My last post was some eight months ago, and there are several reasons for that. Mainly, life can be difficult to manage with a full time job and and earning an MA in the evenings and on weekends.
The job I'm referring to is, of course, my new job that I accepted in April and began in May. If you know me at all, you know I was looking into coming home at the completion of my teaching contract in May. Teaching was fun, but teaching English to children is not my passion. Though I haven't completely ruled out teaching in the future, of which I would prefer to teach communication to university students in my native language, it was time to step away from it and get back to what makes me wake up in the morning: writing and communication.
To provide a little backstory, I was two months away from coming home, knowing I would be jobless stepping off the plane, but also knowing that it was time for me to move on with my career. I was about to announce this to those that needed to know, and I was also making a mental list of things I wanted to do and see before I left Korea. I was thinking about all this as I was having dinner alone at a restaurant bar downtown, when a woman I know walked in and we started talking about the future. I asked her if she could tell me when I would know it was time to go, and I ended up letting her in on my my plans, my wanting to return home to the U.S. to focus on my career. A few minutes later, a friend of hers walked in, a woman I didn't know, and almost immediately asked everyone at the bar if anyone was interested or knew anything about communications because she was leaving her job and needed to find a replacement. I spoke up, met the woman, learned about the job and shared information about my expertise, applied for the job, interviewed and accepted it less than a week later.
I'm now Head of Office for the International Biennial Association (IBA), and I'm still located in Gwangju. I run communications for the association, plan international events and work within the art world - it's everything I've wanted in a career, even the international part. I get to travel internationally, as well. I absolutely love my job, and I mean every single word of that statement. I finally understand what it feels like. It can be difficult, yes, but anything worth having and keeping is likely going to be difficult.
I've been in this job for just over five months and it's been great so far. But what I really want to write about is my recent trip to Russia. I went on a humanitarian visa, as I was co-organizeder and moderator of IBA's first in-person working committee meeting, which was a meeting that hosted many of our members from all over the world (Asia, Europe, the Americas and Africa) as well as Russian art directors, curators and enthusiasts. It was wonderful to see so many like-minded people in the same location, and such a relief to know that it's not just me in an office in Korea. Rather, it's people all over the world who want the best for IBA, its members and the future of biennials and triennials. The experience I had in meeting and talking with everyone in attendance was something I'll carry with me for a long time.
In addition to my work in Russia, I was also able to see a little bit of two cities: Yekaterinburg, in the Ural Mountains where the meeting took place during the 3rd Ural Industrial Biennial of Contemporary Art, and Moscow, where I had a 23 hour layover on my way back to Korea. Yekaterinburg was lovely, and while I was there the city had its first snow of the season.
I visited the main project of the Biennial, which took place at the Iset Hotel, on the first full day with the other IBA members. We had a guide who showed us the highlights, including an exhibit by Yoko Ono, which I literally fell into: I tripped on the uneven and diagonal step leading into the room. Needless to say that was a humiliating moment for me. However, as many people well-educated in art subjects have said, art is an individual experience; everyone experiences it differently. For me, I prefer to experience it alone. I'm not sure if that's my natural way or because I'm so used to experiencing things alone, but se la vie and I don't really mind.
When I revisited the main exhibit at the Iset Hotel, I felt better able to grasp the concepts within the art. For example, the hotel began as a dormitory for Cheka, Soviet secret police. It was later transformed into a working hotel, and then decommissioned just in 2013. This fall it holds the main exhibit of the Ural Biennial. The Cheka theme was scene in several art pieces, including one that stands out: a microphone was placed in an unknown location somewhere in the hotel, and the particular exhibit was just speakers to transmit the live sound to the room. It put the guest in the place of a Cheka agent.
On my revisit to the exhibition, I visited several other rooms, including the light installation by Yoko Ono, drawings of the Biennial guards that showed art was for and includes everyone, an exhibition that revealed the real home-life of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and another exhibit where the artist created a video of his mixing of coffee and tea and the presentation of his concoction to guests at his gallery. That particular exhibition room was filled with live plants and a beautiful piano piece.
Another interesting "exhibition" was one that brought people into the "piece" itself. One of the floors featured several people who were instructed to just stare at Biennial guests, to make them feel part of the project. It was because of this that I was not sure, and still am not sure, if the following interaction was "part of the Biennial" or just a very kind woman who saw something.
On the second floor of the hotel, I noticed a woman walking through the corridor holding a walkie talkie. I came to a door marked "staff only," but it was beautifully stained and I wanted to touch it. As she was nearby and looked official, I thought it best to ask her before just touching it, even though it was just a door. After figuring out that I just wanted to touch it, not go inside the "staff only" room, she agreed, I touched it, and went on my way. I met her again at the end of the hall as I was looking into the last room, and she stopped me. She looked me in the eyes and said, "Don't be afraid. This is Russia. Russia is your home. Be at home in Russia. Russia is love. Love Russia and Russia will love you. Love Russia as Russia loves you. Russia is your home. This exhibit is your exhibit. You are a child of God. I am a mother. I am your mother. Though mother is only one. You are a child of God. [She crossed me here.] I can tell you are very happy. You always smile. You have much to be happy about. But inside your heart, it cries. You feel very alone. But Russia is your home. Don't be afraid. Russians are afraid of you! But no reason to be afraid. You are very clever and very happy. Don't let your heart cry. I am your mother. I love you as God loves you. Visit the church, family Romanov, 1917. Feel love. Russia is love." She repeated these sentences several times, to be sure of her English and my understanding of her. She even hugged me two or three times. So you can see why I might not be sure if she, herself, was an "exhibit," or if she was just a woman who understood the power of a few kind words. Though I very much enjoyed the exhibits throughout the Iset Hotel, that woman, whose name I do not know, made the experience that much more meaningful.
During my dwindling time in Yekaterinburg, I also visited the Church of All Saints, aka the Church on the Blood, which was built in memorial on the site where the Romanov family was killed in 1917. It was the first thing I learned about Yekaterinburg, actually, and while one of the most beautiful churches from the outside with white walls, wood trim and its unforgettable golden onion domes that glistened in the afternoon sun (trust me, if you were there you'd write like that, too), I can say with certainty that the inside was the most breathtakingly beautiful church - or any other building - that I have ever been inside. To enter, women were required to wear something on their heads out of respect. After walking through two sets of 5-inch thick wooden doors (to keep out the cold)I saw it. The floors and support beams were marble, the walls were lined with paintings of saints, each framed in intricate lace-like gold. Lanterns holding 20 or more candles (electric in 2015) hung from the ceiling in the center hall of the church. In front of each painting stood a candle stand so patrons could light a candle and place it there. And behind a great wall filled with paintings of saints framed in the same golden lace style as every other frame, sang a choir that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I'm not religious, but I sure felt moved just by standing inside.
A few meters away stood the actual memorial site to the Romanov family: a small marble cross monument with the names of those who died, including whose who were not blood related.
Moving on to my few hours in Moscow. I arrived late at night and went straight to my hotel to get some sleep. In the morning, I took the airport train into Moscow and then hopped on the subway for two stops to get to Red Square. However, when exiting the subway above ground, no one tells you that you'll need to walk four or five blocks to actually get there. It was a nice walk, though, past shops, beautiful sets of gates that likely led to government buildings, and finally under the street to cross, which led directly in front of the front gates to Red Square.
Once inside the square, I saw St. Basil's Cathedral on the far side, the Kremlin on my right, a beautiful building with restaurants (and what else? does anyone know?) on my left, and the stunning brick building behind me. My first thought was that St. Basil's Cathedral was smaller than I imagined. Though this was the case, it was just as lovely as I'd expected: the colorful onion domes and equally stunning architecture inside, and even a mens quartet that I was able to hear. The experience of being there, this place of which I've seen pictures all my life, felt incredibly special.
So ended my trip to Russia, as I took the train back to the airport, checked in for my flight, and waited to board the plane.
Just a note to say that only half-way through my trip did I learn about the political situation that occurred during my flight to Russia, involving Russia and the U.S. and the stand against ISIS. A received a text message on my phone (in Korean) giving a recommended evacuation of the North Caucasus region as it was on "red alert." I also received an email of concern from an AU classmate who was surprised to hear that I hadn't heard of, nor was I affected by the situation at all (though, to be fair, I had absolutely no free time in the first 5 days to check the news) and that everything was fine. I felt safe the entire time.
The job I'm referring to is, of course, my new job that I accepted in April and began in May. If you know me at all, you know I was looking into coming home at the completion of my teaching contract in May. Teaching was fun, but teaching English to children is not my passion. Though I haven't completely ruled out teaching in the future, of which I would prefer to teach communication to university students in my native language, it was time to step away from it and get back to what makes me wake up in the morning: writing and communication.
To provide a little backstory, I was two months away from coming home, knowing I would be jobless stepping off the plane, but also knowing that it was time for me to move on with my career. I was about to announce this to those that needed to know, and I was also making a mental list of things I wanted to do and see before I left Korea. I was thinking about all this as I was having dinner alone at a restaurant bar downtown, when a woman I know walked in and we started talking about the future. I asked her if she could tell me when I would know it was time to go, and I ended up letting her in on my my plans, my wanting to return home to the U.S. to focus on my career. A few minutes later, a friend of hers walked in, a woman I didn't know, and almost immediately asked everyone at the bar if anyone was interested or knew anything about communications because she was leaving her job and needed to find a replacement. I spoke up, met the woman, learned about the job and shared information about my expertise, applied for the job, interviewed and accepted it less than a week later.
I'm now Head of Office for the International Biennial Association (IBA), and I'm still located in Gwangju. I run communications for the association, plan international events and work within the art world - it's everything I've wanted in a career, even the international part. I get to travel internationally, as well. I absolutely love my job, and I mean every single word of that statement. I finally understand what it feels like. It can be difficult, yes, but anything worth having and keeping is likely going to be difficult.
I've been in this job for just over five months and it's been great so far. But what I really want to write about is my recent trip to Russia. I went on a humanitarian visa, as I was co-organizeder and moderator of IBA's first in-person working committee meeting, which was a meeting that hosted many of our members from all over the world (Asia, Europe, the Americas and Africa) as well as Russian art directors, curators and enthusiasts. It was wonderful to see so many like-minded people in the same location, and such a relief to know that it's not just me in an office in Korea. Rather, it's people all over the world who want the best for IBA, its members and the future of biennials and triennials. The experience I had in meeting and talking with everyone in attendance was something I'll carry with me for a long time.
In addition to my work in Russia, I was also able to see a little bit of two cities: Yekaterinburg, in the Ural Mountains where the meeting took place during the 3rd Ural Industrial Biennial of Contemporary Art, and Moscow, where I had a 23 hour layover on my way back to Korea. Yekaterinburg was lovely, and while I was there the city had its first snow of the season.
I visited the main project of the Biennial, which took place at the Iset Hotel, on the first full day with the other IBA members. We had a guide who showed us the highlights, including an exhibit by Yoko Ono, which I literally fell into: I tripped on the uneven and diagonal step leading into the room. Needless to say that was a humiliating moment for me. However, as many people well-educated in art subjects have said, art is an individual experience; everyone experiences it differently. For me, I prefer to experience it alone. I'm not sure if that's my natural way or because I'm so used to experiencing things alone, but se la vie and I don't really mind.
When I revisited the main exhibit at the Iset Hotel, I felt better able to grasp the concepts within the art. For example, the hotel began as a dormitory for Cheka, Soviet secret police. It was later transformed into a working hotel, and then decommissioned just in 2013. This fall it holds the main exhibit of the Ural Biennial. The Cheka theme was scene in several art pieces, including one that stands out: a microphone was placed in an unknown location somewhere in the hotel, and the particular exhibit was just speakers to transmit the live sound to the room. It put the guest in the place of a Cheka agent.
On my revisit to the exhibition, I visited several other rooms, including the light installation by Yoko Ono, drawings of the Biennial guards that showed art was for and includes everyone, an exhibition that revealed the real home-life of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and another exhibit where the artist created a video of his mixing of coffee and tea and the presentation of his concoction to guests at his gallery. That particular exhibition room was filled with live plants and a beautiful piano piece.
Another interesting "exhibition" was one that brought people into the "piece" itself. One of the floors featured several people who were instructed to just stare at Biennial guests, to make them feel part of the project. It was because of this that I was not sure, and still am not sure, if the following interaction was "part of the Biennial" or just a very kind woman who saw something.
On the second floor of the hotel, I noticed a woman walking through the corridor holding a walkie talkie. I came to a door marked "staff only," but it was beautifully stained and I wanted to touch it. As she was nearby and looked official, I thought it best to ask her before just touching it, even though it was just a door. After figuring out that I just wanted to touch it, not go inside the "staff only" room, she agreed, I touched it, and went on my way. I met her again at the end of the hall as I was looking into the last room, and she stopped me. She looked me in the eyes and said, "Don't be afraid. This is Russia. Russia is your home. Be at home in Russia. Russia is love. Love Russia and Russia will love you. Love Russia as Russia loves you. Russia is your home. This exhibit is your exhibit. You are a child of God. I am a mother. I am your mother. Though mother is only one. You are a child of God. [She crossed me here.] I can tell you are very happy. You always smile. You have much to be happy about. But inside your heart, it cries. You feel very alone. But Russia is your home. Don't be afraid. Russians are afraid of you! But no reason to be afraid. You are very clever and very happy. Don't let your heart cry. I am your mother. I love you as God loves you. Visit the church, family Romanov, 1917. Feel love. Russia is love." She repeated these sentences several times, to be sure of her English and my understanding of her. She even hugged me two or three times. So you can see why I might not be sure if she, herself, was an "exhibit," or if she was just a woman who understood the power of a few kind words. Though I very much enjoyed the exhibits throughout the Iset Hotel, that woman, whose name I do not know, made the experience that much more meaningful.
During my dwindling time in Yekaterinburg, I also visited the Church of All Saints, aka the Church on the Blood, which was built in memorial on the site where the Romanov family was killed in 1917. It was the first thing I learned about Yekaterinburg, actually, and while one of the most beautiful churches from the outside with white walls, wood trim and its unforgettable golden onion domes that glistened in the afternoon sun (trust me, if you were there you'd write like that, too), I can say with certainty that the inside was the most breathtakingly beautiful church - or any other building - that I have ever been inside. To enter, women were required to wear something on their heads out of respect. After walking through two sets of 5-inch thick wooden doors (to keep out the cold)I saw it. The floors and support beams were marble, the walls were lined with paintings of saints, each framed in intricate lace-like gold. Lanterns holding 20 or more candles (electric in 2015) hung from the ceiling in the center hall of the church. In front of each painting stood a candle stand so patrons could light a candle and place it there. And behind a great wall filled with paintings of saints framed in the same golden lace style as every other frame, sang a choir that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I'm not religious, but I sure felt moved just by standing inside.
A few meters away stood the actual memorial site to the Romanov family: a small marble cross monument with the names of those who died, including whose who were not blood related.
Moving on to my few hours in Moscow. I arrived late at night and went straight to my hotel to get some sleep. In the morning, I took the airport train into Moscow and then hopped on the subway for two stops to get to Red Square. However, when exiting the subway above ground, no one tells you that you'll need to walk four or five blocks to actually get there. It was a nice walk, though, past shops, beautiful sets of gates that likely led to government buildings, and finally under the street to cross, which led directly in front of the front gates to Red Square.
Once inside the square, I saw St. Basil's Cathedral on the far side, the Kremlin on my right, a beautiful building with restaurants (and what else? does anyone know?) on my left, and the stunning brick building behind me. My first thought was that St. Basil's Cathedral was smaller than I imagined. Though this was the case, it was just as lovely as I'd expected: the colorful onion domes and equally stunning architecture inside, and even a mens quartet that I was able to hear. The experience of being there, this place of which I've seen pictures all my life, felt incredibly special.
So ended my trip to Russia, as I took the train back to the airport, checked in for my flight, and waited to board the plane.
**********
Just a note to say that only half-way through my trip did I learn about the political situation that occurred during my flight to Russia, involving Russia and the U.S. and the stand against ISIS. A received a text message on my phone (in Korean) giving a recommended evacuation of the North Caucasus region as it was on "red alert." I also received an email of concern from an AU classmate who was surprised to hear that I hadn't heard of, nor was I affected by the situation at all (though, to be fair, I had absolutely no free time in the first 5 days to check the news) and that everything was fine. I felt safe the entire time.
