KOREA FOUNDATION

In Seocho, one of Seoul's oldest neighborhoods, a maze of
centuries-old homes and rich artistic heritage sustain a charming
urban oasis of calm and reflection.

Peering through the ancient byways of Seochon,you can see both Gyeongbok Palace, the offi￾cial royal residence of the Joseon Dynasty (1392- 1910), and Cheong Wa Dae, the presidential office, at the foot of Mt. Bugak. It’s this proximity that led to Seochon becoming the centuries-long enclave of officials and schol￾ars, who walked to the palace.

Seochon means “west village,” in reference to its direc￾tion from the palace. It hugs the foot of Mt. Inwang, once a defensive barrier when Seoul was a walled city. Amid the COVID pandemic, people who have learned to enjoy sol￾itary hikes up Mt. Inwang love to stand at the top and lose themselves in the view of Seoul spread below.

Seochon is now one of Seoul’s greatest attractions, along with the hanok village Bukchon, meaning “northern village.” Both places are filled with charming alleys lined with traditional-style homes, more than a few of which are hundreds of years old. Many are now stylish cafés, boutique coffee shops and inns. Inside one repurposed hanok is Daeo Bookstore, the oldest secondhand bookshop in Seoul, a few minutes away from Gyeongbok Palace subway station.More importantly, both the Seochon and Bukchon areas have an ambience that’s all about art and culture.

The narrow alleys of Seochon have the warm-heart￾ed air and ease of Prague’s Golden Lane and the feel of the back alleys of Paris’s Montmartre. Besides the repurposed hanok, there are galleries where scenes from the ink-and￾wash landscapes of the Joseon era now grace the canvas￾es of 21st century artists. A popular rendezvous site here is Tongin Market, where scores of vendors sell everyday wares and eateries beckon with all kinds of delicious food.The market is famous for its lunch-box program; diners exchange a set of coins that are used to buy a wide array of homemade side dishes at little cost.

The greatest pleasure of touring the alleys is that your eyes are opened to unfamiliar new paths as you get lost every now and then.

Suseong Valley in Ogin-dong, a picturesque haven famous for its shady trees and the sound of cool running water, has been a long￾time favorite of artists.

The Seoul City Wall was constructed in the 14th century just after the foundation of the Joseon Dynasty. The defensive barrier stands some 5-8 meters high and is about 18.6 kilometers long. The western section lies on Mt. Inwang with Seochon nestled below.

Celebrated Residents

The eponymous museum of artist Pak No-soo opened in 2013. Pak lived at the house for some 40 years and donated some 1,000 artworks to bepreserved and displayed.

In 1941, Yun Dong-ju, a student at Yonhee College (forerunner of Yonsei University), lived at the home of novelist Kim Song (1909-1988), where hewrote some of his major poems, including “A Night for Counting the Stars.” A plaque marks where the house was located.

Kim Mi-gyeong takes her ink pens to rooftops and other high places to draw street scenes of Seochon. After a 20-year career as a journalist, she went to live in New York in 2005 and returned in 2012 to settle in Seochon, where she is now known as the “rooftop artist.”

Seochon is where many princes were born and raised, including Prince Chungnyeong, the third son of King Taejong, who would later become King Sejong (r. 1418-1450), the most famous Joseon monarch. He instituted the Korean script and a great deal of scientific research.

King Sejong’s third son, Prince Anpyeong (1418-1453), lived in Suseong Valley in Ogin-dong, the uppermost part of this neighborhood and the setting of “Dream Journey to thePeach Blossom Land,” painted by An Gyeon in 1447. This famous painting depicting the Daoist utopia was inspired by the prince’s dream.

Another royal resident of Seochon was King Sejong’s second-oldest brother, Prince Hyoryeong (1396-1486), a man of great learning and virtuous character. He escapedfrom power politics when his younger brother ascended the throne, and was revered for his efforts to revive Buddhism.

In the same neighborhood, Jeong Seon (1676-1759)painted “Clearing after Rain on Mt. Inwang” (1751), a mas￾terpiece from the cultural heyday of Joseon, the age of theso-called “true view” realist landscapes. This celebrated art￾work, designated Korea’s National Treasure No. 216, was part of the private collection of Lee Kun-hee, the late chair￾man of Samsung Group. It was donated to the state after the business leader passed away in 2020.

In the mid-Joseon period, Seochon began to be inhabit￾ed mostly by jungin, literally the “middle people,” a class of lower officials and technicians who ranked between nobility and commoners. Technical workers who ranged from inter￾preters and doctors to eunuchs who served in the palace made their home in the area, which encompasses today’s Ogin-dong, Hyoja-dong and Sajik-dong. Bukchon was a neighborhood of literati, and the old houses there are rela￾tively large and grand. In contrast, the traditional houses of Seochon are small and modest, which explains the web-like spread of numerous little alleys.

With Joseon’s demise in 1910 and the subsequent Jap￾anese occupation, young artists began to move to Seochon. Major figures included the poets Yi Sang (1910-1937),Yun Dong-ju (1917-1945) and Noh Cheon-myeong (1911-1957), as well as novelist Yeom Sang-seop (1897-1963).Among their neighbors were painters Gu Bon-ung (1906-1953), Lee Jung-seop (1916-1956) and Chun Kyung-ja (1924-2015). Ironically, Seochon is where the luxurious Western-style estates of infamous pro-Japanese figures Lee Wan-yong (1858-1926) and Yun Deok-yeong (1873-1940) were also located.

The passage of art and culture through time, as it is enjoyed and understood in the present, may be compared to a chick breaking out of the darkness in its shell and being born into the world. Like the baby bird chipping away at the hard shell surrounding it in order to live, the artists of mod￾ern Korea plunged themselves into creative activity as an escape from the poverty and despair of the times. I set out to discover their traces in Seochon.

Tongin Market was originally established in 1941 as a public market for Japanese residents in the nearby areas. The market developed into itscurrent form after the Korean War when the population of Seochon expanded rapidly.

Following the Fragrance
First, I headed to Poet’s Hill in Cheongun-dong to see Cheongun Literature Library and Yun Dong-ju Litera￾ture House. From the hill, I could see the old city center of Seoul spread out below, and in the distance, beyond Nam￾san Tower and the Han River, the 123-story Lotte World Tower came into view. The hillside Cheongun Literature Library consists of several lovingly restored hanok, but Yun Dong-ju Literature House is a concrete structure with an iron door somewhat like a prison. And yet, with its love￾ly outdoor garden café, it ranked high on the 2013 list of “Korea’s best contemporary architecture,” selected by theDong-A Ilbo and the architecture magazine, Space.

In the video room, the life of Yun Dong-ju unfolds on the concrete wall – the time he spent composing poetry in a boarding house in Seochon; his imprisonment in Fukuoka,Japan for participating in anti-Japanese activities by Korean students; and his eventual death there of mysterious caus￾es in February 1945, months before Korea’s national liber￾ation. A journal entry reads, “I hide away in a dark, small room unable to do anything but write poems, ashamed that I am unable to take up arms and fight. I am all the more ashamed as those poems come to me so easily.”

Leaving the maze of alleys behind, I headed for the House of Yi Sang, the genius poet and novelist who died so young. This is a popular starting point for walking tours exploring the art and culture of Seochon. However, thehouse where Yi lived for 20 some years from when he was adopted at the age of three was rebuilt after his death. On display here are Yi’s original handwritten manuscripts andother literary materials. From there, I walked in the direc￾tion of Suseong Valley and soon found Pak No-soo Art Museum, which exhibits the works of the modern artist whopainted coolly elegant landscapes. A little further up is the site of the house where poet Yun Dong-ju boarded as a uni￾versity student.

Finally, I reached Suseong Valley, which could be called the end of Seochon. There, I ran into a woman sitting alone, wearing a mask and working on a drawing. It was KimMi-gyeong, Seochon’s acclaimed “rooftop artist.” Formerly a newspaper reporter with a 20-year career, she quit her job and in 2013 began drawing scenery around Seochon.

From Mt. Inwang and from the rooftops of the hanok, Japanese-style houses from the colonial period and other dwellings around Seochon, Kim captures the urban land￾scapes of this old neighborhood that she considers to encap￾sulate an important aspect of the history of Seoul. In the early days, the locals would report her as “a spy making maps.” But now, her drawings can be seen on the walls of many stores in the neighborhood.

The exhibition “Record of the Streets,” organized by the Korean Safety Health Environment Foundation, was held from April 30 to May 16, 2021 at Boan 1942, a multipurpose cultural venue. It featured some 80 photographs showing ways the COVID pandemic has changed society.

Boan Inn, built in the 1940s, was a popular residence for many artists and writers. Having operated as an inn until 2004, it was recently turnedinto Boan 1942, where exhibitions, performances and other events are held.

Rescanning the Maze
Rounding off my trip, I stopped by Boan Inn in Tongui￾dong, where painter Lee Jung-seop, poet Seo Jeong-ju (1915-2000) and other writers and artists often stayed. The original building has been preserved and transformed into an exhibition and cultural venue named Boan 1942. It was here that Seo and other poets created the coterie maga￾zine, “Poets’ Village” (Siin Burak), in 1936. Traces of the past can be found throughout the building. I welcomed the creaky wooden stairs and was glad that the closely packed, 1 cramped exhibition rooms retained their old charm.

Choi Seong-u, who runs Boan 1942, dreamed of being an artist and went to France to study. He ended up studying art administration, and upon his return, turned the old Boan Inn into a multipurpose cultural center. He expanded the space by erecting a building next door, showing not only the works of experimental young Korean artists but also active￾ly pursuing international projects.

Residents of Seochon have varied over several centu￾ries. But the thread binding them has always been art and culture, remaining palpable in the meandering alleys today.

The greatest pleasure of touring the alleys is that your eyes are opened to unfamiliar new paths as you get lost every now and then. Sometimes, the alleys suddenly stop in dead ends, and as you turn and look back, you begin to think about the traces of your own life. On this outing to Seochon, I frequently looked back again and anew.

Kwon Oh-nam has operated Daeo Bookstore since she opened it with her late husband in 1951, when they decided to use part of their traditional-style home as a book shop. It is now the oldest secondhand bookstore in Seoul, and also functions as a book café.

Chebu-dong, a famous foodie haunt, attracts people of all ages who search for tasty food day and night. The small eateries are crowded together to form a veritable wall in a maze of alleys.

Minari, or water parsley, is a fragrant vegetable with a crunchy texture. With the recent international interest in the film “Minari” by Korean-American director Lee Isaac Chung, the plant has become a symbol of Koreans’resilience and adaptability.

Most grasses in the wild con￾tain toxic substances, so theytaste bitter in your mouth.Children’s natural rejection of that bittertaste comes from their instinct to protectthemselves from poisonous plants. Humandietary culture has developed based on theknowledge to distinguish between edibleand non-edible plants.

At first glance, water parsley (minari)and water hemlock (dok-minari, meaning“poisonous minari”) look similar. Theyboth have hollow stems and sharply ser￾rated leaves. However, if you look close￾ly, water parsley leaves have the shape ofan egg cut vertically, while water hemlockleaves are long and pointed, like the end ofa spear. Though they belong to the samefamily, one is edible and the other is not.

As minari contains no toxic substanc￾es, it can be eaten raw or cooked and hasbeen a popular ingredient in Korean cui￾sine since ancient times. In the 1920s, itwas so commonly consumed that its mar￾ket price was listed in the newspapers. It isloved for its unique fresh taste and relative￾ly richer scent than other herbs, and as ahollow-stemmed vegetable like water spin￾ach (gongsimchae), it remains crisp andrefreshing even when slightly blanched

Let’s look at the recipe for minariganghoe, or minari rolls, introduced in theJoseon Dynasty cookbook Siui Jeonseo(Compendium of Proper Cookery), writtenin the late 19th century. Remove the rootsand leaves, trim the stems and blanch them.Slice pan-fried egg sheets, brisket, rockear mushrooms (manna lichens) and redchili peppers into thin strips, then tie all theingredients with a minari stem, placing apine nut in the middle of the roll. Put themneatly on a plate and eat with red pepperpaste mixed with vinegar. The key to thisdish is the fragrant, crunchy minari, whichbinds the other ingredients together.

Minari, a cool and refreshing summer ingredient with aslightly peppery taste, is rich in vitamins, minerals and fiber.According to Dongeui Bogam (Exemplar of Korean Medicine)from the 17th century Joseon Dynasty, it quenches the thirst,clears the head and is effective in treating headaches andvomiting.

Minari leaves have sharp sawtooth edges. The shape ofthe leaf resembles that of an egg cut vertically.

Moist and resilient, minari stems have a refreshing,crunchy texture. There are two major types of the green: Ricepaddy minari, grown in water, has a hollow stem, while thestems of minari grown in dry fields are relatively solid.

Special Texture
Why do we love this crispy, crunchy tex￾ture? Neuroanthropologist John S. Allen gives three reasons in his book, “The Om￾nivorous Mind” (2012). First, humans are primates who have insect-eating relatives.Second, the preference for crispy food in￾creased when food began to be cooked with fire, making ingredients crispier than in their raw state. And third, the crispy texture of plants signifies their freshness. Fresh vegetables, whose cell walls are filled with water, burst to produce a crispy sound when chewed. By contrast, vegetables that have been stored for a long time are pulpy and tough, as their moisture has largely dried out.

Water-filled minari maintains its crisp￾iness when blanched or stir-fried, andeven when pickled or used in kimchi. This is because the sour-tasting organic acids strengthen the cell walls. But by far the best way to enjoy the crispy taste is to go to a farm for raw, freshly harvested minari. penes. Chewing on a mouthful of minari will take you into the midst of a dense for￾est of pines, firs and cedars as the terpene substances such as pinene and myrcene explode in your mouth. Minari also con￾tains aromatic substances that bring to mind citrus fruits, lime peel, ginger and galangal. Adding minari to fish-baseddishes can therefore help reduce any fishy smell. Clearly, there is a scientific reason for using it in dishes such as maeuntang, spicy fish stew.

Pleasant Aroma
The fragrant scent of minari goes well with the savory flavor of soybean paste. It wasalready common to add minari to soybean paste stew when, on April 2, 1939, theChosun Ilbo newspaper introduced a recipe for minari cured in soybean paste: “Washthe minari clean, soak it in hot water for Hanjae minari, grown in Hanjae, Cheongdo County, North GyeongsangProvince, is famous nationwide. Han￾jae comprises the villages of Chohy￾eon-ri, Eumji-ri, Pyeongyang-ri and Sang￾ri, where local volcanic rock soil, with its excellent drainage, is perfect for minaricultivation. Minari is largely divided into varieties grown in rice paddies or in dryfields. Rice paddy minari, which grows in water, has a hollow stem as describedabove. On the other hand, field minari has a fuller stem. Hanjae minari is cultivatedin a way that produces a middle ground between the two types. The stems are most￾ly full, and the plant is also crispy with a pleasant scent. Minari harvested in springis often eaten raw with grilled pork belly in place of the usual lettuce, served togeth￾er with sliced garlic and soybean paste for relish. The refreshing scent of the vegeta￾ble covers the greasiness of the meat. It can also be lightly cooked on the grill along￾side the meat.

The scent of minari comes from a class of volatile substances called ter￾p about an hour, then spread soybean paste in a bowl and place a thin layer of minarion top. Spread another layer of soybean paste and minari on top and put a lid onthe bowl. It tastes wonderful when taken out and eaten two days later. The better thesoybean paste, the better the taste.”

The fragrant substances in plants are basically weapons to defend against exter￾nal invaders, such as bacteria and insects.Therefore, minari has a stronger scent when grown in fields than in water. Minarithat grows in the mountains or in the wild is called dolminari, the prefix dol meaning“wild.” It has an even stronger scent than minari grown in fields because it producesa lot of resistant, fragrant substances to sur￾vive in a barren environment.

Minari also contains various antioxi￾dants and studies are underway to explain its antioxidant, anti-inflammatory and liver protective effects. It is commonly believedthat adding minari to blowfish dishes helps to detoxify any blowfish poison that mightremain. But as this has not been proven, it should rather be understood that minari is added to enhance the flavor.

To someone who has never tasted it, minari – and its consumers – may seemstrange. However, it isn’t particularly hard to get used to. The carrots and celery usedin European flavor bases such as mirepoix and sofrito are all relatives of minari. If youlike the crispy texture of celery, minari will also grow on you in no time. It can be usedinstead of basil to make pesto, and also works well stir-fried and added to oil pasta.

Minari ganghoe, or minari rolls, made with assorted ingredients such as fried egg strips, stir-fried beef and mushrooms, all tied with blanched minari stems, are eaten dipped in red pepper paste with vinegar. They were served on the king’s table or at court banquets during the Joseon Dynasty.

Minari goes very well with juicy pork belly, either fresh or grilled with the meat.

Minari has a strong fragrance and is known in English as water parsley, water dropwort, or Asian parsley.These days, it is a popular ingredient for pasta.

Pesto made with chopped minari is not only used with pasta but is delicious when spread on bread, just like basil pesto or spinach pesto.

Resilient Vitality
“Minari grows well anywhere.” So saysthe grandmother to her little grandson inthe film “Minari,” directed by Lee IsaacChung. It isn’t easy for a Korean familyto settle down in an unfamiliar place likeArkansas. The life of an immigrant, whereanxiety and hope intersect, can leave onewondering whether or not it is possible totake root in a new place, as minari can. Atfirst, minari seems to simply be a resilientplant that grows well anywhere, but in fact,it has to struggle with many surroundingthreats.

Seok Yeong-hwan left a comfortable medical career in North Korea for the South. As a groundbreaker in practicing traditional Korean medicine handed down on both sides of the peninsula, he generously helps those who cannot afford treatments.

To patients accustomed to acupuncture needles as thin as a strand of hair, the needles at Yeongdeungpo 100 Years Clinic can be intimidating. But patients from North Korea feel differently.

Seok Yeong-hwan, 55, runs the clinic. Stacks of North Korean books on medicine, including “Koryo Medicine,” hint at his uniqueness. He is the first North Korean-born doctor licensed to practice traditional Korean medicine in South Korea

Abandoning a promising career as an army medical officer, Seok fled to the South with his girlfriend, now his wife, in October 1998. Taking advantage of his military rank to elude checkpoints and hitch rides, they traveled from Pyongyang to Seoul – across the DMZ, instead of via a third country as most refugees do – in only three days.

The dream behind his 100 Years Clinic is to help patients have one hundred years of a happy, healthy life. North Korean transplants call the infirmary a “clinic for refugees.” They can receive treatment and even get life advice there without any fear of burdensome bills. Since opening in 2002, Seok has not accepted a single won from financially strapped patients

Clinic for Refugees
“Some refugees complain that they have difficulty making themselves understood by medical professionals at many other hospitals or clinics. Refugees say they can bare their hearts to me and thus feel at home, to some extent,” Seok said. “Anyway, I arrived in Seoul before they did and I had the same experience. It’s hard for me to ignore their predicament as I understand them better than anybody else.”

The clinic also receives many KoreanChinese patients, who agree that medicines and treatments prescribed and administered by Seok are effective because their diet and lifestyle are similar to those of North Koreans.

Even senior South Korean government officials were frequent visitors at Seok’s first location, near Gwanghwamun, the downtown section of Seoul. Skyrocketing rent forced him to close Gwanghwamun 100 Years Clinic in 2017, after 15 years in operation. His site in Yeongdeungpo District, located in southwestern Seoul, spans 661 square meters (double the size of his first clinic) at a lower price.

Seok hails from Kapsan, a mountainous county in Ryanggang Province, North Korea. His family connections gave him a comfortable life. But after regime founder Kim Il-sung died in 1994, Seok began to feel disillusioned as he witnessed malnourished soldiers and heard other doctors recall their overseas experiences. He eventually yielded to these doubts and misgivings.

When he fled the North, Seok was an army captain and surgeon serving as chief of emergency medical services at the North Korean People’s Army’s “Hospital 88.” Before that, he worked at the Research Center of Basic Medical Sciences in Pyongyang, also known as a “longevity research center.” It was one of the perks of being the son of a senior officer in the Supreme Guard Command, the equivalent of the Presidential Security Service in South Korea. Seok and his wife have since lost contact with their parents. Now, they have one son who is studying computer engineering at college, another son in high school and a daughter in middle school.

Seok doesn’t know the whereabouts of his three brothers, either. “My relatives have vanished without a trace. People are saying that they’ve evaporated, literally,” he said.

When Seok arrived in the South, there were no established standards for North Korean refugees to become medical doctors. The Ministry of Education and the Ministry of Health and Welfare permitted him to sit for the licensing exam for traditional medicine based on the advice of the Society of Korean Medicine and other experts.

1. Seok provides volunteer medical care on a weekly basis. He regards it as payback to the people in South Korea who helped him resettle and become the only person with medical licenses from both the North and the South.

1. Seok provides volunteer medical care on a weekly basis. He regards it as payback to the people in South Korea who helped him resettle and become the only person with medical licenses from both the North and the South.

Starting Over
Studying far into the night, Seok struggled with South Korea’s traditional medical textbooks, which are full of difficult classical Chinese characters. He had only learned basic Chinese characters in the North. Three years after resettling in South Korea, he passed the licensing exam, becoming the first person to obtain such a qualification in both Koreas. He went on to earn a master’s degree in traditional medicine from Kyung Hee University in Seoul, and is now considering pursuing a PhD.

According to Seok, one major difference between the traditional medical practices of the two Koreas is found in acupuncture techniques. “In the South, doctors use thin and small needles to give patients less of a stinging sensation. But in the North, they use very thick needles,” he said. “People normally think thick needles will give them more of a stinging sensation, but it’s not true. Patients feel relaxed and refreshed after an acupuncture treatment with large needles. It’s one of the things that refugees miss most.”

His clinic is famous for a unique North Korean style of acupuncture techniques, with “super-size” and “fire” needles, and even gold needles that normally would be used only to treat senior officials in North Korea. The gold needles are 0.6mm in diameter, much larger than typical acupuncture needles, which are 0.12mm to 0.3mm in diameter.

Traditional Korean medicine is based on Dongeui Bogam (Exemplar of Korean Medicine), a text compiled in 1610 by Heo Jun (1539-1615), a Joseon-era royal physician. But the two Koreas have diverged in its application since their division.

Therapeutic medicine has flourished in the North, where doctors treat patients based on the four-constitution (sasang) medicine developed by Yi Je-ma (1837-1900), a medical scholar of the late Joseon period. Under this system, patients with chronic diseases receive traditional treatment aimed at boosting their vitality and creating an immune response to fight disease.

“Life-Saving Folk Medicine in North Korea,” a book on “Koryo medicine,” the North Korean version of traditional medicine, written by Seok.

Seok is the author of several books that introduce the North Korean version of traditional medicine. One is “Kim Il-sung’s Ways to Stay Healthy and Live Longer.” It describes the natural therapy used by the late North Korean leader.

Pride in ‘Koryo Medicine’
Seok is very proud of Koryo medicine. He employs “Yusimhwan” and “Taegohwan,” traditional medicinal globules, making use of his experience as a cardiovascular and hematology specialist at the Research Center of Basic Medical Sciences back in Pyongyang. The two types of sphere-shaped medications are known to have been favorites of Kim Il-sung and his son, Jong-il, when they were alive. They are believed to be effective in treating stress disorders and preventing aging.

Medical study in the North consists of six years in the classroom and six months of clinical training. Students of Koryo medicine attend classes in both Eastern and Western medical theory and practice. North Korean doctors normally use both Eastern and Western tests to examine a patient, but treatment is mainly based on Eastern medicine, according to Seok.

The North also has an abundance of medicinal plants and a sound prescription service based on patients’ constitutional types, Seok explains. Patients’ own willpower to recover is most essential, and then followed by what medicines and treatment they receive from which doctor, he said.

Volunteer Healthcare
Seok has published four books so far: “Life-Saving Folk Medicine in North Korea” (2003), “Climbing Mountains, Digging Wild Ginseng” (2003), “Kim Il-sung’s Ways to Stay Healthy and Live Longer” (2004) and “Healthcare in North Korea” (2006).

He also provides volunteer medical care for elderly people, a service he began in 2004 with another traditional medical doctor from the North. “I received many benefits from South Korean society in the process of settling here. It’s natural that I should return the kindness. Volunteer work also makes me feel happier,” he said.

Seok has been leading a volunteer group, initially called the “Federation of North Korean Refugees in Medical Profession,” which was then expanded and renamed as the “Hana Nanum Foundation” (hana meaning “one” and nanum meaning “sharing”), since its founding in 2015. The number of volunteers and supporters participating in the group has increased as the number of North Korean refugees in the medical profession and their sympathizers has grown. At present, the group has about 130 volunteers, including some 30 traditional medical doctors and physiotherapists.

Master embroiderer Choi Yoo-hyeon has worked ceaselessly with needle and thread for seven decades. She is recognized for taking Korean embroidery to a new level with her creative techniques and grand-scale renditions of Buddhist paintings.

Sakyamuni Buddha (detail) from “Buddhas of the Three Worlds.” 257 × 128 cm.
Master embroiderer Choi Yoo-hyeon started to create embroidery renditions of Buddhist paintings in the mid1970s. Depicting the Buddhas of the past, present and future, “Buddhas of the Three Worlds” is a masterpiece that took more than 10 years to complete.

Anyone can appreciate the beauty of an exquisite piece of embroidery, but not everyone can endure the toilsome and tedious process of stitchby-stitch work over the seemingly endless hours required for its production. This is especially true for traditional embroidery, which is generally more elaborate in procedure, diversified in technique and expressive of an underlying spirit.

“If embroidery was just hard and tedious for me, how could I have done it all my life? I’ve done it because I love it and enjoy it. I have also hoped to keep the traditional handicraft from disappearing entirely,” Choi said when asked if the work wasn’t too laborious.

She continued, “I’m well over 80 now. When I was young, needlework was a big part of the household chores. Families made their own clothes and prepared bridal linens adorned with hand embroidery. I’m the youngest of seven siblings, and I naturally took up embroidery because that’s what my mother was always doing. I really becameinterested in embroidery when I was praised for a piece I had made for school homework. There was a time when I would embroider for more than 20 hours a day, without even eating or washing.”

Formal Training
At 17, Choi was lucky enough to meet Kwon Su-san, a renowned embroidery artist of the time, and begin formal training. At the time she took up the craft as a profession, traditional Korean embroidery was overshadowed by Japanese-style embroidery, which had been promoted as part of women’s occupational training. Practical skills for everyday items were taught at women’s universities and sewing schools. The teachers were mostly women who had studied in Japan. This tendency continued after national liberation in 1945.

In the 1960s, Choi opened an embroidery institute and also began to study traditional Korean embroidery with the goal of reviving and preserving it. Her initial efforts involved applying traditional designs to household items, such as pillow ends and floor cushions. In time, her interest gradually expanded to rendering traditional paintings in embroidery and further reinterpreting ancient artworks in her own style.

“A good embroiderer needs nimble hands and a good sense of color, of course, but what’s more important is whether one has an eye for design,” Choi said. “You can’t create your own style by simply imitating others. That’s why I’ve designed my own works based on motifs from traditional pottery, landscapes and folk paintings.”

In the 1960s and 1970s, amid a widespread disregard for traditional Korean culture, Choi’s embroidered works and their fresh approach to cultural heritage managed to catch the attention of a growing number of people. Her pieces were especially popular among foreign tourists, but Choi had little interest in selling because she put the development of the craft above immediate economic gains.

So, in the mid-1970s, she began concentrating on research and exhibitions, working on pieces based on Buddhist paintings, which she believed to be the culmination of traditional Korean art. Her Buddhist-themed masterpieces, representing the pinnacle of her seven-decade career, include “Eight Scenes of Buddha’s Life,” depicting the eight phases of Sakyamuni’s life, and “Buddhas of the Three Worlds,” portraying the Buddhas of the past, present and future. These embroidery paintings, each of which took more than 10 years to finish, are characterized by an exuberant combination of traditional and creative techniques, as well as varied textures resulting from the use of different threads cotton, wool, rayon and silk.

“I put my heart into each and every stitch, working like a monk devoted to spiritual practice,” Choi said. “After I first came across the original painting of the ‘Eight Scenes of Buddha’s Life,’ called Palsangdo, at Tongdo Temple, I prayed and waited for 10 years for an opportunity to recreate it in embroidery. I finally gained the temple’s permission and began the work, but with each scene measuring over two meters in length, it took 12 years to embroider all eight of them. I worked with my students; otherwise, it would have taken even longer.”

“Lotus Repository World” (detail). 270 × 300 cm.
MFor this embroidery painting based on the mandala at Yongmun Temple in Yecheon, North Gyeongsang Province, Choi was awarded the Presidential Prize at the 1988 Korea Annual Traditional Handicraft Art Exhibition.

Challenges
Her passion and perseverance were rewarded with a prestigious prize; her embroidered version of the “Lotus Repository World,” based on the mandala at YongmunTemple in Yecheon, won the Presidential Prize at the 13th Korea Annual Traditional Handicraft Art Exhibition in 1988. In 1996, Choi was designated as a “living cultural treasure” in the art of embroidery, or National Intangible Cultural Property No.80. This was official recognition that she had reached the highest level of expertisely. Ordinary households also had their own family legacies in the craft.

Choi upholds the idea of “simseon sinchim,” meaning “threads from the heart for stitches of heaven.” Comparing her lifelong work to “heavenly stitches embroidered with her heart’s thread,” this was the title of her exhibition held at Seoul Arts Center in 2016.

She explained, “Every piece is created through a painstaking process. First, I select an original painting, valuable historically and artistically, which can be rendered in embroidery, and then make a sketch on the ground fabric. Once I start embroidering, I have to make one decision after another with the entire picture in mind: the best color and texture for the fabric and the threads, the color scheme, the techniques to use, and so on. As I work, I personally twist my threads to vary their thickness in view of the overall composition and the location of the part in question. I make stitches and remove them over and over until I’m satisfied with the techniques applied and the color tones produced.”

“The Great Nirvana in the Sala Grove” from “Eight Scenes of Buddha’s Life.” 236 × 152 cm.
Based on the namesake painting at Tongdo Temple in Yangsan, South Gyeongsang Province, this piece is characterized by elaborate and realistic expression. Depicting the eight phases of Sakyamui’s life, each scene contains a series of episodes featuring numerous figures on a single canvas.

"Integrity” (detail) from the eightpanel folding screen “Pictorial Ideographs of Confucian Virtues.”128 × 51 cm.
When Choi began studying traditional embroidery in the 1960s, one of her major interests was the reinterpretation of folk paintings, including pictorial ideographs.

Perfection
Throughout this rigorous process, Choi does everything to perfection. She stresses the importance of being faithful to the basics and following the traditional ways, in order to help transmit the handicraft to the next generations. For this purpose, she has committed herself to teaching as a chair professor at the Pusan National University’s Institute of Traditional Korean Costume.

“Many people realize that traditional embroidery is beautiful and valuable, but very few are willing to learn it, and even those who do mostly give up halfway,” she said. “You need unremitting endurance, even after completing the proper training, to go through the long years of practice before being recognized as an artist. It’s such a thorny path that most don’t even attempt to challenge it.”

She looks back at her life in her memoirs, “History of Choi Yoo-hyeon’s Embroidery,” which will be published soon. The book chronicles her interest as an artisan,shifting from practical household objects to folk paintings, and then again to Buddhist paintings. She is also compiling teaching materials for her students. And in addition to her annotated portfolio of over 100 works, published in several books, she is writing yet another book on her original techniques, each with a detailed description and explanation. At the same time, she is in the final stretch of embroidering the “Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara,” based on the mural enshrined in the Hall of Great Light (Daegwangjeon) at Sinheung Temple in Yangsan, South Gyeongsang Province. She has been working on the piece for the past three years, expecting it to be her last grand-scale project. Stitched on purple silk with only golden thread, it gives the impression of reaching the heights of exquisite splendor.

Remaining Mission
“I don’t think I will be able to produce a large piece like this ever again,” Choi said. “I find it hard to work for even two or three hours a day now, because I get tired easily and my eyes get dim. Now it seems to be the time for me to devote my energy to teaching for my remaining mission to pass down as much as I can.”

For almost half a century, Choi has safekept all her works, refusing to sell anything. Along with hundreds of pieces of traditional and modern embroidery she has collected from all over the country, her work is in storage at the National Intangible Heritage Center in Jeonju, North Jeolla Province, with support from the Cultural Heritage Administration. She hopes to see a new museum specializing in embroidery constructed in the near future to preserve and showcase her lifetime collection for as long as possible.

To achieve greater artistry, Choi uses a wide array of techniques, both traditional and original, as well as threads of diverse colors and materials, such as silk, cotton, wool and rayon, to create delicate textures.

For the last three years, Choi has been working on the “Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara,” based on the mural in the Hall of Great Light at Sinheung Temple in Yangsan, South Gyeongsang Province. Stitched on purple silk with only golden thread, it radiates with elegance and splendor.