|
|
So I moped around Seoul today, after seeing Celeste off at the airport. I hadn't thought to bring any Seoul tourist info or subway maps so I had to improvise. Actually, getting hold of another subway map was very easy. I bussed into Seoul and tried to go shopping by myself. Um, maybe it's just 'cuz I've never done it before, but shopping by yourself is like trying to give yourself a back massage--after ten seconds, you come to your senses and find something productive to do. Seriously, I looked at one lousy kiosk, in a jungle of the hippest clothes in Korea (perhaps that doesn't say much since all male fashion here seems to be designed around retired physics professors) and was bored almost to sleep. I fled. I had a great miss-phersty, now-what-do-I-do afternoon. I needed catharsis. I needed art. I stopped in at an information booth and spoke to a helpful woman, fluent in both Korean and Japanese. Aalas, her multi-linguism was futile and we gestured. She gave me an updated version of the wonder tourist booklet that has led Celeste and, me almost single handedly, through Korea thus far. I made my way toward City Hall and the Rodin art gallery. I decided to walk the last leg of the journey (Phersty style), instead of continuing on the subway. And it is no surprise that on the way to the Rodin gallery, I stumbled onto the Ho-Am Art Gallery, a contemporary art gallery that is featuring an exhibit: mind space. My curiosity made me put off Rodin and I was pulled into the building by the promise of "mind space." As fate would have it, the same ticket that got me into "mind space" also allowed me addmission into the Rodin exhibit I was looking for, a half-mile away. Suddenly I was Jonas in the belly of the art whale. The exhibit featured works from varied artists, all with the idea of seeking a spiritual "consummative" connection and experience with the viewer. Mark Rothko
His colors made me think of an old concert hall with thick, deep, rich wood. The edifice is forgotten except by those select few who care for it. It's obscure. Abstract. It's opening night and the lights shine brightly against the wood casting shadows into the corners and illuminating the rich colors. My granpa Milt knew this place and painted its essence into some of his paintings. Rothko's paintings trigger a thought and feeling miles deep within my soul. Maybe one day I'll find words to give it justice. James Turrell His play with eternity sent me deep, deep into myself, and away from earth. Amazing. He left no trace. I stared into a whole in the wall, large enough to assume that I could see the back. But he made it into an abyss. It was an actual hole and it never ended. Then, then the museum attendants led me into a dark room. I stumbled around, confused, and lost. She sat me down on a bench and I sat silently in the dark. After five minutes of complete darkness, my eyes began to see. There was a light at the far end of the room. It didn't appear. It was always there but my eyes weren't dilated enough to sense it. It was a blue-gray nothing. Soon I realized that it wasn't light against a wall. It was a space. Open. Again, an abyss. I stood up (the sign outside said it was okay) and walked through the dark toward the wall. I stood inches away and stared into the blue-grey abyss. I was floating through space. Everything was quiet. My mind was clear and I could see into my soul. I stretched out my hand and . . . nothing. I reached further. Nothing. It was a pocket of my endless soul. Wolfgang Liab--He decidedly doesn't pretty up nature. He just collects it. He built a narrow room of 2 tons (not joking) of organic (of course--he's an artist) bees wax. I went into the cozy wax room lit by a single light bulb dangling through a hole cut into the ceiling. Inside, the sweet, natural fragrance of pollen enveloped me. I was warm and quiet. It was like the hive when all the other bees are away on a picnic. Lee Mingwei He desires mutual process between his audience and the artist through expressing the soul. He allows the audience to make his art. He build a three-sided cube, lined it with rice paper and invited me (and all) to come in solo, sit (the pose for insight in Zen Buddhism), stand (pose for gratitude) or kneel (forgiveness) and write a letter on special paper to someone I wish to share my soul with or with whom I want to say something I've never been able to say before because they have died. I kneeled and wrote to myself. Then I addressed it to myself and put it in an envelope to be mailed to me at the project's finish. I left full. I found Rodin and steel sculptor John Pai in another gallery. I spend long moments absorbing the open, well-lighted room, looking at Rodin's honest faces and bodies. After two hours they closed the museum and I took a train home to Daejeon. This time, pulling into the station without Phersty at my side. The abyss. I'm alone. I'll miss her but I will be determined to enjoy drifting for 25 days. Hey, I'm an artist. In many ways untapped, other's flowing, but an artist to be sure. Catharsis--Scottro [2003-06-05]
Navigation newest letter | older letters
Last five letters ?2002, Scott & Celeste. |
