Ik-Joong Kang

Exhibition Catalogue, 1997

Venice Biennale

By Kwang-su Oh

(Commissioner of Korean Pavilion)

 

 

 

Korea has participated in the Venice Biennale since 1996, but this year marks the second time since the construction of its own national pavilion. Since the 1960, contemporary Korean art has been introduced to the world through various routes, but it was only in very recent times that participation in the Venice Biennale has come about, offering another route through the international audience may experience the unique characteristics of Korea's contemporary art.

For this Biennale, two young artist, ik-joong in painting and Hyung-woo Lee in sculpture, have been selected. These two artists are still in their thirties and forties, and this ids the first time that Korean artist of such a young generation are taking part in this international exhibition. But despite their relatively youthful careers, each of these artists has a definite aesthetic language and realm of his own. In some ways, they are noteworthy more for their abundant potential than their experiences and achievements thus far. We are at this point when we are devoting a great deal of concern toward what is being shaped in the present and what is to be achieved in the future, no less than toward what we have accomplished in the past. And in this effort, we can foresee the bright prospect of contemporary Korean art. Such future possibilities figure into the expectations we have of these two young artists.

In addition to the fact that one works in painting and the other in sculpture, these two artists also reveal differences in their distinctly individual methods o visual expression,. But even amid such disparities, their works somehow manage together to achieve an uncanny accord, converging towards harmonious unity. While bringing together distinctive visual languages, we did not over look the importance of Korean pavilion as a whole. We were especially conscious of this point, considering the particular structure of the Venice Biennale, which is composed of exhibitions presented in national pavilions. Our intention was to organize an exhibition in which each artist would be able to display his own singular aesthetic realm that would also be subsumed into a larger, harmonious whole.

After receiving an art education in Korea, Ik-joong Kang and Hyung-woo Lee went on to further training in New York and Paris, respectively. Kang eventually settled in New York, while Lee returned to Korea after a period of study in Rome and Paris. Lee actively continues to produce and show his work, in addition to teaching at his alma mater in Seoul.

Kang,'s uniquely structured work is from his daily life, and accordingly the content of his work often calls to mind a personal diary or journal. During his early years in New York, Kang spent up to twelve hours a day working in grocery stores or doing other odd jobs, and his distinctive pictures were produced in spare moments a she rode the subway to work. The necessity of having to work on the subway meant that he had to create canvases small enough to hold in his palm or slip into his pocket. Thus, the various phenomena of his daily life are recorded in scenes measuring only three-inches square: events taking place around him, passing cityscapes, and his memory and desire revealed in fragmented images, scrawls or epigrams. There are even flickering glimpses of scenes condtitute the accumulation of all that kang saw, heard and felt-in short, a direct reflection of his life-during his twelve years in New York. Kang has since gone to expand the scope of his art, wandering all over New York in search of images.

The images in Kang's miniature scenes seem unfettered by any systematic order, rule or motive. His reactions, observations and curiosity toward his subjects, along with the imaginative associations they give rise to, come together-seemingly almost indiscriminately-in the form of allusive pictures or cartoon-like images and caricatures. But these diverse, individual objects are arranged to form a grid on the wall, where they constitute a greater whole. Each discrete module is transformed into a component in a large-scale mural. The appeal of Kang's work lies in its ability to provoke visual pleasure and wonder through the connection and arrangement of the fragmented images that are themselves filled with wit and humor.

Kang often compare his work to Bibimbap, a Korean dish which combines all kinds of vegetables and meat mixed into a bowl of white rice and flavored, finally, with red pepper paste and sesame seed oil. Korean dinner is usually centered around rice and soup with an arrangement of side dishes, often some sort of meat or fish and small servings of various vegetables. But in Bibimbap, through served in a single bowl, encompasses a variety of foods high in calories.

The reason Kang compares his work to that peculiarly Korean dish called Bibimbap is that the various discrete attributes of his work intermingle-and even the unfamiliar and the ambiguous blend together-to compose a panorama on the single large surface of a wall. In addition to the visually exuberant effect of his wall structure, another compelling aspect of his work is the incorporation of sounds, the synthesis of visual and auditory elements. In particular, the Western music that emanates from his work composed of numerous Buddha images induces the spiritual shock of an unexpected encounter. In some of Kang's work, we find elements of cultural criticism that is hard to overlook. Such elements can be seen as a natural reflection of the critical spirit that he must have acquired when he found himself cast into the foreign territory of New York after growing up in Korea.

While the works of both Ik-joong Kang and Hyung-woo Lee stand at points of departure from painting and sculpture, they also include a sense of restoration, of a continual return to painting and sculpture. In other words, the departure itself begins in questions about the source and the essence. Needless to say, those questions are none other than "what is sculpture?" To draw on a tiny surface or to make very spare structural forms is to meditate on the original modes of drawing and making. And it is this aspect of their art that will elicit the astonishing experience of glimpsing an original moment of pure creation.

Despite their universal aesthetic appeal, the works of these two artists also reflect traditional Korean aesthetic sensibilities. Although derived from his recent years in New York, Kang's fragmented images and signs-to say nothing of the repetition of Buddha figures-also evoke elements of Minhwa, or folk painting, and Bujok, the talismanic inscriptions common in folk religions. His scenes are permeated, perhaps without his conscious awareness, with all maner of images and symbols prevalent in the spaces and surroundings of Korean life. Hyung-woo Lee's small wood and terra cotta objects also evoke household goods and utensils commonly found in traditional Korean living spaces. In his work, we have the strong impression of coming upon an arrangement of broken pieces of their works isn't international, for these artists insistently try not to invoke, or reflect any kind of obsession with, the traditional. It is probably an embodiment of their individual aesthetic sensibilities emerging naturally amid a long transcendent process.

 

 

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The Earth Time, November 16-30, 1996

Let them eat chocolate

by Soon Young Yoon

 

 

 

General MacArthur's statue in the Whitney Museum stood near eight feet tall; his knuckles rested confidently on his hips. His eyes looked sharp as if he were inspection you, instead of you gazing at him.

The greater than life size was a reminder that this man had once wielded uncommon power. With a wave of a hand, he decided the fate of thousands of American soldiers and millions of Korean during the Korean War.

Memories of the American soldiers who served under him hung on the walls-hundreds of small, rectangle blocks showing the stripes from uniform badges. Added a mood of solemn silence. Yes, too many soldiers died in the "forgotten" war. This artistic memorial to the Korean War was long overdue.

But what was this sweet pungent smell? I looked closer at the general's elbow. Yes. Confirmed. This smell was coming from his cuff, his jacket and he walls. It was the brown stuff of children's dreams and Christmas cheer.

It was none other than the wonderful smell of dark chocolate. For many Korean children who were starving during the war, it was also the scent of America.

The brilliant artist, Ik joong Kang, justified his reason for choosing chocolate as the material for his monument. As he explains it, some of his clearest childhood memories were of good-willed American soldiers throwing chocolate bars to children.

The soldiers shared some of the most exotic goods imaginable. The children's favorite was gum because it's flavor lasted forever; candy went down quicker. Many children hoarded gum and candy wrappers for weeks, smelling them over and over again to relive that satisfying moment.

It's ironic that candy and gum should be the enduring memories of starvation. But, indeed, when one is very hungry, the first taste of anything is wonderful and unforgettable. Taste is a conduit back to childhood memories. Sadly, for today' children in war-torn countries like Bosnia, Somalia and Rwanda these memories may best be forgotten.

According to the United Nations Children's fund, in 1995, there were 30 major armed conflicts raging around the world. In the past decade, nearly two million children have been killed in wars-many of these died of diseases related to malnutrition and lack of safe water and sanitation. Their own armies have sold international relief goods for arms. The children have waited for food aid that never arrived because of embargoes.

At the forthcoming the meeting in Rome of the United Nation's Food and Agriculture Organization more than 120 Heads of State and Government are expected to recommit themselves to global food security. One of the five "commitments" in the World Food Summit Plan of Action deals with victims of civil conflicts.

It states: "we will endeavor to prevent and be prepared for natural disasters and man-made emergencies and to meet transitory and emergency food requirements in ways that encourage recovery, rehabilitation, development and a capacity to satisfy future need. There are two ideas to note here. First, the document acknowledges that reducing military spending and promoting peace are as important as emergencies.

Second, it emphasizes programs to ensure rehabilitation of agriculture and a transition to sustainable development instead of indefinite dependence on external aid. Both are welcome solutions and commitments. Also, important is the recommendation ensuring women an equal decision-making role in relief policies and programs.

On the other hand, there is little discussion on how governments and international bodies will live up to the commitments- the all important money and institutional arrangement discussions are often missing. Heads of State and Government who will make statements at the World Food Summit should clarify their strategies and positions beyond vague generalizations. Otherwise, we will probably see little action on the problems of refugees and food security after the meeting is over, except, perhaps, more sweet talk.

 

 

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The New York Times, Wednesday, July 31, 1996

'8,490 Days of Memory'

Whitney Museum of American Art at Philip Morris

By Grace Glueck

 

 

 

Maybe you thought you'd never live to see a chocolate-covered figure of Gen.  Douglas MacArthur in battle dress, standing nine feet high.  Well, brace yourself.  It's the set piece of this show by Ik-Joong Kang, a Korean artist now living in the United States.  Chocolate, by now almost routime as a sculptural material, is also the medium for 8,490 three-inch squares made by Mr. Kang, each bearing a U.S. Army emblem in relief, hung in rows on foil-covered walls.

The figure 8,490 represents the number of days Mr. Kang lived in Korean before emigrating, and the chocolate represents the candy bars that G.I.'s gave to South Korean children.  MacArthur's presence symbolizes his status as a war hero in South Korea, where as commander of the United Nations forces he is credited with driving back the Communist invasion from the north.  Here, the General stands on a large, square platform consisting of 8,490 clear plastic cubes, each embedding a memento from Mr. Kang's childhood: buttons, marbles, toys, etc.

The chocolate, Mr. Kang has said, represents the bittersweet promise and prosperity of America versus the erosion of traditional Korean values that the American presence there portended.  The three-inch sizes of the squares represent a lot of things, including the average distance between people's eye and the small size of Asian cultural items.  Klutzy as this show looks, it smells divine.

 

 

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The Village Voice, July 30 1996

Art Short List : Ik-Joong Kang

By Kim Levin

 

 

 

The overpowering smell of chocolate reaches your nostrils before you even enter this irresistible installation. It wafts from the 8490 three-inch squares of chocolate, each customized with a U.S. army insignia, that grid the foil-covered walls. It's exuded by the monumental chocolate-covered statue of '''''General Douglas MacArthur, who stands, field glasses in hand, on a shimmering platform of plastic cubes (8490 of them, too) containing childhood trinkets and mementos. 8490 Days of Memory refers to the number of days Kang lived in Korea before emigrating here, as well as to the MacArthur monument in his Korean hometown and the candy bars GIs tossed to him when he was a kid. But it alludes to cross-cultural social issues a lot more complex than bittersweet nostalgia. Through September 27, Whitney Museum of American Art at Philip Morris, 120 Park Avenue, at 42nd Street, 878-2550.

 

 

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Whitney Museum of American Art at Philip Morris

July 12-September 27, 1996

8490 Days Of Memory

by Eugenie Tsai

 

 

 

But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.

-Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past.

Ik-Joong Kang's 8490 Days of Memory is an installation composed of 8490 squares of polished clear plastic cubes amassed on the floor below. Each 3-inch square bears an insignia from the IS Army cast in relief; each 3-inch cube contains a memento from the artist's childhood. Stacked cubes form a pedestal which supports a 9-foot-ftatue of Korean war hero General Douglas MacArthur entirely coated in chocolate. For Kang, the sweet scent and taste of creamy chocolate play the role of the tea-soaked madeleine in Proust's novel Remembrance of /thing Past, bearing in their essence "the vast structure of recollection." In 8490 Days of Memory, the combination of materials and imagery coalesces into an elegiac evocation of Kang's twenty-four years in Korea-exactly 8490 days-prior to immigration to the US in 1984. This evocation of Kang's past includes the complex interplay between Korea and American cultures, which continues into the present.

Born in 1960, Kang grew up in Seoul and attended grammar school near a US army base in the It'ae Won district of the city. He and fellow students would line up at the gate of the army base and shout "give me chocolate" at the GIs, who would respond by throwing candy bars as they drove past in jeeps. Given the postwar poverty of the time, chocolate was an extraordinary treat. When he was successful in retrieving a candy bar, Kang would slowly remove the foil wrapper before inhaling the scent of chocolate-"smelling America"-to prolong the moment. This sweet and potent fragrance prompted him to fantasize about America. After this ritual, he slowly consumed the precious substance, letting each bite dissolve in his mouth.

Such was Kang's introduction to American culture and the genesis of his perception of chocolate and GIs as icons of America, icons that became deeply imbedded in his memory. The themes of remembrance and the past are underscored by the 8490 clear plastic cubes, each containing a small object from the artist's childhood-marbles, miniature masks and animals, windup toys, dice, shells-frozen, preserved, stopped in time. Unlike recollections released by smell and taste, there objets provide concrete evidence of Kang's youth in Korea during the sixties and seventies.

Whereas the chocolate squares and the objects encased in plastic allude to Kang's personal life, the figure of General Douglas MacArthur, with its chocolate patina, suggests a collective memory and global dimension to 8490 Days of Memory. ManArthur, who commanded UN military forces during the Korean War, was responsible for driving North Korean forces back over the 38th parallel. Although eventually dismissed by President Truman, in the eyes of South Koreans he was a hero, representing freedom, bravery, and the American dream.

 

 

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Art Net Magazine, July 1996

8,490 Days of Memory

The Whitney Museum at Philip Morris

by Joan Kee

 

 

 

The Korean American artist Ik-Joong Kang is primarily known for mosaic-like installation works made up of 3 x 3-in. squares representing various aspects of his life, ranging from the names of artists who influenced him to notes on his masturbation practices. His most recent work, the tour-de-force 8490 Days of Memory, ventured into history via Kang's memories of his childhood in the impoverished, war-torn Korea of the early 1960s.

The work represents a colossal effort--a larger-than-life statue of General Douglas MacArthur was constructed from chocolate bars and stands in the middle of the gallery on a low dais made of cubes of resin. The walls of the gallery are covered with Kang's trademark squares, here made of chocolate and imprinted with U.S. military insignia. The work underscores the powerful way that memory can function through vision, smell and even sound--notably the Tom Jones hits, popular in the U.S. and Korea in the 1960s, that Kang has playing in the gallery. Deployed in a relatively small space, the work poses a kind of sensory overload from the strong smell of chocolate, the maculation of the space through the repeated squares and the giant statue. The physical disorientation suggests the similar fragmented process of the recollection of long periods of time.

Chocolate is a powerful metaphor to Kang.

As a rare luxury in post-war South Korea, casually supplied to local children by the victorious G.I.s, chocolate symbolizes the sweetness of American plenty while its silver foil is a literal representation of the glittering promise of wealth and the American dream. Kang drives home this point by incorporating MacArthur, who gained a place in the hearts of Koreans (and a place in their parks, through proliferating statues) by masterminding the Inchon landing, a crucial turning point in the Korean War. The memorialization of the past is also emphasized by small toys and other childhood memorabilia set within each transparent resin block under MacArthur's statue. Each gonggi (jacks) set, each eraser and each pair of doll shoes are fossils embedded forever in Formica, as if to suggest the enduring quality of Kang's memories.

Despite the importance of memory and the past, Kang's work is very much a work of the present, avoiding Korean American artistic clinches that attempt to compensate for lack of substance by using inscrutable components of the past. Chocolate is a double entendre metaphor because when exposed to heat, it rapidly melts and this property parallels Kang's idea of America's waning military power in both Korea and the world.

Likewise, the childhood memorabilia used are not actual objects hoarded from yesterday but objects that can be found or purchased anywhere in Korea today. Such an incorporation of present objects implies that memories are often remembered using the constructs of today. The conflicting ideas of the present and the nostalgia of the past give Kang's 8940 Days of Memory a pulsating energy that reminds the viewer that the past and present undergo a process of constant interaction.

Ik-Joong Kang, 8940 Days of Memory, Whitney Museum of American Art at Philip Morris, 120 Park Ave. (E. 42nd St.) New York, N.Y. 10017, July 11-Sept. 27, 1996.

JOAN KEE writes on contemporary Asian and Asian American art.

Artnet 1996

 

 

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Reviews, June 27, 1996

365 Days of English.

Assemblages by Ik-Joong Kang at the Contemporary Arts Forum.

By Marina Walker

 

 

 

Ik-Joong Kang reconstructs the world from bits and pieces of culture. Small blocks of carved wood, cheap radios desperately expelling pop music, storms of computer and notebook paper, all become quadrants of catalogues information. Wrapped into bundles, word are scrambled into units, signs made into signals - public communications privately discovered, then offered for your contemplation.

This exhibition, entitled 365 Days of English, marks Kang's southern California premiere. Installed in the main gallery of the Contemporary Arts Forum, the show is multifaceted and complex. Organized via a network of grids that dissect as they connect, the grids act as an underpinning, providing a scaffolding to support Kang's inquiry into popular American culture. The results he achieves are not random, though; beneath the intricate construction, there are hints of impulse, of an intuition-driven exploration that makes the work exciting. Huge quantities of information pass through his hands, so much that t is hard not to notice the personal, perhaps obsessively aware dedication to detail that seems to drive him. Whatever creative spark calls Kang to this forum, he makes his point, and it is well taken.

Some artists find objects and refine them until they become numinous. Stripped of confusion and common associations, they are streamlined, clarified, and polished to transmit the essence of what they represent. Kang does it differently. Working from the inside out, he makes his mark with simple, common materials like Scotch tape, ink, notebook paper, and wood. These last two he covers with thousands of words. In both English and Korean, the artist has emptied his mind: What comes out is interesting, funny, and playfully ironic.

The architecture of his structures and the subtle nuance his materials evoke simulate spiritual destinations and transmit Kang's dominant aesthetic. A tent becomes a temple; a covering for its dormant inhabitants: pre-awakened dialogues temporarily restrained to receive the Buddhist's "light of knowledge." A wood block wall acts as a shrine of personal and intellectual contemplation. Paper and tape, ink and pastel-pale hues of green, pink, mauve, and blue are delicate and suggest non-opaque Japanese shoji screens.

The first structure you see upon entering the gallery is large enough to walk inside. Inscribed, plastic-sheathed streamers of gridded paper link to build a double column. The moment you enter the narrow opening, you discover another column of paper, this one small enough to easily walk around. Kang turned the paper inward, towards the center. From the outside, there is not much to see other than the shape of the thing itself. Inside the first column, it's another story. Words, drawings, collaged magazine pictures look like a calmed-down version of giant, chatty tarot cards: "Visual relationship, simple traces, inextinguishable source, pictorial plane, virtual reaction, bug zapper," say the walls of this paper temple-skyscrapper.

Towards the rear of the gallery, reams of computer paper form a tent-like shelter. Outside, on the paper "roof," Kang stenciled printed words with red, blue, and green felt-tipped markers. Hundreds of broken utterances like "PAiNTEr" and "NAVAL," read like humorous, illogical signs directing you nowhere. Words, cut off from each other, regrouped and joined to others, as in his wall of wood blocks, are one of Kang's favored means of expressing himself. Kang settled in New York when he came to America 12 years ago from Korea. His arrival in the city and to a new culture must have sent shock waves through his entire system. If he were not an artist, perhaps he would have recoiled from the jarring. Instead, he responded with ravenous consumption. The evidence of his hunger for American culture is everywhere. English words, jargon from our contemporary pop culture, have been collected, regrouped, and juxtaposed with Korean language and architectural structures. The result of his choreography? Compositions, curious objects of integrity that demonstrate an edgy assimilation.

Tucked away in the corner of the gallery, but impassably noticeable, three hundred or so American flag decorated plastic radios, simultaneously screech out a jumble of top-40 tunes. The white noise created by them is grating and disquieting. Trying to ignore it, I couldn't help but think of Kang, hurrying along the streets of New York.

According to Yin Joo-Heon, one of the contributing authors of Kang's exhibition catalogue, Buddha Learning English, Koreans have a penchant for making and consuming soup. Soup is as good a metaphor for Kang's work as any. Like that nourishing fluid, his artist's voice is a stockpot of individual ingredients that stew themselves into something substantial. For me, this metaphor illustrates the instinctive process by which culture creates art. Kang is the product of his culture and where those origins have taken him. By playing with the ancient motifs and symbols of one, and the written and verbal communications of another, he has created a new soup, a substance that noticeably alters the way we perceive our own.

 

 

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