-woo

SpeCiAl FeATUre 5

Delightful Delicacies from the Sea Song Young-man

FoCUS

Performance of Joseon Royal Ancestral Ritual Music in ParisSong Hye-jin

inTervieW

‘Waiting is My Talent, Feeling Sorry is My Strength’Im Heung-soon, Silver Lion Winner at the 2015 Venice BiennaleKwon Keun-young

gUArdiAn oF HeriTAge

Packing Cultural Artifacts: A Lifetime Passion and CareerChung Jae-suk

TAleS oF TWo KoreAS

Daeseong-dong: An ‘Inland Island’ Looks to the FutureKim Hak-soon

ArT revieW

Devout Patrons Enable Buddhist Art to FlourishShin So-yeon

in love WiTH KoreA

Yukari Muraoka Enticed by the Flavor of CultureDarcy Paquet

on THe roAd

Hwasun, A Peaceful Land Filled with Mystic EnergyGwak Jae-gu

Along THeir oWn pATH

Kim Dal-jin: ‘A Walking Encyclopedia of Art’Kang Shin-jae

BooKS & More

“Princess Bari”A Haunting Story mixing myth and Reality

“Without You, There Is No Us”A Rare Glimpse of Life inside the ‘Hermit Kingdom’

“A Brief Biography of Yuja”Sarcastic Portrayal of Korea’s modernization

http://www.kmdb.or.kr/eng/Treasure Trove of Korean Films

Charles La Shure, Lee Woo-young

goUrMeT'S deligHT

Jeoneo: At its Best when Rice is Harvest-ReadyPark Chan-il

enTerTAinMenT

Koreans’ Favorite Movies Tap Deep Into Their SentimentsKim Young-jin

liFeSTyle

A Nation Obsessed with CoffeeKim Yong-sub

joUrneyS in KoreAn liTerATUre

Kneading Time — A Process of ReconciliationChang Du-yeong

NoodlesKim Sum

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4 KOREANA Autumn 2015

SPECIAL FEATURE 1 Tongyeong: A Southern Harbor City with Myriad Charms

Beckons with Unexpected CharmTONGYEONG

Tongyeong is one of the top three cities in the country that Koreans say they would like to move to if they could.

Its manifold attractions, colorful history, and bracing vitality make it a place that’s hard to define. This small

city on Korea’s southern coast with a population of 140,000 has thrived through constant change and diverse

circumstances. It was a center of maritime transportation, a planned military town, and a hub for traditional

handicrafts and trade. Tongyeong is widely known as a city of culture and the arts, the home of many writers,

painters, and musicians. It is also a prodigious producer of bounty from the sea, a cornucopia of delectable

seafood that attracts food lovers all year round. A United Nations Regional Center of Expertise, Tongyeong is now

aspiring to become a UNESCO Creative City based on its musical resources.

Han Kyung-kooCultural Anthropologist; Professor, College of Liberal Arts, Seoul National UniversityAhn Hong-beomPhotographer

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 5

T ongyeong is not an island. Connected to the mainland by a narrow isthmus, before the Japanese invasions of the late 16th century it was a quiet fishing village named Duryongpo

(“Dragon Head Port”), which had the feel of an island. Korea’s first victory against the Japanese invaders during the seven-year war was the Battle of Okpo, fought on the seas near Geoje Island. The Battle of Hansan Island, one of the three most critical victories of the war, took place in the seventh month of 1592, off the coast of Tongyeong. To centralize control of its naval forces, in the eighth month of 1593 the court of Joseon appointed Yi Sun-shin as com-

mander of the Navy Command Headquarters of the Three Prov-inces (Gyeongsang, Jeolla and Chungcheong). The commander was responsible for the officers and fleets of the three southern prov-inces as well as five naval outposts. As such, he was in control of the bulk of Joseon’s naval forces and directed all naval battles in the southern waters.

maritime Hub and Fierce DefenderThe regional naval headquarters was first established on Han-

san Island, and relocated several times thereafter before being

Downtown Tongyeong, Mireuk Island, and the numerous islands off the Tongyeong coast are seen from the air at sunrise.


placed at its permanent location in Tongyeong in 1604. It remained in operation for almost three hundred years until its closure in 1895. The name of Tongyeong comes from the word tongjeyeong, meaning “navy command headquarters.” From 1955 to 1994 it was called Chungmu, after Admiral Yi Sun-shin's posthumous title, Chungmugong (Lord of Loyalty and Chivalry).

Tongyeong was able to develop into a robust commercial center in the latter half of the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910) and a consider-able number of Japanese expatriates settled in the area during the colonial period (1910–1945), owing to the city’s role as a maritime transportation hub. Close to both Busan and Tsushima Island, it was also along the route from Busan to Jeolla Province.

This location made Tongyeong a target of attack for North Kore-an forces during the Korean War (1950–1953). The North intended to capture Tongyeong and use it as a base for its advance to Busan, via Geoje Island and Masan, which presented a serious threat to South Korean and United Nations forces. But the naval unit that was hurriedly dispatched to defend Geoje Island executed an amphibious landing and then managed to drive out the North Kore-ans and retake Tongyeong. This took place one month before the famous Incheon landing of September 1950. Tongyeong was the first place in Korea where such a strategy had been attempted. The Korean marine forces became famous through an article written by Marguerite Higgins (1920–1966), a New York Times war correspon-dent, who wrote: “They might capture even the devil.”

A military Town Aspiring for PeaceSi vis pacem, para bellum (If you want peace, prepare for war).Tongyeong was developed as a military town to support the

relocation of Joseon’s naval headquarters for the three southern provinces. But it can be called a city of peace since it was planned for the purpose of preventing any future wars and invasions, and thereby maintain peace. In the center of the city is an imposing his-torical building, both functional and symbolic as the heart of the naval forces of Joseon. Named Sebyeonggwan, this majestic struc-ture manifested a desire to end all wars by washing clean and put-ting away the weapons of war. Its front gate is called Jigwamun, descriptively named for its vision of seeing weapons of war stored away, as an expression of the state’s wishes to maintain peace with a strong defense.

From the time of its establishment, the navy headquarters sought to be financially independent. In the midst of war, Admiral Yi Sun-shin could not hope for financial support from the central gov-

ernment, so he ordered the cultivation of garrison farms to secure provisions for his troops and also give food aid to the common people. His troops also caught fish and produced salt. In addition, the Twelve Workshops of Tongyeong were established, bringing together skilled craftsmen to manufacture armaments and other military supplies. The workshops produced not only military goods but also agricultural implements and household articles, some of them sent to the court as tribute and the remainder sold to supple-ment the finances of the naval headquarters. Hence, Tongyeong’s fame as a center of handicrafts, for example its versatile quilted works, is rooted in its naval history. (Editor’s Note: See page 24 for SPECIAL FEATURE 4, “Tradititional Handicrafts Revived with Mod-ern Sensibilities.”)

Advances in Commerce and IndustryAs the workshops thrived and their products, such as horsehair

hats worn by men of the elite class, dining tables, and lacquerware inlaid with mother-of-pearl, gained fame around the country, the local markets expanded and the resident population increased. The technology used to build and repair warships was applied to the building of commercial ships, while warehouses were built for the storage of finished goods.

With the increased traffic of people and goods via the sea, the naval headquarters took steps to widen the estuary and enlarge the marketplace. Stores specializing in rice, fabric, accessories, tobac-co, and sea cucumber began to appear, making Tongyeong a key commercial center of the coastal Gyeongsang region.

The downtown area naturally expanded in response to these developments. As the town center became more congested, peo-ple began to settle on the nearby islands and the population of Tongyeong doubled between the late 18th century and the end of the 19th century. Just before the advent of the modern era, Tongyeong was the 12th largest city in Korea in terms of popula-tion, ahead of Mokpo and Jinju.

Growing Pains and Colonial ExploitationThe people of Tongyeong were not only hardy survivors, they

also had great pride and a well-developed social awareness. This too may be attributed to the presence of the naval headquarters in the city for three hundred years.

It came as a great shock when the naval headquarters of the three southern provinces was closed, along with the provincial naval command of Gyeongsang, as part of the Gabo Reforms of

An old map dated 1830 shows Tongyeong surrounded by town walls in the middle, Gangguan Bay, Gullyang Bridge which connects to Mireuk Island, and many islands of all sizes in the sea. This map was purchased on an online overseas auction site by Seol Jong-guk, president of Geobukseon Hotel in Tongyeong.


After the opening of Korea’s ports to the outside world, Tongyeong emerged as one of the most cosmopolitan places in the country by quickly accommodating Japanese and Western influences. Moreover, with the affluence acquired through its fisheries and commercial activities, it was at the forefront of Korea’s modernization.


1895, which Joseon implemented in a move toward modernization. The many officers and personnel who had served at the naval headquarters lost their jobs. A great many of the artisans who had worked at the Twelve Workshops left for Seoul and other parts of the country. Some settled nearby and contin-ued to work, but traditional handicrafts as a whole experienced a decline.

When Joseon finally opened its ports to the world in the late 19th century, Japanese fishermen came in search of new fishing grounds. Backed by political and administrative support, the Japanese fisher-men brought advanced technology and equipment, along with capital, which were used to monopo-lize the most bountiful fishing grounds. They began to dominate the business and financial affairs in Tongyeong. The number of Japanese nationals residing in the city began to rise as well.

The fishery industry of Tongyeong, facing serious difficulties during the turbulent years following Korea’s liberation from Japanese rule in 1945, managed to shift from traditional to modern methods and grew along the way. In 1966, a base for fisheries development was established on Yokji Island, and the following year a fish hatchery was opened in Tongyeong to promote fish farming. Blessed with ideal nat-ural conditions, Tongyeong emerged as a leading fisheries center.

While remaining a hub of the modern fishing industry and maritime transportation, during Korea’s peri-od of rapid economic growth Tongyeong’s economic and cultural standing waned. Moreover, the fishing industry as a whole encountered a series of crises. In the 1980s and 1990s, the city fell into a slump with its population growth nearing zero percent. In the mid-2000s, the shipbuilding industry prospered and for a time surpassed the fishing industry in importance. In the end, however, it was a blessing that Tongyeong’s relative isolation from industrial development helped preserve its pristine natural environment.

A Beautiful City Full of SurprisesTongyeong prides itself on being a city of the arts. Many renowned writers and artists were born and

raised in the city. (Editor's Note: See page 18 for SPECIAL FEATURE 3, “Home of Artists Who Dreamed of Freedom.”) Most people are amazed that such a small city could produce so many illustrious artists. Some say it’s due to the beautiful surroundings while others claim that the tradition of the Twelve Work-shops created an ideal environment. But perhaps we should first take note that most of these artists were active during a single historical period.

Though it appears small and a bit worn down today, Tongyeong in the past was a thriving city. It was Joseon’s first planned city and a leader in economic and social reform. After the opening of Korea’s ports to the outside world, Tongyeong emerged as one of the most cosmopolitan places in the country by quick-ly accommodating Japanese and Western influences. Moreover, with the affluence acquired through its

1 Replicas of the turtle ship, or geobukseon (left), and the panokseon (right) are docked in Gangguan Bay. The turtle ship, devised by Admiral Yi Sun-sin, had a top deck covered in metal and iron spikes to repel attacks by Japanese naval forces. It was instrumental in Joseon’s victory in the naval battles against Japanese invaders in the Imjin War of the late 16th century.

2 Sebyeonggwan (“Weapon Wash-ing Hall”), constructed in 1604, was one of the major buildings of the Navy Command Head-quarters of the Three Provinces, based in Tongyeong. The name means to “wash away weapons with the force of the galaxy” and conveys the wish to prevent the recurrence of war. 1

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fisheries and commercial activities, it was at the forefront of Korea’s modernization.

With an eye on economic opportunities, many Japanese had already settled in Tongyeong even before Japan’s annexation of Korea in 1910. Western influence also reached Tongyeong from early on. Anglicans and Presbyterian missionaries from Australia began evangelistic activities in the city around 1894–1895. A church was built in 1905, and a kindergarten in 1911–1912. Although the missionaries failed in their goal to found an elementary school, they opened Jinmyeong Training School to educate older girls and also operated night schools. These faith-based educational institutions offered vocational training and instruction for raising national con-sciousness, thus becoming a spiritual pillar of the social activism of Tongyeong’s citizenry.

Tongyeong actively took part in various social movements, such as the March First Independence Movement of 1919, the youth

movement, labor struggle, and peasant activism, as well as the nationalist political movement of Singanhoe (“New Stem Society”). Following the liberation from Japanese rule, Tongyeong citizens were active in the drive to build an independent democratic nation.

This tradition of social activism underlies significant grassroots-driven initiatives that continue to distinguish Tongyeong even today. Green Tongyeong 21 is a private-public partnership established to carry out, on a regional basis, the goals of Agenda 21 adopted by the United Nations Conference on Environment and Development; the city has also been named a UN Regional Center of Expertise (RCE) on Education for Sustainable Development. Green Tongyeong 21 has successfully revived Dongpirang, a dilapidated neighbor-hood threatened with demolition, into an inspirational village of murals and community resurgence that is now a popular tourist destination. No doubt, Tongyeong will continue to reinvent itself and surprise us with its amazing diversity and enduring charm.


IN THE SHELTER

OF ISLANDS, NOURISHED BY THE SEA

Tongyeong is a pleasant mingling of mountains, islands and the sea. Two guardian

mountains, Yeohangsan and mireuksan, and Gangguan Bay hugging the shore,

and right next to the quay the rowdy market bustling all year round — these are

some of the things that give vibrancy and life to the city. The seas off the coast are

strewn with islands of all sizes, like precious jewels on the water. We take a peek

at the lives of the people who call this picturesque setting their home.

Kang Je-yoon Poet; Principal, The Island School, Pressian Humanities InstituteChoi Jung-sunPhotographer



Fishermen shake freshly caught anchovies from nets on their boat. Anchovies are processed on the boats to maintain their freshness.


1 Much of the fish caught by the fishermen of Tongyeong is dried on the spot. Although it takes a lot of work to make dried fish, the finished products fetch high prices that make it all worthwhile for the fishermen.

2 Village women tend to the fishing nets. Damaged nets must be carefully mended to ensure that they can be used again.

“A place where the sea calls to you even when you’re asleep.” Tongyeong is an endearing harbor city, awash with the ocean’s briny smell. Thanks to Mireuk Island (“Island of Maitreya Buddha”), which lies in front of the Tongyeong peninsula and serves as a breakwater, this is a naturally blessed

harbor with gentle winds and waters. Gangguan Bay, which extends into the downtown area, is the beat-ing heart of the city. Boats ply the waters at all hours of the day, and the fish that have been caught over-night are sold at the Central Market standing right at the water’s edge. The bay and the fishing boats assure Tongyeong’s preeminence as a key distribution center for the bounty of the sea.

mt. mireuk and Dongpirang VillageMt. Mireuk snugly shelters the city of Tongyeong. Nestled in the mountain’s slopes are Yonghwa Temple

and Dosol Hermitage, both over a thousand years old. Protecting the residents from strong winds and fierce waves, Mt. Mireuk has long been the city’s guardian mountain as well as an object of worship.

These days, visitors can ride a cable car to the top of the mountain, which offers a panoramic view of the surroundings: Tongyeong city and the islands off the coast below, Samcheonpo and Namhae farther away, as well as the islands of Goseong, Sacheon, and Geoje. Also at the summit you can find the beacon mound used by the Navy Command Headquarters of the Three Provinces for surveillance of the area during the Japanese invasions (known in Korea as the Imjin War, 1592–98). Hence the village at the foot of the moun-tain is called Bongsugol, meaning “beacon valley.”

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Midway up the southern slope of Mt. Mireuk is Mirae Temple. Blending into the lush mountain scenery, this Buddhist temple is renowned for its beautiful architecture but its greatest treasure is its cypress for-est. The trees were planted by the Japanese during the colonial period, and later acquired by the temple to ensure their proper care and management. Covering an area of some 50,000 pyeong (approximately 41 acres), the forest is known as a place for healing. Walking along its paths is a way to cleanse the mind, body, and spirit.

These days, the most popular attraction in Tongyeong is the village called Dongpirang. The name means “the cliff on the eastern side.” Once the shabbiest neighborhood in the city, Dongpirang came to public notice when a local civic organization launched a project to revitalize the area. In 2007, the Tongyeong city government drew up a plan to demolish the entire village and create a park in its place. But the head of the civic organization suggested a plan for the area’s rehabilitation rather than redevelopment. Instead of raz-ing the neighborhood, she persuaded the city officials to imbue the village with culture in ways that would reflect and embrace the area’s history and the lives of its residents. She believed that the village’s rundown buildings and alleyways were precious and worthy of preserving. University students came to paint murals on the walls of the dilapidated buildings. And when Dongpirang gained fame for these murals, growing numbers of tourists began to come around. The shabby neighborhood, which was on the verge of demoli-tion, has been magically revived by the vibrant murals.


Tongyeong Shore and Yokji IslandIn the waters off Tongyeong are some 500 islands of all sizes, many of them surrounded by fish farms

today. Tongyeong is especially famed for its sea squirt and oysters, which account for 60–70 percent of the total production in Korea. Bred in clean, clear waters, fresh Tongyeong oysters served in winter boast a dis-tinctively succulent flavor.

In spring, the boats slice back and forth across the bay, towing lines bearing clusters of sea squirts that look like red flowers blooming on the water. Sea squirts (Halocynthia roretzi) became a familiar seafood item only after the 1970s, when they were first raised in Tongyeong and other coastal areas. Before that, wild sea squirts gathered by divers were a prized seafood that rarely reached city dwellers.

Yokji Island, with a cluster of islets and over an hour away by ferry from Tongyeong, looks out onto a wide open vista of the sea. It is a special place that offers the variegated beauty of the Dadohae archipelago and the thrill of the ocean. Some 1,500 people live on the island. Picturesque hiking trails, which attract visi-tors all year round, lead to the island’s highest point: Cheonwangbong (“Peak of the Heavenly King,” 392 meters). From here the countless islands in the surrounding area come into sight. The scenic view from the large flat rock that can be reached by crossing the swinging footbridge is truly breathtaking. As the whole island is mountainous, there are plenty of forests but the most impressive is unquestionably the forest of chinquapin trees (Castanopsis cuspidata var. thunbergii) at Jabupo. Another famous attraction of this sea-side village are its “granny baristas,” a group of elderly women in their 70s to 80s who operate a cafe where

In the waters off Tongyeong are some 500 islands of all sizes, many of them surrounded by fish farms today. Tongyeong is especially famed for its sea squirt and oysters, which account for 60–70 percent of the total production in Korea.

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they bake cookies from sweet potatoes grown on the island and roast their own coffee beans.In the old days, Yokji Island was a thriving fishing center where thousands of boats congregated. But

these days, fish farming has become the primary industry and the nearby waters are crammed with fish farming cages for raising sea bream, rockfish, and convict grouper. More recently, mackerel farming has been on the rise as well. Following its success at Yokji Island, it has now spread to nearby Yeonhwa Island. The taste of fresh raw mackerel is so sweet and savory that it will make you forget all the other raw fish you’ve ever eaten.

The IslandersOn Daemaemul Island there is a pathway along the shore where you can stroll leisurely without losing

sight of the ocean. The back side of the island is lined with fantastic rock formations, while evergreens such as chinquapin and camellia trees growing on the rocky slopes look like giant clumps of green flowers. From the observatory at the top of Jangunbong (“General Peak”), Somaemul and Deungdae islands seem close enough to reach out and touch. It is from this vantage point that Somaemul Island’s wondrous beauty comes into clear view. And of course, one can only see the forest when one comes out of the forest. So the best place to appreciate both Somaemul and Deungdae islands is from yet another island, Daemaemul. Here the women divers called haenyeo gather abalones, turban shells, sea urchins, and oysters.

Chu Island is home of the cubed snailfish (Liparis tessellates). The fishing boats of the island all use

1 Jabupo on Yokji Island is famous for its “granny baristas,” women in their 70s and 80s who run a cafe. A cup of coffee and cookies made from sweet potatoes grown on the island is a highlight for tourists.

2 Once threatened with demolition, the village of Dongpirang was revitalized when young artists came and painted murals on the walls of its dilapidated buildings. The village is now one of the most popular attractions of Tongyeong, drawing tourists from all over the country.


fish traps to catch the snailfish. While fishermen from other regions use traps made of plastic, those of Chu Island still adhere to the traditional bamboo traps. The season lasts from late autumn to winter, dur-ing which time the entire island becomes a fish-drying ground. Not only the hills but the roads and fences, the fields, and the yards of empty houses are all covered in fish-drying racks. Cubed snailfish are also sold fresh, but most of the catch is dried. Drying the fish is hard work but the end product brings in more money than fresh fish. Dried snailfish soup is an unbeatable hangover remedy.

Yeonhwa Island (“Lotus Blossom Island”) is like one big mountain. The residents live cozily clustered together on the steep slopes. The view of the Yongmeori (“Dragon’s Head”) coastal area from the top of the mountain is truly awe-inspiring. The old ladies of the village of Yeonhwa-ri sell home-made rice wine, mak-geolli, a glass of which is more than enough to slake the thirst of any traveler.

On the adjacent U Island, the walking trails along the coast are breathtaking. These gentle trails that encircle the whole island pass through a series of forest tunnels and magnificent seascapes. The specialty food of this island is a variety of seaweed dishes prepared by the fishermen’s wives. Can there be anything more healthy and nutritious than rice steamed with tot (brown alga, Hizikia fusiformis), or rice mixed with soy sauce and red algae and other seaweeds? Dishes made with sea hare or turtle leg barnacles are delica-cies that can rarely be enjoyed elsewhere.


1 The jagged, rocky coastline of Yeonhwa Island provides spectacular scenery. The sight of the jade colored water below the swinging footbridge, opened in 2011, is breathtaking.

2 An old man who was born on Yeonhwa Island and spent 30 years working on an ocean liner now spends his days mend-ing his fishing net and looking after his mother, who is afflicted with dementia. He began to tend to the net when he saw some of the fishermen of the island go bankrupt due to accidents at their cage fish farms.

At the pier side on Yeonhwa Island, an old man was tending to his fishing net. Called jubok, it is a fixed shore net that is rarely seen these days. Under the hot sun, he was wearing a hat that looks like a parasol. Curious about this, I asked him where he got the hat. “They sell lots of them online!” he answered.

The old man was born and raised on the island. After serving his military duty he spent more than 30 years as the engine man on an ocean liner. He only returned to the island when his aging mother fell ill with dementia. Since then, the old man has been caring for his mother, who is now 92. It’s not for his own sake that he’s mending the fishing net. Cage fish farms are scattered all over the waters between Yeonhwa Island and U Island. But sometimes the cage breaks and the fish escape en masse. The fish farm owner incurs a serious loss that can even result in bankruptcy. The old man has seen several people fall into despair after such an unfortunate incident. So he decided to mend his net, with no thought of any reward for himself. The next time some fish farmer’s cage breaks open, he can use this net to recover at least some of the fish. He believes that installing his net on either side of the escape route might help the farmer to reduce his losses.

Worried that the fish farm owner “can’t even go and get a job somewhere” if his business goes under, the old man hopes that what little he can do might be of some help. His compassion is that of a bodhisattva, whose goal is to help oth-ers.

Old Man with the heart Of BOdhisattva

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©K

ang Je-yoon


Born under the Japanese colonial rule, the artists of Tongyeong marked an epoch in Korean literature and arts with

their music, poetry and novels. Tongyeong, a self-sufficient and affluent modern city, provided fertile ground for their

dreams to bloom. Once a quiet, remote fishing village, this small port city on the south coast of Korea has a unique

artistic milieu that inspires people to believe that they can be artists or poets.


HOmE OF ARTISTS WHO DREAmED OF FREEDOm

Lee Chang-guyPoet and Literary CriticAhn Hong-beom, Choi Jung-sunPhotographers

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T ongyeong locals do not hesitate to call their hometown a “city of art and culture.” Those who immediately

associate the reference to Florence, Paris, or Vienna might well be dubious of this claim. Did Tongyeong really have a culture that defined an age like those illustrious European cities?

Generally, a place comes to have a distinct identity when a certain mental image is shared by those who experience it through their understanding of the place in the context of relevant human activities, which makes the place special. People who ask “What has happened here?” or “Who lived here?” must be convinced of the city’s relevance in terms of its association with notable events or individuals. One example is Salzburg, famous as the birthplace of Mozart, although the reflected glory from the great composer should duly shine on Vienna, where he spent a large part of his professional life.

Tongyeong is not a city that came into being naturally. It was a military town stra-tegically created after the seven years of devastating war waged against Japanese invaders in the late 16th century. How, then, did it evolve into a city with such a rich legacy of art and culture?

Conflict between Colonial Experience and modernity

Tongyeong boasts a long list of great artists: the composer Yun I-sang (1917–1995, internationally known as Isang Yun); the playwright Yu Chi-jin (1905–1974); the

poets Yu Chi-hwan (1908–1967), Kim Chun-su (1922–2004), and Kim Sang-ok (1920–2004); the novelists Park Kyong-ni (aka Pak Kyongni, 1926–2008) and Kim Yong-ik (1920–1995); and the painter Jeon Hyuck-lim (1916–2010), among others. All of these figures, born or raised in Tong yeong, helped to usher in the heyday of modern Korean arts with their brilliant achieve-ments. And all of them earned consider-able fame in the early 20th century, when their homeland was suffering under for-eign rule.

During much of the Joseon Dynasty, Tongyeong had thrived as the seat of the Navy Command Headquarters of the Three Provinces, but lost its privileged status in 1895. By then, however, it had already grown into a hub of the fishery industry along the south coast. With the Tsushima

Warm Current flowing nearby, the area was abundant in fishery resources. The city developed local fishery operations from early on and enjoyed considerable eco-nomic affluence. Brisk exchange with the Japanese, who had settled in the region even before Korea was colonized, meant that its residents were no strangers to a new culture. When enthusiasm for West-ern education began to spread after the March First Independence Movement in 1919, the city’s landlords and fishery own-ers sent their children to Japan for study in hopes of improving their opportunity for decent employment.

Ups and Downs of a Life in ArtIn the 1920s, the young people of

Tongyeong who had returned from their study in Tokyo founded a literary society

1 The Isang Yun Memorial Park’s exhibition hall show-cases the composer's instruments, scores, and other relics. Located next to the site of his birthplace, the standing exhibition helps visitors to understand who the composer was and what his music and his home country meant to him.

2 Born in the adjacent city of Geoje and raised in Tongyeong, Yu Chi-hwan was a poet known for his “poetry of life, nihility, and resistance.” The poet expressed a deep longing for his hometown in his po-ems and is now buried in the family cemetery there.

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and published the coterie magazine “The Cleaner” (Sojebu). This endeavor was led by the Yu brothers — Yu Chi-jin and Yu Chi-hwan. The younger brother, Chi-hwan, had returned from Japan before complet-ing his studies due to the failure of their father’s herbal medicine business. Never-theless, he had already established his lit-erary style under the influence of Japanese anarchist writers as well as the preeminent Korean poet Jeong Ji-yong (1902–1950). His first book “The Collection of Cheong-ma’s Poems” (Cheongma sicho) was pub-lished in 1939, featuring his magnum opus “The Flag,” which begins with the famous phrase “This is a soundless clamor. . . .” At that time, however, he suffered from seri-ous financial difficulty and worked odd jobs to make ends meet. In the 1940s, he moved to Manchuria with his family to work as a

farm manager.Unlike his younger brother, Yu Chi-jin

managed to graduate from Rikkyo Univer-sity in Tokyo with a bachelor’s degree in English Literature. After returning to Korea to pursue a career in theater arts, he estab-lished the Institute for Dramatic Art as a foothold for the New Theater Movement. He assumed the roles of playwright and stage director, spearheading the organiza-tion until it was disbanded by the Japanese colonial authorities. Yu Chi-jin was noted for his realistic portrayal of the colonial exploi-tation by the Japanese and the consequent impoverishment of the Korean people.

Poet Kim Chun-su enriched modern Korean poetry with his unique style, dubbed “nonsense poetry.” As a young boy, he attended the kindergarten where Yu Chi-hwan’s would-be wife was a teacher, and

marched at their wedding as a page boy. As a young man studying in Japan, with no clear goal in mind, he became infatu-ated with Rilke’s poetry. As the Japanese stepped up their conscription of Korean men near the end of the Pacific War, he hid at his wife’s maternal home in Masan, and went to visit Yu Chi-hwan in Tongyeong after Korea was finally liberated in 1945.

Recalling that time, Kim once said: “Immediately after liberation, artists from Tongyeong, established as well as aspiring, got together and founded the Tong yeong Cultural Association. Poet Yu Chi-hwan was its president, and leading members included the composer Yun I-sang, who has now been naturalized in West Germa-ny, as well as the poet Kim Sang-ok, the late playwright Park Jae-seong, another composer Jeong Yun-ju, and the artist Jeon Hyuck-lim.”

That this small city produced such an impressive assortment of high-profile art-ists is indeed astounding, but even more incredible were their activities, for they set out to restore folk dances, present plays, teach the illiterate, hold lectures on litera-ture, and operate night schools. These art-ists “had in their hearts the ambitious goal of instilling a strong national spirit by initiat-ing a cultural movement in their liberated motherland.” Kim noted, however, that the movement did not last even two years. “We were so young and so full of youthful bra-vado,” he said.

Their youth and bravado could be under-stood as passion and boldness, but the

That this small city produced such an impressive assortment of high-profile artists is indeed astounding, but even more incredible were their activities … These artists “had in their hearts an ambitious goal of instilling a strong national spirit by initiating a cultural movement in their liberated motherland.”

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turmoil of the times cast dark shadows over their lives. After the Institute for Dra-matic Art was dissolved, Yu Chi-jin formed a new theater company and staged plays in compliance with the directives of the Japa-nese government-general. As a result, his name was included in the list of pro-Jap-anese collaborators after liberation. His brother, Yu Chi-hwan, who had long been excluded from debates on “pro-Japanese literature,” was recently found to have written a poem sympathetic to the Japa-nese colonizers during his stay in Man-churia, overshadowing the significance of his “patriotic self-banishment.” The com-poser Yun I-sang, who had been implicated in the so-called East Berlin spy incident of 1967, was branded a threat to the coun-try and denied entry to his homeland. He was never allowed to return to his beloved hometown during his lifetime. Later, the National Intelligence Service reinvestigated the spy incident and concluded that it had been politically manipulated by the govern-ment at the time in a bid to stay in power. To this unfortunate artist and the others, what meaning did Tongyeong hold?

my Hometown Tongyeong“My father often took me on night fish-

ing trips. We used to sit quietly in our boat and listen to the sounds of fish jumping and the songs of fishermen coming from other boats. The gloomy melody of namdo chang, the folk songs of the southern provinces, was relayed from one boat to the next, as the echoes spread far across the sea, as if

1 Nicknamed the “poet of flowers,” Kim Chun-su is commemorated in a permanent exhibition of some 800 relics donated by his family. Standing by the quayside, the exhibition hall displays the poet’s books and manuscripts on the first floor, and some of the furniture, clothing, books and other personal items that he used in his lifetime on the second floor.

2 One of the greatest novelists in modern Korean lit-erature, Park Kyong-ni wrote many prominent works including “The Land” and “The Daughters of Pharma-cist Kim.” She once wrote, “The purest and deepest form of love is compassion.” Providing a glimpse of the novelist’s life, her photos and relics are exhib-ited in the memorial hall overlooking the sea of her hometown.

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2 ©Toji Cultural Foundation


1 The Jeon Hyuck-lim Art Museum in Bongsugol at the foot of Mt. Mireuk are decorated with motifs taken from the works of the artist and his son Jeon Hyeong-geun. On display here are the paintings of Jeon Hyuck-lim, who has been praised for his “colors of the archipelago” or “magician’s touch with colors.”

2 The village of Dongpirang on the hill overlooking Gangguan Bay has been rejuvenated by the murals painted on the walls of old houses tightly squeezed together along the narrow alleyways. Attracting end-less streams of tourists, Dongpirang is regarded as a successful case of village revitalization.

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the time — my “blue period” — was the image of the lights in the port of Chungmu [old name of Tongyeong] and the sky that touched the horizon, which were the great teachers of my work.” (From “The Great Teachers of My Work” by Jeon Hyuck-lim)

“Tongyeong is a small port near the archipelago on the south coast. Located halfway along the coastal road between Busan and Yeosu, the city is praised by the young locals as the ‘Naples of Korea.’ Of course, the sea is blue and clear.” (From “The Daughters of Pharmacist Kim” by Park Kyong-ni)

A City of PassionIn the city of Tongyeong, the legacy of

these artists remains so vibrant and the cultural attractions memorializing them are so numerous that the relevant infor-

mation is enough to make a hefty vol-ume. Most notable among them are the Tongyeong Concert Hall, where an annual international music festival is held in trib-ute to the composer Yun I-sang; Isang Yun Memorial Park, standing beside the site of his birthplace; Cheongma Literary Hall, at the foot of Mangil Peak; Exhibition Hall for the Relics of Kim Chun-su, along the quay-side road; Park Kyong-ni Memorial Hall, beyond the Tongyeong Bridge; and Jeon Hyuck-lim Art Museum, at Bongpyeong Intersection.

In addition to these cultural venues, there are places related to their life stories: Seonglim Tea Shop in Hangnam-dong, where artist Yi Chung-sop (aka Lee Jung-seop, 1916–1956) held an exhibition during the Korean War; the post office in Jungang-dong, where poet Yu Chi-hwan mailed 5,000 letters to his lover, as well as the alleyway right across the street, where she ran an embroidery shop; and the memorial stone engraved with a poem by Baek Seok (1912–1996), erected in the neighborhood where the poet is said to have wandered restlessly, tormented by his unrequited love for a Tongyeong girl.

On the other hand, there is also a place that points to the future of Tongyeong as a source of cultural creativity. The mural village of Dongpirang, overlooking Gang-guan Bay close at hand, used to be just a dilapidated neighborhood on the sloping outskirts of the city. But its once shabby narrow alleyways are now decorated with imaginative murals by young artists, which attract endless streams of tourists. And the small houses tightly squeezed together have been converted into studios for artists.

Once a quiet fishing village, Tongyeong was turned into the headquarters of the Joseon navy in the 17th century, then later grew into a thriving commercial town in the 20th century. Currently evolving into a city of art and culture with a global out-look, Tongyeong beckons to anyone ready to appreciate and contemplate the locals’ aspirations and passion for culture and the arts.

the water’s surface was a sounding board. The sky was sprinkled with stars.” (From “The Wounded Dragon” by Yun I-sang)

“I went to study in Seoul when I entered middle school. Walking along the streets, whether in front of Hwasin Department Store in Jongno or somewhere near Gwanghwamun, all of a sudden I would hear seagulls crying in the midday sky — not a few but dozens of them. The view of the sea and the sky that I saw at the time was that of Janggae Island in my hometown. It was of the thick layers of white clouds in the sky and the indigo sea expanding far out to the Hallyeo Water-way.” (From “Riding a Donkey as a Poet” by Kim Chun-su)

“For an artist, his hometown could be the source of his creation. The blue color that filled my canvas so dominantly at

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Traditional handicrafts produced in Tongyeong are so exquisitely crafted that they are certain to fascinate anyone who

loves elegant artifacts. Can it be possible that the harbor city’s natural surroundings, a picturesque expanse of the ocean

and beautiful islands with striking mountains, have endowed the local residents with an extraordinary sense of aesthetics?

For hundreds of years, from the latter part of the Joseon Dynasty, the artisans of the Twelve Workshops of Tongyeong

were regarded as the most highly skilled craftsmen in the nation, whose legacy continues into the present day.

Traditional Handicrafts Revived with modern Sensibilities


Lee Kil-wooSenior Reporter, The HankyorehSuh Heun-gangPhotographer

1 Furniture fittings called duseok are artfully crafted metal ornaments used for corner cov-ers, fasteners, and door hinges on traditional wooden furniture. Each piece is completed after hundreds or even thousands of touches: drawing the pattern on a nickel plate, cutting out the pattern with a wire saw, engraving designs on the metal surface, inlaying the design with silver or copper wires, and so on.

2 Carrying on the Tongyeong craft tradition, Song Bang-ung is a master artisan in mother-of-pearl inlay, renowned for his mastery of the mosaic technique. Exquisite articles inlaid with mother-of-pearl from Tongyeong have enchanted many generations of women.

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T he Navy Command Headquarters of the Three Provinces, established in 1604 during the Joseon Dynasty,

mobilized handicraft artisans in various specialties to create a multifaceted produc-tion center. Such an integrated industrial system of craftsmen had never before been attempted in Korea. Though widely known as the “Twelve Workshops,” this craft cen-ter in fact was comprised of more than twelve on-site workshops. In the Korean language, the number twelve is often used to describe something large in number, as in the idioms “twelve-piece skirt” meaning a full skirt, and “twelve hills,” a figurative expression for a series of rolling hills.

The Nation’s Finest Handmade CraftsThe workshops under the management

of the naval headquarters produced a vari-ety of daily necessities and military sup-plies. They included Seonjabang, special-izing in folding fans, which the king would present as gifts to his officials on Dano (tra-

ditional holiday on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month); Ibjabang, the horsehair hat (gat) worn by noblemen; Chongbang, the headband (manggeon) and the skullcap (tanggeon) worn under the horsehair hat, as well as the Confucian scholars’ angu-lar headwear (yugeon); Sangjabang, boxes made of wicker or bamboo; Hwawon-bang, military maps and ceremonial paint-ings; Somokbang, furniture and stationery items; Yajangbang, ironware and weapons; Juseokbang, furniture fittings made of tin or nickel; Eunbang, gold or silver articles; Chilbang, various lacquered crafts; Tong-gaebang, arrow cases; Hwajabang, foot-wear; Anjabang, saddles; Paebubang, mother-of-pearl inlay objects; Jupibang, leather goods; and Miseonbang, round fans.

Tongyeong’s workshops produced top quality goods supplied to the royal house-hold or sold nationwide. Consequently, by the late 19th century, they had evolved into a community of craftsmen with the high-est commercial manufacturing capability

among all regional organizations of their kind.

Specifically, Tongyeong’s wardrobes (jangnong) and portable dining tables (soban) inlaid with mother-of-pearl (jagae) enjoyed widespread popularity, which has continued to modern times. Park Kyong-ni (1926–2008), a prominent novelist from this city, requested in her will that three items of her bequest be treasured — an old sew-ing machine, a Korean language dictionar y, and a mother-of-pearl wardrobe made by a joiner from Tongyeong. “The sewing machine represents my everyday life, the dictionary my literature, and the wardrobe my art,” she explained.

Tongyeong’s soban were known to be so sturdy that a burly man could stand on one with a sack of rice on his shoulder. The gat was an important fashion accessory for the nobility, and a finely made “Tongyeong gat” was indispensible for stylish members of the literati. King Gojong’s father, Prince Regent Heungseon (1820–1898), the most

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powerful man of his time, is said to have ordered custom-made horsehair hats from this town.

When the naval headquarters was shut down in 1895, however, the workshops also ceased operation. The discharged crafts-men were dispersed all over the country, with some remaining in Tongyeong. After the Korean War, Tongyeong handicrafts regained their nationwide reputation. In the 1960s, when the Korean economy started to take off, possessing an exquisite house-hold item from Tongyeong was a sign of the family’s wealth. Tongyeong furniture, such as mother-of-pearl wardrobes and statio-nery chests, would occupy the bedrooms of the rich. The mother-of-pearl industry thrived, along with related workshops scat-tered about the city. Many young people would choose to learn this craft instead of going off to college. At a time when the city’s population was 40,000, more than 1,000 people were engaged in this industry.

However, the waves of modernization

eventually led this handicraft industry into decline. Mother-of-pearl wardrobes lost their appeal and were replaced by mod-ern-style furniture. The declining demand led to a decrease in the number of crafts-men. Few young people were interested in learning the craft that promised mea-ger rewards. Accordingly, the government began to offer grants to those who were designated as holders of Important Intangi-ble Cultural Properties. These “human cul-tural assets” were selected from 45 fields of traditional craftsmanship, four of which are either closely related with Tongyeong or whose title holders are from the region. The master craftsmen in these four areas — the makers of horsehair hats, mother-of-pearl products, metal fittings for furni-ture, and bamboo screens — are the true successors of Tongyeong’s Twelve Work-shops.

Song Bang-ung (b. 1940) is a master artisan in mother-of-pearl inlay (Impor-tant Intangible Cultural Property No. 10),

who continues to use his saliva for his craft. Human saliva at body temperature boosts the adhesiveness of animal glue, which helps the smoothed abalone shell pieces stick fast to the lacquered surface. While most other craftsmen apply warm water with a brush, Song has never deviated from the old meth-od. “If you use a brush, the warmth quickly disappears and the amount of applied mois-ture is not consistent.” he says.

Handicrafts made with 10,000 TouchesThere is an old saying in the trade: “You

become a true mother-of-peal artisan only after eating 30 mal (540 liters) of glue.” All his professional life Song has always had a dab of glue on his tongue. He is especially noted for his mosaic technique — cutting a thin strip of abalone shell into tiny pieces with a knife and making patterns by care-fully attaching them, one by one, onto the lacquered surface of a wooden object. He learned these skills from his father, Song Ju-an (1901–1981), a first-generation mod-

1 Jo Suk-mi is a fifth-generation bamboo blind artisan, succeeding the family business after her father Jo Dae-yong. Just eight years after starting to learn the craft, she won the prize of the administrator of the Cultural Heritage Administration at the Tra-ditional Handicraft Art Exhibition. With innovative ideas, she has applied the traditional craft to modern household articles.

2 Making a bamboo blind begins with cutting and processing bamboo pieces into strips as thin as thread. Weaving patterns onto the blind while tying bamboo strips together with silk thread, it usually takes more than 100 days to make a single blind. Blocking the summer heat but still letting in the air, traditional bamboo blinds have been widely loved for their unpretentious beauty.

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ern-day master craftsman.“Good mother-of-pearl products come

from high-quality abalone shells. And the colors are more beautiful in female aba-lones than in males,” Song says, adding, “The abalone shells harvested from the seas near Tongyeong are the best.” Mak-ing furniture inlaid with mother-of-pearl is a painstaking process. It takes him at least six months to finish one small piece.

Jo Dae-yong (b. 1950) is a master crafts-man specializing in bal, blinds made of woven bamboo strips (Important Intangible Cultural Property No. 114). He remembers

that in his childhood a constant stream of customers came from all over the coun-try to buy the bamboo blinds made by his father. “Housewives formed a gye [private fund] to buy expensive bamboo blinds,” he said.

To create various designs while weav-ing fine strips of bamboo with silk thread requires immense patience as well as manual dexterity. First, thin strips of pro-cessed bamboo are placed evenly on the loom then tightly woven together by lift-ing and lowering the numerous bobbins of silk thread hung from the loom. It takes at

least 100 days for a weaver working all day to finish a decent piece. The family trade has been passed on for four generations. As a child, Jo Dae-yong helped his father, trimming the bamboo stems and process-ing the strips to even thickness by passing them through the hole on a metal plate, and even weaving plain blinds.

Kim Geuk-cheon (b. 1951) and Jeong Chun-mo (b. 1940) have also walked a sin-gle path as traditional craftsmen, special-izing in metal fittings for furniture (Impor-tant Intangible Cultural Property No. 64) and traditional horsehair hats (Important

Collectors from abroad are increasingly seeking out the mother-of-pearl furniture produced here. Young Koreans are also turning their eyes from European luxury goods to local masterpieces. At the heart of this change is Tongyeong’s peerless traditional craftsmanship.

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Two years ago, her husband’s friend retrieved a discarded freight container from the sea. It had been swept off a cargo ship during a typhoon. Shin Mi-seon, a housewife aged 46, repaired the dents and painted it in nice colors in the yard of her husband’s boat repair shop. She then hung wallpaper inside and turned the damaged container into her workshop.

Shin has a sad childhood memory of her fisherman father drowning with his boat off the coast of Tongyeong, when she was six years old. After graduating from a girls’ vocational high school, she found a job and worked until she got married and had a son and a daughter. Then one day three years ago, a banner announcing a mother-of-pearl inlay course caught her eye. It was a training program sponsored by the city of Tongyeong. Then and there, she remem-bered the smell of animal glue from her childhood, emanating from a workshop in her neigh-borhood that made mother-of-pearl lacquer works. Without a moment’s hesitation, as if spell-bound, she enrolled in the program.

Just one year after taking up the craft, she earned the Grand Prize at the Handicraft Art Exhi-bition of South Gyeongsang Province, followed by the Silver Prize this year. Her grand-prize winning work was a small two-tier lunch box, coated with lacquer and decorated with mother-of-pearl inlay in a modern style. “Lacquer coating is a battle against dust. If dust gets trapped between the layers of lacquer, the surface becomes rough,” Shin explains. In the olden days craftsmen applied lacquer coating with no clothes on to prevent ruining their work with dust par-ticles from their clothes. “Mother-of-pearl art entices me because it is so challenging.”

Shin was able to start a new life as a craftsman through the “Craft 12 Project” launched by the city of Tongyeong in 2008 to continue the legacy of the Twelve Workshops from the Joseon Dynasty.

Intangible Cultural Property No. 4), respec-tively. The craftsmen’s skills are generally passed on to their offspring, since the work is so demanding and the rewards so insig-nificant.

Carrying on the LegacyJo Suk-mi, 39, decided to take over

her family business a little late in life. Her father is the bamboo blind maker Jo Dae-yong. The daughter, who had married and moved away from her hometown, could not ignore her father’s wishes when he said, “This is such a difficult craft that no one wants to learn it. But you’re my daughter. So will you please consider it?” Indeed the work turned out to be even more demand-ing for a woman. She persevered, however, with the help of her mother, Im Seong-ae, who had supported her father in his sin-gle-minded pursuit of the craft by doing all sorts of manual labor at laundries or on the quayside. Eight years have passed since then and two years ago Jo received a prize at the Traditional Handicraft Art Exhibi-

tion. She even went beyond tradition, apply-ing the age-old techniques to other kinds of household articles, like tea coasters, or decorating the woven bamboo blinds with embroidery.

Jeong Suk-hee, 45, was not born to a craftsman’s family. In Tongyeong, this “new-generation artisan” is noted for her modern interpretation of traditional quilt-ing. Two layers of fabric with cotton pad-ding in between held in place by tight hand stitching, quilted material has had a variety of uses throughout Korean history: military

uniforms to protect soldiers from arrows; winter clothing for fishermen; carrier blan-kets for babies; and bedding materials. Jeong has given a modern touch to the tra-ditional material and applied it to various everyday articles, such as bags, purses, backpacks, neckties, and kitchen items. To make the fabric more durable she has even added lacquer coating. Her stylish hand-bags, with waterproof linings, have been displayed at luxury hotels, duty-free shops, souvenir shops of the National Museum and the Seoul Arts Center, and even the exhibition hall of Cheong Wa Dae, the pres-idential residence. “Fortunately, I saw a niche market,” she says.

Currently, traditional craftsmanship in Tongyeong is enjoying another renais-sance. Collectors from abroad are increas-ingly seeking out the mother-of-pearl furniture produced here. Young Koreans are also turning their eyes from European luxury goods to local masterpieces. At the heart of this change is Tongyeong’s peer-less traditional craftsmanship.

1 A quilted bag made by Jeong Suk-hee, a “new-generation artisan” who has carried on the 400-year tradition of Tongyeong quilting. With refined designs appealing to modern tastes and lacquer coating increasing the durability of the fabric, she has ap-plied traditional quilting to various everyday articles, including bags and neckties.

2 Shin Mi-seon, who grew up in a neighborhood packed with workshops producing mother-of-pearl lacquer-ware, was drawn to the craft in her forties. Adding a modern touch to everyday items such as lunch boxes and jewelry cases inlaid with mother-of-pearl, she hopes to make this traditional craft better known to younger generations.

‘new-GeneratiOn artisan’ in a shippinG COntainer wOrkshOp

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When Koreans think of the Gyeongsang region, food does not immediately come to mind. But

Tongyeong is a big exception. This harbor city in the southernmost part of Korea is a gastronomic

paradise. Fresh seafood caught off its coast throughout the year tantalizes the taste buds of

gourmands around the country.

Delightful Delicacies from the Sea

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Song Young-man President, Hyohyung Publishing Company Ahn Hong-beomPhotographer


i t is a distant memory now, but I first encountered the name Tongyeong (or Chungmu as it was known then) in the early 1960s. I was in the fourth grade and flipping through my older

sister’s atlas. Next to the name of the harbor city, it stated “Popu-lation 70,000” and “Naples of the East.” My young heart longed to go there. But it was an unattainable dream back then. The “Naples of Hallyeo Waterway” was just as far out of my reach as the real Naples halfway around the world.

Because of my circumstances and a general lack of public transportation, it was not until I had graduated from college that I visited Tongyeong for the first time. With the opening of the high-way between Daejeon and Tongyeong, today the trip only takes four hours from Seoul. But just 10 years ago, the port city was a faraway place in the south that could only be reached by driving all day, tak-ing a winding detour via Daegu, Masan, and Jinju.

Alleyways Brimming with mouthwatering FoodTongyeong is a charming, compact city. The back alleys are

full of pleasant surprises. The hillside village of Dongpirang, over-looking Gangguan Bay, has become a tourist hotspot bustling with young people all year round. People come here not only to see the sights, but also to enjoy the delightful array of local treats. Eateries selling Chungmu gimbap, fried octopus, and kkulppang — some of the city’s representative dishes — line the waterfront.

Chungmu gimbap places all profess to be the wonjo, or the “originator” of the dish. The laver rolls are filled with plain white rice only and are served with spicy squid and radish kimchi on the side. The city’s signature dish has become popular nationwide; today, it can even be found at convenience stores and expressway rest stops across the country.

There is an interesting story behind the “birth” of Chungmu gimbap. Passenger ferries operating between Busan and Yeosu stopped at Tongyeong, the midway point, around lunchtime. Ven-dors would come aboard to sell gimbap, but during the summer months the rolls would go bad quickly. So someone came up with an ingenious idea: take out the fillings and serve them separately. As the saying goes, “necessity is the mother of invention.”

Kkulppang literally means “honey bread” in Korean, but don’t expect to find any honey inside. They are dough balls with red bean paste filling, deep fried, then coated with syrup and sprinkled with sesame seeds. Back in the days when people were not as well-off, it was a favorite snack of young girls that would ease their hunger and sweet tooth. The temptation of sweetness can be more irresist-ible for those in poverty. And while we now live in an age of abun-dance, people are still captivated by the sweet taste of kkulppang, and invariably end up buying extras to give away to friends.

I have visited Tongyeong about fifteen times so far: five or six times for sightseeing and six or seven times on business. But not once have I set out to explore the city’s culinary culture. I never had the time, and more to the point, I’ve never really acquired a keen

sense of taste, having always been told to eat everything that was on my plate when I was growing up. A trip to Tongyeong makes me more excited than traveling to a foreign country. Just the thought of the many things to see, eat, and buy leaves me heady with antici-pation. When traveling, enjoying three good meals a day can be a challenge. But in Tongyeong, rarely have I had a meal simply for the sake of sating my hunger.

Seafood Carrying the Ocean’s smellTongyeong is a food lover’s paradise. For breakfast, pufferfish

soup and sirakguk (bean paste soup with dried radish greens) await those who had too many drinks the night before. Any restaurant you walk into won’t disappoint you. For lunch, treat yourself to the tasty seaweed or sea squirt bibimbap with the smell of the sea, or a traditional set meal complete with fresh green vegetables from Mt. Mireuk. For dinner, there is seafood galore; every kind of seafood you ever imagined fresh from the pristine waters is available. My first great experience of enjoying raw fish was in my late 20s when I visited Tongyeong during my first vacation. Having lived all my life inland, in Chungcheong Province and Seoul, the only fish I had ever eaten were salted dry fish, or grilled yellow croaker or saury. In those days, whether rich or poor, the only fish dishes on your table were grilled or salted.

During the mid-1980s I frequently traveled to Tongyeong, Jinju, and Masan to conduct the “special lectures on economics and sci-ence in the 21st century” hosted by a newspaper. I was accompa-nied by economics and science professors from prestigious univer-sities in Seoul. We were given the red carpet treatment and taken to the best restaurants in town. That’s when I first encountered salted sea cucumber entrails. I loved sea cucumber, but had never

heard of this gourmet dish, let alone tasted it. The late Kang Gwang-ha (1947–2012), economics professor at Seoul National University, who was from Daegu, also said it was his first time. In high spirits, we drank many rounds of hirezake (warm sake con-taining a sun-dried blowfish fin). A sumptuous feast was laid out before our eyes with raw seafood, such as black porgy, yellow tail, brown croaker, and abalone, as well as sea urchin roe and yellow-eyed mul-let. It was truly a lavish array that included all the three most prized delicacies of Japan.

Even when I’m traveling with my family, whether in Korea or abroad, I like to visit some special place on my own. It might be a flea market or

1 Because they grow on rocks, spread out like flowers, oys-ters are sometimes called seokhwa in Korean, which means “rock flowers.” Fresh oysters are eaten dipped in vinegared red pepper paste or cooked in various ways, as an ingredient in soup, or coated with egg batter and pan-fried.

2 Before they were cultivated, sea squirts were a rare sea-food item that could only be harvested by women divers from the ocean. These days they are much more com-mon and reasonably priced. While inlanders usually eat them raw with vinegared red pepper paste, seaside dwell-ers like to eat them mixed with rice, vegetables and various seasonings.


1 Unlike the typical gimbap filled with meat, vegetables and other ingre-dients, Chungmu gimbap are laver rolls of white rice served with spicy squid and radish kimchi on the side. Tongyeong was once called Chung-mu and this name stuck to the dish even when the city regained its original name.

2 Kkulppang were first sold by a street-side vendor next to a dry cleaning business in Tongyeong named Omisa. The dry cleaner has now disap-peared but the name lives on in the kkulppang shop, which has spawned other shops selling the sweet deep-fried dough balls all over Tongyeong.

3 The streets along Gangguan Bay and the Central Market are lined with Chungmu gimbap and kkulppang shops.

A trip to Tongyeong makes me more excited than traveling to a foreign country. Just the thought of the many things to see, eat, and buy leaves me heady with anticipation. When traveling, enjoying three good meals a day can be a challenge. But in Tongyeong, rarely have I had a meal simply for the sake of sating my hunger.

a traditional outdoor market brimming with life. In Tongyeong, my favorite place is the fish market. You can eat fresh raw fish on the spot or take it with you. The bustling market overflows with activity and the animated sounds of knives thumping against the chopping board, as locals with a heavy southern accent haggle over pric-es. All kinds of fish and shellfish caught straight from the coastal waters are found in large plastic tubs, opening and closing their mouths, still pulsating with life. Red sea bream, gizzard shad, flat-fish, and octopus abound. The sea squirt, spoon worm, sea cucum-ber, top shell, and abalone are all so unbelievably fresh. When I bite into a sea cucumber, it’s so fresh and cold that my teeth tingle.

Since I visit Tongyeong quite often, I get to taste a wide variety of fish in season, including raw sea bass in spring, and raw eel and croaker in summer. But none compares to the raw gizzard shad and raw mackerel enjoyed in autumn. The autumn gizzard shad is noticeably rich and chewy after having absorbed abundant nutri-

ents during the summer when their food is plentiful. The mackerel is so high-strung that it dies as soon as it is caught, which is why it is rarely served raw. And this is why most people are familiar with salted mackerel.

Delicacies Abound Year RoundSome of the mackerel farms are located off the coast of Yokji

and Yeonhwa islands, along the Hallyeo Waterway. On a recent trip to Yokji Island, I was amazed by the spectacular sight. There was an odd beauty about the round fish cages that resembled ssireum (traditional Korean wrestling) rings, protruding above the water’s surface. The mackerel caught with a net are brought there and bred within the cages for a certain period of time. Since there is little room for activity in the enclosed area, they become fattier. Hence the richer flavor, which makes the fish a popular choice despite the high price.

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In winter, all seafood tastes great. But Tongyeong locals have a particular liking for codfish soup and cubed snailfish soup, which are a kind of winter rite of passage. Codfish travel to the waters off Mireuk Island with the Kuroshio Current at the onset of win-ter in November and remain there until the start of spring in Feb-ruary. Cod caught in February is the best. Codfish soup served in Tongyeong, with its clear broth and mild, refreshing taste, is superb indeed. It is particularly popular among the middle-aged and elder-ly who tend to avoid pungent flavors. When I was young, it seemed too bland for my taste; I definitely preferred the spicy red codfish soup.

In Tongyeong, seafood is typically eaten with liquor. Good food makes you want to drink more. But no worries; there are numer-ous hangover soups for the morning after to soothe your stomach, cubed snailfish soup being one of them. Known as a refreshing hangover cure, it is similar to moray soup, which is popular in the eastern coastal regions. Whenever I visited Gangneung or Sokcho on the east coast, moray soup was served every morning.

Mugwort and flounder soup is another of Tongyeong’s delicious offerings. Fresh mugwort picked in early spring enhances the fla-vor of the soup. Also, if autumn is the season for gizzard shad then spring is surely the season for flounder. Other signature dishes include pufferfish soup, which makes a hearty breakfast; sea squirt

that tastes best in early summer; raw pike eel, a well-known sum-mer stamina food; and the famed winter oysters. Tongyeong, in fact, accounts for some 70 percent of the nation’s oyster production.

The question is how such a rich culinary culture developed in this small port city. There are various views. Some attribute it to the large number of renowned artists, whose delicate sensibilities have been incorporated into its cuisine. Others contend that follow-ing the establishment of the naval headquarters around 400 years ago, many high-ranking government officials from Seoul were dis-patched here and the housemaids and cooks who accompanied them passed on their culinary skills, or that the coastal town was exposed to cultural influences from abroad, which were assimilat-ed into the distinctive local culture.

More than anything else are the moderate weather of the sea-side city and the ideal geographical conditions created by the sur-rounding islands. Geoje Island blocks the turbulent currents of the Korea Strait, while Yokji and Yeonhwa islands serve as natural wind barriers, and Mt. Mireuk together with Hansan Island forms a shel-ter, creating a stunning estuary. The breathtaking views of the west bay from the top of Mt. Nammang would fill anyone with poetic inspiration. Blessed with such natural scenic beauty that stirs artis-tic sensibilities, Tongyeong has nurtured its outstanding culinary culture.

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Jongmyo Jeryeak, the royal ancestral ritual music of the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910), will be staged at

the Chaillot National Theater (Théâtre National de Chaillot) in Paris on September 18–19, opening the

theater’s 2015/2016 season. This will also kick off “The Year of Korea-France Bilateral Exchange” to

celebrate the 130th anniversary of diplomatic relations between the two countries.

Performance of Joseon royal ancestral ritual music in Paris

Song Hye-jinProfessor, Sookmyung Women’s UniversitySuh Heun-gangPhotographer

FOCUS


j ongmyo Jeryeak, which was inscribed on UNESCO’s List of Intangible Cultural Heritage in 2001, is ceremonial music and dance to promote filial piety as a basic tenet of Confucianism, the official state ideology of the Joseon Dynasty. The quintessence of traditional Korean performing arts, the majes-

tic rites and the accompanying music and dance performed against the solemn architecture of the royal shrine, Jongmyo, express the eternity of nature and humanity.

musical Tradition of Confucian RitesDuring the Joseon Dynasty, filial piety was an essential ideal that governed people’s lives, teaching them

to take earnest care of their parents during their lifetime and then to lovingly remember them after death. The same was true for the royal family. As the national manifestation of such cherished tenet, the royal ancestral rites conducted at Jongmyo were state events of utmost importance.

The rites were held multiple times throughout the year, on the death anniversaries of former kings and queens and on other occasions of national significance to report the events to the royal ancestors. The king, the crown prince, and high-ranking officials all participated in the rites, which were conducted according to a detailed protocol: burning incense to summon the spirits, offering food and wine for their enjoyment, and

Dancers perform the military dance, or mumu, to the “Music of Brilliant Exploits,” holding swords and spears in their hands, in a stage adaptation of Jongmyo Jeryeak, the royal ancestral ritual music of the Joseon Dynasty.


finally bidding them farewell. During the rites, court musicians played instruments and sang songs accord-ing to ritual procedures to pay tribute to the virtues of the royal ancestors. To the music, dancers performed a special line dance called ilmu. This ritual music and dance has been preserved and handed down to the present as Korea’s Important Intangible Cultural Property No. 1.

The practice of playing music in the royal ancestral rites is rooted in the age-old traditions of East Asian Confucianism. In ancient China, Confucian rites featured orchestras and singers to praise the great deeds of ancestors, and dancers performing to the music. The orchestra was composed of various instruments made of eight different materials — metal, stone, silk, bamboo, gourd, clay, leather, and wood. The ensem-ble symbolized a harmony of all the sounds in nature.

In the Joseon royal ancestral rites, two such orchestras were placed at separate locations in the ritu-al arena: the upper terrace (sang woldae) and the lower terrace (ha woldae) that represented heaven and earth, respectively. The music played alternately by the two orchestras symbolized yin and yang harmony. The orchestra performing on the upper level of the wide stone-covered platform in front of the main hall was called deungga (meaning “elevated band”), and that on the lower level heonga (“band of racked instru-ments”). In a corner of the courtyard, between the upper and lower orchestras, the dancers stood in rows, completing a metaphorical configuration of humans between heaven and earth. The symbolism originated from ancient Chinese court music, which was first adopted by Korea in the 12th century. It was completely revised in the 15th century based on extensive research of Chinese and Korean musical traditions.

1 Musicians play the geo-mungo in the ancestral rites conducted at Jong-myo, the royal shrine of the Joseon Dynasty in Seoul. With a history of 1,500 years, the zither composed of a long paulownia board and six silk strings is one of the best-known traditional Korean string instruments. Called the “instrument of scholars,” it has a solemn and elegant sound.

2 Musicians play the dae-geum, a large transverse bamboo flute. In the royal ancestral rites of the Jo-seon era, court musicians played the ceremonial music, consisting of 22 short songs grouped into the “Music of the Peaceful Reign” and the “Music of Brilliant Exploits.”

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Roots of Jongmyo JeryeakThe current form of the royal ancestral ritual music is the version composed in 1449 during the reign of

King Sejong (r. 1418–1450) and later rearranged during his son Sejo’s reign (r. 1455–1468). First performed in the rites held at Jongmyo in 1464, it was a new style of ritual music that departed from the tradition of Chinese court music.

King Sejong, who had created Hangeul, applied the new writing system in Yongbi eocheon ga, or “Songs of the Flying Dragons,” an epic cycle on the founding of the Joseon Dynasty. Then, the king set about adapt-ing the poem for a song suite with dance, an experiment in combining court music with Korea’s native musi-cal traditions. The purpose was to create a Korean-style ritual music, similar in form to the earlier court music of ancient Chinese origin but with localized content.

The traditional formal elements were largely retained, such as the placement and composition of the orchestras, the number of dancers and their props, the combined song, dance and music genre, and the way the music started and ended. On the other hand, new instruments were added to the orchestras, and the repertoire was modified with new pieces featuring the rhythms, melodies, and lyrics adopted from hyang ak, Korea’s own court music. The result was a new court music that integrated the musical traditions of the two countries. King Sejong called it “new music,” hoping it would be widely used at court banquets and other royal ceremonies. His wishes were finally realized during the reign of his son, Sejo.

Two song suites composed during Sejong’s reign to praise the achievements of past kings — “Music of the Peaceful Reign” (Botaepyeong ji ak) and “Music of Brilliant Exploits” (Jeongdaeeop ji ak) — were revised

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during Sejo’s era to be used in the royal ancestral rites. Regarded as a unique legacy of Korean music, these important works of court music have been passed down from the court musicians of Joseon to the tradition-al musicians of modern times.

music, Song and Dance for Royal Ancestral RitesJongmyo Jeryeak encompasses instrumental music, song, and dance. Aside from the instruments

used in the earlier form of court music, the two orchestras include indigenous Korean instruments as well as those from the Chinese Tang Dynasty. Today’s orchestra consists of 15 kinds of instruments: pyeon-jong (bell chimes), pyeongyeong (stone chimes), banghyang (iron chimes), chuk (wooden trough), eo (tiger-shaped wooden scraper), bak (wooden clapper), dangpiri (cylindrical oboe), daegeum (large transverse bamboo flute), haegeum (two-string fiddle), ajaeng (seven-string long zither), janggu (hourglass-shaped drum), jing (large gong), taepyeongso (conical oboe), jeolgo (medium size barrel drum), and jingo (large bar-rel drum). During the Joseon period, however, some 20 other instruments were also included, such as the

The solemn Confucian rites, the slow and seemingly monotonous music, the sounds of exotic musical instruments, and incomprehensible songs are all quite obscure even to Korean audiences nowadays. Nevertheless, Jongmyo Jeryeak is undeniably a unique and distinguished musical legacy of humanity.

1 In tribute to the past kings and queens, the royal an-cestral rites were different in the quality and variety of offerings compared to memorial rites observed in common households. The offerings of grains (rice, millet, sorghum) and meats (pork, lamb, beef) were all served raw so as to present the freshest food to the royal ancestors.

2 The ritual officiants stand in rows, prepared to conduct the rite of burning incense to summon the spirits. During the Joseon Dynasty, some 300 ritual officiants, including the king, the crown prince, and high-ranking officials, attended the royal ancestral rites.

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gayageum (twelve-string zither), geomungo (six-string zither), wolgeum (moon-shaped four-string lute), dangbipa (pear-shaped four-string lute), hyangbipa (pear-shaped five-string lute), junggeum (medium size transverse bamboo flute), and sogeum (small transverse bamboo flute).

The vocal part consists of multiple songs with lyrics that expound the significance of the royal ances-tral rites, praise the past kings for their devotion to maintaining peace and promoting the people’s welfare, and pray for the lasting prosperity of their descendants. The songs’ main themes are expressed in the lyr-ics that go, “Your descendants hope to be blessed with good fortune by conducting these rites with all their hearts . . . We will be profoundly grateful for the blessings bestowed upon us by our great ancestors . . . Please watch over your descendants and grant them prosperity . . . Please take care of your loyal descen-dants so that they can enjoy a long life and good health.” At the same time, the songs also praise and glo-rify the ancestors to whom the rites are dedicated. The current form of the ritual music is comprised of 22 short songs grouped into the “Music of Peaceful Reign” and the “Music of Brilliant Exploits,” which eulogize the former monarchs’ civil achievements and military victories, respectively.

The songs declared that a major purpose of the ritual was to pray for the unending prosperity of the nation and the royal family. In addition, as advised in Zhongyong, or the “Doctrine of the Mean” —“Serve ancestral rites at the royal shrine to instruct posterity” — the elaborate ritual was also aimed at guiding later generations to practice benevolent governance by following in the footsteps of their forebears.

The dance is performed by dancers aligned in rows and moving in unison. It is divided into civil and mili-tary dances, called munmu and mumu, respectively, according to their style of movements and props.

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The dancers are dressed in a red robe with a navy sash, a pair of leather boots (mokhwa), and a two-tiered headpiece (bokdu). For the civil dance, the dancers hold a wind instrument (yak) in their left hand, and a feathered baton (jeok) in their right hand. A wind instrument with only three tone holes, the yak stands for the harmony of all sounds created with little intervention. The jeok is a 30-cm-long baton with a pheasant plume and tassel attached, symbolizing peace and order.

For the civil dance, the two props are tapped against each other to produce a rhythmic clapping sound. The dance is slow and restrained, without any big up-and-down movement or swirling. Mostly staying in place, the dancers perform repetitive movements: raising and lowering their arms, bending forward at the waist and straightening up again, or slowly turning to the left and then to the right. The movements are sim-ple, graceful, and reverential.

The civil dance is performed for the rites from welcoming the ancestral spirits (yeongsinrye) to the offer-ing of the first libation (choheonrye). For only the ritual table setting (jinchanrye), the “Music of Abundance and Welfare” (Pungan ji ak) is performed, while the “Music of Peaceful Reign” is performed for the rest of the rites.

The military dance is performed for the second libation (aheonrye) and the third and final libation (jongheonrye) — with the first four rows of dancers holding swords and the next four rows holding spears. They stand with their hands clasped in front before the music starts, and then turn to the left and then to the right, and raise their outstretched arms above their heads and lower them again. Although the movements are simple and repetitive, the military dance performed to the grand “Music of Brilliant Exploits” is solemn

While the rites are conducted inside the main hall of the royal shrine, dancers perform to the music played by the orchestras placed on the upper and lower levels of the wide stone-covered plat-form in front of the hall. The music and dance enhance the magnificent and dignified atmosphere of the rites.


and majestic. These dances were choreographed during the reign of King Sejong based on an adaptation of ancient Chinese dance, with its external form retained while adding some original features.

An Illustrious LegacyThe royal ancestral ritual music can be appreciated at the actual rites, which have been conducted at

Jongmyo once a year, on the first Sunday of May every year, since the 1970s. It is also performed at various venues outside its ritual setting, including the National Gugak Center. With growing public interest, it has been staged in diverse ways, such as performance-with-commentary or on-stage reenactment of the rites.

Due to its grand scale, however, Jongmyo Jeryeak has been performed abroad only three times thus far: at the Korea-Japan Joint Court Music Concert in Tokyo and Osaka, Japan in 2000, ahead of the 2002 FIFA World Cup jointly hosted by the two countries; and the Torino Classical Music Festival in Italy and the Asia-Pacific Weeks in Germany, both in 2007.

The upcoming performance in Paris differs in that the music will be played in its entirety over 90 minutes, with a contracted form of the rites. The number of dancers will be considerably increased to emphasize the dance over the other components. The solemn Confucian rites, the slow and seemingly monotonous music, the sounds of exotic musical instruments, and incomprehensible songs are all quite obscure even to Kore-an audiences nowadays. Nevertheless, Jongmyo Jeryeak is undeniably a unique and distinguished musical legacy of humanity. We look forward to seeing how French audiences respond to the ancient ritual music and dance from Korea.


INTERVIEW

“T he Silver Lion for a promising young artist in the 56th Inter-national Art Exhibition, ‘All the World’s Futures,’ goes to Im Heung-Soon from South Korea.” On May 9 this year, Im

Heung-soon went up to the podium of the Venice Biennale Foun-dation hall behind St. Mark’s Square in Venice, Italy and gave his award acceptance speech: “This is a thrilling moment, but I feel heavy in my heart to think of the labor reality depicted in my film. I want to thank the many women who have stood by their prin-ciples in their lives and their work.” Im earned the Silver Lion for his 95-minute-long documentary “Factory Complex.” It is the most prestigious award for promising young artists who participate in the biennale, and indeed the highest award ever received by a Korean artist since the country started to participate in the event in 1986.

‘Waiting is my Talent’Before moving to Chang-dong in the northern part of Seoul

in January this year, Im lived for four years in the Seoul Digital Industrial Complex, formerly the Guro Industrial Complex. Dur-ing his stay at the Geumcheon Art Factory, the artists’ residence in the complex supported by the Seoul city government, he orga-

nized “Geumcheon Mrs.” with women living in the area. Together they made a short film about the past and present of the industrial complex as well as stories of women of their generation. The film also touched on the heartfelt sorrow and appreciation felt by mar-ried working-class women toward their “older sisters’ generation.” These emotions coalesced to form the basis of “Factory Complex.”

“Factory Complex” includes poignant scenes of the women workers revealing their dreams and wishes in fantasy style mixed with documentary elements, such as interviews and photos. The title, meaning “comforting factory complex” in the original Korean, reflects the director’s belief that women’s solidarity will make a better world.

Im Heung-soon spent a rather long time “wandering.” Much earlier, before the government and public organizations began to sponsor residence programs for artists in earnest, he organized art projects with the local residents in different parts of Seoul: “Seong-nam Project” (1998–1999), dealing with the dark side of a new town, together with Kim Tae-heon, Park Yong-seok, and Park Chan-kyong; “Mixrice” (2002–2005), with Jeon Yong-seok and Cho Ji-eun, in which he worked with foreign migrant workers; “Seongnam Proj-

Artist and film director Im Heung-soon, 46, has participated in the Gwangju Biennale since 2002, and in 2012 he was

invited to the Jeonju International Film Festival and the DmZ International Documentary Film Festival to show his first

full-length film. Nevertheless, he was all but unknown, in the art world as well as the film community, until may this

year when his name was called out at the Venice Biennale as the surprise winner of the Silver Lion. The name

Im Heung-soon now stands for “hope” for the underdog.

‘Waiting is My Talent, Feeling Sorry is My Strength’

Im Heung-soon, Silver Lion Winner at the 2015 Venice Biennale

Kwon Keun-young Culture Reporter, The JoongAng IlboAhn Hong-beomPhotographer


ect” sequel (2006–2007); and “Public Art Itda,” organized in public housing complexes in the Seongsan-dong and Deungchon-dong districts. His 10-year-long involvement in community art projects was an exercise in the art of wait-ing. In the public housing complex of Deungchon-dong, he had to wait three months for approval after he proposed a project to make use of an abandoned citizen’s recreation hall. But at the end of the waiting, he was able to convert the space into a community library, lounge, and classroom for art projects. The local citizens made films in which they appeared to tell personal stories based on their lives. Such activities did not result in the kind of “art works” that could be exhibited or sold, like paintings and sculptures. Only the written and photographic records offer indirect evidence of Im’s struggle each time.

Kwon Keun-young Bringing out the best in amateurs must be harder than it sounds.

Im Heung-soon That’s right. For instance, things don’t happen exactly as planned. But I wanted to see what I could do for society through art. Painting murals or mak-ing sculptures would be personal work. I had to think about what I could do with people in the space they’d formed for their lives, and I found limitless ways and stories.

Kwon Don’t you feel empty after building up art in a new place and leading the program, only to leave it all behind after a certain time?

Im You don’t love to be loved in return. If a place closes down after we leave, that’s not our failure but their respon-sibility, I think. If the art grows more alive for them, that’s also their achievement.

“Factory Complex” shows, without added drama, the joys and sorrows of workers from the Guro Industrial Com-plex in the 1970s to the garment factories in Vietnam and Cambodia as well as today’s high-tech and service indus-tries. The film incorporates interviews with 65 women workers in various jobs, one of which came about only after six months of waiting. Altogether, the film took three years to complete.

“That’s my attitude toward both work and life. I don’t force or hurry people to come up with stories. That’s not my way. I respect and trust people, and believe in them, too,” Im said.

Im Heung-soon was born and raised in Seoul. His play-ground was Dapsimni, a lower-income hillside neighbor-hood known as a “moon village.” His family could not afford after-school activities and tutoring so he spent his time playing sports or hanging out with friends. In the moon vil-lage, fireflies flew about after sunset. He stood out in art,


and at Jeonnong Middle School he joined the art class on a teacher’s recommendation. While his father pressed him to study hard so he could earn money, his mother encouraged him, say-ing, “Do what you want to do.”

‘Feeling Sorry is my Strength’His parents’ lives are part of the history of the urban poor. His father, after an accident at

an iron factory at Cheonggyecheon cost him a hand, worked at a variety of laboring jobs. His mother, who came to Seoul at 18 from Goesan in North Chungcheong Province, worked for over 40 years as an assistant at a sewing factory. “As we grew poorer, my parents sold our house and moved to the hillside village. When the lower part of the neighborhood was developed, we moved further up, but when the hill was completely developed, we had to move down again into a rented basement.” His observation of such circumstances was reflected in his first audiovisual work, “The Way to Icheon” (1998), which documents his parents’ visit to his house in Seongnam and then his older brother’s place in Icheon.

“My parents’ personal story led to my interest in the history of the urban poor and the work-ing class, while stories of housing conditions in the 1960s and 1970s led to my community art projects at public housing complexes. My parents’ story is also the story of our neighbors and even the story of people in other countries. My story is no different from other people’s stories,” Im says.

Kwon You studied art at Kyungwon University (now Gachon University) and also received your master’s degree there.

Im I worked as a teaching assistant during graduate school to earn my tuition. I discovered a small camcorder at school, which I used to shoot a road movie when my parents traveled between my place and my older brother’s. As I watched the video, images unseen to the naked eye appeared before me. I saw the neighborhood and my parents’ facial expressions and wrin-kles in a different light. It was fascinating. I decided to use film instead of a paintbrush.

Kwon “Factory Complex” also involves your family, but the film keeps a certain distance from them and develops the story into a universal one.

Im The experience was like extreme indecision. It converted the weakness of my character, namely, an inability to go right in or to stay away, into strength. I think that feeling sorry is the power that propels my work. Feeling sorry makes me want to set things right. This isn’t some false humility hiding an inflated ego. Working together is what’s important.

Kwon What do you feel sorry for? You didn’t go off the rails or hurt anyone.Im For not getting a regular job or getting married . . . I feel sorry to my parents for failing to

do what society expects. But because I chose to go my own way, I believed I should endure some degree of difficulty.

His way, after a long detour, has now brought him to his position as co-founder of the film studio Bandal Doc. Not ondal (full moon) but bandal (half moon), signifying a desire to work with

“Factory Complex,” Im’s award-winning film, shows, without added drama, the joys and sorrows of workers from the Guro Industrial Complex in the 1970s to the garment factories in Vietnam and Cambodia as well as today’s high-tech and service industries. The film incorporates interviews with 65 women workers in various jobs, one of which came about only after six months of waiting.

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others to fill the empty part. The production director Kim Min-kyung is the other co-founder and his life partner.

Time is Never WastedIm, as he puts it, never achieved anything on his first

try. He started university at 25 after his discharge from the Marine Corps. Actually, he didn’t even finish his military service in one go. “Because I was soft and weak,” he says, “I intentionally applied for the Marine Corps to toughen up. But that was a mistake. I left the corps after I discovered it wasn’t for me. Doing things I don’t like is agonizing. Doing things that reduce you is agony.”

As a belated art student, and for stubbornly sticking to it despite being poor, he had to pay the price. To earn his tuition he not only delivered Chinese food and cabbag-es from Garak Market, but for two years he also cleaned the indoor racetrack in Seongnam. Both his service in the Marine Corps and the work at the indoor racetrack proved useful. For the Busan Biennale in 2004, he produced “This War,” which documents Korea’s Vietnam War veterans, and his experiences helped him to get the veterans to open up to him. While Im’s work with the Geumcheon women served as the foundation of ‘Factory Complex,” “This War” became the groundwork for his film “Reincarnation,” shown at the Sharjah Biennial in the UAE and at the MoMA PS1 in New York earlier this year.

Kwon It seems you’ve gone the long way round, but looking back, you’ve always headed in one direction.

Im I’ve had a lot of failures and made many mistakes. Eighty to ninety percent of the work I did in my 30s ended in failure. Our society acknowledges you only when you prove yourself with awards and other visible results, but I had made hardly any works in one go. But at some point I real-ized that failure was not just failure, it was part of the pro-cess.

Kwon I think that being more considerate and courte-ous as a director, rather than being dogmatic, led you to a new way of doing your work.

Im In the case of “Jeju Prayer,” I revived the discarded shots by connecting them as still cuts. There’s a scene of an old woman visiting a tomb. When it was divided into several cuts, it gained an intriguing new effect, evoking a disconti-nuity of memory.

Kwon Do you believe that art is powerful?Im In my case, I’ve come this far because this is what

I’m good at and what I wanted to do. Not everyone can do that. I wish for a society where people can at least do what they want to do. Everybody has a special strength.

1 “Factory Complex” (2014), which conveys Im Heung-soon’s unique style and warm-heartedness, was completed after three years and a journey over 22,000 kilome-ters. It is a documentary film that is considered an artwork.

2 Director Im Heung-soon poses with Kim Min-kyung, his partner in life and art, after receiving the Silver Lion at the 2015 Venice Biennale on May 9.

3 Im’s 24-minute film “Reincarnation” was shown at the Sharjah Biennial in the UAE and at the MoMA PS1 in New York earlier this year. Im is preparing to make a feature-length film out of it.

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Packing cultural artifacts is a profession that few people have even heard about. Kim Hong-sik, 70,

retired senior curator of the National museum of Korea, has dedicated his entire life to this rare

profession, becoming a true master of his trade. His workplace was the museum’s underground storage

room that houses many of Korea’s cultural treasures. Kim’s single-minded focus on the safety of these

artifacts and staunch commitment to his low-profile calling have earned him international recognition.

GUARDIAN OF HERITAGE

packing Cultural Artifacts

A Lifetime Passion and Career Chung Jae-suk

Editorial Writer and Senior Culture Reporter, The JoongAng IlboShim Byung-wooPhotographer


Kim Hong-sik, former senior curator at the National Museum of Korea, inspects ancient Buddhist sculptures — Stone Standing Maitreya Bodhisattva (National Trea-sure No. 81) and Stone Standing Amitabha Buddha (National Treasure No. 82) from Gamsan Temple — to work out packing requirements.

F or his expert knowledge of our national treasures, Kim Hong-sik is known as a “walking cultural asset.” People say he has million-dollar hands. For nearly 40 years, those hands have

packed priceless artifacts countless times. Without him, the cultur-al assets housed at the National Museum of Korea could not have been transported anywhere. This master artisan has been wholly dedicated to safeguarding the museum’s cultural treasures, quietly talking to the artifacts in the museum storage and studying ways to ensure their safety. After all those years in this work, his face seems to have taken on some resemblance to the relics.

From Trailblazer to True masterPacking cultural artifacts is an esoteric profession. It is a job

with little social recognition that remains largely unknown to the public. Kim is a pioneer in this field in Korea. He entered the pro-fession in the mid-1970s and has continued along that path ever since. When he retired in June 2005 from his service of 32 years at the National Museum of Korea, there was not a single artifact in the museum collection that had not passed through his hands. Dur-ing his career, he oversaw three museum moves in 10-year cycles, becoming a true master in the art of packing cultural artifacts.

We met with Kim at the National Museum of Korea in Yongsan, Seoul. Looking around his longtime workplace, he seemed to be immersed in old memories. He said he rarely visited because he didn’t want the museum staff to feel uncomfortable, yet his eyes gleamed as if he had been reunited with an old friend.

Chung Jae-suk This used to be your beloved workplace. Some-thing seems to have already caught your eye.

Kim Hong-sik Did you see the ceremonial scroll painting of Cheongnyong Temple currently on display? It is a huge painting measuring over 7 meters in length that has been designated Trea-sure No. 1257. It isn’t easy to find someone these days who knows how to properly roll up such scroll paintings. It may not seem like a hard job, but professionals like us can easily spot the damage when it is not rolled up the right way.

CJ Even if you wear gloves when handling artworks and take extreme care, there are areas where you may still fall short.

KH Yes. Look at that stele for Zen Master Wollang from Wol-gwang Temple. It was the first in Korea to be equipped with a vibra-tion isolator for protection against earthquake. Back then, no one thought that an earthquake could destroy a cultural relic. So we

had to adopt the technology from Japan and customize it to suit our conditions.

CJ Blazing a trail is no easy feat. How did you first enter the field?

KH I got a job at the National Museum of Korea back when it was in Gyeongbok Palace, at the current location of the National Folk Museum of Korea. But I felt I wasn’t really cut out for the kind of work that so-called educated people from prestigious universities were doing. So I started looking for what I could do in the Collec-tion Management Department. I liked being in close contact with the artifacts and I felt like they allowed me to remain the person I am.

From 1973, when he started work as a temporary employee, until 2005, when he retired as senior curator in charge of managing the museum’s collection, Kim faithfully guarded the underground storage. He put in tremendous effort studying and committing to memory the tens of thousands of art objects housed in the muse-um. He worked from 7 a.m. to 10 p.m., studying on average 100 objects per day. He quit smoking, fearing it could cause damage to the artworks. Challenging assignments would give him sleepless nights. The reliquary from Seokgatap (Sakyamuni Pagoda, Nation-al Treasure No. 126) at Bulguk Temple was a particularly difficult project. The small pendant ornaments on the corners of the sarira casket posed a problem. He racked his brains for a week, gazing at the casket for hours each day, until he finally found a solution. He rolled a thin piece of acid-free hanji (Korean mulberry paper) to make props to support the ornaments, then placed another paper in between to fix them in place. This delicate job took a full two days, another example showing why he states that “time is money” as the first principle of packing artifacts.

CJ So it seems paper is an essential packing material.KH You could say that. When I retired, I was left with 20,000

pieces of hanji. They were samples sent by manufacturers. The unit price varies depending on the type, and I only used those made from 1-meter mulberry stems. The excellent quality was worth the high price; I would often be amazed at how sturdy the paper was. Still I noticed places where the paper had worn thin.

CJ I heard that your skills are in high demand, and I can under-stand why.

KH Once, someone called me desperately asking for my help. The mouth of a celadon vase worth 1 billion won (almost US$1 mil-lion) had been broken because it wasn’t packed properly. They were trying to save on packing costs, but due to the damage the value of the vase had fallen to 100 million won. I can tell whether some-one knows proper packing techniques just from the way he ties a string. The first thing new hires were taught when they joined the museum’s Collection Management Department was paper cutting. It may seem simple, but there aren’t many who get it right. I can tell whether a person has potential simply by the way he holds a knife.


1, 2 The artifact is first fixed in place then sur-rounded with acid-free cushioning material.

3 The packing case is made of paulownia wood, fitted with a door that slides open vertically.

4 Lastly, the packing case is securely tied up.

5 Kim Hong-sik (upper right) supervises the packing of the Seated Iron Buddha from Chungung-ri, Gwangju (Treasure No. 332), which is 2.8 meters high and weighs 6.2 tons. A pine wood board is placed on the floor of the box, covered with a 15mm sheet of rubber, and then covered again with a sheet of paper or cloth before the sculpture is moved onto it. The body of the sculpture is wrapped in acid-free mulberry paper, covered with cotton swaddling and tied up like a mummy. A grid-shaped cage made of 10cm-thick pieces of wood is then placed around the head to fix it in place. The wooden packing case is assembled around the entire sculpture.

mr. Kim, The LegendKorea has gained an international reputation for its exceptional

expertise in the packing of cultural artifacts. Much of this is thanks to Kim Hong-sik. There are a number of anecdotes about the leg-endary “Mr. Kim.” In 1998, some 300 Korean cultural treasures were to be sent to the United States to be displayed at a special exhibition to mark the opening of the Korea Gallery at the Metro-politan Museum of Art. The museum’s curator, who was in Seoul to oversee the process, saw Kim in action and wanted to recruit him on the spot, saying, “His packing is flawless. I’m amazed at his beautiful work and would love to have him as a colleague.” In 2000, when preparations were underway for a special exhibition com-memorating the opening of the Korea Gallery at the British Muse-um, the museum’s curator called the National Museum of Korea and said, “I’m afraid we won’t be able to accept the Korean trea-sures unless Mr. Kim does the packing. Also, we would very much appreciate it if he came to London to oversee the unpacking.”

CJ How do you think Korea became one of the world’s leading countries in the technique of packing cultural artifacts?

KH We encounter many unforeseen situations during pack-ing, transfer, unpacking, and display in Korea. In other countries, if a sign says “Do not touch!” people will comply. But Koreans are a bit different. For instance, if there’s a cup of water and you’re told not to tip it over, Koreans have to see for themselves whether the water will actually spill out. So we have to thoroughly prepare for all possible contingencies. Also, we don’t have a long tradition of managing cultural assets due to our tumultuous history, including the Korean War and Japanese colonial rule. We mostly relied on ad hoc measures. That’s why we had to bolster our efforts and strive ceaselessly to achieve the highest standards.

CJ Do you have any special secrets when it comes to packing artifacts?

“I was the one who gave the final approval before leaving the museum. The electricity and water could only be turned off after I completed my final check. I wasn’t satisfied until I inspected every nook and cranny of the storage rooms and offices, even the wastebaskets. Even when I was sure I did a thorough job, something would still turn up in the oddest places. It’s a very tense job.”

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ong-sik


KH I learn by heart all the characteristics of each object, and handle it with a loving heart. I practice hundreds of times to mini-mize room for error. Automated processes in the West are done manually in Korea. I disclosed for the first time the expertise I had mastered and honed over the years when we moved here in 2004. I even allowed people to take photographs. I did that in hopes that many young people would take an interest in carrying on my work, but unfortunately there haven’t been that many.

Priority No. 1: Safety of Artifacts Kim is a living witness to the museum’s history. He was involved

with its three relocations from one building to another on the grounds of Gyeongbok Palace: from the present location of the National Folk Museum of Korea near the east gate to the now demolished, former Japanese Government-General Building in 1986; then to the current location of the National Palace Museum of Korea near the west gate in 1996; and finally to the new museum compound in Yongsan in 2004. Transferring over 100,000 cultural treasures was a formidable undertaking. Curators at the museum often joked, “You could set up your own packing company.”

CJ What was it like participating in three major museum moves?

KH I was the one who gave the final approval before leaving the museum. The electricity and water could only be turned off after I completed my final check. I wasn’t satisfied until I inspected every nook and cranny of the storage rooms and offices, even the waste-baskets. Even when I was sure I did a thorough job, something would still turn up in the oddest places. It’s a very tense job. My mind had to be totally focused on ensuring the safety of the arti-facts during transport. People said I was difficult and obstinate, but I wasn’t too bothered. My number one priority was to protect the artifacts.

CJ Don’t you feel that this line of work has received far too little recognition in Korea compared to other countries?

KH In Western countries, it is a professional occupation catego-rized as a “registrar.” It requires extensive experience and knowl-edge in various fields, as well as a strong sense of responsibility. With overseas exhibitions and loans between museums becoming more frequent, we need more young people coming into the field, as well as investment from academia and a new perspective.

“Only a country that invests in its culture will last,” said Kim. These words of a person who has dedicated his entire life to caring for the artifacts that embody our ancestors’ spirit carried weight. He has served as a guardian of our cultural treasures to pass down that spirit to future generations. “Nothing made me happier than seeing the artifacts that had traveled overseas return home safe and sound.” With these humble words he left the home of the trea-sures he held dear. 5


Daeseong-dong, also known as “Freedom Village,” is the only civilian residential area within the South

Korean half of the Demilitarized Zone, a strip of no man’s land that bisects the Korean Peninsula.

The village is under the administrative jurisdiction of Josan-ri, in the township of Gunnae-myeon,

Paju, Gyeonggi Province. But in fact, this tiny village, which lies alongside the military Demarcation

Line established by the 1953 armistice that halted the Korean War, is under the control of the United

Nations Command that oversees the truce. The villagers of Daeseong-dong have lived in an “inland

island” for over 60 years since the armistice; today, they are full of fresh hope for the future as their

village begins to undergo long-needed renovation and development.

TALES OF TWO KOREAS

An ‘Inland Island’ Looks to the Future

DAESEONG-DONG Kim Hak-soonJournalist; Visiting Professor, School of Media and Communication, Korea UniversityAhn Hong-beomPhotographer

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1 From Daeseong-dong, the only civilian residen-tial area on the south-ern side of the Demili-tarized Zone, one can see, unaided, a flagpole in the North Korean village of Kijong-dong and buildings in the joint-Korean Kaesong Industrial Complex.

2 This 99.8-meter-high flagpole is the tallest of its kind in South Korea, compared to the 160-meter-high one in Kijong-dong. This was the outcome of the Cold War rivalry at its peak in the 1950s and 60s.

o n July 23 this year, a ceremony was held to launch a renovation project for Daeseong-dong, which is also known to Koreans as “The

First Village that Would Witness Unification.” Village residents, central and local government officials, busi-ness executives, and representatives of civic groups participated in the ceremony signifying joint efforts to revitalize the village. The houses in the village are in disrepair, as they have not been properly maintained since they were built by the government in the 1970s. This is because the villagers need the government’s approval for almost anything, including repairing hous-es and connecting to the Internet. Access by outsiders to the village is strictly regulated. Kim Dong-koo, 47, the village chief, said with emotion at the ceremony, “Today, we’re going to write a new chapter in the his-tory of our village. I’m very glad that we can attain our long-cherished desires and provide a better living envi-ronment for our children.”

Across the Border, Two Villages Face Each OtherThe Korean War came to a halt when the Armistice

Agreement was signed on July 27, 1953. The armistice allows each side to maintain a village within the DMZ where civilians can reside. Daeseong-dong was so des-ignated, along with Kijong-dong on the North Korean side, on August 3 the same year. Kijong-dong, called “Peace Village,” lies just north of the Military Demar-cation Line, which is only 1.8 kilometers away from Daeseong-dong. The two villages used to be adjacent to each other before they were separated. Kijong-dong is under North Korean military control, not the UNC’s supervision. This village lies a mere 4 kilometers from the Kaesong Industrial Complex, an inter-Korean eco-nomic cooperation project that began a decade ago. If you look through a telescope installed on the roof-top of the Daeseong-dong community center, you can clearly see North Koreans going about their business in Kijong-dong.

The two villages have long competed against each other over which side can raise its national flag high-er. In late 1954, a flagpole over 30 meters (about 100 feet) tall was erected at Kijong-dong, flying a large North Korean flag. At the same time, the sounds of the North’s national anthem blared boisterously from loudspeakers whenever the flag was raised and low-ered every day. To counter this, Daeseong-dong built a 48-meter-tall flagpole the next year. Two years later, an 80-meter-high flagpole went up at Kijong-dong; three years later, a 99.8-meter flagpole, the tallest of its kind in South Korea, rose up in Daeseong-dong. Four years later, the North again countered with a gigantic flagpole in Kijong-dong, which at 160 meters is the tallest in the world, according to North Korea’s boastful claim. Of course, the flag flying on this flag-pole was the world’s largest as well. The South has not attempted to continue this one-upmanship of flagpoles and flags.

“I understand that our side gave up because such a competition was senseless,” Kim, the village chief, said, seemingly unperturbed. It costs each side tens of mil-lions of won a year to produce and maintain the flags alone. The two flagpoles still stand opposite each other.

Living under Uncommon ConditionsFor the past 62 years, Daeseong-dong villagers have

taken life in stride amidst their trying circumstances. As of July 2015, a total of 207 persons in 49 households live in the village, most of them engaged in farming for their livelihoods. A great majority of them have been

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residents there since before the Korean War, or their descendants. Many belong to the Kim clan hailing from Gangneung.

Only those who live in the village for more than eight months each year qualify for permanent resident sta-tus, which entitles them to exemption from manda-tory military service and tax obligations, among other privileges. Because the village only has a kindergarten and elementary school, village children are allowed to enroll at secondary schools without regard for the reg-ular residency requirements. Men who marry women from other regions can maintain their residence in the village. But women residents who marry outsiders cannot continue to live in the village. This is a rule set by the villagers themselves in keeping with traditional practices. If a crime occurs in the village, Korean police cannot simply enter to make an arrest. The police need to wait until the UNC removes the suspect from the village, and then make an arrest outside the DMZ. Detailed rules about living in the village are based on regulations enforced by the UNC, which oversees the DMZ, and rules established jointly by the UNC and vil-lagers.

There are a number of restrictions imposed on the residents of Daeseong-dong, which includes a mid-night-to-5:00 a.m. curfew. Soldiers take a roll call of each household from 7:00 to 8:00 p.m. every evening. A heavily armed civil administration unit protects the village around the clock. The villagers must obtain approval from the UNC to travel outside their village. Each farmer needs to report to the UNC two to three days in advance before going out to tend the fields. When they work in areas near the Military Demarca-tion Line, they are accompanied by soldiers. Outsiders who wish to visit the village must apply for approval for a visit one week ahead of the desired date and must undergo an identification check.

The only public transportation is a bus service that runs between the village and Munsan Bus Terminal three times a day. Because they have to travel all the

way to Munsan, outside the DMZ, to buy daily necessities, each village house-hold now owns a car. But this was only possible after their living conditions improved. At first, villagers could travel outside the village only once a week; UNC trucks used to arrive here each week to distribute supplies. From the late 1970s, the bus service increased to once a day. All villagers still travel to the polling station together for each public election; so voter turnout approaches 100 percent every time. But the villagers had to wait until 1967 to be granted suffrage.

Education of Village ChildrenThe only educational institutions at Daeseong-dong are a kindergarten and

an elementary school. The elementary school has 30 students, only four of whom are village children. The other students are from outside areas, such as Munsan, Paju, and Ilsan. With a small number of students, a 1 to 1 teacher-student ratio, and an English-for-specific-purposes curriculum, the school attracts children from outside the village. About 50 children from other areas are currently on a waiting list for enrollment.

Daeseong-dong Elementary School students have no reason to envy chil-dren in the cities any longer, thanks to the installation of super-speed Internet access in November 2014. The school has become even more popular, with U.S. soldiers assigned to the Joint Security Area in the nearby truce village of

“My biggest desire is to see national unification, even if I would have to leave this village with nothing but the clothes on my back. I really wish to see the nation reunited while I’m still alive.”

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1 Park Pil-sun (left), the oldest resident in Daeseong-dong, and Kim Kyung-lae point at the North Korean village of Kijong-dong, where Park's older brother used to live un-til the Military Demar-cation Line was drawn.

2 A student high-fives a UN soldier assigned to guard his school. Daeseong-dong Elementary School is small, with only 30 students.

3 Guarded by armed soldiers assigned to protect them, villagers work their farm.

right after Germany’s unification.Whenever tensions heighten between the two Kore-

as, the villagers of Daeseong-dong hold their breath. All villagers had to stay inside a bunker briefly in Octo-ber 2012 when the North Korean regime threatened to launch a strike on South Korea in response to a defec-tor group’s release of propaganda balloons into the North. In 1997, a resident out gathering acorns was captured by a North Korean soldier, but released five days later. Earlier, in 1975, a farmer was abducted by two North Korean soldiers near the village. Kim Kyung-lae, 79, a resident who has lived in the village since before the Korean War, said, “In the 1960s, a villager was shot to death by a North Korean soldier. I felt so terrified that I really wanted to leave.”

So Near Yet So FarPark Pil-sun, 82, the oldest resident who was born

in the village, has not seen his eldest brother for over 60 years. His brother used to live in Kijong-dong, a once adjacent village within walking distance. “Since I can’t travel to that village now, I have no idea whether he’s even still alive or not,” Park said. “But I always think as if he were living nearby.” Close to tears, he added, “My biggest desire is to see national unification, even if I would have to leave this village with nothing but the clothes on my back. I really wish to see the nation reunited while I’m still alive.”

Perhaps more ardently and desperately than anyone else, Daeseong-dong villagers want to see the peace-ful unification of their divided nation. Every year, on the fifteenth of the first lunar month, a traditional feast day, the villagers renew their hopes for the day when they can invite residents of Kijong-dong in the North, their longtime neighbors just across the way, to come cel-ebrate with them, play a game of yut, and belt out their beloved “Arirang” in a singing contest.

Panmunjom visiting the village to teach English two to three times a week. Graduates are exempt from the nationwide school district system and can apply to any middle school across the country.

The villagers of Daeseong-dong enjoy a relatively high standard of living thanks to various perks and sub-sidies from the state. With the average arable area per household amounting to 82,500 square meters, each household’s yearly income averages about 60 million won, higher than that for urban dwellers. But the villag-ers cannot own the land; they are only allowed to culti-vate it.

Because of its special circumstances, the smallest event or slightest change in the village assumes sig-nificance as a news story. The graduation ceremony of the village’s elementary school regularly attracts the media’s attention. The village made headlines for being connected to the piped water supply in 2013; gaining free access to the Internet in 2012; opening a state-of-the-art cinema; and sending seven elementary school students for a visit to the site of the Berlin Wall in 1991,

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ART REVIEW

Devout Patrons enable buDDhist art to flourish

Shin So-yeonCurator, National Museum of Korea

S ince Buddhism was introduced to Korea around the fourth century A.D. during the Three Kingdoms period, it has taken root as an intrinsic part of Korean culture. Koreans hoped

to overcome hardships such as disease, hunger, war, and natural disasters by relying on the powers of Buddha. Such wishes led to the creation of myriad objects of faith and rituals, and furthermore to the advances in Korean history and culture.

The exhibition’s prologue, titled “Significance of Buddhist Patronage,” explores the meaning of patronage through works of Buddhist art dating back to the Three Kingdoms (37 B.C.–A.D. 668) and Unified Silla (668–935) periods. It also sheds light on the histor-ical context that led the state and the royal court to espouse Bud-dhism. Back in those times, people sought to accumulate virtue

by participating in temple projects, such as erecting dharma halls and pagodas, enshrining iconic images and paintings, and publish-ing sutras. The Buddhist artworks found in temples today are the result of such commitments. These projects were made possible by donors who wished for peace in the nation and sought enlighten-ment for themselves, their families, and all sentient beings, so as to reach Nirvana.

State Support for Temple ConstructionDuring the Three Kingdoms and Unified Silla periods, temple

construction was mostly sponsored by the state and the royal court since Buddhism had been sanctioned as the spiritual mainstay of the centralized government. During this period, sarira reliquaries

The National museum of Korea presented the exhibition “Devout Patrons of

Buddhist Art” from may 23–August 2, 2015. Arranged in five parts according to the

social standing of donors at different time periods, the exhibition focused on the

relationships between Buddhism, art, and patrons in Korean society. As such, it is

interesting to see how the artworks reflected the socioeconomic status of their patrons.

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1 The gilt-bronze sarira reliquary and relics found inside the Three-story Stone Pagoda on the Hwangbok Temple Site (National Treasure No. 37) in Guhwang-ri, Gyeongju had been sealed twice, in 692 and 706. Inside the outer lid of the reliquary is an inscrip-tion stating that in 692 King Hyoso prayed for his mother, Queen Dowager Sinmok, and his late father, King Sinmun.

2 The 13th century Seated Wooden Avalokitesvara, housed at the National Museum of Korea, is an elegant and natural-looking sculpture made of 15 pieces of wood joined together. The eyes are adorned with crystal and inside the statue is enshrined a wooden bottle, grains, minerals, and textiles. It is 67.6cm high.

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were commonly enshrined in stone pagodas on temple grounds, a prime example being the three-story stone pagoda on the presumed site of Hwangbok Temple in Guhwang-dong, Gyeongju. Inside the gilt-bronze reliquary was found a record stating that King Hyoso had the pagoda built in 692 to pray for his late father, King Sinmun, and for the health of his mother, Queen Dowager Sinmok. Since King Hyoso was only six years old at the time, it can be assumed that the queen dowager was the actual patron, and that the project was driv-en by political purposes to establish the authority of the young king and demonstrate the legitimacy of his reign.

The reliquary enshrined by King Seongdeok in 706 features 99 miniature pagodas engraved on the surface, a scene derived from the “Pure Light Dharani Sutra.” The precious objects contained in the reliquary, including a silver lidded bowl, a gold lidded bowl, a gold seated Buddha, a gold standing Buddha, a gilt-bronze mount-ed cup, a silver mounted cup, and green glass shards and glass beads, exemplify the splendor of Buddhist artworks commissioned by the royal court.

Individual patrons come to the fore in the Goryeo Dynasty (918–1392). The first part of the exhibition, titled “Kings and Aristocrats: Publication of Sutras,” introduces projects related to sutra compi-lation and publication, the favored target of patronage by the ruling class, including the royal court, aristocrats, and high-level govern-ment officials. Sutra copying was in vogue at the time. The copied sutras were embellished with illustrations drawn in gold or silver on indigo or purple paper. The invocation would contain wishes for the welfare of the royal household and personal wishes and bless-ings for the donor and his or her family. A noteworthy work is the 1334 copy of “Practices and Vows of Bodhisattva Samantabhadra” from the Avatamsaka Sutra. The patron, Ahn Sae-han, had served as a minister in the court of the Yuan Dynasty. In the invocation, he thanks his parents and the Yuan court for his rise to a second-rank official and wishes for peace and prosperity for the country and his family. The illustration, executed in the Tibetan-Mongolian Bud-dhist art style which was popular in the Yuan Dynasty, reflects the patron’s pro-Yuan inclination.

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The numerous ancient Buddhist artworks extant today were created in accordance with the wishes of someone praying for the nation’s peace and prosperity or a comfortable afterlife for parents and families. At the same time, it was believed that sponsorship of Buddhist projects would help those seeking enlightenment to accumulate boundless virtue.

Worship of Buddha in All Social ClassesThe second part, “Statues Produced with Patronage from Every

Class,” features artifacts created when patronage expanded to diverse social classes with the emergence of the practice of enshrining vari-ous articles within Buddhist images in the 13th century. These articles included invocation papers, sarira, sutras, fabric, and grains, reflect-ing the idea that the Buddha image was not simply a statue made of metal or wood but the Buddha himself. The 13th century Seated Wood-en Avalokitesvara, housed in the National Museum of Korea, is an ele-gant sculpture made of 15 pieces of wood joined together. The eyes are adorned with crystal and inside the statue is enshrined a wooden bottle, grains, minerals, and textiles. The underside of the Gilt-bronze Amitab-ha Triad, dating from 1333, bears an inscription that acknowledges Chang Hyun and his wife, Lady Seon, as the major donors. The invoca-tion, found with the votive offerings within the statue, includes hundreds of donors’ names ranging from high-level government officials to com-moners. Those who could write signed their names, and those who could not had their names written by someone else.

The third part, “Ritual Implements Offered by Community Lay-men,” brings to light the donors of everyday articles used at temples, such as the bells to announce prayer time, metal drums for mealtimes, and incense burners and candlesticks needed for daily rites. For these smaller objects, local government officials were the primary donors, as is the case with the Bronze Bell Inscribed with “Daehyewon” (Treasure No. 1781) and the Bronze Incense Burner with Silver Inlay (National Treasure No. 214). Local Buddhist communities, called hyangdo, were also important donors of ritual craftworks. The scale and level of art-istry differed according to the social class, bureaucratic status, and economic circumstances of the donors. The Bronze Gong of Okcheon Temple, in Goseong, South Gyeongsang Province (Treasure No. 495),

1 “Practices and Vows of Bodhisattva Samantabhadra” from the Avatam-saka Sutra (Treasure No. 752), commissioned by Ahn Sae-han of the Goryeo Dynasty in 1334, was executed in gold on indigo paper. The two-volume book, in the collection of the Horim Museum, measures 34cm by 11.5cm when folded.

2 Bronze Gong with “Imja” Inscription at Okcheon Temple in Goseong, South Gyeongsang Province (Treasure No. 495) is 55cm in diameter and 14cm wide. Its production was sponsored by a group of high-ranking central government officials in 1252 during the Goryeo Dynasty.

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was commissioned by senior central government officials. When the patrons were lower-level functionaries, military officers, women, or rural laymen, the artwork was not as large or as elabo-rate.

Royal Women as Active PatronsThe fourth part, “Women of the Royal Court

as Major Buddhist Patrons,” introduces Buddhist projects commissioned by women of the royal household, which continued for some time after the founding of Joseon in 1392, in spite of the state policy to suppress Buddhism and promote Confucianism. A representative work is the Gilt-bronze Portable Shrine and Bud-dha Triad found inside a pagoda at Sujong Temple in Namyangju, Gyeong gi Province, which had been commissioned by Royal Con-cubine Myeong from a Kim clan. A copy of Suvarnaprabhasa Sutra, or the “Golden Light Sutra,” was commissioned in 1622 by Queen

Dowager Inmok (1584–1632). It was hand-written by the queen herself and has embroidery on the cover. The queen dow-ager had lost many of her maiden rela-tives and her eight-year-old son, Grand Prince Yeongchang, when Prince Gwanghae ascended the throne in 1608. The sutra copy

was commissioned while she and her daugh-ter, Princess Jeongmyeong, were incarcerated

in the Western Palace. It bears the mother’s prayers for her son’s passage to heaven after his tragic death at a young age. The patron behind the Bhaisajyaguru Triad painting at Hoeam Temple, in Yangju, Gyeonggi Province, was Queen Munjeong (1501–1565), who sought to revive Buddhism. As the mother of King Myeong-jong, she prayed for her deceased grandson and the crown prince, as well as the king’s longevity and the birth of a prince. She ordered 400 Buddhist paintings to be produced for Hoeam Temple, one of which was the Bhaisajyaguru Triad.

1 A copy of the Suvarnaprabhasa Sutra, or the “Golden Light Sutra,” was commissioned by Queen Dowager Inmok in 1622 dur-ing the Joseon Dynasty. The queen copied the sutra in her own handwriting and the silk cover is embroidered. Each of the ten volumes measures 34.6cm by 12.0cm when folded. Designated as Tangible Cultural Property No. 34 of Gyeonggi Province, it is preserved at the Dongguk University Museum.

2 Gilt-bronze Portable Shrine and Buddha Triad (Treasure No. 1788), found inside from the octagonal five-story stone pagoda at Sujong Temple in Namyangju, Gyeonggi Province along with an invocation paper, were commissioned in 1493 posthumously by Lady Myeong from the Kim clan, concubine of King Taejong. The shrine stands 21cm high.

3 “Nectar Ritual" painting at Daegok Temple in Uiseong County, North Gyeongsang Province was produced in 1764 with funds donated by the temple gye, a private sponsorship group. At the center of the canvas is a large altar underneath which a monk is seen conducting a rite and a ghostly figure on its knees. In the background are the king, the queen, ministers, and commoners attending the rite. Color on silk, 211.5cm x 277cm.

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Buddhist Revival Led by monks and Commoners The last part, titled “Monks and Ordinary People Lead the Bud-

dhist Revival,” highlights the Buddhist projects of the latter half of the Joseon Dynasty, in which monks and commoners took the ini-tiative. After the Japanese invasions of 1592–1598 and the second Manchu invasion in 1636, many temples were rebuilt. Thanks to the courageous warrior monks who stepped forward in times of cri-sis, the social status of monks improved, and projects led by monks and supported by ordinary people became commonplace. The painting “Buddha’s Sermon on Vulture Peak” at Yongyeon Temple near Daegu, produced in 1777, depicts Sakyamuni preaching on Mt. Yeongchwi (Korean name for Gridhrakuta Hill, or Vulture Peak). The inscription on the painting notes that a number of monks had participated in its production.

At the time, rites to pray for the deceased and wish them a peaceful afterlife were frequently conducted and many paintings depicting the Nectar Ritual were produced. The painting at Daegok Temple in Uiseong County, North Gyeongsang Province was pro-

duced in 1764 with a donation by the temple gye, a private sponsor-ship group. At the center of the canvas is a large altar underneath which a monk conducts a ritual while a ghostly figure kneels down. The background captures the king, the queen, ministers, and com-moners attending the rite. The lower area depicts scenes of death and people’s everyday life, reminiscent of a genre painting. It is interesting to note how a ritual painting commissioned by ordinary people contained images of themselves.

The numerous ancient Buddhist artworks extant today were created in accordance with the wishes of someone praying for the nation’s peace and prosperity or a comfortable afterlife for parents and families. At the same time, it was believed that sponsorship of Buddhist projects would help those seeking enlightenment to accu-mulate boundless virtue. The community spirit of Koreans, who always helped each other in difficult times, and the altruistic faith that led them to accumulate merit and virtue by benefiting others, combined to foster the tradition behind Korea’s exquisite Buddhist art.

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60 Koreana Autumn 2015

D rinking is sometimes credited with drawing people closer together. But can it draw two cultures togeth-

er? Yukari Muraoka believes it can. A culi-nary specialist who moved from her native Kobe, Japan to Seoul in 2010, Muraoka is a staunch advocate of makgeolli (unrefined rice liquor) and other kinds of traditional Korean liquor, both in Korea and Japan. Not only does she head a 1,200-member associ-ation of makgeolli enthusiasts in Japan, but here in her adopted country she has drawn praise from the Ministry of Agriculture, Food and Rural Affairs for her efforts to pro-mote traditional Korean drinking culture.

A Culinary EnthusiastMuraoka’s interest in food dates from

her early childhood. “My mother was a great cook, so from as far back as I can remember, I had an interest in cooking,” she says. “When I was in first grade, my mother handed me a knife and told me to start practicing. She didn’t teach me how to use it, however. She had me stand next to her and watch, and then figure out what to do on my own.”

As she grew older, Muraoka’s passion for high-quality food continued to grow. At the same time, she was living in a region well known for its sake distilleries. “The Kobe region where I grew up has particularly pure and delicious water. This local water is even given a name in Japanese: ‘Miyamizu’ (literally ‘heavenly water’). The sake made from Miyamizu is considered to be the best in Japan, so I’ve been aware of alcohol and how it is brewed from a young age.”

After graduating from university, Murao-ka initially became involved in business, spending five years in Canada working for a timber trading company. However, at the age of 30 she decided to pursue her dream of becoming a culinary specialist.

“Around that time I became particu-larly interested in the relationship between alcohol and food. I also realized that each country’s alcohol tastes best when paired with the local cuisine. Later I began to hold cooking classes, but the dishes that I taught to people in Japan were all side dishes that accompany alcohol [anju],” she says.

Like many others in Asia and around the world, Muraoka became hooked on the

in lovE with korEA

Yukari Muraoka knows the taste of

korea. As the first Japanese to be

awarded the title of traditional liquor

Sommelier in korea, she has studied,

sampled, and enjoyed the countless

varieties of makgeolli, soju, medicinal

wine, and fruit wines that make up

korea’s heritage of alcoholic drinks.

with a passion for food and drink, and

a strong belief in cultural exchange,

she is working hard to introduce

koreans and non-koreans alike to a

new world of sensations.

EnticEd by thE Flavor oF culturE

Yukari Muraoka

Darcy Paquet Freelance Writer Shim Byung-wooPhotographer

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Korean Culture & arts 61

1 At Sool Gallery in Insa-dong, Seoul, where traditional Ko-rean liquor sommelier Yukari Muraoka works, the major regional liquors of Korea are on display. Clockwise from top: Leegangju, distilled rice liquor containing pear and ginger juice, from Jeonju; Chusa Apple Wine from Yesan in South Chungcheong Province; Andong Soju; and Gosorisul, a kind of soju made from glu-tinous millet and barley, from Jeju Island.

2 Yukari Muraoka, who grew up in Kobe known for its sake distilleries, has a special love of traditional Korean liquors. She came to Korea in 2010 to study traditional liquor and food, and in 2014 received certification as a traditional Korean liquor sommelier. 2


Korean TV drama “Dae Jang Geum” (“Jewel in the Palace”) when it was aired in Japan in 2004. The period drama centers around a young woman who becomes a cook in the royal palace, and then later in life becomes the first female physician to serve the king. It was this link between food and medicine that drew Muraoka’s keen attention.

the Charms of traditional korean liquor“In Korean there is the phrase ‘yaksik

dongwon’ or ‘uisik dongwon’ which implies that the right kind of food and drink can act as a medicine and prevent you from get-ting sick in the first place. This mindset is reflected not only in Korean cuisine but also in its traditional alcohol,” she says. “What really impresses me is that in traditional Korean alcohol there is such a strong focus on ingredients that are healthy for you.”

Muraoka’s interest in Korea continued to grow. Meanwhile, makgeolli began to devel-op a wide following in her native country, sparked in part by the fame of Korean pop culture. “Many people in Japan have devel-oped a love for makgeolli,” she says. “At first, people were drinking imported mak-geolli, but after tasting it in Korea they real-ized how much better it tastes when fresh.”

One of the charms of makgeolli is that the taste changes constantly from the moment it is made, thanks to the fer-mentation process and the large amount of lactic acid bacteria it contains. Gener-ally it is thought to taste best three to five days after it is made. “There are makgeolli enthusiasts in Japan who fly to Korea every month, since it’s so close. And in recent years, more and more people have started to make makgeolli in Japan — Koreans as well as Japanese,” Muraoka says.

In 2010, Muraoka decided to move to Korea in order to acquire a deeper knowl-

edge of traditional Korean liquor and cui-sine. Realizing the importance of language skills, she first enrolled in an intensive two-year course in Korean at Sogang Univer-sity. In her free time she also expanded her knowledge of traditional liquor.

It was around the time she graduated in 2012 that a sudden craze for makgeolli developed in the trendy Hongdae district in Seoul, adjacent to her university. “Usu-ally, makgeolli bars are decorated in a rather traditional style. But at that time a new kind of makgeolli bars appeared, and they became very popular with university students,” she said. “It would have been nice if the boom could have continued, but now craft beer has become the new thing among young people.” However fleeting the

craze, it did help to raise the profile of mak-geolli among young consumers.

The following years were busy for Muraoka. In 2013, she launched Global U Co., Ltd., a business consulting company, that would serve as her primary source of income. But she continued to pursue her passion, and in 2014 she entered a compe-tition to earn the title of Traditional Liquor Sommelier. After first taking a written exam on the history of traditional Korean liquor, the scientific qualities of the alcohol, and the many different varieties that exist, she advanced to the second round.

“Some foreigners, and even many Kore-ans, think that makgeolli is just another name for traditional Korean liquor. But there are four different kinds of traditional Korean liquor: yakju [medicinal or refined rice wine], soju, makgeolli, and fruit wine,” she explains. “The exam covered all types of traditional liquor, with blind tastings and also storytelling, where you had to describe for the judges the history and background of a liquor.”

With separate categories for Koreans and foreigners, the exam was not for the ill-prepared. “I was so nervous during the test, I can hardly remember it,” Muraoka says. But she successfully became the first Japanese to be named a Traditional Liquor Sommelier.

A new life in koreaThe honor caused more people to take

notice of Muraoka’s efforts, including Lee Dong-phil, minister of agriculture, food and rural affairs, who presented her with an official Certificate of Commendation in November 2014. The following Febru-ary, she was hired by the Sool Gallery (also known as Jeontongju Gallery) in Insa-dong to help oversee their educational programs and business center.

“People often ask me about my favorite kind of traditional Korean alcohol, but I can say honestly that I don’t have a favorite. that’s because alcohol tastes different every time you drink it.”

1 Varied grains such as white rice, glutinous rice, barley, millet and Job’s Tears are used to make traditional Korean liquors. The grains are steamed, mixed with malt, and fermented.

2 Wine tasting at Sool Gallery.

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“Koreans find it interesting to learn about their traditional alcohol from a for-eigner who speaks Korean with an accent,” she notes with a smile. “Perhaps they feel a bit of shame about not knowing more about their own drinking culture, so they study harder.”

More than 1,000 different types of mak-geolli exist in Korea, to say nothing of the countless more varieties of yakju, soju, and fruit wine. When asked which is her favor-ite, Muraoka just smiles. “People often ask me about my favorite kind of traditional Korean alcohol, but I can say honestly that I don’t have a favorite. That’s because alco-hol tastes different every time you drink it.”

“The best thing is to drink a particu-lar alcohol in the region in which it is pro-duced, and to pair it with the traditional food of that region,” she says. “Then you have the full experience of drinking it.” She maintains that everything contributes to

that culinary experience, even your mood, or the weather outside. “If the same water used to make the alcohol is used to grow the vegetables and produce the food, you will be able to taste the difference.”

Over the years, Muraoka has visited many breweries and distilleries. “In terms of traditional Korean liquor, I think that technique and equipment matter less than devotion. I’ve noticed that the people who have the most passion for the details of their craft make the best quality liquor. You can feel it in the enthusiastic way they talk about alcohol and food, and the way they urge you to try different drinks. And it’s true that after listening to their stories about the alcohol that they make, you can appreciate the taste even more.”

She notes with some optimism that it’s not just the older generations who excel at making traditional liquor. “There are some very talented younger people, including

women, who are carrying on this tradition. So this is a positive sign.”

A Bridge between CulturesAlcohol is sometimes described as a

comfort, or a way of drawing people clos-er together. Muraoka says, “A traditional distiller once told me, ‘When you are sad, alcohol is a friend who will sit quietly at your side and share in your sadness. And when you are happy, it will join you and cel-ebrate that joy with you.’”

But it’s more than just a love of alcohol that drives Muraoka. “When I was young, I had the dream of acting as a kind of bridge between cultures,” she says. “Of course, the relationship between Korea and Japan is troubled in many ways, and I certainly can’t solve that by myself. But if I can play a small role in bringing people together through an interest in traditional liquor, then I feel like I’m making a positive contribution.”

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on thE roAD

HwasunA Peaceful Land Filled with Mystic EnergyThe name Hwasun means “a place where the energy of the land is peaceful and the wind is gentle.” No better place

was there to live out one’s time here on Earth. From the beginning of time, it has embraced lives and nurtured

communities, the vestiges of which are found in the dolmens that mark their time in this world, and cherished the

ardent dreams of people who erected a thousand pagodas and Buddha images as they dreamed of a new world. The

sandbanks along the winding river and the mystical lake Seryangji — all these can be found in Hwasun, a place as

comforting as a mother’s embrace for those who are tired and worn out by life’s rigors.

Gwak Jae-guPoetAhn hong-beomPhotographer


The dolmens are the tombs of the ruling class from the Bronze Age. They weigh anywhere from a few tons to tens and even hundreds of tons. Prodigious manpower would have been required to quarry and transport the giant boulders to erect the dolmens. Korea has an unusually large number of these tombs, found in higher concentration than anywhere else in the world.


A s you navigate the rapid currents of life you are certain to come upon stepping stones that will make all the differ-ence. I trod upon my own stepping stones back in 1981. On

January 1 that year, after ten dark years as an unknown writer, one of my poems was published after being named a winner of the JoongAng Ilbo Literary Contest. The annual literary contests spon-sored by newspapers are a means for aspiring writers to make their debut on the literary scene, a tradition quite unique to Korea. It dates back to the 1930s during the Japanese colonial period. After its forcible annexation of Korea, Japan banned public use of the Korean language. In defiance, the nation’s major newspapers held annual literary contests, and the winners received due recognition as professional poets and novelists. It was a great honor for any writer to have his or her name published beside an award-winning poem or short story in the first newspaper of the New Year.

This system of discovering literary talent has remained in place for the past 80 years and is still considered the preeminent break-

out avenue for young writers today. And that’s how my poem “At Sapyeong Station” came into the world.

The last train was oh so late.Outside the waiting roomthe snow piled up all night. The frosted windows were dazzling as if covered in white millet flowersand sawdust burned in the stove. …When midnight passesalienation and pain are buried under snow. But where does the night train gowith its few windows like maple leaves?Bringing up cherished moments past, I threw a handful of tears into the flames.

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1 Unju Temple, whose name means “place where the clouds reside,” is known for the thousand Buddha images and thousand pagodas that, as the legend goes, were put up overnight by the famous Buddhist priest, National Preceptor Doseon of the Silla Kingdom, in the 9th century.

2 Most of the Buddha images at Unju Temple are of Maitreya, the future Buddha. Unlike most Buddhist sculptures they have no pedestals or aureoles. Faith in Maitreya, who is believed to save those who could not be saved by Sakyamuni, reflects people's hopes for the future.

3 Imdaejeong Garden is the epitome of a traditional Korean woodland garden. The beautifully tended groves are dotted with ponds and pavilions that were a favorite haunt of the literati of olden times.

Sapyeong, a riverside village without a train StationIn the 1980s, the political situation in Korea was deplorable to

say the least. As a young aspiring writer it was my dream that all Koreans pass through the age of suffering and reach the hori-zons of hope. One day I took a short trip to an island off the south coast. On the way back, I took a bus and among the many passen-gers I happened to see the profile of a young woman standing near me. She was smiling to herself. Outside the window, a small river flowed along vast sandy banks lined with poplar trees. I was in my 20s and painfully shy. It was unthinkable for me to strike up a con-versation with a woman I had never seen before. But I found myself speaking to her. “You look so pretty when you smile. What are you smiling at?” She looked at me. “When I was young I used to bathe in the river and play on the sand. I was thinking of my friends and my grandmother.”

We got off the bus together at the last stop and had a cup of cof-fee. That’s when I learned that the place where she had bathed and played as a child was called Sapyeong, which means “a peaceful village with lots of sand.” I adopted this deeply inspiring name in the poem I was writing at the time. Of course, there is no train station in the village.

On my latest trip to Hwasun, the first thing I did was walk around the villages by the Sapyeong riverside. The villages were as lovely as I remembered them with the hollyhock, evening primroses, and balsam flowers in bloom. At one farmhouse, an old lady was sitting on the verandah dyeing her granddaughter’s fingernails with bal-sam flowers. The woman I had met on the bus would be well into her sixties now. In front of the shop selling rice cakes fermented with rice wine there was a long queue. I went up to these people I had never seen before: “Hello. How are you?” They all smiled and greeted me back. Ah, the mysteries of the river of time! I suddenly remembered the name of the woman, which had remained com-pletely forgotten over the past 40 years. I asked the people outside the shop if they knew where she lived. This was not so much a ques-tion but a kind of sigh, to myself, heavy with the passage of time.

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The name Hwasun means “a place where the energy of the land is peaceful and the wind is gentle.” As such, there is no better place to live out one’s time here on Earth. Certainly it seems the peo-ple who settled here in prehistoric times were aware of the posi-tive energy of the place. Around Bogeomjae Pass at the foot of the southern slope of a mountain is an agglomeration of 596 dolmens. Designated a UNESCO World Heritage site in 2000, this place not only features a large number of dolmens but also offers insight into how the ancient tombs were made, thanks to the discovery of a quarry nearby that was the source of the capstones. The 5-kilome-ter path between the dolmens, which links the villages of Hyosan-ri and Daesin-ri, is undoubtedly one of the most mystical and aesthet-ic walking trails in the world.

I park the car at the entrance of Hyosan-ri and slowly begin to walk. The dolmens, so close and yet so far, seem to transcend space and time and transport me to the past. The Hwasun Dol-men Park comes into view. Here one can get a feeling for the lives of the prehistoric people who erected the dolmens. The pottery shards and seeds excavated from the site are believed to be from some 2,500 years ago. As I look over the comb-patterned pottery, it occurs to me that these patterns may represent a prototype of

poetry. Even before the invention of writing, people naturally had thoughts that they wanted to express. Some days would have been sad, some days lonely, and some days happy. If these emotions were projected onto the comb patterns engraved on the pottery, would they not have been an image of what we call poetry today?

Dolmen Groups and Comb-patterned PotteryAn assemblage of 190 megalithic tombs can be found in the area

around Gwancheong Rock, a dolmen whose name means “govern-ment office.” It is said that when the governor of nearby Boseong was passing through the area he stopped to take a rest on the rock from where he tended to official business. The dolmens called Moon Rocks at the top of Bogeomjae, a mountain pass at an alti-tude of 188.5 meters, are said to have lit the way like the moon as the people of ancient times crossed the hill. A traveler back in those times must have found great comfort in the sight of the dolmens gleaming in the dark as he trudged over the hill on a moonlit night.

Then there is Pingmae Rock, another notable dolmen whose name means “rock throwing.” Measuring 7 meters high and 4 meters wide and weighing more than 200 tons, it is one of the larg-est dolmens in the world. The lower side of the capstone shows

signs of having been dressed and is held up by two support stones, which create a cav-ity underneath. According to local beliefs, if you throw a stone into the hole at the top of the capstone with your left hand you will soon be married.

Legend also has it that Grandmother Samsin, the goddess who in Korean lore has midwifed all births, lived around here, which seems to speak for the grand scale of this dolmen site. There are 133 dolmens clustered around Pingmae Rock. Dur-ing the Joseon Dynasty, members of the influential Min clan from Yeoheung left an inscription on the rock that says their ancestors were buried here. The sight of Gaksi Rock and Gamtae Rock, where the capstones were quarried, is exhilarating. In

1 Residents of Sapyeong sit and chat away the heat of a summer afternoon in a pavilion shaded by the tree that is the guardian deity of the village.

2 The reclining Buddha of Unju Temple is a huge sculp-ture with two figures, one depicted in seated position measuring 12.7 meters and the other depicted stand-ing, 10.26 meters long. It appears that after the images were carved in stone, the sculptors failed to separate them from the stone mass. Legend has it that a new world will open the day the supine Buddha rises.

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Seryangji lake is particularly beautiful in spring when the wild cherry trees are in full bloom. The mountain is reflected in pastel tones on the water’s surface, creating a picturesque scenery. The lake was recently selected by CNN as one of the “top 50 beautiful places to see in Korea.”

ancient times, when there were no proper tools, why would they undertake the enormous task of extracting giant boulders from this place?

Some 18 kilometers southwest of the dolmen site is Unju Temple, which might be more steeped in legend and mysticism than any other Buddhist tem-ple in Korea. It is said that National Preceptor Doseon, toward the end of the Silla period, erected one thousand pagodas and as many Buddha statues over-night on the temple grounds. In another version of this tale, Grandmother Mago was responsible for this epic undertaking. Though some records say the tem-ple did actually have one thousand stone pagodas and as many stone Buddhas until the 15th and 16th centuries, the number stood at 30 stone pagodas and 213 statues in 1942. Seventeen pagodas and 70 statues remain today.

At the entranceway to the temple, one can feel a mysterious energy. It is the same kind of energy that emanates from the dolmens. Hwang Sok-yong (1943–) and Song Gi-suk (1935–) wrote novels set against this temple, but the person who really made it known to the world was the German Jochen Hilt-mann. A professor at the College of Fine Art Hamburg, he was so moved by the devoted care a Korean nurse gave to his late father that he ended up marry-ing her. This Korean nurse, Song Hyun-sook, studied at the same school. She found success as an artist and held a triumphant homecoming exhibition in Korea.

I once met Hiltmann in the mid-1980s in Song’s hometown, Damyang. It was impressive to see him emerge from a small house in the mountains, bending over as he opened a tiny bamboo door in the earthen wall. Fascinated by the “cosmic energy” of Unju Temple, he spent three years capturing the place in photos. Moreover, to fully understand the many legends and fables surround-ing the temple, he studied Buddhism as well as Taoism and geomancy.

In 1985, he wrote an article about Unju Temple titled “Miruk, the Holy Stones of Korea” for the German magazine Spuren. And a book of the same title was published in Frankfurt by Campus Verlag in 1987. The Korean translation, pub-lished by Hakgojae in 1997, gave rise to a sense of pride mixed with guilt among local intellectuals in regard to their history and culture, and sparked discourse on the meaning of Unju Temple for Koreans. In his book, Hiltmann notes, “The Thousand Buddha Valley of Unju Temple moves me; it moves me more than any modern work of art.”

legendary valley of thousand BuddhasThe most arresting sights on the temple grounds are the two Buddhas sit-

ting in their niche, back to back, and the seven-story pagoda made of disc-shaped stones. Whenever I see the two Buddhas sitting back to back, I wonder what this is meant to symbolize. It is those who can see what is in front and also behind, without darkness, that will attain enlightenment and become Buddha. The pagoda of stacked-up round stones is one of a kind, so unique that some

When the mist rises above the lake’s surface and the wild cherry blossoms are reflected in the water, this world becomes heaven on earth. For a brief moment in the here and now, the world that the people lying beneath the dolmens had dreamed of, the world long dreamed of by the people who carved and left behind the thousand Buddha images and pagodas, becomes, once again, real.


say it must have been created by aliens. Here we see the manifesta-tion of a stonemason’s inspiration, which took flight at an intersec-tion of Buddhism and folk beliefs.

The iconic figure of Unju Temple is the reclining Buddha. Said to be the temple’s one thousandth Buddha, the flat, supine sculpture is a male and female twin figure. At the point where the heads of the two figures meet, there is a long groove which represents half the male and half the female genitals. Long in the past when I came to see the reclining Buddha with novelists Park Wan-suh (1931–2011) and Lee Kyung-ja (1948–), I remember Lee flopping down and lying in the groove, exclaiming, “Ah! This is so comfortable.” From the olden days it has been said that when the reclining Buddha rises, this land will become the true Buddha land, realizing the ideal of heaven on earth. As long as we live dreaming of a new day, the sym-bolism of the lying Buddha at Unju Temple remains valid.

Hwasun is also home to a memorial hall dedicated to the pio-

neering Korean impressionist painter Oh Ji-ho (1905–1982). Among Oh’s works, I am particularly fond of the painting “Girl” (1929). The face of the girl reminds me of my grandmother’s face. An unknown woman buried in the dolmens may have resembled the girl as well. Indeed, among the bygone people who came to see the thousand Buddhas there would have been many with a similar face.

Another famed spot in Hwasun is Seryangji, recently chosen by America’s CNN as one of the “top 50 beautiful places to see in Korea.” The best time to visit the lake is just before the sun rises on a spring day when the wild cherry trees are in full bloom. When the mist rises above the lake’s surface and the wild cherry blossoms are reflected in the water, this world becomes heaven on earth. For a brief moment in the here and now, the world that the people lying beneath the dolmens had dreamed of, the world long dreamed of by the people who carved and left behind the thousand Buddha images and pagodas, becomes, once again, real.


AlonG thEir own PAth

‘A walking Encyclopedia of Art’

A boy who had lost his mother when he was young threw himself into art clippings to overcome his

loneliness. it eventually became his lifelong endeavor, which has yielded an impressive collection and

compilation of materials on art. thanks to his painstaking efforts, a vast amount of valuable sources for

chronicling the history of the modern and contemporary korean art world has been put together and

systematically organized. And even today, he is still busy collecting materials and verifying facts.

kim Dal-jinkang Shin-jae Freelance WriterShim Byung-wooPhotographer


O ne day, a 19-year-old boy went to visit Lee Kyung-sung, the then director of Hongik University’s Museum of Art. Of course, the boy had never met Lee before, but he made

a deep bow and then took 10 scrapbooks out of a wrapping cloth. They were filled with color photos of great artworks published in women’s magazines and world art book series. They formed a compilation of Western art in their own right. Lee patted the ner-vous boy on the back and commended him for his efforts.

Collecting Art ClippingsStarting with cigarette packs, postage stamps, and gum wrap-

pers, Kim Dal-jin’s collecting gradually expanded to include cop-ies of famous artworks from books and magazines. With the clip-pings he gathered he made scrapbooks that comprised a history of Western art. When he lost his mother at the age of 11, he was left with an emptiness that he tried to fill by collecting things. He was an introverted soul but when he had a mission he could turn bold enough to pay a visit to a famous art critic. He started collect-ing materials on art seriously after graduating from high school. He sent out letters to magazine publishers, art critics, and curators, pledging his dedication to art and asking them to contact him if they could provide him with any materials. He received only one reply, from Kim Hyung-yoon, the editor of “Deep Rooted Tree” (Ppuri gipeun namu), a high-toned magazine that dealt with Korean cul-ture. His heart leapt when he received the letter of encouragement, but he felt dejected after reading the closing advice: “But I am sorry to say it will be difficult for you to turn your hobby into a job.”

This incident, however, signaled not the end but a new begin-ning. Sometime thereafter, Lee Kyung-sung was appointed director of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea (MMCA). With Lee’s help, Kim landed a job at the museum, albeit as a temporary worker receiving only 4,500 won per day. What’s nota-ble is that he has continued his hobby for 45 years, and has even been introduced in middle-school textbooks as an “archivist who turned his hobby into his lifetime work.”

Kim, now 60 years old, laughed at his own fate marked by a mixture of coincidences and connections. He is called “a walk-ing encyclopedia of art” as he knows everything about Korean art and artists, including their contact numbers, circle of friends, and even their personal tastes. A living witness of Korea’s modern and contemporary art and a leading collector of art materials, he has

recently moved from a small rental office into a new building of his own. He looked notably relaxed during the interview.

“When I was a high school senior, I was amazed by the exhibi-tion ‘60 Years of Modern Korean Art.’ At the time, it was easy to get materials on famous artists such as Park Soo-keun, Yi Chung-sop, and Kim Whanki, but those on less famous artists were hard to come by. It occurred to me that I should begin collecting materials on Korea’s modern and contemporary art in addition to photos of foreign masterpieces,” he said.

Kim began to show me the materials he had collected some 40 years ago, including admission tickets to exhibitions and Gyeong-bok Palace, as well as various pamphlets. Those days proved to be a turning point that gave him a clear direction in life. He worked at the MMCA archives for some 14 years and as chief archivist at Gana Art Gallery for six years until 2001. Then, bringing all his materials together, he opened the Kimdaljin Art Archives and Museum.

Growing Piles of MaterialsIt took a lot of legwork and perseverance to collect all the mate-

rials. Gallery curators called Kim “Friday Man” because every Fri-day he made the rounds of galleries in Insa-dong and Sagan-dong, downtown Seoul, to collect pamphlets and catalogues. One of his shoulders is still stooped from carrying the heavy bundles of mate-rials.

Kim set no limits and collected everything within his reach, including pamphlets, catalogues, admission tickets, posters, peri-odicals, and textbooks. At one time, his collection weighed nearly 20 tons. The floor of his home gave way, and he had to rent a base-ment space next door. Then, when additional boxes again filled up his home, he ended up sleeping on a mattress laid over the boxes.

Nonetheless, Kim is always thirsty for more art data and mate-rials, particularly rare data. This is why he regularly participates in the monthly Kobay auction, which deals chiefly in hobby art items. Among his favorite purchases are two copies of the “Journal of the Calligraphy and Painting Association,” Korea’s first art magazine, published in 1921 and 1922. “My heart throbbed as soon as I saw them,” he said. “I told my wife that I had to have them at all costs. I won the auction, but I still can’t say how much I paid. They are so rare that they could be designated as important cultural properties, like the first edition of Kim Sowol’s poetry collection ‘Azaleas.’”

Whenever specific materials or articles were mentioned during

Cigarette packs, postage stamps, and gum wrappers, which a young boy started to collect to overcome his loneliness after losing his mother, along with other materi-als he has collected all his life, have yielded an impressive collection for a museum. Thanks to the collection of Kim Dal-jin, director of the Kimdaljin Art Archives and Museum, the modern and contemporary art history of Korea has become richer and more accurate.


©K

imdaljin Art Archives and M

useum

Kim Dal-jin's collection of art materials. It mostly consists of rare materials collected by Kim over decades, including art textbooks, illustrated fairy tales, exhibition tickets, exhibition catalogs, and posters.


the interview, he brought them out for me to see with my own eyes. It seemed as if he would never engage in any discourse unless it was based on actually existing materials or hard data. He was never vague about years or statistics. He dwelt on every question and gave answers that suggested what he wanted from me as the interviewer. It was not by chance that our topic shifted from “collec-tor” to “archivist.”

Collector, Archivist and researcherKim’s first job was as a magazine reporter. From 1978 to 1980,

he wrote articles for the art magazine “Monthly Exhibitions” (Wol-gan jeonsi gye). He kept writing even when he worked at the maga-zine’s archive room. He recalls: “In 1985, I wrote an article titled ‘Visitors to galleries are cheated: A suggestion for keeping accurate records and archives.’ I called people’s attention to the seriousness of errors, discrepancies, and omissions in biographies, almanacs, and yearbooks, by citing specific examples. For instance, there is a discrepancy among books that cite the number of exhibitions held in 1983: 1,272 in ‘Journal of Korean Art’; 1,695 in ‘Culture and Art Yearbook’; 1,775 in ‘Korea Art Annual’; and 2,005 in ‘Yeolhwadang Art Almanac.’ I found it lamentable that historical inaccuracies were repeatedly quoted without verifying facts. My article was cited in many newspapers and later other suggestions of mine also hit the headlines. I was a so-called newsmaker.”

But the more articles he wrote, the thirstier he became. As a high school graduate, he struggled in a society where academic background counts for so much without regard for one’s knowl-edge. In the end, he entered college at the age of 34 after two failed attempts. While he was at it, he also went on to obtain his master’s degree.

After opening Kimdaljin Art Research and Consulting and Kim-daljin Art Archives and Museum, he gave serious thought to how to make the most of his collection. As a result, he launched “Seoul Art Guide,” a free magazine that carries art news and articles, and the website Daljin.com. He also helps to spread art news more quickly through social media.

But not yet satisfied, he said, “When you collect things, you need to sort them out. And when you sort them out, you tend to think of how to give value to them. Without this process, you can’t call your-self a real collector. Look at this. It’s a pamphlet for the ‘Exposition

D’Art Moderne Belge’ held at the National Museum of Art in Deok-su Palace. Isn’t it surprising that it was held in 1952? An exhibition of foreign art held during the Korean War? It doesn’t make sense, but it happened. If this pamphlet had not come into my hands, I’d never have thought of verifying the fact. Based on this experience, I organized the ‘Exhibitions of Foreign Art in Korea 1950–2011’ and published an accompanying pamphlet.”

Kim’s collecting and sorting activities invariably led to his own exhibitions or books. He has thus far published “Exhibition of Reg-ular Publications about Korean Art 1921–2008,” “Overseas Exhi-bitions of Contemporary Art of Korea 1950–2010,” “Korean Art Groups 20th Century’s Topology,” “An Overview of Korean Modern Art Textbooks,” and “A History of Art Competitions.” In recogni-tion of his contributions, in 2014 he was awarded an art publication award by the Kim Se-joong Memorial Society. He also published “Who’s Who in Korean Art I” and “Korean Art Groups 1945–1999” to build a base archive for the art circles. In the same context, he founded the Korea Art Archives Association in 2013.

All this work would not have been possible without his meticu-lous and detailed analysis. I looked into his eyes, which have gone through hard training over 45 years, combing through countless letters, pictures, and numbers. “One day, a reporter asked if I was paranoid when I kept on pointing out errors and discrepancies. I told him that it was hard for me to ignore them once they caught my eye. I believe that accurate records today will end up as accu-rate history tomorrow. I still believe that a small exhibition leaflet or a note in my briefcase today will spark big things in the art world in the future,” he said.

With a determined look, Kim began to show me the files of 270 modern Korean artists in a scrapbook that he has compiled, catego-ry by category. The “small exhibition leaflets or notes” in his brief-case indeed amount to detailed written accounts of artists’ lives.

Suddenly, I wondered who would put together all the details of this man’s life. Totally engrossed in cutting out and pasting things, rummaging and sorting out materials, Kim has had little time in his life for anything else. But even during the art market boom, he never attempted to put a price on the precious artworks in his pos-session. The artists in his files, though they may not know how they got there, need to know about this man who missed out on much in life to chronicle their works and lives.

suddenly, I wondered who would put together all the details of this man’s life. totally engrossed in cutting out and pasting things, rummaging and sorting out materials, Kim has had little time in his life for anything else … the artists in his files, though they may not know how they got there, need to know about this man who missed out on much in life to chronicle their works and lives.

During rites to guide the spirits of the dead to their rest, the shamans of Korea tell the story of the abandoned (“bari”) princess. Born the seventh daughter of a king who desires a son, she is abandoned and left to die, but when her parents become ill, she undertakes an epic journey to find the life-giving water needed to save them. She occupies a special place in Korean shamanism as the grandmother of all shamans.

Hwang Sok-yong’s powerful 2007 novel, “Princess Bari,” at last made available to Eng-lish-speaking readers this year, brings this classic myth into the modern world. The protag-onist, Bari, shares many things in common with her mythical namesake. She, too, is born the seventh daughter to a father who wants a son, and is abandoned and left to die. Like the princess, she undertakes a grueling journey. Our modern heroine’s journey, though, sees her flee from her famine-racked homeland of North Korea, cross the Tumen River to China, and later cross oceans when she is smuggled into England, where she hopes to make a new life for herself in a new land.

Yet during her journey, Bari is never truly alone, and we see that she is only one of many who are suffering. As one who has the shamanic “gift” to see and communicate with the spirits of the dead, Bari’s burden grows heavier as she travels. As those around her die in torment and pain, they ask her: Why must we suffer? There is no single answer to this question, of course, as people suffer for many different reasons: war, exploitation, poverty, religious fanaticism. But Bari’s quest to find the answers is an integral part of her journey

toward coming to terms with her own experiences.To reach her destination, Bari travels through Hell, both figuratively and lit-

erally. Her journey on the smugglers’ ship is hellish in the figurative sense, while on her spirit journey as a shaman she must cross Hell itself. Whether this hell is figurative or literal, the message of the book is clear: Hell is of our own making, and thus only we can bring peace to the souls of the tormented and make the world a better place for the living.

“Princess Bari,” though it does not track time closely, is firmly situated in the last few decades of modern history. The famine that strikes North Korea in Bari's youth is the “Arduous March” of the mid to late 90s. And the story ends with an incident that was still fresh in the minds of the public when the book was published — the London bombings of July 7, 2005. It may be a work of fic-tion, and the shamanic episodes are certainly fantasy, but the novel reads as a strikingly accurate portrayal of reality.

Though it is now eight years since the book was first published, the story is just as relevant now as it was then. In the book, we see the struggles of eco-nomic refugees seeking a better life in England; today, the migrant crisis in Europe is worse than ever. Bari tells the reader how migrants risk their lives clinging to trains speeding through the Channel Tunnel; at the time of writing, news of thousands of migrants storming the tunnel in France to reach the UK is making headlines.

Bari does bring back answers, but the reader is unlikely to be satisfied with them as the final word on the subject. There is no neat resolution to the tale, no happily ever after, and thus one gets the impression of not a linear story but a cyclical one. By mixing myth and reality in the story of a young girl, Hwang holds up a mirror and asks us to look within ourselves.

bOOks &

mOre

Charles la ShureProfessor, D

epartment of

Korean Language and Literature,

Seoul National U

niversitylee w

oo-youngStaff R

eporter, The Korea H

erald

a Haunting story Mixing Myth and reality“Princess Bari” By Hwang Sok-yong, Translated by Sora Kim-Russell, 304 pages, £9.99, UK: Periscope Books (2015)


One of the major novels by Yi Mun-gu (1941–2003), this book is part of a project to publish English editions of modern Korean literary works. Originally published in 1991, the novel takes a sarcastic, humorous approach to the vanity and selfishness people displayed in the course of the country’s modernization. The story is written in the first-person narrative about a man nicknamed “Yuja,” meaning “a disciple of Confucius,” who works as the chauffeur of a conglomerate chairman.

An interesting relationship develops between the chair-man and Yuja when the chairman buys a number of col-orful carp and has his staff create an artificial cement pond in the courtyard of his house. Not long after the fish are placed in their new home they die from a toxin in the cement.

Yuja lies to the chairman, telling him that the fish died of a cold, then cooks and eats them with his friend. He expects the chairman to fire him for this. That moment comes later, however, when Yuja spits on an ornamental Buddha statue at the chairman’s house to wipe off dirt. He doesn’t regret this, but considers it a blessing from Buddha.

Korean-American journalist Suki Kim, also an award-win-ning novelist, traveled to North Korea in 2011 and stayed a lit-tle longer than most Western tourists: she visited the world’s most reclusive country to teach English at a university.

“Without You, There Is No Us: My Time with the Sons of North Korea’s Elite” is an account of the time she spent teaching at the Pyongyang Uni-versity of Science and Technology, run by evangelical Christian missionaries.

Disguised as a Christian missionary, Kim spent two semesters teaching the sons of the North Korean elite. During that time, she kept daily notes and journals and stored them on a USB device, which she carried wherever she went. After returning to the United States, she wrote a memoir that offers a rare glimpse of life in North Korea.

Kim shares both the good and bad aspects of living and teaching college students in Pyongyang. She develops affection toward her students in whom she finds an innocence hardly found in youth of the same age in the United States. But she also struggles under the close scrutiny of North Korean minders and some of her students.

The title of the book comes from the song that students sing while marching to the school cafeteria. With “you” indicating Kim Jong-il, “Without You, There Is No Us” takes readers to a country built on the false beliefs that three generations of North Korean leadership have established.

The Korean Film Archive houses a wide range of movie-related materials including films, scripts, posters, still photos, refer-ences, and DVDs. Anyone looking for infor-mation on Korean movies released in the past can visit the website to search 3,500 titles and watch more than 300 classic Korean movies.

The archive is a one-stop resource for film students, directors, researchers, and media organizations seeking information on Korean films and actors/actresses, as well as Korean film history. Some of the major classic movies are available for free view-ing, including such masterpieces as “Chun-hyang” by director Im Kwon-taek. Lovers of Korean movies can also search for synop-ses and casting information, by title, in the database, which is organized according to film genres and year of release.

The website is also a useful guide for rookie fans of Korean cinema. It offers lists of the top 100 Korean films and 50 indepen-dent films, and answers to movie-related questions. Some of the questions in the FAQ section include “What Korean movie has the longest title?” and “What is the first Korean film to receive recognition at a for-eign film festival?”

The website also provides directions for visiting the Korean Film Archive The-ater and Museum in Seoul, with screening schedules for movies showing at the the-ater.

treasure trove of Korean Films

sarcastic Portrayal of Korea’s Modernization“A Brief Biography of Yuja” By Yi Mun-gu, Translated by Jamie Chang, 172 pages, $7.00, Seoul: Asia Publishers (2013)

http://www.kmdb.or.kr/eng/

“without You, there is no Us” By Suki Kim, 304 pages, $15:00, New York: Crown Publishers (2014)


a rare Glimpse of life inside the ‘Hermit Kingdom’


GoUrMEt'S DEliGht

JeoneoAT ITS BEST WHEN RICE IS HARVEST-READY

Jeoneo, an autumn delicacy, is espe-cially tasty when grilled. When tem-peratures drop with cool breezes in the morning and evening, the fish put on more fat and taste more savory.

Park Chan-ilChef and Food ColumnistAhn hong-beomPhotographer


T he arrival of autumn in Korea heralds the season for jeoneo, or gizzard shad, creating much antic-ipation. In Korea, where fish can be enjoyed throughout every season, rarely do people make such a big fuss over a particular fish. Koreans have long enjoyed such fish as yellow croaker, mackerel,

saury, herring, pollack, and squid throughout the country. Today’s craze for jeoneo seems to be partly influenced by the media hype that touts the fish as the “taste of the season.” Every autumn, tourists and families in the mood for a countryside experience stream out of the cities to a proliferation of jeoneo fes-tivals on the southern and western coasts, for a taste of the season’s prized fish at their source.

Secret of Countrywide Craze Although Korea is a peninsula, surrounded by the sea on three sides, the supply of seasonal fish

from coastal regions to inland areas has been a major challenge. For example, cod and brown croaker are the seasonal delicacies of summertime, but these fish were not readily available in the inland areas, including Seoul, in the past. In contrast, jeoneo’s popularity has spread countrywide, including big cities, even though it is caught mainly in autumn. The reason for this popular demand is its reasonable price and easy preparation. Eating it raw suits the Korean palate, and when grilled, its deep, savory taste can be irresistible. In addition, the recent media spotlight has heightened the public frenzy.

Jeoneo is generally smaller than an adult’s palm, sometimes much smaller, sometimes a bit bigger. In the early autumn, it becomes tastier and is caught in abundance as well. When the rice in the fields is ready for harvest, it is also the prime season for jeoneo. The fish dies immediately when caught, so in the past it was difficult to find jeoneo suitable for eating raw in the cities. But technological advances have made it possible to transport the fish alive, and in the early 2000s, the aquaculture industry suc-ceeded in increasing supplies of live fish so that city people could enjoy raw jeoneo. Also, city dwellers from southern coastal areas, who grew up eating the fish, helped to spread its popularity throughout the country.

Today, much of the jeoneo in the market is produced by aquaculture to meet the rise in consumption. While jeoneo caught in the open seas is about 15 centimeters long with a golden colored back, farmed jeoneo is a bit smaller and has a bluish back. It’s hard to tell them apart by taste, however. Jeoneo is largely caught from muddy offshore waters. These days, due to changing water temperatures, it is also caught in the East Sea, but the fish is mainly found along the areas where the West and the South Seas meet.

Jeoneo is known as “the fish of autumn” among Koreans, but it appears on the market in late sum-mer and is available during the whole autumn season. By early November, when its little bones become harder, demand will slump. Depending on the area of production, its peak season varies. Jeoneo from southeast coastal areas is perfect for being eaten raw from mid-August to early September, while jeo-neo from the west coast is best suited for grilling in October.

koreans have long had a thing for jeoneo, a small fish well known for its rich, savory taste, enjoyable both raw

and grilled. According to Seo Yu-gu (1764–1845), a scholar during the Joseon period, it was loved by everyone

in every social rank. the fish got the name jeoneo, meaning “money fish,” because it always sold well no

matter what the price. the fish dies immediately after being caught, so countrywide distribution was difficult

in the past, but thanks to advances in transportation and aquaculture, it now captivates korean appetites in

autumn, causing a national seasonal craze for the fish.


Jeoneo caught in late summer and early autumn is just right for eating raw. this is because the ocean waters are still warm so its fat content is lower. at this time of year, jeoneo tastes light, and its bones are soft enough to be eaten raw, along with its the backbone. later, when cooler winds start to blow in the morning and evening, mature jeoneo, better suited for grilling, are more abundant.

Favorite recipesJeoneo caught in late summer and early autumn is just right for eating raw. This is because the

ocean waters are still warm so its fat content is lower. At this time of year, jeoneo tastes light, and its bones are soft enough to be eaten raw, along with its backbone. Called sekkosi, raw jeoneo is eaten dipped in soybean paste, together with perilla leaves, green chili, garlic, and other vegetables, or it can be mixed with various vegetables and chili-pepper paste with vinegar. In Jeolla provinces of the south-west, extra sesame seeds are added for a more savory flavor. When cooler winds start to blow in the morning and evening, mature Jeoneo, better suited for grilling, are more abundaut.

Jeoneo contains mostly unsaturated fatty acids and plenty of EPA (eicosapentaenoic acid), which helps to prevent age-related diseases. In autumn, its fatty acid content increases threefold, which enhances its savory flavor. The jeoneo suited for the grill is called ddeok jeoneo, literally “cake gizzard shad.” This type of jeoneo, which is caught mainly in the seas off Busan and Jinhae, is bigger and flatter than the more familiar variety.

“A jeoneo’s head is worth a bucket of sesame seeds.” “The daughter-in-law who left home returns at the smell of jeoneo on the grill.” These age-old Korean sayings attest to the fish’s irresistible taste. Another popular saying, “Jeoneo is secretly eaten when the daughter-in-law goes to visit her parents,” indicates that the fish has always been widely beloved by ordinary people. These old sayings emphasiz-ing the aroma of jeoneo cooking on the grill recall the unforgettable taste of this autumn delicacy.

Chewing brings out the delectable appeal of fresh-caught raw jeoneo. The clean savory taste is enhanced by repeated chewing. In particular, the smaller jeoneo caught in the early autumn has a great crunchy texture when eaten raw, bones and all. Fishermen on the south coast who can’t wait to sample their catch remove the innards of small jeoneo and eat the fish whole, called tongmari, dipping it in soybean paste or wrapping it with kimchi. Raw jeoneo delivers both a satisfying taste and an interesting texture.

Another way of enjoying jeoneo is to salt it to make jeotgal. The salted jeo-neo, made with its internal organs, is the key to the characteristic strong flavors of the food in the southern region of Korea. Seo Yu-gu again men-tioned the fish in his Imwon gyeongje ji (“Treatises on Rural Econo-my”), in which he wrote that merchants brought salted jeo-neo to Seoul to sell. Jeoneo’s rich oils make it an excellent ingredient for salty food. How I wish I could enjoy the deep flavor of salted jeoneo in Seoul!

1


1 Raw fish is usually eaten boneless. But jeoneo can be eaten bones and all, including the backbone, which are still soft in early autumn. Its sa-vory taste comes out best with chili-pepper paste mixed with vinegar.

2 There are various ways to enjoy jeoneo. One of the most popular is to toss together fresh jeoneo cut into bite-size pieces, various sliced vegetables, including perilla leaves, and a dressing of chili-pepper paste and vinegar. The crunchy textures of raw fish and vegetables and sweet-sour flavor deliver a fantastic dish.

2


EntErtAinMEnt

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arnerbros Korea

I n Korea, 10,275,484 people went to see Christopher Nolan’s “Interstellar,” which is the 13th largest movie audience recorded in the country. In the United States, the movie barely broke even,

grossing $180 million, just slightly over its production cost of $160 million. It was not especially successful in any market outside the U.S., except in Korea. Another Hollywood blockbuster broke that record in Korea: Disney’s animated film “Frozen” drew 10,296,101 viewers, which was the largest for any animated film screened in Korea. “Frozen” merchandise, including dresses, toys, and the origi-nal soundtrack, sold like crazy. My two daughters still sing the mov-ie’s amazing hit theme song, “Let It Go,” every Sunday morning.

Special Affinity among korean Moviegoers Hollywood blockbusters have long been looked upon as tasty

fast food full of empty calories by discriminating audiences. Howev-er, if blockbusters were indeed the cinematic equivalent of McDon-ald’s hamburgers created to appeal to the tastes of general audiences the world over, it would be difficult to explain why they are especially popular in Korea. In the past, Korean viewers seemed to favor mov-ies with predominantly local content regardless of national origin. For example, many of the

Korean box office hits contained elements that were distinctively local and not easily understood in other countries.

“Silmido” and “Taegukgi: The Brotherhood of War” were the first domestic films to attract box office audiences of over 10 mil-lion viewers, and when they opened in theaters in 2004, the tagline “Korean-style blockbuster” seemed a bit of an overstatement in view of their comparatively modest $10 million budgets. At any rate, they were both successful at the box office and were critically acclaimed as well. Their epic scale strongly appealed to Korean audiences.

The key to their success was deep-seated Korean sentiment. The melodramatic iconic scene of “Taegukgi” where two brothers point guns at each other, at war in a divided nation, is a manifestation of Korean anguish. Likewise, it must have been hard for many foreign viewers to understand why the brutalized recruits in “Silmido,” on whom the government had callously turned its back, would equate

missing their mothers with serving their nation.Until the latter half of the 2000s, Korean movies were gen-

erally more popular among Korean audiences than Ameri-can movies. For some time, Hollywood blockbusters

seemed to avoid direct competition against Korean mov-ies during high seasons, such as summer vacation and

“interstellar” and “Frozen” are two hollywood movies that have been exceptionally well received in korea. the science-

based content of “interstellar” titillated the korean parents’ well-known fervor for education while the family-centered

values of “Frozen,” endearingly and gorgeously told in the tale of two orphaned sisters, resonated deeply with korean

moviegoers. in other words, koreans’ familism and passion for education exerted a massive influence on the box office.

Koreans’ Favorite Movies Tap Deep Into Their Sentiments kim Young-jin

Film Critic; Professor, Myongji University


©2013 D

isney

Christmas and year-end holidays. The popularity of hallyu (Korean Wave) entertainment stars, which quickly spread through Japan and China at the time, also fueled the explosive growth of Korean cinema.

However, when Korea’s giant conglomerates came to comman-deer the film industry by dominating investment, distribution, and theater screening, diversity shrank while production costs swelled. Only a handful of Korean movies remained competitive, and Hol-lywood films once again began to look more attractive. In the past few years, Korean-made movies did not stand a chance against Hollywood imports during the high seasons. Therefore, it would be interesting to look at what was so special about “Interstellar” and “Frozen” that enabled them to win over Korean audiences more powerfully than in any other country.

hollywood Factors that Fascinate korean AudiencesSome joke about how “Interstellar” became a hit in Korea. The

movie setting is the solar system interconnected with other gal-axies by wormholes, a spectacular scientific fantasy quite new to many Korean viewers. As the distributor’s marketing and press reviews created a buzz about the movie’s scientific content, parents unable to answer their children’s incessant questions surged to theaters to watch the movie with their children as if they were on an educational visit at a planetarium.

The wormholes depicted in the movie are quite enthralling. Interstellar space as visualized in this movie is a far more magnifi-cent spectacle than what we are used to seeing in NASA documen-taries. As the throbbing, majestic, engulfing music playing in the background suddenly comes to a halt, the screen shows the vast universe in an extremely long shot, in a triumphal moment for the technological prowess of Hollywood filmmaking.

Korean audiences are also receptive to the familiar sentimental-ism of family movies that “Interstellar” is based on. As in “Silmido” and “Taegukgi,” the more recent local mega hits, such as “Miracle in Cell No. 7,” “The Attorney,” and “Ode to My Father,” share simi-lar sensibilities. Koreans are quick to respond to stories of parents

making selfless sacrifices for their children and especially to the tears shed by a mother.

In “Interstellar,” Murphy, who was a child in grade school at the time her father Cooper, a space explorer, departed from Earth, greets her father on her deathbed, looking much older than him. Indeed, this poignant scene brought tears to the eyes of many Korean viewers. According to Einstein’s theory of relativity, space travelers will age more slowly than those who remain on Earth. The phenomenon was juxtaposed with the fundamental reality of human aging and mortality. To the audience, it was a heart-tugging reminder of love for family and the inevitable loss of loved ones.

The fanatical response to “Frozen” can be found to similarly draw upon a deep well of Korean sentiment. The movie revised the clichéd storyline of princess tales of animated Disney movies. The begin-ning of the movie is similar to “Sleeping Beauty,” but it is not about a princess and a prince. Instead, it tells the story about how two sister princesses learn to accept and understand each other.

Korean girls attending elementary school feel a close kinship with Elsa, as if she was their sister. Elsa creates an ice palace and enjoys her freedom living alone. At first she is tormented by her power to bring down winter and turn to ice anything at will, but later comes to accept her situation with equanimity. But this is not because of some prince’s kiss; it is the result of her sister Anna’s love and devotion. Elsa and Anna thus earn the chance to grow into their royal heritage. In this story, no prince swoops in to save them from peril; no such hero is needed for them to claim rightful own-ership of their lives.

In place of the typical romantic relationship between a man and a woman, the movie highlights sisterly affection, which struck a chord in Korean hearts. The film’s emotional appeal to family val-ues found its mark, enticing millions of Korean viewers to pass through the turnstiles. Parents who went to see the movie, hand in hand with their children, came away pleased with how the theme was more satisfying than conventional fairy tales. “Frozen,” in a very smart way, fulfilled the parents’ aspirations for how they want-ed their daughters to lead their lives.

Scenes from mega-hit movies, from left to right: “Silmido,” “Taegukgi: The Brother-hood of War,” “Interstellar,” and “Frozen.”


liFEStYlE

Many koreans start their day with coffee. they are in the habit of drinking coffee

in the morning. Many stop for a takeout cup of coffee on their way to work, and

visit coffee shops or enjoy instant coffee after lunch. whether at work or at

home, people like to have a coffee break around 3 to 4 o’clock in the languid

afternoon. they drink coffee with friends and start dating at a coffee shop.

A Nation Obsessed with Coffee

kim Yong-sub Director, Edged Imagination Institute for Trend Insight & Business CreativityShim Byung-wooPhotographer


C offee topped the list of foods that most adult Koreans ate or drank regularly, according to a health and nutrition survey conducted

by the Korea Center for Disease Control and Pre-vention in 2013. Among its findings: Koreans drank coffee 12.3 times a week, whereas — rather sur-prisingly — they ate rice seven times, and kimchi 11.8 times. Indeed, Koreans consume coffee more often than rice, their staple food, or kimchi, an indispensable side dish. It’s no exaggeration to say that the No. 1 food item for Koreans is no longer rice or kimchi, but coffee, when based on statistics alone. So, how did Koreans become so overwhelm-ingly obsessed with coffee?

once the Beverage of royals and intellectualsIt was probably around 1890 that coffee was first

introduced in Korea. At that time, people called cof-fee gabi or gabicha. Some called it yangtangguk (“Western herbal medicine”) because of its bitter taste. It became a favorite drink of the royal court. As noted in historical records, King Gojong (r. 1863–1907) tasted his first coffee during his brief refuge at the Russian Legation in 1896. Antoinette Sontag (1854–1925), a German national who was in Korea to manage the legation’s household, served coffee to King Gojong. She was the sister-in-law of the first Russian consul general to Korea, Karl I. Waeber.

In 1902, she opened Sontag Hotel, the first Western-style hotel in Seoul, thanks to the king’s trust and support. Located in Jeong-dong, which had become the diplomatic center and expatri-ate enclave of the capital, the hotel soon became a major stage of politics and diplomacy as Korea entered the new century. This naturally suggests that the hotel most probably served coffee. The hotel building was later used as a dormitory for Ewha Haktang, the nation’s first modern education-al institution for women, but was eventually demol-ished. There now is a café in the Ewha Centenary Hall of Ewha Girls’ High School, which stands near the old site of the hotel. I sometimes drink coffee there, imagining how someone at the turn of the century must have enjoyed his coffee at that very spot about 110 years ago.

Korea’s first dabang, meaning “tea room” or

“teahouse,” was Kissaten (a Japanese word with the same meaning), which opened at the Namdae-mun [South Gate] Railway Station, today’s Seoul Station, in 1909, shortly before the start of Japan’s colonial rule. Back then, there were a number of dabang in the area, as many Japanese lived there to work for a railway construction project to link Seoul with the northwestern border city of Sinuiju.

The first dabang operated by a Korean was named Kakadu (“Cockatoo”), which film director Lee Kyung-son (1905–1977) opened in Gwanhun-dong, Jongno, in downtown Seoul, in 1927. It was after the 1920s that coffee became a popular drink in Korea. Coffeehouses opened one after another in Seoul’s downtown areas of Myeong-dong, Chun-gmuro, and Jongno. Koreans began to consume coffee in earnest.

In the 1920s and 30s, intellectuals and art-ists opened coffeehouses which became popular spaces for people to imbibe in the new coffee cul-ture and bask in the elan of café society. Writer Yi Sang (1910–1937) opened Jebi Dabang (Swal-low Teahouse) at the entrance of Cheongjin-dong, Jongno in 1933 with the help of his gisaeng (cour-tesan) girlfriend Geumhong. Playwright Yu Chi-jin (1905–1974) operated Platana in Sogong-dong, and actress Bok Hye-sook (1904–1982) was the propri-etor of Venus in Insa-dong. With its beginnings as the royals’ preferred drink, coffee took root in Kore-an society as part of high culture closely associated with intellectuals and artists. Coffee culture filtered down from above and turned from an exclusive lux-ury to a favorite of the general populace. Naturally, it was an expensive indulgence in its early days. Many Koreans still believe it is the height of eti-quette to serve guests coffee at home or workplace.

what kind of Coffee Do You Drink?Korean tastes and coffee culture closely trended

with the prevailing lifestyles during the country’s socio-political and economic development in the decades following the end of colonial rule, World War II, and the Korean War: from dabang coffee in the intellectual ferment of the 1960s and instant coffee in the go-go 1970s to coffee in cans or pre-mixed packets in the exhilarating 1980s, then full


circle back to leisurely café coffee in the 1990s, and franchise coffee in the trend-conscious 2000s.

Since the early 2000s, the coffee consump-tion patterns have further diversified thanks to the widespread availability of drip coffee, espresso, and capsule coffee machines. With growing afflu-ence, tastes turned to fresh-roasted coffee beans, high-end espresso machines, and coffee mak-ers at favorite cafés and at home; studying coffee and becoming a certified barista are trendy among today’s young adults. But there still are many peo-ple who enjoy instant coffee mix. Coffee vending machines are still readily available even as multi-national franchise coffee shops are all the rage.

Currently, there are about 30,000 coffee shops across the country. They attract large numbers of habitues, because customers can essentially “rent space” and linger for the price of a cup of coffee. Many coffee shops offer free Wi-Fi. After purchas-ing a coffee, you can occupy a spot at a coffee shop and use it as your office for a few hours. A new

coinage, “coffice” people, refers to laptop-toting habitues who park themselves in a café to do their work there.

Tastes in coffee might have trended toward high end, but consumer choice remains demo-cratic: there still are about 40,000 coffee vend-ing machines in operation throughout the country. Back in the 1990s, coffee from a vending machine cost about 100 won, allowing people to enjoy coffee for a single coin. Coffee vending machines continue to be an important source of ready-to-drink coffee for the masses, although fewer than half of them remain, compared to their heyday.

Indeed, convenience store coffee, instant cof-fee, and canned coffee account for a much larger market share than the pricier jolts of java offered by coffee shops. According to recent market research, the market scale of instant coffee and convenience store coffee amounted to nearly 2.2 trillion won (about US$2.2 billion) in 2012, considerably great-er than the 1.58 trillion won of coffeehouse sales.

Koreans crave coffee because of its energizing jolt: it works as a tonic that keeps them constantly on the go — work hard and overtime a lot, and study hard and play hard on very little sleep. In Korea, coffee is not just another beverage: it is as much a stimulant for the hard-driving Koreans of today as it is a social lubricant, which has been true since early modern times.

1 At a café in the upscale Hongdae area in Seoul, the fragrance of roasting coffee rises from a vintage roaster. (Hongdae refers to Hongik University.) The café uses an old machine, sticking to a traditional roasting method. This reflects the café owner's desire to share the fragrance of the coffee he serves with his customers so they would know more about the coffee they drink.

2 Customers linger over coffee and conversation on the second floor of a café, repurposed from an abandoned shoe factory.

1


This shows that many more people are still enjoy-ing cheap instant coffee every day. Praised for their high quality, Korean coffee mix sticks are loved by coffee drinkers overseas.

what Does Coffee Mean to koreans?Koreans crave coffee because of its energizing

jolt: it works as a tonic that keeps them constant-ly on the go — work hard and overtime a lot, and study hard and play hard on very little sleep.

In Korea, coffee is not just another beverage: it is as much a stimulant for the hard-driving Koreans of today as it is a social lubricant, which has been true since early modern times. And where they like to drink coffee is important as well. The intro-duction of Western culture, upon Korea’s open-ing to the world near the turn of the 20th century, gave rise to its coffee culture and the emergence of dabang, a comfortable and friendly meeting place where anyone can come and enjoy coffee and con-versation. In Seoul alone, there were 214 dabang right after the Korean War armistice in 1953, and 1,041 by 1960. Dabang served not only coffee but also traditional beverages like ssanghwatang (herbal tonic drink). Dabang became a popular meeting and cultural space along with the rise of a new favorite drink — coffee.

On October 26, 1909, the anti-colonial patriot Ahn Jung-geun (1879–1910) waited in a dabang at

the Harbin Railway Station in northeastern China for his chance to assassinate Ito Hirobumi, the first resident-general of Korea. Modern Korean his-tory is replete with references to the coffeehouse as a site that has witnessed or sheltered the key players in major political events. There were many dabang near universities in the 1980s and 90s in the upswell of Korea’s democratization movements and subsequent social revolutions. Sitting in high-backed seats and sipping cup after cup of coffee in the myriad dabang around the country, college students discussed politics and love amidst a thick haze of cigarette smoke — a scene that epitomized the spirit of those decades.

Coffee is no longer a simple drink to us Kore-ans. It has become a daily necessity that is enjoyed as part of leisure, affording time for romance and introspection. And it is once again a luxurious indul-gence; over the past few years, young people have gone crazy over pricey desserts — macaron, choc-olate, cake, and ice cream — in tandem with the soaring consumption of coffee.

Some 728 cups of coffee are consumed by Kore-ans every second, which amounts to 22.9 billion cups a year. At this very moment, many Koreans are making drip coffee, enjoying coffee alone, or talking with someone over coffee. More than just a passing trend, Koreans’ obsession with coffee seems set to continue well into the future.

2


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