My reasons for loving Korean art are its natural sincerity, earthy soulfulness, energetic sense of humor, lack of artifice, and its effortless reverence for nature and affinity with it. These are qualities that are well expressed in the folk art of Korea. Art that is by and for the people and that is not just art for art’s sake. It’s the same qualities that draw me to early acoustic blues, ancient art, and any other unfiltered and unfettered expression of humankind’s common yearnings, fears, disappointments, and triumphs.
Within the broad realm of Korean folk art, shaman art expresses some of the deepest desires of the Korean people. The shaman’s art and implements, such as paintings, masks, and costumes are a fundamental part of rituals to protect the home, heal the sick, communicate with the deceased, bless and protect the crop, wedding, family, and newborn baby, and provide the folks with a sense of well-being and purpose.
While Korea’s royal court ordained official theology and commissioned art supportive of it, the commoners, from a life really lived, created and through the centuries have held onto a most syncretic belief system that borrows from Buddhism, Confucianism, Daoism, ancient animism, and elsewhere, and that engenders a strong connection to nature and its energy. Korean shamanism encourages a healthy defiance against official dogma, and an open-mindedness and sincerity that guides the makers and commissioners of these powerful works of art. That is why these wonderful creations by and for the people speak so directly to persons everywhere even today.
Shamans keep cultural memory alive. Australian aborigines have song lines that have connected one million people in 300 language groups for thousands of years, perhaps past the ice age. Secularization brings progress, but if we are not careful, it can also sever ties to ancient history and cut the bonds we have with our common origins and our collective mind manifested in the archetypes shared by all cultures.
The art and culture of Korean shamanism come from the nation’s deepest roots. Among the shaman’s syncretic pantheon of deities are the only gods that are indigenous to Korea. Spirits like Sansin, the mountain god, or Dokseong, the hermit saint, are Korea’s own. A study of the rituals and myths associated with them reveals the origins of a people and their national character.
Paintings of Sansin are an instructive example of this. They usually depict the mountain god with a tiger, a revered creature in Korean folklore. Tigers are now extinct in Korea. These paintings connect us to a time when tigers roamed the Korean countryside and had a profound effect on the imagination and beliefs of the people.
The Kia Tigers, the champions of the Korean Baseball Organization (KBO), is one of many sports teams in the country that have this name. My own hometown’s baseball team is the Detroit Tigers. For Detroiters, the tiger is a distant fantasy that exists on our logos and in stuffed toy animals. But for Koreans, the tiger is connected to the spirit of the people and has a much deeper meaning. That meaning is appreciated even more and it is felt more deeply when a culture maintains the connections shaman art gives to an ancient legacy.
So the next time you cheer for the Kia Tigers, or any Korean Tigers team, feel that primeval spirit and remember this is just one example of how keeping traditions alive gives more meaning and fulfillment to our lives.
Columnist
Robert Turley
