Here are two videos of my performance with Jazoo Yang at Seoul’s NADAFEST. The premise was simple: live painting meets contemporary dance, set to excerpts from Béla Bartók’s pantomine ballet The Miraculous Mandarin. The 9 minute performance was mostly improvisational, the resulting canvas a product of our mutual artistic energy.
The first video was filmed and edited by video artist Joni Els.
Special thanks to Kyungmin Kim from realaudio for the second clip.
2012 has exciting things lined up for Jazoo Yang, a Seoul-based visual artist working across various mediums, including grand painting, installation, portrait work, and performance art. She will be exhibiting in New York, Shanghai, and Berlin, as well as featuring her provocative work throughout the year in South Korea.
Having completed residencies in Beijing, Busan and Jeju over the past few years, Yang is quite active in Seoul’s contemporary art scene. As an elaboration on her own solitude, a product of the constantly shifting physical and cultural landscape of South Korea’s urban space, Yang endeavors to explore notions of history and loss in her work. Influenced by the present-day neglect of social legacy and the ‘culturelessness’ of the modern city, Yang aims to salvage that which lies on the fringe of our social consciousness.
In expansive urban areas, the interminable demolitions, reconstructions, and renovations of the modern era have resulted in an overwhelming loss of familiarity, one which alienates individuals within the city that is their home. This trend is not unique to Seoul; the uprooting of one’s physical and cultural history is a global phenomenon that is both felt and observed in major cities the world over. Yang’s overseas visits this year will be crucial for her research, and will undoubtedly yield exciting results, even impromptu performances or installation projects.
Using entire rooms and buildings as a canvas, the artist recreates individual histories by collecting, assembling, and interpreting found artifacts. Utilizing basic forms such as tape and stencil, Yang’s installations intend to draw attention to spaces that are easily ignored or forgotten. By sharing these visual stories, the artist converts abandoned buildings into historic sites, transforming the artifacts within into relics with legacies worth remembering.
Perhaps my favourite of Yang’s works are her large-scale Excretion paintings. Her highly physical method results in works that are grand, yet also intimate and expressive (shades of Twombly, anyone?) Using primarily her hands, she harnesses the momentum and intensity of her moving body to document her present emotional state. The excretions, then, become a form of evidential catharsis, available for shared contemplation by artist and viewer. Yang intends to provide a glimpse into her soul, a genuine expression of her own solitude and a gesture of humanity within the bleakness of the big city.
See her portfolio and exhibition info at ssszzz.net
Brand new wesbite to launch soon: jazooyang.com
It’s been nearly two months since I’ve written something here. I’ve been anxious, confused, even angry, but most of all quite enlightened by my own darkness. Something about wintertime in Seoul has really affected me. Perhaps it’s the early sunsets and the indecisive flurries, two culprits one is quick to judge, but I have a feeling it has something to do with the overuse of heating systems, the underuse of running shoes, and the unbelievable amount of cheese one person can consume just to feel something deep down in his gut. I’ve had my fair share of cold sweats these past few weeks, but I’ve been shaken awake.
This year I’ve decided to shift the focus of this site. No longer will I only post about my experiences in the Korean art world; I plan to write about anything and everything art-related that sparks interest in me. Too often do I attend an exhibition and not feel obliged to write something about my experience. It’s difficult for me to butter and sugar my work, to make false emotion ooze from nothing. And it’s difficult for me to feel so boxed in, focused so intently on a specific place at a specific time of year. I started this site because I love to write (and occasionally accidentally rhyme), so that I shall do.
Remember when Ai Wei Wei had nine thousand children’s backpacks assembled together in commemoration of those affected by the 2008 Sichuan earthquake? The massive installation was vivid and politically charged. The work, titled Remembering, spelled out the sentence ‘she lived happily for seven years in this world’, quoting a victim’s mother. Local Chinese governments cut corners in the construction of schoolhouses, resulting in their crumbling and the subsequent deaths of thousands. During the aftermath, the investigative work of Ai was crucial in bringing such truths to light. The resulting installation filled the facade of Munich’s Haus der Kunst, drawing much critical attention to the controversy.
Works of art such as Remembering serve to remind us that we are entitled to such knowledge, that sentimentality is not something to fret over when we are deprived of basic rights and freedoms. Ai Wei Wei punctuates the importance of the individual. His art breeds contemplation and breathes a fierce realness into our daily monotony. His use of social media, specifically Twitter, is fundamental to his practice. He is not fighting for fame or glory; he cares about his country, he demands change and transparency. This is the inspiring stuff. This is the stuff that makes your knees do that thing that they sometimes do.
I think I’ve found a suitable replacement for dairy.
It’s been nearly a month since my last article, and though it may seem that I’ve neglected my duties as an aesthete by not attending any events or shows as of late, I really have been on the ball. Despite the biting winds, I’ve been out and about, perusing David LaChapelle at Seoul Arts Center, Candida Höfer at Kukje Gallery, Ellery Queen (the absence of, rather) at Space O’NewWall, and a whole array of other great exhibitions. In fact, I’ve been quite dedicated to Seoul’s art scene lately, doing my part to contribute where I can, even if only to leave behind traces of carbon dioxide and a trail of eau de perfume.
One of my highlights of the past month was attending a private poetry reading at a friend’s studio in Anguk. Titled ‘A Secret Love Affair’ the event was hosted by a group of Korean artists and curators, each sharing their own personal creations or favourite works. Naturally, the theme of the event was love, and seeing as I have limited romantic experience (there’s no point in lying), I was a bit hesitant to read-aloud my short, sensation-laden piece. Perhaps to ease the pressure, readers were given the choice of either leaving the lights on or turning them off. Red wine, candles, love and whispers… rather than let things spiral out of control, I figured it would be best if the lights stayed on for my performance.
After picking cheese from my teeth, I quietly read a poem titled “Sacro Speco”. Inspired by a Canadian hike, some readings I had been immersed in at the time, and the prospects of a European tour in the coming summer, I wrote the poem in the spring of 2010 (really dating myself here), not expecting it to ever see the light of the day. The audience seemed to enjoy the work, though I am certain they were unable to understand much of what I was saying. Similarly, my ability to understand Korean is infantile at best, yet I was genuinely moved by the emotionality and sincerity of the others’ performances. Such is the case with auditory art forms: the textures of voice and volume transcend both definition and denotation. Even a nervous stutter or an extended pause can have the most exquisite effect. Ultimately, all of us present at ‘A Secret Love Affair’ were just happy to have each other’s company, despite our linguistic differences.
A certain familial sensibility hangs over Seoul, draping its inhabitants in a warmth that I have yet to grow accustomed to, and although the temperature outside is steadily dropping, I am certain I will continue to find great comfort in the company of those met indoors. Further, I look forward to continuing my work in the coming year, fueling the not-so-secret love affair that I have with this city.
Sacro Speco
When golden leaves glow from beneath
I think of tiny bumps on parchment
and how Morse had no idea
when he painted The Chapel of the Virgin at Subiaco
that he would set you free.
Like an eclipse cannot contain the spark
I am filled with a delicate anguish
encircled by river water, hanging from cypress boughs
at peace with aplenty in which I am born
but solemnly caught between sanguine and sea.
Despite my condition and your conditional vision
we burn brighter than hot oils caught in the salty winds of summer.
For those brilliant fingers, chapped and fluorescent
did nothing to illuminate the caves of our fathers;
bound, our graphite hands will forever be.
Just over a week ago, I attended the opening reception for ArtSonje’s latest exhibition, ‘City Within the City’. A contemporary art space located near Kyunbok Palace in central Seoul, ArtSonje is surrounded by a fusion of tradition and trend. The center’s location in Sokeuk-dong felt like just the right place for the curatorial project, one that catalogues the experience of the individual within created, enforced, and imagined environments. The event was a success: a mélange of artists from various nations participated in the project, it seemed well-funded, exceptionally curated, and all in all, the exhibition wholly satisfied the veritable checklist of things a gallerygoer comes to expect from a place with such an upstanding reputation.
I could delve into detail about the activities of the evening, of the works themselves, of the interesting conversations, the enjoyable after-events, the enigmatic people that seem to find you everywhere in Seoul, but all this I will spare. I want to talk about one thing, and one thing alone, which really hit me that evening. It wasn’t on my mind whilst strolling the exhibition spaces upstairs. I had no idea of it when my attention was focused on Kim Beom’s dark Three Worlds, nor did I even feel it tickle my imagination as I integrated myself into Abraham Cruzvillegas’ appropriated Autoconstruccion.
It is quite difficult, really, (even after a week of mulling it over in the shower) to place what this feeling actually is. It is not so much a state of knowing as it is a sort of personal understanding devoid of meaning. In certain streams of modern philosophy, hell, in general, we ascertain that consciousness exists as a sort of unbreakable chain of self-awareness. But I am not convinced that I have become aware of this feeling through a gradual undulating of sentiment. Arguably, it can be sustained that this thing, this peculiar feeling, has always been a part of me, perhaps buried deep in some metaphysical crevice, and it was simply the culmination of a variety of experiences on that faithful evening that have allowed me to contemplate anew. No, I don’t buy that, either. Needless to say, all this time I’ve thought something from ‘City Within the City’ has stayed with me, but after standing that thought on its head, I have come to realize that what’s true is quite the opposite.
For whatever reason (at this point I am not too concerned with figuring it all out, anyway) and as a result of a variety of things (bits and pieces of aesthetic euphoria mixed with a tinge of intoxication and a healthy dose of camaraderie) I feel within the city. A part of it. Not a visitor, not a piece in a puzzle, but a cardboard component. The material necessity of a given space. Nay, the immaterial. Sure, that sounds silly, but think about how we often seem to mime our lives and only ever so often feel lost in the moment. I know you are no stranger to the burden of bliss and what comes after one was happy and is no longer said to be. So, entertain me for a second, and imagine too, that you are organic. It’s a strange thing to force and maybe I am naïve and all this is last year’s news, but I am not entirely convinced that this is so ordinary.
I do know that I am an integral part of the community, what with my transactions and abstractions, my annyeonghasayos and my ability to make traffic stop when I simply choose to cross the street. I used to know that I was a single person occupying a finite amount of space at any given time. But now I know that’s not all of it. As singular as I am, I feel unbounded; confined to a given area but also linked with an infinite number of connections, relations, and bonds. Perhaps I’ve always known about this feeling and understood its potential—maybe it has visited me in dreams or danced on the back of my neck—but now that it is here, standing with me in this very room, hollering over the buzzing in my head, I am not so sure I’ve ever really known anything.
It is not that I all of a sudden feel welcome here or part of something larger, but rather, I now feel that within me, within my own physical body, my own intimate environment, I contain something smaller (or greater?), something powerful and wonderful and worthy of contemplation, yet also above it. I feel like I am a destination, my appendages and organs open for exploration, dark chasms and tunnels awaiting ignition, allowing revelation, the chambers of my heart stained glass cathedral windows and my lungs bombshelters filled with grain and dust and earth. I am the city.
PLATEAU, just around the corner from City Hall in central Seoul, reopened in May with a new name and a new outlook on its position in the contemporary art world. Once known as Rodin Gallery, it originally opened in 1999 to serve as a permanent resting place for a pair of Rodin bronze casts: The Burghers of Calais and The Gates of Hell.
Like a layer of sedimentary matter, neither here nor there but always fluctuating in both composition and expression, PLATEAU intends to highlight art’s role in the natural order of the world, stimulating dialogue that reinterprets both traditional and contemporary perspectives. ‘My Way’, its current exhibition, is a mid-career retrospective of Jean-Michel Othoniel’s artistic oeuvre. ‘My Way’ offers a wide selection of works ranging from photography and film to grand sculpture, including Othoniel’s iconic glass beads.
Glass, one of Othoniel’s choice mediums, flourishes within PLATEAU’s open space. The brilliant jewel-toned pieces in the primary sculpture hall receive ample light from the surrounding frosted windows. Bathing in a sea of brightness and glowing in striking contrast to the looming Rodins, Othoniel’s oversized glass beads hover above the viewer with a tremendous static energy. Though fragile and poetic, they evoke a certain sensuality that transcends their spherical simplicity. Curvaceous on a grand scale, they have an inherently suggestive appeal.
In addition to these more recent glass works, the artist’s earlier liaisons with wax, sulphur, and phosphorous are all present at PLATEAU, offering visitors a complete idea of the sort of metamorphosis Othoniel has undergone during his career. Though the interiority of this transition, one wrought with diversion and mutation, is readily experienced through visual contact with a variety of topics, mediums, and scales, the more tactile approach of one work in particular seems to resonate most intimately with the viewer.
Othoniel’s 1995 work, The Wishing Wall, feels worlds apart from glass pieces such as Lacan’s Knot. First exhibited in Berlin, the large phosphorous-coated wall serves as a sort of demarcation between the artist’s early career and his current aesthetic. Essentially, viewers are invited to strike the wall with a matchstick and make a wish as the flame ignites. The mark left behind serves as a scar, a physical reminder of not only the wish, but also of the state of fragility that it represents: the human condition. The wall, covered with thousands of scars, is a beautiful testament to both our weakness as individuals and the unity of our cause, our hopes and our fears.
It is a wonderful feeling to stand in the shadow of The Wishing Wall at the exhibit’s end, hands warmed, half in a daydream. PLATEAU has succeeded in presenting Othoniel’s works in their best light, and further, has provided visitors the opportunity to visit a realm where fantasy reveals the true nature of reality. Though we may be small, we are not made of glass.
‘My Way’ will run through November 27. Closed Mondays. www.plateau.or.kr
He sat there on the floor. Perched beside the scissor lift, marker in hand, eyes glued to the washed walls that dwarfed him, Dan Perjovschi, the artist, the satirist, the newsman. For the next few months, Total Museum’s walls will play host to Perjovschi’s cartoonlike drawings. Though at times his works resemble sketches or fragments of comic strips, ‘The News After the News’ is not unlike the well-received exhibitions that Perjovschi has shown at Tate Modern or the MOMA. The strength of his work lies in the palpability of both his method and choice of subject matter, in the simplicity of his forms and the boldness of his vision.
A week before the exhibition was to open, Perjovschi arrived in Seoul. He read English-language papers and familiarized himself with the city’s urban labyrinth, its cultural trends, sociopolitical hiccups and question marks. Essentially, he collected data. He spent hours on end scaling Total’s walls, leaving traces of ink. At times the pieces seemed unfinished, as though he would return again to add something. But it is this barebones aesthetic that gives Perjovschi’s drawings such resonance; the pureness of shape allows his work to convey meaning with a candid boldness and the absence of color is made up for by a mastery of symbolization.
Nearly half of the works that Perjovschi is showing were drawn specifically for the exhibition, for the city that is Seoul and for the culture that is South Korea. The remaining works are a variety of pieces from his traveling repertoire, works relating to global events and pertinent social phenomena that conjoin individuals the world over. The financial situation in Perjovschi’s native Romania, the issue of free education, the influence of technology on individuality, and even pictures of Korean delicacies can all be noted on the gallery walls.
Despite being at times serious in subject matter, Perjovschi’s drawings are sketched with a playfulness that enhances aesthetic enjoyment without compromising social gravity. His ability to render images in a universally recognizable manner without losing a certain uniqueness that is his own is paramount to Perjovschi’s success. Ultimately, it is the sheer rawness of his work that makes his renderings so inviting to any viewer, as though the audience, too, feels they can partake in similar forms of visual satire and social commentary.
I invite you to participate.
‘The News After the News’ runs until December 4.
www.totalmuseum.org
Over the past weekend, Laughing Tree Lab in Noksapyeong hosted a launch event for Aweh.tv, a Seoul-based webzine spearheaded by Dann Gaymer and Oliver Walker. Aweh is devoted to global creative culture, and aims to share with a worldwide audience the efforts of international artists working in various mediums and genres. Being an expat myself, I am intrigued by the social dynamic that is Seoul’s creative community, and thus, have been quite eager to both observe and contribute.
The Lab’s interior featured an exposition of visual works by artists hailing from various nations. Along the sidewalk outside, a group of artists created live street-art on makeshift boards and panels. Despite being fully absorbed in the event’s numerous distractions, I was able to tear myself away from the social frenzy and take a long, hard look at the works on display. I made an effort to stroll along the walls at a forgiving pace, noting the usual line and colour, checking names, nations, and anything of note.
Given the international theme of the launch event, I was treated to a smorgasbord of iconography, language, and texture, but I could not help but return to four modestly framed pieces that I had seen on an earlier occasion. A few days prior, I spent the better part of an evening at the Lab for a viewing of some Raul Pizarro paintings. After the event had faded, setup for Aweh’s launch began to take shape, and I was fortunate enough to get a sneak peak of a few submissions. Lucky for me, Courtney Cheatham showed up early.
In one of her works, a woman is visible at the edge of a lake, perching on a worn stone at Beijing’s Summer Palace. The framing of the shot succeeds in pulling her image against the spatially dominant reflections on the lake’s surface. The slight grain and grayscale soften the mood, while the gentle flow of the woman’s locks add a touch of joie de vivre to the ephemeral. In another work, composition succeeds again, though in an unfamiliar manner. A small crowd looks to the Shanghai skyline and its trademark Pearl Tower. The unusually high cropping of the bodies places emphasis on the position of a young girl perched atop the shoulders of another. Her image alone seems to leap forth from the frame. This succeeds in capturing not only a fascinating photograph, but perhaps more importantly, an intimate memory for both subject and viewer.
When one attends a reception or launch, they often do so for the purposes of social interaction and peer networking. Rarely, I find, is one transported away, amidst the dim lights and alluring tastes and sounds, to a place where artistic appreciation is paramount. It seems fitting that I encountered such compelling work in the corner of a small, crowded room, where personal space was a going commodity; it might reflect the greater picture of art in Seoul. In a buzzing, cosmopolitan city, fraught with both repetition and overwhelming variety, there are bound to be gems. They may not be the loudest or the largest, but they are there, waiting to be found, waiting to be freed by the gaze of an unassuming onlooker.
Visit Aweh.tv and Cheatham’s portfolio: ctessphotography.com
I recently had the pleasure of attending an opening reception at the relatively new ‘space O’NewWall’ (오뉴월) concept gallery in Seongbuk-gu, Seoul. The event, a collaborative effort between the Korean National University of Arts and the gallery itself, featured the Berlin-based curatorial group, Temporary Re-Visionists.
In Korean, the name O’NewWall refers to the ardor and bliss of midsummer months, while its Irish-Anglicization produces the meaning ‘Son of New Wall’. Though gallery names can range from obtuse to ostentatious, I find that O’NewWall’s moniker succeeds in harmonizing artistic concept with aesthetic space.
The room itself is modest in size, features a cube-shape, warm-honey floors, and a gorgeous, open window-front. The beauty of the gallery’s location is that it opens up onto a triangular plaza, surrounded by stonewalls and climbing roads. For the purpose of the reception, the cobblestone plaza served as a spatial continuation of the gallery itself, allowing viewer, artist, and curator to mingle uninhibited. Warmed by the glow of the gallery, one can rest on a curb and view the works within, freely engaging in contemplative discourse without losing an aesthetic connection with the space.
O’NewWall’s many curators and contributors were a welcoming crowd, and I had the pleasure of talking candidly with CEO Juno Seo, a number of the space’s collaborators, and featured artist Nicolas Pelzer at an after-event dinner. Seo sees the space as a collaborative laboratory in which exhibitions, workshops, and screenings can link-together diverse mediums, periods, and nations. Pelzer’s work is a site-specific installation that for me exemplified this intent.
A number of tall glass panes situated at the front window of the gallery serve to parallel the viewing experience one encounters at the observatories on the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea. The tall panes direct one’s attention in a predestined manner, manipulating visual, and in-turn cognitive, perspective. I found the installation to be thoroughly successful; it plays on the relationship between the enclosed gallery space and its open surroundings in a manner akin to the experience that can be had at the DMZ.
Not only did Pelzer’s work augment my experience of O’NewWall’s space, it heightened my understanding of the Temporary Re-Visionists’ sociopolitical approach: whilst attempting to analyze the archetypes and structures that shape the emerging reality of divided Korea—given the historical backdrop that was similarly-divided Berlin—one can participate in a system of intervention that reflects and mirrors these existing borders, re-visioning one’s own temporary presence in Seoul.
Temporary Re-Visionists: September 17 through October 2, hours 11-19h00, gallery closed Mondays. For additional information on talks, lectures, and screening locations visit www.onewwall.com and www.karts.ac.kr.
