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.
Revamped Korea Artist Prize returns with 4 finalists
Lee Kang-seung's show, presented as part of the group exhibition "Korea Artist Prize 2023" at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea (MMCA) in central Seoul, is like a compact archive of overlooked queer-centric mementos spanning generations and nationalities. Courtesy of MMCA
By Park Han-sol
Artists explore diverse themes from forgotten LGBTQ+ narratives to robot theaters
From a live theater populated by robots to a sixth-generation cactus connected to the first openly gay politician in California, a wide array of works have filled the “Korea Artist Prize 2023” exhibition at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea (MMCA) in central Seoul.
Since 2012, the annual Korea Artist Prize, co-organized by the MMCA and SBS Foundation, has aimed to support promising creators by drawing up a shortlist of four individuals or teams who present new visions for the country’s contemporary art.
This year marks the return of the award after it underwent extensive reform, with the finalists being Lee Kang-seung, Gala Porras-Kim, Jun So-jung and Kwon Byung-jun. The prize’s winner will be announced in February next year.
The four finalists for this year's Korea Artist Prize ― from left, Jun So-jung, Lee Kang-seung, Gala Porras-Kim and Kwon Byung-jun ― pose during a press preview at the MMCA, Oct. 19. Korea Times photo by Park Han-sol
Lee’s show is like a compact archive of overlooked queer-centric mementos spanning generations and nationalities. These include a Christmas cactus directly descended from the one once owned by Harvey Milk, San Francisco’s first openly gay elected official who was assassinated in 1978; a ballet conceived by the queer Singaporean-born choreographer Goh Choo San; and the final sculptural installation created by the Brazilian conceptual artist Jose Leonilson before he succumbed to an AIDS-related illness.
Like an avid historian, Lee scours for such memorabilia left behind by the figures of modern LGBTQ+ history, whose narratives often linger in the margins of the mainstream.
He then reimagines these original texts and images, many of which have faded from collective memory over the years, using labor-intensive mediums like graphite drawings, golden-threaded embroidery and collaborative performances.
The artist characterizes his reenactment and assembly of forgotten LGBTQ+ community memories as an “act of caring.”
“Much like the potted cactus on display, personal memories and stories that once belonged to someone will forever vanish unless we collectively care for them. By striving to keep them alive, I wanted to explore the potential of crafting a new history,” explained Lee.
Gala Porras-Kim's "The Weight of a Patina of Time" (2023) / Courtesy of the artist, MMCA
Porras-Kim’s work begins with ancient artifacts – from Egyptian sarcophagi to Mayan relics – which have long lost their original spiritual function within the modern system of museums and cultural heritage designation.
In her attempt to question the ethics of how museums extract these objects from their indigenous contexts – social, religious and geographical – and display them in a vacuum, the Korean-Colombian artist often collaborates with the institutions themselves. Her interest lies in proposing “different compromises that the museums can make with the past to be able to accommodate (the items’ original) function and intent,” she noted.
In her latest triptych, “The Weight of a Patina of Time,” Porras-Kim’s archaeological reimagining extends to the numerous dolmens found in Gochang, North Jeolla Province.
Each of its three panels represents different perspectives of the megalithic tomb – one from the viewpoint of the person buried when dolmens still served as grave markers, another from the present-day point of view where the stones hold UNESCO historical site status, and the third from a natural standpoint, indicated by the moss covering the monolith’s surface.
“I wanted to see how three different moments of histories and categorizations can exist together in one site,” the artist said.
A scene from Jun So-jung's video installation "Syncope" (2023) / Courtesy of the artist
Jun’s enduring interest lies in unearthing the voices and identities excluded by the rapid pace of modernity.
In her latest project, “Syncope,” which encompasses a video installation, a sculpture, a mobile app and a publication, sound takes center stage. The work features nomadic individuals, all of whom have traveled great distances in pursuit of sounds that cannot be fully captured by modern musical notation.
One is a Zainichi Korean (ethnic Korean in Japan) “gayageum” player who studied the traditional plucked zither in both North and South Korea. Another musician, a Korean French adoptee, relocated to Indonesia in her quest to learn the country’s classical instrument called “gamelan.”
“In this piece, sound becomes a (metaphorical) element that illuminates unseen existences in society,” said Jun.
She accordingly traces the distinct pre-modern timbre of gamelan, as well as “nonghyeon” – a signature vibrato technique of traditional Korean stringed instruments that “captures the performers’ subtle emotions and even their breath.” Both are aural nuances that escape conventional sheet music notation.
Within the exhibition, Kwon Byung-jun orchestrates a live theater populated by his own robots, affectionately referred to as his “band members." Courtesy of MMCA
Kwon, who started out as a singer-songwriter in the early 1990s, transitioned into the role of a hardware engineer and researcher specializing in experimental electronic musical instruments and stage devices for performing arts in 2005.
Within the exhibition, he orchestrates a live theater populated by his own robots, affectionately referred to as his “band members.”
Kwon’s mechanical actors are a stark departure from their industrial counterparts, which are designed purely for utility and efficiency. In fact, his machines are programmed to laboriously crawl across the floor in circles, perpetually prostrate themselves or even perform a solo Korean fan dance.
“These robots, engaging in seemingly useless actions, share an uncanny resemblance with us humans. At the same time, they challenge the utility-driven mindset of industrial society that impacts human workers,” commented curator Lee Soo-yon.
Starting this year, the Korea Artist Prize will see three major changes, she added.
The cash prize awarded to each of the four shortlisted artists has been raised from 40 million won ($29,500) to 50 million won. And while past iterations exclusively showcased the participants’ most recent works at the museum, the exhibition now features both their new and earlier pieces, offering a more thorough insight into their thematic approach.
Lastly, an “open workshop,” which will invite the award’s judges, finalists and members of the public to engage in a dialogue about the displayed works, will be hosted in February 2024 as part of the final jury review process.
The exhibition, “Korea Artist Prize 2023,” runs through March 31 next year. The prize’s winner will be announced in February and receive an additional 10 million won in support.