23 November 2006 – 3 March 2007
www.throughthelookingglass.com
Since the end of the military regime in the early 80s, South Korea’s energy has been channelled towards boosting its economic and cultural growth. The country now counts as one of the world’s richest economic powers. By providing the next UN Secretary-General, Ban Ki moon, it places itself at the centre of the international political scene. The country’s rebirth from a once war-ravaged condition has also been reflected in the art scene. Korea in fact, for the past two decades, has been host to some international and very expensive art events. Whereas the 1980s were a decade of intense political struggle, the past two have seen the explosive rise of mass culture. This era witnessed the skyrocketing of gallery sales and profits, the arrival of two international auction houses, Christies and Sothebys, and the pilgrimage of millions to the Kwangju Biennales. On this side the world, however, contemporary Korean art has largely remained unexplored.
English literature is populated by stories of children who escape the afternoon boredom of their domestic surroundings by discovering unfamiliar worlds, sometimes this is done through a wardrobe, a rabbit hole or a mirror. Through the Looking Glass, one such story, titles the first show on Korean Art to be presented in London. The choice of venue – the newly refurbished Georgian Asia House – carefully mirrors Jiyoon Lee’s curatorial desire to choreograph the show around the book’s theme. Like Alice, who pondered what the world would be like on the other side of the mirror, and to her surprise was able to pass through it, those visiting the show, are invited to abandon, if only for the brief duration of the encounter, their preconceived image of Korea and to access a spectacular world through the work of ten internationally acclaimed Korean artists. The potpourri selection of works fits grotesquely within the elegant domestic symmetry of the building, with its wide-sided windows flanking the walls, its voluptuous staircase and its decorative crowns embellishing the doors.
This architectural clash, however, is the result of a carefully staged plan given that all artists were invited to visit the premises before making the work. Jeong-Hwa Choi, whose comments about the status of contemporary South Korea either frustrate or entertain viewers, has hung a bright green PVC chandelier in the central stairwell. Upstairs, sited on the mezzanine roof, we see the ornamental flower that most gracefully encapsulates our fascination with the orient: the lotus. However, in this context, the delicacy of the flower has been somewhat tainted. Here we find two gigantic synthetic flowers that to our surprise are not rooted in the muddy banks of a pond but are awkardly balanced on a concrete roof. Their photosynthesis is mechanically alimented by an unseen homemade device. Meekyoung Shin’s work also generates this clash of architectural whimsy. All the objects on view, the ivory-like Buddha, the immaculate Greek, marble-like sculpture of herself, and the Ming and Qing vases are in fact, ephemeral soap-simulacra. In this way the artist seems to mockingly test our calcified standard of taste, problematising our understanding of value.
Youngjin Kim’s beutifully humble Fluid (2006) playfully rehearses the long-standing Eastern tradition of water calligraphy. Eshewing the disciplinary control of the medium, the artist allows water, light and shade to momentarily paint contingent landscapes. Duck-Hyun Cho’s 15-piece work is the result of a close-knit collaboration between the artist himself, the curator and Sir Peter Wakefield (Life President of Asia House). The size of these black-and-white graphite portraits apes the magnitude of history painting, provoking a somewhat unsettling atmosphere. Sora Kim has assembled a poem using the titles of the Asian books she found whilst visiting Asia House library (RUNAWAY, or two names, 2006). The poem performed by various South Korean and English singers, has unavoidably morphed again and again. Jiwon Kim’s painting is the only work which explicitly draws on the country’s recent demilitarised zones. In his piece, we see him subtly tackling the issue of divisionism, a sore and unfinished chapter of contemporary South Korean history. The viewer is invited to crawl, play or hide in a rosy flowerbed that conceals a camouflaged army wall. Kyuchul Ahn’s Abandoned Doors (2006) openly criticises the trendy, consumption-oriented architectural trends of Korean urban quarters. His house, made with old abandoned doors, was initially assembled in the artists’ village, near to the Korean DMZ area, and next to glitzy, newly-built edifices.
‘Through the Looking Glass’ is an exhibition that constitutes an ambitious step toward dismantling our preconceived notions of the Orient, whatever these might be. In all, the show has a very strong selection of work and a heartening curatorial theme. Unprecendented in its novelty, it aligns itself with other important events ocurring in dusty old Europe, bringing out the lively and sophisticated art of a country that has remained for too long beyond our misty daily mirrors.
English literature is populated by stories of children who escape the afternoon boredom of their domestic surroundings by discovering unfamiliar worlds, sometimes this is done through a wardrobe, a rabbit hole or a mirror. Through the Looking Glass, one such story, titles the first show on Korean Art to be presented in London. The choice of venue – the newly refurbished Georgian Asia House – carefully mirrors Jiyoon Lee’s curatorial desire to choreograph the show around the book’s theme. Like Alice, who pondered what the world would be like on the other side of the mirror, and to her surprise was able to pass through it, those visiting the show, are invited to abandon, if only for the brief duration of the encounter, their preconceived image of Korea and to access a spectacular world through the work of ten internationally acclaimed Korean artists. The potpourri selection of works fits grotesquely within the elegant domestic symmetry of the building, with its wide-sided windows flanking the walls, its voluptuous staircase and its decorative crowns embellishing the doors.
This architectural clash, however, is the result of a carefully staged plan given that all artists were invited to visit the premises before making the work. Jeong-Hwa Choi, whose comments about the status of contemporary South Korea either frustrate or entertain viewers, has hung a bright green PVC chandelier in the central stairwell. Upstairs, sited on the mezzanine roof, we see the ornamental flower that most gracefully encapsulates our fascination with the orient: the lotus. However, in this context, the delicacy of the flower has been somewhat tainted. Here we find two gigantic synthetic flowers that to our surprise are not rooted in the muddy banks of a pond but are awkardly balanced on a concrete roof. Their photosynthesis is mechanically alimented by an unseen homemade device. Meekyoung Shin’s work also generates this clash of architectural whimsy. All the objects on view, the ivory-like Buddha, the immaculate Greek, marble-like sculpture of herself, and the Ming and Qing vases are in fact, ephemeral soap-simulacra. In this way the artist seems to mockingly test our calcified standard of taste, problematising our understanding of value.
Youngjin Kim’s beutifully humble Fluid (2006) playfully rehearses the long-standing Eastern tradition of water calligraphy. Eshewing the disciplinary control of the medium, the artist allows water, light and shade to momentarily paint contingent landscapes. Duck-Hyun Cho’s 15-piece work is the result of a close-knit collaboration between the artist himself, the curator and Sir Peter Wakefield (Life President of Asia House). The size of these black-and-white graphite portraits apes the magnitude of history painting, provoking a somewhat unsettling atmosphere. Sora Kim has assembled a poem using the titles of the Asian books she found whilst visiting Asia House library (RUNAWAY, or two names, 2006). The poem performed by various South Korean and English singers, has unavoidably morphed again and again. Jiwon Kim’s painting is the only work which explicitly draws on the country’s recent demilitarised zones. In his piece, we see him subtly tackling the issue of divisionism, a sore and unfinished chapter of contemporary South Korean history. The viewer is invited to crawl, play or hide in a rosy flowerbed that conceals a camouflaged army wall. Kyuchul Ahn’s Abandoned Doors (2006) openly criticises the trendy, consumption-oriented architectural trends of Korean urban quarters. His house, made with old abandoned doors, was initially assembled in the artists’ village, near to the Korean DMZ area, and next to glitzy, newly-built edifices.
‘Through the Looking Glass’ is an exhibition that constitutes an ambitious step toward dismantling our preconceived notions of the Orient, whatever these might be. In all, the show has a very strong selection of work and a heartening curatorial theme. Unprecendented in its novelty, it aligns itself with other important events ocurring in dusty old Europe, bringing out the lively and sophisticated art of a country that has remained for too long beyond our misty daily mirrors.
Emilia Terracciano
