In Rolling! an ongoing exhibition about visual art in Taiwan at the Seoul Museum of Art, this piece was impossible to miss. In Barbarians Celestine: The Monuments with the Sacrifices of the Faunas, the Yao Ruei-chung reflects on Taiwan’s consumer culture and materialism, using images of Taiwanese civil ceremonies.
I love art with layers of meaning, and even more, a golden headless dinosaur. A golden headless dinosaur!
When you fall off a horse, the best thing to do is to get back on again. Yesterday, I hiked the mighty Gwanaksan in the south of Seoul. Along the way, I saw these awesome jangseung, or Korean totem poles with very expressive faces.
I smiled when one reminded me of a Y chromosome.
It’s caterpillar season, and there were plenty of them on totem poles, rocks, or hanging from a tree.
Yesterday, I hiked Suraksan, my 27th mountain in Seoul. Like an idiot, I miscalculated the time, and ended up speeding down the mountain to beat the sunset. The remaining 10% of my hike was pitch black, and because it was a rocky stream, I lost the trail, was close to sheer panic, and was even closer to concussions, sprains, and—I wince thinking about this—death.
The top of Suraksan
I stumbled over dry leaves and through sharp branches. Thank goodness for GPS and the flashlight on my phone. But most of all, thank goodness it was Buddha’s birthday, because the temple at the end of my hike had these glowing paper lanterns, helping me find my way.
Oh bless these monks.
On the way down, I vividly remember passing by two ajusshi on separate occasions. They didn’t look like they cared about the time. I really hope they made it back.
I am extremely grateful for well-kept traditions, modern technology, and friends who would come over to give you ice cream and remind you to hike smarter. I have 10 more mountains to go, you know.
Happy birthday, Buddha. And many, many thanks.
Last May 5th, I gave an artist talk entitled Art, Science, and Interactivity at the Hangaram Art Museum in Seoul Arts Center for the International Sculpture Festa for a small audience. I and my friends from the National Art Studio were in the category “What Can Sculpture Be?” As an interactive artist, while some of my work can be classified as sculpture, I don’t really consider myself one in the most traditional sense of the word. Unlike most sculpture where Do Not Touch is written beside the piece, my work usually comes with a set of “experience instructions”—such as “Please Smell This Wall,” “Please wear this vest and hug someone,” etc. etc.
These are my notes and slides from the talk:
Art, Science, and Interactivity
Annyunghaseyo. My name is Catherine, and I’m an interactive artist from the Philippines. I come to you from three fields of study, and from three cities around the world. The first is science, where I studied molecular biology and biotechnology in Manila. The second is Barcelona, where I studied contemporary art and poetry. The third is New York City, where I lived for five years and did my MFA in Interaction Design at the School of Visual Arts.
Coming from many different worlds, I often asked myself what was the core of my interests? Finally, I realized that it was human perception. Our senses, or how we perceive the world. More specifically, I investigate perception and how it can bridge memory and play. The more aware we are of the world, the more we can explore and go beyond what we know, and the more we go beyond, the more we add to our storehouse of memories.
1. Sculpture can facilitate human connection
The Hug Vest
This is a vest made out of thermochromic fabric, so it changes color, from purple to blue when you touch it. For the past two years, I have been wearing this, and other versions of this vest, and hugging people with it. In these exhibitions, I invite people to hug me, and invite them to wear it and hug other people as well. Being able to tangibilize the hug through a color change seems to make hugging more fun, and gets people to touch more. What this project has taught me is that sculpture can facilitate human connection.
2. Sculpture can go beyond sight
An Olfactory Memoir of Three Cities
For the next project, I want to first show you this image. Who can tell me what was going on here?
Smell and memory are closely interlinked. In neuroscience, we learn that smell is processed in the region of the brain where memory is also processed. This explains why we can unearth deep-seated memories from decades back.
I’ve been doing experiments on olfaction, where I ask people to smell these pieces of paper with microencapsulated smells, so they’re very concentrated. Afterwards, I ask them what memory came to mind. The results were very surprising, because many of them recalled memories from a long time ago, as far back as twenty years.
I was inspired by the results, so I created an Olfactory Memoir of Three Cities I’ve lived in – Manila, New York and Barcelona.
It contains printed smells with my memory of the place. Of course, if you smelled this book, you have your own memories of the smell, and this creates a conversation among those perceiving art.
So from this project, I learned that sculpture can go beyond sight, which is the most overused and oversaturated sense, at least for us who are not visually impaired. With smell, sculpture can be remembered longer, and the memory of the art persists.
For this exhibition, there is a little wall of smells with twelve different smells on it, which you can sniff.
3. We can enable the audience to create his own experience with art.
Mondrian Hopscotch II
During my residency in Changdong, one question I wanted to explore was, Can you play with art?
So I created this hopscotch board in the style of Piet Mondrian, whose aesthetic is well-known and almost lends itself to the framework of a hopscotch board.
I believe that my primary audience is children, so I invited some elementary schoolkids near the studio to play with the art.
This taught me that sculpture can be played with, and in the course of playing, each person creates his own experience with art.
4. Sculpture can build communities
Seoul37
I’m in my fourth month of my residency here in Korea, and among the many things that fascinate me is this.
The hiking culture in Korea is truly mind-blowing to me, and has led me to investigate the people doing it—mostly your elderly, the economics behind it—the fashion industry from high end places such as the North Face to the cheaper ones like those in Dongdaemun markets, to the exercise machines I see.
Midway through my residency, I learned that there are 37 mountains in Seoul, and I decided to hike all of them. During each hike, I borrow a small jar of soil and track my hike with a smartphone app.
The goal here is to hike all 37, take soil, and for the next time I exhibit this piece, get the audience to plant using any mixture of soil from all these mountains. After the exhibition, I hope to get 37 volunteers to plant these flora back to all the mountains, thereby returning the soil to where it came from.
I’m interested in the idea of the earth giving me material, and instigating this human intervention that does something positive to a community and also to the earth. I’m also interested in doing a big project that is ephemeral. From this project, I see potential in sculpture that can help build communities, with consequences even after the exhibition.
Thanks very much.
Growing up on dragon and lion dances during Chinese New Year, I love looking at the often modern footwear of these traditional practices. During this year’s Lotus Lantern Festival in Seoul held the week before Buddha’s birthday, this dragon’s feet caught my eye:
Odd pair out
Spot the colored ones in the middle!
This festival would be incomplete without lions frolicking about:
Besties.
Roar!
It’s post-exhibition at the International Sculpture Festa 2013 in Seoul. While installing my exhibit took hours, taking it down last Wednesday took a mere 30 minutes. Here was how it looked:
Oh hey, you.
I exhibited four pieces:
1. Seoul37
This is the main project I’m doing in my residency at the National Art Studio in Korea. This country has quite a lot of mountains, and they have been its foundation. Despite Korea, especially Seoul, changing so much in the past centuries, these mountains have withstood the test of time. I became fascinated with them (there’s quite a strong hiking culture here), and, upon learning that there are 37 mountains (or hills) in Seoul, decided to hike them all. Yes, ALL. I track each hike with a smartphone app and borrow a jar of soil. During our exhibition here at the National Art Studio, I will invite people to plant using these soil samples I have collected, and will ask 37 volunteers to plant them back to the mountains.
An earlier image of the piece
I was about midway through the hikes, and exhibited 18 soil samples, with 19 empty jars to show the ones I still have to hike. (As of this writing, I have hiked 27 mountains and nearly died from two.) More information to follow, and no, I don’t usually exhibit things that are not finished, but here I wanted to ask for future participation. I’m very happy that Seoulites seem interested in signing up (I posted a sign-up sheet beside the piece and so many emails were written on it.)
I… whoa! I’m speechless. Thanks, everyone!
2. The Smell Wall
I glued twelve squares of different smells on the wall and invited people to smell them. It looked almost invisible, but I suppose that’s the point.
Can you see twelve squares?
3. Mondrian Hopscotch II
I made another interactive hopscotch board that would fit my exhibition space. I loved seeing people, especially children, jump on it. On May 5th, which was Children’s Day, it was incredibly rewarding seeing parents with their dressed-up children playing with it. Aww!
Cutie on the board!
It’s quite fun having to write down instructions for every piece.
Art with instructions.
4. The Hug Vest
This is a vest made of thermochromic fabric that changes from purple to blue when you touch it. This feels a bit vintage to me now, since this was designed during my grad school years. However, people always get a kick out of seeing it change when it’s touched. Oh, the history this vest has had—from the nights in SVA IxD, to the conferences and lectures, to me using it on the streets of New York as protection from the cold that week when I was freezing and desperate, to being exhibited here in Seoul. This never gets old.
Hugging! With my friends Hyomin and Amy in the background.
My friends were laughing at the phrase “willing volunteer.”
“Willing” being the operative word.
Very happy to have my friends there:
Group hug!
Thanks for coming, unni! ❤
Fun times. Now back to work.
After a particularly grueling and slightly life-threatening hike to Buramsan in Seoul, I came across this ajusshi and thought I was hallucinating.
What the…
Cute. I think. I bought a stuffed rabbit just like this for 500 won from an enterprising kid in this year’s cherry blossom festival.
In this year’s Lotus Lantern Festival in Seoul a week before Buddha’s birthday, this lovely grandmother in a pink hanbok caught my eye.
I smiled. I waved. She waved back.
All smiles for Buddha!
Happy (almost) Birthday, Buddha!
Recently, a teacher of one of the classes to whom I gave a workshop during my residency here in Korea asked me if I benefited from the visit as much as the students did. On that day, I gave a short talk in the exhibition hall, and the children drew, created their own games, and together we went through my studio upstairs. I suppose that for most people, these would fall into the category of Favors You Don’t Really Want to Do But Feel Forced To—”occupational hazards” that goes with the territory.
But as one who operates on interactivity, and one who is still in the “emerging” process, I think I actually need these visits. I’ve done three talks/workshops in Korea in the five months I’ve been here, and for one of those, I was actually the one who asked the program manager to find young people who would want to visit the studio. This doesn’t apply to all artists, of course, and quite a lot of my favorite artists prefer to be left alone, as I do most of the time. Creativity for me thrives on solitude, and anything that takes me away from my primary goals is an interruption.
But visits, particularly of the workshop-py kind and particularly from children, are special to me. (Personally, I prefer kids who are 12 years old or younger, and with at least one chaperone, thanks!) Giving a Keynote presentation is just 20% of the experience. The other 80% is about the conversation that goes on between them and me, between them and my work, and among themselves. Here are five reasons why I think I should make a conscious effort to get out of the confines of my studio and make sure I keep bringing people below five feet tall to see both process and finished piece.
1. Children bring me back to the essence of the work by asking the toughest questions.
Thankfully, children do not ask me any pseudo-intellectual academic queries. I also know they probably don’t care (at least directly) about the institutional strings that come with my work, such as the artist statement, the photos, the website, the design, the branding, the talks, the tweets, the blog posts, and all the administrative work I have to do in the background. Apart from the fun they have during those few hours, they will likely not care about my work or me once they step out of the studio—it’s just another day for them, and they have no ulterior motives. I think this is why they ask me questions that make me go, “Yikes, I didn’t think of that.” It makes me think more deeply and objectively about my work.
2. Children ask questions of themselves and of each other.
When children use my projects as frameworks for self-discovery, it is incredibly rewarding. I remember telling a friend after one workshop that the peak of a project’s “happiness curve” (yes, I have that for all the things I have done) was that day, seeing excited kids jump on my work and doing drawings, instead of the exhibition that came soon afterwards.
3. Children are great prototype testers.
…because they know what to do and they don’t even have to ask questions and it’s faster to get results and oh my god with adults sometimes you have to FORCE that window of childlikeness and wonder open with a metaphorical monkey wrench and geez at the end we’re both exhausted. Happy, but exhausted. With children, it’s just easier. There, I said it.
4. Children make me admit my mistakes without shame.
This is something I had to admit to myself only after discussing my work a number of times to different people, but I discovered that with children for an audience, my intention is to delight, while with adults as an audience, my intention is usually to impress. Guess which one is a lot more fun?
5. I am forced to clean up.
This seems like a silly thing to add, but it’s good to be forced to make sure the studio is tidy, that I have sensible presentations on hand, and that I am showered and presentable. Before, you know, I go down that rabbit hole.
To add to my growing list of favorite Korean artists (Kim Beom, Choi Jeong Hwa, Lee Ufan) is Gimhongsok, whose exhibition, “Good Labor Bad Art”, is in Samsung’s Plateau Gallery.
Canine Construction, which appears to be made of garbage bags yet upon close inspection is actually made of bronze, is wonderfully deceptive.
Canine Construction
I also enjoyed this piece that my friend Kate pointed out (hurray for friends who tell us not to rush and encourage us to pause and read!) this speculative piece that reminds me a bit of Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities. (Click on the photo to enlarge the text.)
The exhibition runs until May 26th. Go, go, go!
Catherine Sarah Young 