Park Han-sol reports on Korea's financial regulators, along with fintech and insurance. She previously wrote about the art world, from biennales and exhibitions to fairs and auctions, with a focus on Seoul and the figures shaping the scene. Before joining The Korea Times, she spent a year at ABC News' Seoul bureau, contributing to coverage of major Asia-Pacific events.
INTERVIEW 'Bandage art' ceramist leaves past behind to move forward
Ceramist Suh Hee-su poses with clay-coated bandages, the main materials she uses to create her unique artwork, in her studio in Yongin, Gyeonggi Province, Jan. 22. / Korea Times photo by Choi Won-suk
By Park Han-sol
By Park Han-sol
Bandages can often push the story forward ― in TV shows, movies and sometimes in real life ― as a direct representation of the intensity of the blood, pain and agony felt by the victim. At the same time, they are precisely what protects those wounds and injuries from further damage as the first step to recovery.
To ceramist Suh Hee-su, this captivating fabric has been the main material of her pottery work for nearly three decades.
After coating the bandages with wet white clay and layering them together to make a thicker band, she then bends, twists, turns and cuts those pieces into different shapes and places them in a kiln. The final work is born when the fabric inside is burnt up and vanishes into thin air, only leaving traces of its texture on the pottery's surface. The most essential material of her work must disappear for it to be completed.
A complex set of reasons was behind the unique incorporation of bandages in her art, Suh explained during a recent interview with The Korea Times as compositions from her handpicked playlist of classical music filled her studio.
“As long as I can remember, I have been interested in human psychology, especially in the feeling of anxiety and the relationship between the unconscious and the conscious. Part of that is innate. But it was also the result of strict and authoritarian parenting. I grew up always surrounded by thoughts of repressed feelings and anxiety.”
She chose to express the sense of insecurity and disquiet buried in the subconscious through art. What further gave shape to her artistic direction was the life-altering incident that occurred when she was studying abroad in New York in her mid-20s after earning her master's in ceramics design at Hongik University. Already feeling lonely and distressed in a strange, foreign country, she encountered the news of the sudden death of a close friend.
The bandage, with its direct visual symbolism, became a suitable medium to let her feelings out. It also reflected her desire to incorporate experimental elements and challenges into her art instead of settling for something generic.
The artist happily admits she has been “obsessively” immersed in using bandages as her main artistic material for years, and finds it fascinating that even with the same object, her work continues to change depending on her state and emotional maturity.
In her 20s, she wrapped scalpels and operating scissors in bandages, producing ceramics that showed a much more grotesque visualization of her emotions, highlighted by the red rust of the metal creating a bleeding effect. Throughout the next decade, she focused less on such immediate symbols of pain and minimized the specific images associated with anxiety. Instead, she transformed the layers of bandages into beautiful, colorful vases.
Now in her 40s, Suh works with bandages mainly in the form of installation art. She hangs multiple clay-coated bands on the long, horizontal light bulbs and through the lights beaming from the gaps between the pieces, she turns the bandages into sources of healing light. Because the story and form of her work undergoes constant change, she is excited to see where it will lead her next.
Suh's vase works made of clay-coated bandages / Korea Times photo by Choi Won-suk
Suh's "Untitled" (2020) on display at Gallery Daham in Ansan, Gyeonggi Province, in July 2020. / Courtesy of Kim Jung-han
Artist hopes her works to be remembered only in memory
Another area in her work that Suh recently began to concentrate on reflects her newfound philosophy and enlightenment.
First is her environmentally conscious work style. Amid the COVID-19 pandemic, when the images of nature without the toxic human presence emerged, she thought about ways as an artist to incorporate such issues in her work while maintaining the elements of bandages.
“I saw how many materials I destroyed, consumed and threw away in the process. I also incinerate bandages. Even though I consciously chose the fabric of good, environment-friendly quality that does not contain nylon or dioxin, too much carbon was emitted from the kiln,” she explained.
“What I'm trying nowadays is to not use the kiln at all. Instead, I display the raw works ― clay-soaked bandages with dried up cracks and everything.” Because the cloth is not burned up, after the exhibition, she can then wash it and re-use it.
Another philosophy that began to take effect in her ceramics is the artwork's transcendence from the physical realm. In her exhibition held in July last year at Gallery Daham in Ansan, Gyeonggi Province, she displayed the entire process of her raw clay work inside a water tank gradually dissolving away into fine dust.
Suh's "Untitled" (2020) / Courtesy of Kim Jung-han
“Normally, artists would want their works to be displayed in front of people and last forever. But I want my work to disappear, ultimately,” she said.
Citing the concept of transcendence explored by the pioneering abstract artist Kim Whan-ki, she discussed her own version and interpretation of such element.
“I leave my house every morning thinking about death. When I clean, I clean like I'm organizing the articles and relics left by me who may die tomorrow. But thoughts about death aren't necessarily bad since they make life all the more meaningful. If the possibility of death always surrounds me and I want to truly free myself from it, I would want to adopt a perspective that transcends physical existence.”
Suh wants to reflect such thoughts in her work. Just like her existence after death, in which she will be physically gone but remain in other people's consciousness, she wants her work to disappear from the physical world and simply last in viewers' memories.
The desire to transcend the physical realm also led her to explore different artistic concepts, especially media, as it presents the idea in a nonconcrete form. In the exhibition last year, for the first time, she displayed a video of fabric fluttering in the air in slow motion.
“I don't want to be defined in the fixed category of ceramist. I want to be a creative, constantly exploring new media and outlets. As I hit 30, 40, and soon 50, I see that my changes are ceaseless, with my perspectives and domains of expression growing wider and wider, each day” Suh stated.
When asked about the difficulties of working with the bandage as the base material, she immediately burst into an exhaustive list.
“It's relatively easy when working just with the clay, but the addition of fabric changes everything,” she said.
The search for good-quality, environment-friendly fabric was certainly a long one. Because the clay-coated bandage is so thin, it has broken numerous times. This made it necessary for her to monitor the material for hours to get the perfect level of solidity while available for flexible changes.
Even when the shaping process is completed and the clay bands are inside the kiln, it is far from completion as they can simply flop down or end up sagging like taffy candy. And this risk lingers with every work.
But the process brought fundamental changes to her attitude not just in her work style but also in life. “I used to be very impatient and obsessive. But as I see my months-long work going into the kiln and coming out completely useless, it entirely changed how I looked at things. I tell myself, 'That's okay. I can fail. I'm sure it will be eventually resolved within a year or so.'”
Suh's artwork inside her studio / Korea Times photo by Choi Won-suk
Because this creative process is for her to express her own feelings and philosophy, she does not consider how other people would interpret it.
“I don't give out a lot of hints. A person who seems happy and cheerful has deep scars within when you look at her closely. It's the same with artwork. If someone wishes to truly know my work and me as a person, they will look at them closely to find subtle textures of bandages left behind. If not, they will simply look at the cheerful side with vibrant colors and rhythms. It's entirely up to the audience.”
Throughout her life, besides her work as a ceramist, Suh has also been actively involved in other areas, having served as a university lecturer, museum curator and art therapist after studying at Cha University.
“Art is always at the base, but I have a vast amount of interest in different fields as well. People ask me how I can be involved in so many things. I sleep very little. And I take a lot of vitamins,” she said, smiling.
What keeps her busiest nowadays is her position as the creative director for an upcoming media exhibition in May. From a single flower to tsunami-like waterfalls, the exhibit explores both big and small awe-inspiring elements within nature. Although the event will not feature her own work, she has developed and worked on its theme, tentatively titled “The Greatest,” which will allow each viewer to complete the phrase on their own.
“For me, the bandage is no longer an indication of pain and torment. It is an essential medium for my art and an ingredient for my attempt to achieve transcendence of the physical realm.”