The following notes on Pink Factory’s recent art residency project “Hongcheon Crossing: Long Distance Short Cuts of Life” (홍천횡단: 생동의 축지법) are a preview of the bilingual catalogue (in print now), where the text will appear alongside many other writings as well as photos of the art works and the project as a whole. Even though I couldn’t participate very much in person this time, and saw most of the project unfold only from a distance, the resulting exhibition (and the opening rooftop concert) were memorable – and offered many new perspectives on life in Hongcheon, Gangwon-do, and peripheral regions in general.
Three Visits to Hongcheon
Before wondering how to cross Hongcheon, the more pressing issue is: Why cross Hongcheon? The obvious answer: Because it takes too long to go around. But Hongcheon is more than a stopover or a transit zone leading somewhere else. It is a space of living, a place for dwelling, a somewhere in and of itself.
During Pink Factory’s 2023 project, I spent most of the time working in Seoul and got to know the artists’ ongoing work merely by translating their statements and reading their notes online. But for three times I went to Hongcheon myself and here is what I experienced:
1. The bus ride to Hongcheon may take less than one hour if traffic flows. But soon after leaving the bridges and riverside highways of Seoul behind, driving between mountains, through one tunnel after another, until being dropped off on the curb at the central bus terminal, one slowly feels like going to another world.
Everything is slower here. Taking my time, I slowly walk towards the central market, up the stairs onto the empty rooftop, then into the air-conditioned recreation room where my short presentation on selected art works from Pink Factory’s archives is supposed to start soon. Some artists are chilling while others still explore the town, the staff is playing ping pong. After setting everything up, I take a step outside.
All of a sudden, out of nowhere, some bicycles appear. Criss-crossing over the grey rooftop glimmering in the sun, they approach me. I see familiar faces coming to a stop.
2. Three weeks later, on the eve of the exhibition’s opening, I return to Hongcheon. I have seen what the artists have been doing only online. Their excursions and explorations, their mingling and night-time beers, their occasional missteps and mistranslations, their conflicts and collaborations, appeared as posts in a shared chat room and on social media.
As I approach the market, electric guitar riffs are blasting from the rooftop, the whole neighborhood is vibrating. Black Air is setting up instruments for their concert. Over at the exhibition space, the rooms are filled with art and people, making it difficult to see everything and looking closer at anything.
Outside again, the weather is changing, some raindrops are in the air, when all of a sudden someone points to the clouds. A double-rainbow has formed, crossing the greyish sky, bridging all of Hongcheon, possibly the whole Korean peninsula.
3. It is October now, leaves are falling and the exhibition is about to conclude. This time, I have a chance to take a closer look at the different works on display.
Even though the artists are gone, much is going on between the folded white walls and the separate spaces they form. There are sounds to hear, masks to wear, buttons to press, canvases in all sizes, moving images and images I have to set in motion myself. Periodically, a karaoke version of the K-pop song “Super Shy” by New Jeans tunes in, whenever Kang Youngmean’s travelogue video comes to an end.
Exhibition “Hongcheon Crossing”, installlation view with art works by Bae MiJung (painting), Jeon Suhyun (installation), Marian Wailb (mask)
Within the white-walled limits of the exhibition space, the experiences of twelve artists compress and condense. It is the end of a long distance trip, the final destination their zig-zagging travels both within town limits and across the county lead to. Their emotions culminate, if not in a fixed image, maybe in an atmosphere set on repeat, mixed feelings of distance and connectedness, turning tables and moving memories, gazes through pink glasses and dark masks, self-expression and self-doubt. Will their art(s) leave a mark in the landscape of Hongcheon? On the streets they walked, on the hills they climbed? Will people remember them dancing in the park? Only time will tell.
Time flows differently in Hongcheon, but it does not stop altogether. “Hongcheon Crossing” is about magical movement, but we can only take one step at a time. Strolling the streets, taking back alleys, haunting abandoned houses, or even following the steep path up never-ending mountains. There are many ways to cross a country, a county, a city, or a street. In Hongcheon, even when traveling by magical means, there are neither short cuts nor emergency exit.
— 2 September, 23 September, 21–22 October 2023 (土, 土, 土~日)
Seoul Stages 