Kazumi Tanaka : Jayoung Yoon

May June July August September

Conversation #9
Sep 9th - Sep 21st, 2024

Dear Kazumi,

I hope you are doing well. There’s a chill in the air in the mornings and evenings here in Beacon, and I imagine the fall foliage in Bovina, NY, must already be beautiful!

Since my trip is still fresh in my mind, my thoughts often shift between Korea and here. While looking for a photo of my grandfather's house to share with you, I came across some old photos of my mother and me that I had never seen before. I would love to continue our conversation about our mother if you have more to share. ‘Mother’ was the beginning of our dialogue, and it would be wonderful to circle back to this topic for our last conversation. I look forward to hearing from you.

Much love,
Jayoung

______

Dear Jayoung,

Yes, of course we can continue to talk about our mothers.
Speaking of which, the day after tomorrow is the anniversary of my mother’s passing. It has been 6 years since she left this life.
Also 25 years since my father passed away last month. My brother and my sister’s family gathered and held a ceremony at the temple in Osaka.

Continuing talking about my parents tends to be more focussed on the past memory. Memories of our parents and their histories of each are a very important aspect of our lives.

Here is the photo of my mother in 2017, at age 88.

She passed away the next year.

My sister and I went to her house, started sorting through her belongings to decide what to send her out with - her small belongings to be placed in her casket.
My attention of course went to her umbilical cord.
I knew where they were kept, it was important for me to put her umbilical cord in her casket so that she can be reunited with her mother and father.
My sister and I opened it together. It was our last chance to get to see my mother’s umbilical cord. This cord connected my mother to my grandmother.

Not sure if it was unethical to do so and to post this in our conversation, not even sure why I’ve thought of sharing but here they are.

Oh, my goodness, this is so intense just to look at those photos now.
I was alone with my sister in the house we grew up in, and we looked at those remains of her as a baby in disbelief. Even along with her baby-hair…
Suddenly connected one's death and birth, perhaps in more biological terms than metaphorical.
They were miraculously preserved in this paper box for 89 years. We put them back in the box and were cremated with her the next day.

Jayoung, I would love to see the photo of you and your mother you discovered recently. Please do share.
And also, have you found any photos of your grandparent’s house?

Hope you are enjoying this beautiful autumn weather.

With love,
Kazumi

________

Dear Kazumi

I deeply appreciate you sharing such personal memories and reflections about your parents. The photo of your mother is beautiful - thank you for sharing that precious image. What a profound moment of opening mother’s umbilical cord that must have been for you and your sister. Seeing it evokes a quite different feeling than seeing either your own umbilical cord or my son's, perhaps because, as you mentioned, it has been preserved for 89 years. These tangible connections between birth and death, spanning generations, can be incredibly powerful. I'm glad you were able to honor your mother's memory in that way.

You asked about photos – I couldn't find any images of my grandparents' house, but I'd be happy to share the photos I found of my mother, and I would like to share some of her story.

When my mother attended college, she defied societal norms, showing no interest in appearance or fashion. Instead, she was one of the first female students to join the university's kendo club. She loved practicing kendo early every morning, working up a real sweat.

Her college years in the early 1970s coincided with Park Chung-hee's military dictatorship. She participated in student movements for democratization and was forcibly detained by the police for interrogation. After graduation, she dedicated herself to industrial mission, serving as an evangelist at a community church in Seongnam City's factory district. Her focus was on supporting the local working-class community. There, she was again involved in the democratization movement and was under police surveillance for a while.

My maternal grandmother was extremely worried about what might happen to my mother. Once, when my grandmother received a call from the police station asking her to come and pick up her daughter, she rushed there in tears, thinking they were telling her to collect her daughter's body, fearing she might have died during a protest. After that, my grandmother hoped that if her daughter got married and had a family, she might live a quieter life. So, she asked people around her to set up meetings for her daughter, which is how she met my father.

In the late 1980s, when her three children had grown up enough to attend elementary school, my mother became interested in participating in human rights movements again. She joined an organization called Korean Women Link, where she studied Korean politics, economy, education, and culture for several months. After completing the course, she began working in the culture department. She particularly advocated for democracy, gender equality, and non-violence through traditional Korean music called 'pungmul.'

She also addressed specific political issues. For example, she commemorated two middle school girls killed by a U.S. military vehicle and participated in monthly gatherings in front of the Japanese embassy regarding the comfort women issue. To this day, she continues to raise awareness about climate change and food security through her performances. Also, she studied counseling at the 'Christian Women's Counseling Center' and volunteered as a counselor at a local women's counseling center for seven years.

The sacrifices my mother made after marrying the eldest son of an extremely poor family were immense. The hardships she endured with her in-laws are indescribable. While not neglecting her family, she continued pursuing her passions, hoping for a slightly better world. My mother is not someone who puts herself forward, yet people tend to gather around her. Like the eye of a typhoon, she was a presence with a calm center.

Throughout my childhood, my mother never pressured me to study or pursue a prestigious university, as was common among Korean parents. Instead, she always read books at home and, once I was old enough, recommended books she loved, especially those about spirituality and mysticism. Naturally, I also enjoyed reading, and the books I read from childhood to college have had a significant influence on my life.

Even now, when I visit my parents in Korea, I find my mother absorbed in books for much of her time. When my sons, Liam and Theo, curious about my mother's buk (drum) and janggu (hourglass drum) in the living room, pick up the drumsticks, she excitedly begins to teach them the rhythms. As I raise my own children, I aspire to embody her wisdom, passion, and unwavering commitment to nurturing both her community and her loved ones. My mother is more than a parent. She is my home, my spiritual teacher, and a non-judgmental confidante.

The autumn weather has been lovely indeed. I hope you're able to enjoy some of the season's beauty amidst your memories and reflections.

Sending you warmth and care,
Jayoung

______

Dear Jayoung,

Thank you so much for sharing this beautiful story of your mother.
I think I can definitely see her in you.
Both your mother’s act of dancing and protesting to help the community, and your beautiful artworks have very strong connections to each other.

What amazing generational stories - stories are the cords that connect your sons to you, and to your mother.
Myself to my mother, and to her mother.

Warmest regards,
Kazumi

Conversation #10
Sep 26th, 2024

Dear Jayoung,

I am following up on our last meeting.

We talked about our relationships to our mothers throughout our conversation and for me, it was a bit of a struggle how I could connect my past memories of her to my more recent life. But then I had some break through, maybe those thoughts will lead me to create new threads of work.

As I have been exposed to the serene nature up in Bovina, which reminds me of the old writing of “Pillow Book” by Sei Shonagon.

I would like to share my favorite first chapter below.

Chapter 1

"In spring it is the dawn that is most beautiful. As the light creeps over the hills, their outlines are dyed a faint red and wisps of purplish cloud trail over them.

In summer the nights. Not only when the moon shines, but on dark nights too, as the fireflies flit to and fro, and even when it rains, how beautiful it is!

In autumn the evenings, when the glittering sun sinks close to the edge of the hills and the crows fly back to their nests in threes and fours and twos; more charming still is a file of wild geese, like specks in the distant sky. When the sun has set, one’s heart is moved by the sound of the wind and the hum of insects.

In winter the early mornings. It is beautiful indeed when snow has fallen during the night, but splendid too when the ground is white with frost; or even when there is no snow or frost, but it is simply very cold and the attendants hurry from room to room stirring up the fires and bringing charcoal, how well this fits the season’s mood! But as noon approaches and the cold wears off, no one bothers to keep the braziers alight, and soon nothing remains but piles of white ashes."

*brazier (n): a metal container for hot coals to heat a room

Not sure if this is the best translation but it seems like describing in a simple and straight manner.

As a young teen in Osaka, I memorized these sentences in my high school days.
Dreaming of those mountains and the beautiful translucent view…reminds me of my mother’s hands cutting flower shaped papers to seal Shoji-screen’s holes made by us children.

After my father died, I had encouraged my mother to have some sort of hobby, suggested making homemade papers and somehow, she did her own research to make recycled papers out of milk cartons. I was so surprised by her creativity.

They were very beautiful in my eyes.

I found this paper - I saved a few for well over 20 years. I remember she picked maple leafs from my aunt’s garden and embedded them into the paper in the process. She told me the stamp was the old letter 和 (Wa - Kazu) means “peace.”

It is the letter I share with my mother. Her name is 和子(Kazuko), and mine is 和美(Kazumi)

You showed me your mother's text messages the other day, would you please share those in our writings.
Korean letters are so beautiful!
You said she appreciates every little thing such as flowers on the sides of the road, taking forever to walk one block...I would love to know what she had written to you.

Jayoung -
I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing your thoughts and your family history, your relationship with your mother.
You have so much strength, perhaps you inherited from your mother. I learned a lot from our conversations.
Hard to believe that this is our final submission, but we will continue to communicate and I am so looking forward to working together on our presentation in the following year.

Sincerely,
Kazumi

_______

Dear Kazumi,

Thank you for sharing. I'm moved by the way you've connected your memories of your mother with the beautiful passage from "Pillow Book" by Sei Shonagon. The vivid descriptions of the seasons resonate with the serene nature you're experiencing in Bovina, creating a lovely parallel between your present surroundings and your cherished memories.

The image of her recycling milk cartons into beautiful, delicate papers with embedded maple leaves is so poignant. It's wonderful that you've kept these papers for over 20 years – I see them as tangible connections to your mother's creativity and the bond you share through your name

My mom started writing a journal in the 1990s, and her writing evolved into a form of poetry in 2000. The series of her notebooks is named 'The Voice of the Heart' (마음의 소리).

Even when she sends text messages in our family chatroom, they are always in the form of poetry. As you requested, I'm happy to share one of her messages. This is my mom's response when I sent photos of my solo exhibition at Garrison Art Center in 2022 to our family group chat. Here is the original text and my translation:

그 먼 곳
아득한 그 곳
나도 모르게
끌리는 듯
찾아가는 그 곳
본향
큰 문이 열려 있으니!

가는 길
얼기설기
인생길
직물처럼
짜져 있어도
오직 나의 길
내가 선택한 길
한 올 머리카락
타고 가는 길.

마음안에 박힌 가시
고통스러운
찔림
뽑아 내려는
몸부림
용서 용서
용서하소서
비우는 마음안에
평화.

얼기설기
직물처럼
짜져있는
각자의 인생길
간다해도
본성은 하나
모두가
하나되는
사랑의 길
행복의 길.

우리 딸의
영감이 작품으로
승화되어지니
성령의 은총이요
보는 이마다
은혜로다.

주님의 사랑가운데
언제나
행복하고
즐거움이
가득한 순간순간이길
기도드립니다.

That Faraway place
That elusive place,
I'm drawn to unknowingly
Searching for that place
My true home,
The great door stands open!

The road to it,
The path of life
Tangled and intertwined
Like a woven fabric
Yet it's solely my path.
The road I've chosen
A journey along
Riding a single strand of hair.

A thorn lodged in my mind,
A painful prick,
The struggle
To pull it out,
Forgive, forgive,
Please forgive me.
In an emptied mind
Peace blooms

Each person's life path
Tangled and interwoven
Like fabric
Though we may go separately,
Our true nature is one.
All becoming unified
On the path of love,
The road to happiness.

My daughter's inspiration
Sublimated into artwork.
It's the grace of the Holy Spirit
A blessing to all
Who behold

I pray that
In the love of the Lord,
Always Moments of happiness
And joy
Fill each instant

When I lived in NYC, I didn’t realize how fast I had become at walking. Over fifteen years ago, when I visited my mom in Korea, we walked together to a grocery store near her home. It only takes five minutes to get there, but I quickly noticed how slowly she walked, stopping to admire every flower along the way. She even chose a longer route just to see more flowers. It ended up taking us 30 minutes to reach the store.

In 2008, my parents from Korea and my sister, who was studying at the University of Texas in Austin at the time, all came to NYC for sightseeing. I knew I couldn't plan a tight schedule because of my mom's appreciation for everything around her.

We were in the subway at Lexington Ave/59th Street station, trying to transfer trains, when we encountered a musician playing an electric portable piano and singing. His performance was so beautiful that it captured most of our attention. It was interesting to see how differently my family reacted.

My dad walked right past and was already halfway up the stairs to transfer. My sister took out her cell phone to snap photos of the musician. I was rummaging through my purse to find some cash for a donation. Meanwhile, my mom stood right in front of him, closed her eyes, and listened for a while. Then, she started to dance, performing Salpuri, a Korean traditional dance known for its slow, fluid movements. At the end of the song, the musician and my mom shared a big hug.

I'm grateful that our conversations have been meaningful to you. I assure you, the learning has been mutual. Your perspectives and experiences have also been incredibly meaningful to me.

It does feel bittersweet to reach our final submission. However, I'm also looking forward to weaving our shared stories and reflections into our work, creating a presentation that will hopefully move and inspire others.

Thank you again for your warmth, empathy, and engagement throughout our conversations. It's been a joy deepening our connection, and I'm excited about our continued journey together.

Much love,

Jayoung

May June July August September

Conversation #7
Aug 15th, 2024

Dear Kazumi,

After returning home to Beacon following my long trip from Korea, it took me a while to settle back into my routine. I haven't fully resumed my studio practice yet, but I've been looking for substitutes in the USA for "Cocculus trilobus" vine, a Korean native plant used for weaving. The possible alternatives might include passion fruit, wisteria, jasmine, and grape vines.

I'm also planning to apply for a week-long fiber arts residency program hosted by Catskill Art Space and Gael Roots Community Farm next year. It seems very intriguing as they encourage the use of natural materials such as wild dye plants, fiber flax crops, and sheep wool from the farm for art-making.

The process of observing, foraging for natural materials, and transforming them for art-making is fascinating. There are so many factors in the process that can affect the quality of materials, like the drying time in sunlight for vines or the boiling time for bamboo. Sometimes we need to go with the flow and accept what we get.

I made a small basket using a traditional Korean craft technique called "Jeongdong-beolip" so I could memorize the techniques I learned. For this basket, I used twisted paper cords instead of cocculus trilobus stems. Now I've just started to apply this technique to my artwork using horsehair.

I hope this month of August is a summer break for our conversation. So instead of continuing verbal or written conversation for our next meeting, I would like to share how to make a cup coaster using twisted paper cords that I brought with me from Korea. Also, I bought two "Jeongdong-beolip" hats from an online antique store. The seller claims that he purchased them 40 years ago from an artisan. I would like to bring them to show you.

It would take 3 hours to finish one piece. Let me know if you like the idea, and when you will be available after August 24th. Also, Sharon, whom you met during the group show "Nature Walker" that I curated last year, wants to learn it too. If you don't mind, I would like to invite her as well.

Looking forward to having time hand-weaving together.

Much love,

Jayoung

___________

Dear Jayoung,

Thank you so much for once again taking the lead in our conversation. I really felt the same way about this month’s conversation between us, which was somewhat bleak.
Despite the beauty of nature up in Bovina, I haven’t had much time for foraging and creating ink.

One thing we talked about was how long it takes to produce materials for creating art from natural elements. As I have told you, it is very challenging sometimes and heartbreaking.

For example, I have created a beautiful natural ink from the red berries and I drew a chrysanthemum. But then something happened just like overnight it loses color. The natural material sometimes needs a long time to assess which color actually lasts. We all learn and continue because it is all part of our life cycle. It all changes eventually and that’s what it is. Surprisingly, I used a little bit of Oak gall ink to make the red darker which turned almost black!

As we have ideas and go forward with unknown territory, there are always failed attempts.
I think the ambiguity of whether it works or not is always part of art making…

I would love to spend some peaceful time learning weaving from you. Yes, we are coming back to Beacon for a short while between the 23rd and 25th, so the afternoon of the 25th, between 2-5 PM, would be ideal for me. Please let me know if that works for you and Sharon.

Also, perhaps we can have you up here in Bovina sometime for the September meeting? We will have to maneuver some of our work schedules and your family’s plan for the fall, but let’s try to think about this and see if it’s possible.

Thank you Jayoung, for the opportunity to learn weaving from you along with Sharon.

All the best,
Kazumi

___________

Dear Jayoung,

Thank you for sharing your experience with the natural ink from red berries. While the fading of the chrysanthemum drawing may initially seem like a setback, I believe it actually aligns beautifully with your theme and adds depth to your work.

The transformation of the drawing over time reflects the very essence of the natural world and life cycles you're exploring in your art. This unexpected change could be seen as a poignant representation of impermanence and the constant flux of nature.

I find it fascinating to see the 'before and after' of your drawings as they change. This adds an intriguing sense of nature's temporality to your work, allowing viewers to witness the artwork's evolution.

As you said, change is inevitable, and your art is now literally embodying this concept. Keep exploring and creating – these 'imperfections' may well become the most meaningful aspects of your work.

Much love,

Jayoung

Conversation #8
Aug 25th, 2024

Dear Kazumi,

It was wonderful to spend time weaving together with you and Sharon. I found myself completely immersed in the process, and your presence made it even more special. I hope that you found the experience as rewarding and enjoyable as I did. The time seemed to fly by as we worked side by side, sharing in the Korean traditional weaving process.

Even though you mentioned that you don't consider yourself a weaver, I was impressed by how quickly you picked up the techniques. I can see how your natural ability, which involves intricate craft techniques and complex sculptural components, translated so beautifully into this new medium.

I would like to share photos from our weaving session. I look forward to hearing your thoughts about the experience.

Warmly,

Jayoung

____________

Dear Jayoung,

Thank you so much for your kind words, I feel that we have a very similar way of working with our hands.

But even more so for you, you are so gifted and have kindness and generosity to teach others.

I was so immersed by this whole weaving process, I forgot to take the process photos of the weaving process. So I was so glad to receive those photos you took.

I was impressed how patiently you taught both Sharon and I.
Learning is one thing but then, taking time for sharing information with others and working together is the most beautiful part of it all.
So, thank you Jayoung for sharing your knowledge.

With much love,
Kazumi

May June July August September

Conversation #5
July 13th, 2024 (EST) : July 14th, 2024 (KST

Dear Kazumi,

It was very nice to talk to you on Zoom. I am glad to hear that you're using your time in Bovina, NY to think and plan for your large installation and that you've started working on it in your studio in Beacon.

We arrived on Jeju Island on June 30 and have been gradually settling into life here. My twins have started attending kindergarten daily from 9 AM to 4 PM, which allows us more time to focus on our work. It's quite amazing that all childcare costs are funded by the Korean government. After school, the boys love going to the beach almost every day, as it's very close to our Airbnb. This has become part of our afternoon routine.

The place we're staying in is a modern apartment with a beautiful distant view of Halla Mountain (a shield volcano). It's quite a beautiful sight.

As for my research into Korean traditional weaving techniques on Jeju Island this summer, I would like to share my previous experiences and explain the journey that led me here.

During my visit to Korea in 2019, I took classes to learn Korean traditional embroidery (Jasu) and patchwork (Bojagi) for my installation project which was presented in my solo exhibition in 2022. In one of the classrooms at the Yongsan Art & Craft Center, I saw a 'Tang-geon,' one of the traditional hats made of horsehair, displayed. I was fascinated by its semi-transparent beauty and delicate structure, which resonated with my own works. I looked into where I could learn these techniques and discovered that several masters, recognized as 'intangible cultural heritage,' still pass down the traditional horsehair weaving technique on Jeju Island. In the summer of 2023, I traveled to Jeju Island, South Korea, and learned Korean traditional horsehair weaving from an instructor for successor training of Tang-geon for a month. This experience granted me profound insights into these traditional methods.

Since I came back from Korea, I have begun to implement these traditional techniques and develop a series of sculptures titled, “The Fabric of Energy.” My new project will reimagine traditional craft techniques through sculptural installations and performance art, exploring themes of spirituality, science, and sociopolitical consciousness.

This is my second research trip to study Korean traditional weaving techniques. For this trip, I'm focusing not only on horsehair weaving but also on other weaving techniques using bamboo and plant stems.

I contacted several teachers in Jeju to ask about learning opportunities. Since traditional handcraft processes are complicated and take a long time to master, even one month is not enough time to learn. Also, the teachers have their own schedules to maintain. It was hard to arrange anything in advance, so I had to contact them once I arrived on Jeju Island. I connected with one of the teachers, Hong Yang-suk, who's a master of a traditional Korean craft called “Jeongdong-beolip.” It's a hat woven from cocculus trilobus stems, which are native plants to the mid-mountain area of Jeju Island.

Despite her busy schedule and some health issues, Hong kindly offered a one-day class. She taught me how to use plant stems and twisted paper cords to make a small cup coaster. During the class, she explained the brief history of “Jeongdong-beolip” and how she got into learning this craft. She also mentioned that cocculus trilobus plants are nearly extinct in this area due to industrial development, making them very difficult to find in nature. As a result, she's started growing them on her own, while using twisted paper cords for teaching in the meantime.

At the end of the class, Hong was incredibly generous. She showed me her various works from her storage, and even allowed me to try on one of her pieces, the 'Jeongdong basket for a water jar' (정동 물구덕, 물허벅). It was truly a wonderful experience, and I learned so much in just one day.

What I find particularly meaningful is how this craft serves as a living link to our traditional heritage. The intricate techniques, passed down through generations, are gaining new appreciation and perspective from new practitioners like us who are artists. By connecting us to history while offering unique beauty for the present, I believe this craft maintains its lasting significance and impact.

I would love to hear about your journey to Japan to meet an indigo master, your experience learning the traditional Japanese natural indigo dye technique, Shibori-Zome, and the process of making your work “Mother and Child Reunion” involving indigo.

With love,
Jayoung Yoon

Dear Jayoung,

Thank you so much for those amazing photographs.
The beauty of the Halla Mountain visible behind the modern town of Jeju Island, and to see the glimpse of your new artwork is such a treat.
What an amazing experience, you’ve learned so much about horse hair weaving and you’ve already begun incorporating with the knowledge you already have by working with your own hair.

I was also excited to hear about another master you got to meet during this trip. How interesting to hear about the fiber made of cocculus trilobus that she uses to create her work. Unfortunately, the plant is near extinct and the solution was to grow her own! She is not only saving tradition but also saving plants from extinction in the area. How lovely to see the photo of you wearing her basket.

I am at Bovina NY, 4.5 hours north of NYC. This place is surrounded with serene beauty. Sometimes it gets even more mysterious in the early morning...
Temperatures are 10 degrees cooler up here compared to Beacon or NYC, feeling fortunate to be up here during the heat waves while I hunt for some natural ink materials.

I always enjoy eating various berries, especially those blueberry bushes which will be full harvest time in a few weeks. I have noticed some evidence that bears, birds and other animals are competing with me for the harvest.
Spending a great amount of time weeding around those bushes at the blueberry field to keep them in good shape, otherwise those weeds will take over the bushes.

While weeding and eating, I noticed this beautiful red berry (not for eating) and I would like to try and see if I can extract any color out of it.
I am still trying to identify what they are but it's not so easy. They seem like Bush Honeysuckle Berries to me.

Yes, your experience reminds me a lot about the project I worked on about 10 years ago, titled “Mother and Child Reunion” based on my journal of visiting several masters continuing traditional practices in Japan. It was a collaborative project with the Fabric Workshop and Museum in Philadelphia

It was a very emotional time. When my mother had stroke at age 83, I retuned in Osaka, Japan while in her recovery, I traveled to the mountain village of Miyama, Kyoto where I visited Hiroyuki Shindo, a traditional indigo master. Then continued travel to learn basics of Shibori-Zome (traditional Japanese resist and dye techniques).

Sending much love,
Kazumi

Conversation #6
July 25th, 2024(EST) : July 26th, 2024 (KST)

Dear Kazumi,

This is the final week of my one-month stay in Jeju Island, South Korea. One of my main goals for this trip was to learn bamboo weaving techniques, particularly those used in making ‘yangtae,’ the brim of the traditional Korean hat called ‘gat.’

The gat-making involves three specialized roles: the "chongmojajang(총모자장)," who weaves horsehair for the upper part; the "yangtaejang(양태장)," who creates the brim by weaving thin bamboo strands; and the "ipjajang(입자장)," who assembles the parts, applies silk, and lacquers the finished product.

The yangtae itself is made from “Dae-ori(대오리),” hair-thin bamboo strands (approximately 0.1- 0.3mm thick), harvested from 2-3 year old bamboo. The process of making these strands is complex, involving splitting the bamboo into strips (approximately 1cm wide), and then soaking, scraping, boiling in lye, and finally splitting again into hair-thin strands.

Unfortunately, I discovered that learning the full traditional process was more complex than anticipated. The yangtae-making technique, particularly creating bamboo hair-thin strands, is an incredibly time-consuming and complicated process. There were also liability concerns due to the use of various knives in the process. Additionally, the difficulty in obtaining properly prepared bamboo strands made it challenging to learn the weaving technique using traditional materials.

Due to these limitations, the teacher, Ms. Yang, suggested I explore alternative materials and watch documentary videos to learn the weaving technique on my own. She generously provided me with a round wooden board used for yangtae weaving. Adapting to the situation, I decided to use 0.4mm thick wire along with horsehair as substitutes for the bamboo strands to practice the weaving technique.

Using wire and horsehair to practice yangtae weaving on a wooden board while watching a documentary video.

Despite the challenges, I've found a way to learn yangtae and gain insights into the traditional weaving while working with more readily available materials. I am looking forward to applying this technique to create my own works.

When I return to the USA, I will also try the whole process of making bamboo strands using video documentaries as a guide. However, I'm uncertain about the success of this process, as I don't know if I can obtain the same type of bamboo in the USA. I also lack the proper tools and detailed knowledge of the process. Nevertheless, if I can find a way, it would be amazing to use bamboo, which is an incredibly flexible, sustainable, and eco-friendly material with high tensile strength.

I remembered that you showed one of your instrumental sculptures, an accordion, with The Faraway Nearby artists when we visited your studio. You explained that you made it by learning through YouTube videos. I am curious about your experience with the process.

Hope you have a productive and inspiring rest of July, and I look forward to seeing you in person at the next meetings.

Much love,

Dear Jayoung,

Hope you are well in Jeju Island.

The month of July is passing so quickly for me. I see you continue to learn so much of the traditional techniques of weaving.

How wonderful to see so many beautiful images of the materials and your process of trials. It is so amazing how much you’ve learned.

Thank you so much for sharing important images of bamboo threads in the process. I can imagine how difficult it must be to learn such a specific process.

I think moving on to alternative materials sounds like a good direction. I am so excited for you and look forward to seeing what will come out in the future. You are going to create something so amazing. I am sure of it!

After we spoke over Zoom last time, your twin son’s umbilical cords came up again, and the beautiful baby clothings your mother made for each of your sons reminded me of the project I worked on about a decade ago called “Mother and Child Reunion”.

So here I would like to share some of my experience from the journal I wrote in 2014.

My 83 year old mother had a stroke in 2013. Following year after her miraculous recovery and due to her returning to the house where my sister, my brother and I grew up, I decided to go spend time with her in Osaka as well as to research traditional fabric dye methods in Japan.

On February 5, 2014,

When I arrived in the mountains of Miyama, Kyoto, the village was buried under the deep snow.
I went to visit Mr. Shindo who is a Traditional Japanese indigo dye master.

He says that fermenting Sukumo is like taking care of babies, it demands care all the time to adjust depending on soil, water temperature, humidity and so on, it’s like science. I was so taken by his passion and his diligent art practice of creating his own Shibori technique called ‘Shindigo’.

February 15, 2014,

I left Osaka to Nagoya, Aichi prefecture to meet Mr. Murase who kindly invited me to visit his atelier (studio) in Arimatsu, which is located in the very historic district.

Arimatsu Shibori is an absolute traditional workmanship that has continued since the early 17th century. Mr. Hiroshi Murase is the director of the company Suzusan, the 4th generation of its family tradition of Arimatsu Shibori along with his son Hiroyuki. Hiroyuki started the showroom of the company in Germany and continues to expand its operation all over the world. While there are so many traditions that disappear due to various reasons, Suzusan is the great example of marriage between tradition and innovation.

After that, Mr. Murase kindly took me to another traditional company Harisho.

It was a very traditional Sekka Shibori company with its set-up and seemingly they are working the way they have been for many decades.

I have learned so much in these two short trips. Focal point unexpectedly showed up when I returned to Osaka to tend to my mother for the rest of the time. While I was massaging her, I saw her wrinkled belly, it reminded me of those beautiful fabrics I just saw.

Her history was folded in each crease and I realized that her belly was where I came from and connected me to my journey of fabric. I still get very emotional thinking about this project and am forever grateful for the support I have received to pursue it.

I didn’t keep in touch with the Indigo Master, Hiroyuki Shindo who was born in 1941, he is 83 years old now. I believe he still lives on the mountain, the village of Miyama with his wife Chikako.

Jayoung, I hope your journey will bring you so many meaningful experiences and timeless fulfillment. Please do not worry about not learning everything. Maybe that is the nature of art practice as well. I have also watched countless videos of Shibori techniques, they helped me understand many aspects of the process. Yes, I do YouTube study from time to time along with many other methods of learning. Especially for you, anything is possible.

With so much love,
Kazumi

May June July August September

Conversation #3
May 28, 2024

Dear Kazumi,

We talked about nature - how it inspires us and influences our work. You find materials from the land, making natural ink from plants. You create sculptures from remains of creatures - skulls, shed skins, and other materials that evoke memories and a sense of time passing. I am also finding inspiration from different forms of fibers in nature, such as feathers, dandelion seeds, milkweed seeds and thorns. These natural materials possess a fragility and ephemeral quality, yet also have a strong physicality, which is often a starting point for my creative process.

My connection to nature:

When I was little, my parents left me at my grandfather's house for a while. When my grandparents went out to work in the rice paddies, I would sit alone on the wooden porch, and watch the clouds floating in the sky, or observe the cows, chickens and rabbits. If a guest came, I would quickly run out to the fields to call for my grandfather. I remember the sight of my grandparents, wearing boots that came up to their knees, and bending over to work in the waving rice paddies. I had to call my grandfather's name loudly several times before he would lift his head, look at me, and wave his hand.

I enjoyed the white rice that my grandparents harvested, and the fresh vegetables and fruits they grew. The abundance of flavors allowed me to appreciate, the sun, wind, rain, soil, and fertilizer. I could feel gratitude for nature because I grew up watching my grandfather’s hands, covered in soil, and his sun-darkened, sweat-covered face. My favorite hands in the world were my grandfather's. Just holding his rough hands, with the hardened calluses on each knuckle, conveyed the simplicity and sincerity of his life. The taste of the figs he picked for me with those hands was incomparable to anything else.

Before 1996, my grandparents' house was a traditional Korean thatched-roof home (Chogajip). It was constructed using natural materials like straw or reeds for the thatched roof, and mud and wood for the walls. Nowadays, we can only find these types of traditional thatched-roof houses in historical villages and cultural preservation sites. Although my time there was brief, I have cherished memories of living in that traditional rural house. It was a home where you could heat the rooms and cook using rice straw gathered from the fields. As soon as you stepped out of the room, there was a wooden floor, elevated above the ground, connected directly to the outdoors. I would play and take naps on that outdoor floor, feeling so intimately close to nature.

South Korea is known for having 70% of its land covered by mountains. Seoul is a very unique capital city where urban development is intertwined with nature. So even though I lived in Seoul for most of my childhood, I still felt connected to nature. There were mountains right behind my home. I remember climbing up into the mountain countless times with my brother and sister, collecting black locust flowers, and sunflower seeds in a basket to eat.

When I moved to Beacon, where I could see mountains surrounding the town, I felt at home for the first time since moving to the USA. Whenever I take walks on the nature trails and climb up Mount Beacon, it brings back childhood memories of closely observing nature.

I am so excited about visiting South Korea this summer. I will look for some photos at my parents' house to share with you. I hope we can have one more conversation before the trip.

Much love,
JayoungDear Jayoung,

How wonderful to hear about your memories of you spending time with your grandparents.
The time you spent in the traditional house and to remember seeing your hardworking grandparents in the field.
The description of your grandfather’s hands was so powerful. Your story reminds me of my childhood of spending time at my grandparent’s house as well.
My brother and his cousin were busy catching frogs in the rice field, we ate sweet watermelons, etc...

My grandfather - my mother’s father who was also a farmer passed away when I was little, but eating watermelon at their house was always a good memory in my mind.

Yes, maybe because of these memories of spending time in the rural countryside of Osaka, I grew to appreciate the nature of Hudson Valley, NY.
My work often became about other creatures living in the woods or plants growing on the land and I harvest them without hurting them.
Creating colors from those harvested materials often produces very unexpected colors that provide unexpected challenges.
Repeating excitement of discovery and disappointment of failure became a ritual for me at this point.

We also talked about the animals, imagining you as a little girl encountering enormous cows on your way to the outhouse. You were a little brave girl!
My father loved all kinds of creatures, especially fish. He tamed Koi in our garden, they swam up to the surface when we clapped our hands expecting to get fed.
When we catch other fishes from the river, we release them in the pond and they all learn to do the same. As a child, I thought all the fishes were supposed to come up when I clap my hands. I was disappointed when it didn’t work in nature..
Sadly, all the original fishes died from some kind of fish disease, he was very sad.

My sister, my brother, and I left home one by one.
Then shortly after, a little bird landed on my mother’s shoulder, and she took it home. This bird was so tamed, and they loved her very much.
But then my father lost her when he was outside showing off to his neighbor. My parents looked for her for weeks, and my father finally found her sitting on the rooftop of someone’s house. He called her name, she recognized and flew towards him. Suddenly, a big crow showed up and snatched her away in the air.
Again, my father was very sad, mother told us never to mention this bird to him.

My husband Eric and I recently lost our beloved pet - bearded dragon here in Beacon.
She just took off while he didn’t keep an eye on her for 5 min., disappeared in our backyard and never came back..
We were sad but maybe that says something. She was a great company, but this is not really her habitat.

These days, I feel that it makes sense to go meet the birds or other creatures in the woods. We go visit them but not to disturb them, though pets and creatures in the woods are different things.
I am looking forward to continuing those thoughts and my nature practice in Bovina NY this summer. There are many birds and coyotes out there. Coyotes howl in the evening through the night. Hoping to record it.

I understand that you are leaving for South Korea soon.
I can’t wait to see the photos of your grandparent’s house you’ve been describing. Hope you will find some photos.
And perhaps photos of your grandparents?

Look forward to our meeting next time.
With love,
Kazumi

Conversation #4
June 10, 2024

Dear Kazumi,

It was great to see you once more before our months-long summer trips—you to Bovina, NY, and me to Jeju Island, South Korea. As we discussed, I hope to create new artworks inspired by our conversation about visual components for the upcoming exhibition.

I aim to finish two boxes incorporating horse hair to hold each of my twins' umbilical cords. Additionally, I have two pieces of baby clothing inherited from my mother that I hope to incorporate into new works reflecting our discussion.

When my brother was born, my mom made a pair of traditional Korean baby garments called ‘baenaet-jeogori,’ which she continued to use for me when I was born. ‘baenaet-jeogori’ is a baby's first clothing upon entering the world. The word 'baenaet' means 'inside the belly' or 'womb,' so the term literally translates to "womb jacket."

As I look at these baby garments, I think not only of my twins but also of two children my grandmother lost. These tiny cherished garments hold the passage of time, and a sense of nostalgia. Hopefully, I can convey the generations of mother's love, connections, and stories in the new work incorporating these pieces.

Looking forward to our conversation continuing with email or Zoom in July.

Warm regards,
Jayoung

Dear Jayoung,

Thank you so much for these notes and a beautiful photo of the baby clothing your mother made.
They are so beautiful. I can see how it evokes thoughts of the stitching and weaving that transcend three generations of love. How beautiful.

I admire the way you develop projects and focus on each object or material and explore, looking forward to seeing the progress and what will come out.

Indeed, in the end, we hope the results of our conversations become something we can share with the world.
My challenge is that the nature of each project begins very vague, I move here and there, sometimes go off the track...
So please bear with me.

My mother has been long gone, but never felt too far away. I have mentioned to you about the small locks of my mother’s hair I have - I looked for it everywhere, but I couldn't find it, perhaps it was lost or tacked in somewhere.
So I moved on to think of other objects I inherited.

This bamboo cricket cage originally belonged to my grandfather, she gave it to me. When you told me about wanting to learn how to make bamboo thread for weaving, I thought of this object. It was kept by my mother for many years and now I am the keeper of it.
In the old times, we selfishly captured crickets and put them in the cage for their beautiful cooling sound for us to sleep well during the hot summer.
We feed them watermelons and let them escape in the morning. (or at least that was the idea)
Come to think of how cruel and wrong doing it is!

My mother and I also shared interests in nature, she practiced flower arrangements when she was young.
After she passed away, I was helping my sister to sort through her belongings. I noticed this piece of paper of her handwriting by the bed - it was a very puzzling list of plants.

It says:

キンセン花 (Kinsenka - Calendula officinalis - is a orange marigold flowers)
センリョウ (Senryou - Sarcandra glabra - is a herbal plant produces orange berries)
マンリョウ (Manryou - Ardisia crenata - is another red berry plat grows in east Asia, also called as Christmas berry)
アマリリス (Amaryllis is a well known holiday plants in the US, also blooms big red flowers)

I had looked into these plants on the web.
I would never know what she was thinking but I think she was thinking of the color of red.

There was also her notebook which she wrote a brief history of herself for me thinking soon she may not remember anything.

I make ink out of plants and berries,
Red is a very difficult color to achieve but I will try again anyway this summer and fall.
Perhaps, there are red berries in Bovina I can find.

Jayoung, have a wonderful trip to Jeju Island.
Wishing you the best luck for your learning and practicing.
Till we speak again over Zoom in July.

With much love,
Kazumi

May June July August September

Conversation #1
The day of solar eclipse - April 8th, 2024

Kazumi’s note:

Dear Jayoung,

It was so nice to see you at our first conversation yesterday.
I thought it would be good for me to write to you while memories are still fresh about what we talked about.
Please take time, I know your free time is very limited.

Here is what came to mind and I tried to find some answers to your questions about Japanese customs. Hope it all makes sense.

It was a quick research, but when our conversation progresses, more questions may come up, so please do not hesitate to ask anything :)
It will be so good for me to get back on those thoughts I had many years ago and reexamine them. It could open up the new possibilities –

Point of the conversation

Seeing two of your son's umbilical cords was the most amazing moment for me. They represent the connection.

About the Japanese custom of passing umbilical cord from mother to her children.
Why?

In Japan, when one passes there is a custom of putting the umbilical cord in a coffin.
The umbilical cord is a symbol of the bond between mother and child, and it is said that if you have the umbilical cord, you will be able to meet your mother after death without getting lost on the way.

In the past, it was believed that if a child was seriously ill, drinking a decoction of the umbilical cord would save their life.
This belief led to the custom of preserving the umbilical cord as a talisman.
When a child became an adult, the umbilical cord was handed to him as a talisman when men went to war, fishing, or sailing, and women when they got married.

The umbilical cord is not just an object; it is filled with the good wishes of parents for their child's future.

We talked about Kiri - Paulownia wood that is used as a favored wood to preserve umbilical cord.
Because Kiri wood contains tannin, it has a high resistance towards insects. A cabinet that is made from Kiri wood is quite a popular choice in Japan because of its excellence in humidity control and insect repellent.

We also talked about Mizuko - Water child.

My mother passed away in 2018. She was 89 yrs old, I was one of her 3 children and was the youngest. She told me there were two Mizuko between my brother (who is 4 yrs older than me) and I. How strange to know that if one of those children survived, I wouldn't have existed in this world.

Jayoung’s note:

Dear Kazumi,

It was a pleasure having you, and I found our conversation truly inspiring. Here are my notes.

Key words : Mother, Umbilical cord

When we began our conversation, we discovered that we both had created works related to the theme of mother. Your piece, 'Mother and Child Reunion,' and my work, 'The Offering Bowl 07,' both explore this concept. For us, 'mother' represents our emotional and mental home, rather than a physical one. Consequently, our conversation naturally gravitated towards discussing our mothers and their influence on our lives and work.

Umbilical cord in Korea traditional culture:
The umbilical cord of a child was not only a symbol of life but also signified one's destiny. After giving birth, Korean ancestors washed the 'tae' (umbilical cord), kept it in pottery, and buried it in a special place on a special day called 'tea-jang.' If the 'tae' was properly buried, the baby was believed to go on to live a healthy, successful, and long life.

It is fascinating to see how the meaning of the umbilical cord in two cultures symbolizes wishes for well-being.

One of my sons, who is only three years old, has already started talking about death. He asked, 'Mom, do we all die? Will you be with me when I die? How can I be with you forever?' I told him I will always be with him even after I die. I hope to be my sons' emotional home, just as I thought of my mother in Korea. I am inspired by the Japanese concept that the umbilical cord symbolizes the bond between parent and child. I would like to create small woven boxes, made from my hair and horsehair, to store their umbilical cords. I want to give them to my boys when they grow up as a symbol of our connection.

We discussed our traditions and the traditional techniques we employ to create our artwork:

Tansu: traditional Japanese mobile storage cabinets.
A traditional Japanese natural indigo dye technique, and Shibori-Zome (resist and dye)
Bojagi: Korean traditional patchwork.
Gat and Tang-goen: Korean traditional horsehair weaving techniques to make hats.

Conversation #2
April 29th, 2024

Kazumi’s note:

Dear Jayoung

I am following up on our meeting.
Still in the process of how to orient myself in this project.
It is a lot to digest from our conversation, so please be patient.
I hope to make this project meaningful to both of us.
I often wonder about our brain, how we process our knowledge and then let it transform without being too forceful. I think your artwork is an amazing transformation of your meditative mind.
They are such powerful manifestations.
You have channeled your emotion to something incredibly beautiful.

After I came to the US, I traveled to many places and saw so many beautiful things inside and outside of the US. I always wished my parents were with me to experience and see them as well. Those feelings of loving and sharing are so important for our own well beings. I think perhaps you share those feelings? I love and admire your parents without knowing much about them because of you and the stories you are sharing with me.

Talking points: Family relationship
-Do you think now that you have a relationship with your twin sons, maybe you are going through another transformation?
- What are your grandparents' family structures? We've discussed some but please remind me. Would you please indicate if your father was the oldest of his siblings? and your mother?
-What are their occupations? (or were in the past)
-About their lives

Human beings make all kinds of mistakes, countless cruelties, regrets, or no regrets, etc... - those negative feelings often bring fears and sadness.
I find that you and your mother’s connection and relationship carry strength and overcoming energy.
I learned of your parent’s incredible kindness which carries priceless value to you.

Talking Points: Family occupation
I don’t know much about my paternal grandparents, the memory of my father’s father was limited since he passed away when I was three. I have a good memory of my grandmother - my mother's mother.

My father’s work - recycling tin cans & drum cans trading business my grandfather started after the war ended and my father inherited his business.
We lived across from the factory. These are the only photos of them at work. (Sorry for the blur images) These photos were taken for keepsake when my father decided to close the factory soon.

My father was basically a metal worker, he worked on Sunday, too. It was a quiet day without other workers and no sound of loud machinery.
I grew up watching him work alone every Sunday to solder holes of tin cans and it was my favorite time with him.
I was little and completely fascinated by the process.
They worked hard but the time changed and his recycling business was declining. There were serious concerns about family finance. I was still in high school, there was no money to send me to college.

Talking points: I really wanted to go study at the Art university in Osaka. My sister and brother, who are 8 and 4 years older than me , felt so bad that if I cannot afford to go to college, so the found the solution to run a family cafe together.
It was successful and I was able to go to Art University. I helped at a cafe while going to college but the college assignment was very heavy loaded and I couldn’t fail. So it was mostly run by the rest of my family.

They had an arranged marriage.

Talking points: Our family religion.
-Were your parents both Protestant? Do you practice Christianity as well?
My mother grew up in a Buddhist family but converted to Tenri when she married my father.

Talking points: Artwork relates to the stories I heard from my mother.
My work often addresses the memories of my past life in Japan as well as my current life in th US. I used to think they are sort of separate but, after being here more than half of my life the are all kind of together and became one passage of my life.

*Mother and Child Reunion - my journal of traveling to meet several masters to learn
Shibori-Zome (resist and dye) and Indigo dye techniques.
*No Home Go Home / Go Home No Home - series of tea drawings from my memories
*Ring of firefly - happening oriented performance with firefly at OMI residency

I have other stories I would like to share with you perhaps at the next meeting.

Please add anything you can remember or any other thoughts. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and your gift of spirit.

With love,
Kazumi

Jayoung’s note:

Dear Kazumi,
I want to express my gratitude for sharing your thoughtful reflections on our conversation and for sending the photos of your family. It was truly meaningful to hear your family stories, and I was captivated by how you incorporated the family stories you heard from your mother into your artwork. Although I may not address every talking point you raised in this email, here are my notes from our conversation:

My family:

I grew up in Korea in the eighties hearing stories pass-ed down through my family about Japan’ 35-year occupation, the Korean War, the subsequent division of the country into North and South Korea, and the rule by oppressive military regimes for decades.

My grandfather (on my mother side) was a teacher during the Japanese occupation. He was put in jail, and was tortured by Japanese soldiers, because he taught Korean language and history to the students. And then he lost touch with his family, who remained in North Korea during the Korean War.

After the Korean War, my grandparents on both sides had memories of losing a child because food and medical resources were limited. My mother was the second child in her family. She lost her brother Gye-Su (born 1955, age 5 at the time of death) and her sister Yae-Ryeong (born 1958, age 2 at the time of death) due to Japanese encephalitis, which is a virus spread by the bite of infected mosquitoes. My mother, who was 8 years old, saw her mother go through severe mental distress after losing her children, so she became a very quiet child. My father was the first child in his family, and he also lost one of his brothers when he was young too. Since I now have twin boys who are 4 years old, I can imagine the unspeakable pain and grief of losing a child. I felt for my grandmother's pain. My grandmother became a sincere Presbyterian Christian. I heard my grandmother's belief helped her overcome her grief and continue to live forward. My grandparents on my father's side became Catholic too.

I've heard many stories from my parents about the democratic movements against the military dictatorship. Thousands of civilians were killed, injured, and tortured from the 1960s to the 1980s. My mom was a student protester when she was in college. She was arrested once and was being watched by the military police for a while. These democratic movements went on until the late 1980s. I remember when I was young, I often had to run back home because the military police used toxic tear gas against the student protesters.

All these direct and indirect experiences informed my understanding of the human condition. So, I encountered a big question: Why did something happen that was unexpected, unwanted and uncertain? I think it is not only about my questions and issues, but instead, it is something universal. I searched for my own ways of processing suffering, cleansing memories, and moving toward healing. It was integral to my art.

My mother:

My mom went to a college which is a School of Theology to train ministers of the Presbyterian Church of Korea. She worked as a preacher in church one time. But she found another path. She learned Korean traditional music, 'Pungmul,' and dance. She also studied counseling and became a therapist. She often danced for people who had deep personal and social pain. For example, there were Korean comfort women who were abused by Japanese soldiers during World War II. I remember when I was young, she danced for those women, and at the end of her performance, she invited all of them to come to the stage and dance with her, and I saw that the women were crying. When I saw that, I realized that sometimes people heal through the physicality of the present moment; sometimes words cannot solve their problems. Her compassion and wisdom nurtured me as an artist and the person I became.

I made 'The Offering Bowl #7' to represent that my mom is a pearl of wisdom to me. I used my mother's gray hair, contemplating impermanence; We all get older, have cycles of health and sickness, and all of us will die. We can't hold onto any of it forever. However, her wisdom was passed down to me and to my work. Those were some of my thoughts around the piece.

About family religion:

Since both my grandparents were Christian, I attended a very conservative Christian church where learning other religions was discouraged. However, my parents were open-minded to other religions even though they were Christian.

My mother is a very spiritual person rather than religious. She recommended that I attend a spiritual retreat before I moved to the USA in 2005. At that retreat, I learned the practice of fully inhabiting the present, cleansing memories, and recognizing our duality. It was a turning point for the way I think about art and life.

My mother continued to introduce me to diverse spiritual practices and books that inspired me. For example, A Course in Miracles by Helen Schucman, The Disappearance of the Universe by Gary Renard, The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle, and other authors like Deepak Chopra and Anita Moorjani. Also, since my work relates to exploring themes of mindfulness an interconnectedness, I found a connection between Buddhism and my work.

Looking forward to our next visit.

Much love,
Jayoung

The Faraway Nearby

DNATE