[INTERVIEW] Story of Korean immigrants to Mexico shown in MMCA exhibition

Multimedia artist Jung Yeon-doo's exhibition, "One Hundred Years of Travels," at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Seoul, explores the migration story of Korean immigrants in Mexico, using the prickly pear cactus as a symbol.

″Wall of Blades″ (2023) by Jung Yeon-doo [MMCA]

The prickly pear cactus has an incredible origin tale that proves that it is one mighty, unwavering succulent. While it currently inhabits Jeju Island, its seed ancestors had traveled far and long across the Pacific Ocean, all the way from Mexico, before digging its roots into the Wollyeong-ri soil.

Multimedia artist Jung Yeon-doo, 54, likens this migration tale to the Korean diaspora living in Mexico, and their experiences of having to start a new life in a foreign land. The story is presented in his latest exhibition “One Hundred Years of Travels” at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art (MMCA) Seoul in Jongno District, central Seoul.

The exhibition is part of the museum’s annual partnership project with Hyundai Motor for the “MMCA Hyundai Motor Series,” in which it chooses a prominent artist or art team each year and holds their solo exhibition.

Jung is distinctive in that he deals with migration by interlacing it with topics like labor, imperialism, colonialism and history, but in more lighthearted methods like theater and music.

The Korea JoongAng Daily met with Jung last month to discuss his latest pieces. The following interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Multimedia artist Jung Yeon-doo speaks during a press conference for his latest solo exhibition ″One Hundred Years of Travels″ at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art Seoul in Jongno District, central Seoul, on Sept. 5. [NEWS1]

Q. How did you get the idea to trace the story of Korean immigrants who crossed over to Mexico over a century ago, and then link it with the prickly pear cactus?A. I was in a residency program at the MAC/VAL in Val-de-Marne, a suburb of Paris, in 2016. I had the opportunity to organically meet immigrants in the area that were from different countries, like Tunisia, Morocco and Vietnam, and, at the time, a lot of Syrian refugees were accepted into Europe. There were also reports on the deaths of boat people, making me wonder what it would feel like to be stranded on a boat.

Over the years, I continued documenting and researching the stories of diaspora, and it was last year when I was in a residency program in Jeju Island that I started growing sugar cane myself and built a greenhouse and learned more about farming and migration. I visited Wollyeong-ri, which has an entire wild colony of cacti, and that’s when I came upon the prickly pear cactus and learned that it had made its way there from Mexico.

I was intrigued: How did this plant cross the entire Pacific Ocean? So I tried digging around for an answer and learned about the Korean migration to Mexico in 1905 and how around 1,033 Koreans had immigrated to Mexico via labor brokers to work in their plantations.

It was a long time ago, but the fact that both these Koreans and the prickly pear cactus had relocated themselves to a completely foreign place seemed similar to me. That’s when I questioned how I could make an exhibition by combining the familiar with the unfamiliar.

″Imaginary Song″ (2023) by Jung Yeon-doo [MMCA]

Tell us about how you arranged the exhibition. It starts with “Imaginary Song,” which is full of whispering colorful speakers shaped like plants hanging from the ceiling, then proceeds to show a hand mime play, videos of the descendants of Koreans who immigrated to Mexico, traditional musical performances from Korea, Japan and Mexico, and then finally ends with “Wall of Blades,” a 12-meter (39-foot) high wall installation filled with some 300 machetes made from sugar. Is there a specific reason for this sequence? I placed “Imaginary Song” at the entrance of the exhibition because I consider it to be light. The speakers are light in weight too. They look heavy because they’re huge, but in fact each one is less than 2 kilograms (4.4 pounds). They’re just huge cute-looking speakers of fruits and leaves that whisper things in numerous languages [like Japanese, Spanish, Arabic, Hungarian, Telugu and Indonesian].

On the other hand, the sugary tools in “Wall of Blades” may be able to melt away, but they are the heaviest in terms of the meaning of the work. The audience will notice that the works gradually get heavier as they move through the exhibition.

I chose this arrangement because the aim was to try and see how far the audience’s imagination could go back in time and across the world with these exotic-looking pieces. For me it was like writing in a diary, but since it’s from 100 years ago, I needed to stretch that imagination. I think art is a fun tool in that it helps create that connection.

″One Hundred Years of Travels - Prologue″ (2022) by Jung Yeon-doo [MMCA]

You’ve tackled the tales of diaspora since 2015. What drew you to this field, and what is your approach? I think art is a wonderful tool for bringing people together. Two people may live different, separate lives, but art helps connect these two using the imagination. I started working on the Mexico diaspora pieces based on the thought of how I was going to connect a story from 100 years ago that happened on the furthest opposite side of the Earth.

The story itself may be derived from a macroscopic narrative in that it tackles topics like imperialism or human labor, but I’m not a historian. As an artist, the work is manifested by the things that I actually experienced by seeing, touching and hearing. My work includes a lot of intimate stories as well, like the relationship between a father and son. In the end, I think the audience completes my work. I always want to create empathy among my audience, which is why I think art is the best tool for it. What are some memorable experiences you had while interviewing these descendants of the Korean immigrants? How aware are they of their Korean roots? I’ve met with people who put up a frame of their Korean names inside their homes, and some would show me old photos of their ancestors who had fought for independence. They were very proud. But there are also some who refuse to acknowledge their Korean ancestry. These people had complex feelings when it came to their roots; it wasn’t just about deciding whether to consider themselves Korean or not. It made me realize that it’s a far more complex issue and that we need to approach them in a more multidimensional light.

″Generational Portraits″ (2023) by Jung Yeon-doo [SHIN MIN-HEE]

In “Generational Portraits,” two large-screen video screens, each depicting different generations, are facing each other. The audience has to stand between them and turn around in order to look at each screen. Why did you arrange them this way, instead of placing them side by side? It’s meant to be like a conversation between the two screens. The audience is caught in the middle, and it’s like being involved in a personal relationship, like between father and son, whether the viewer likes it or not. No matter how close you are with your friend, you can’t intrude on the relationship between your friend and their mother; it’s awkward. This arrangement was to create a situation in which the audience gets into these intimate relations and thinks of their own, especially with their family, and somewhat forcibly elicits sympathy. And in a way, it’s more entertaining for the audience too.

Visitors sit on beanbags and watch Jung Yeon-doo's video installation piece ″One Hundred Years of Travels″ (2023) at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art Seoul in Jongno District, central Seoul, on Sept. 27. [SHIN MIN-HEE]

“One Hundred Years of Travels” includes performances of pansori [traditional Korean narrative singing], gidayu bunraku [traditional Japanese chanted puppet theater] and mariachi [regional Mexican folk music], which take turns narrating the documentary-like main video, which shows farmers, laborers and plants in Mexico. Why did you take a musical approach in this piece? Until now, you had to know the context to understand my works, and they weren’t as clear-cut as “One Hundred Years of Travels.” In order to loosen up the weight of the story, you have to focus on the visuals and senses, and I thought music was the best way to carry this out. The performers in these three genres were extremely proficient in lightening the mood and adding humor when telling the story of the Korean immigration to Mexico.

I added gidayu bunraku because you can’t discuss early 20th-century history without Japan [the Korean immigration to Mexico happened during Japan’s 1910-45 colonial rule], so it was added alongside traditional Korean and Mexican music.

Sometimes it’s difficult for a plant to survive when it is uprooted. Was it your intention to liken this to humans? I disagree. When you observe a prickly pear cactus, it looks quite off-putting. If you accidentally touch it, it’s bound to sting and cause pain to your hand. And it’s extremely tenacious. I once forgot to water it and left it unattended for an entire month, but when I came back I found that it had surprisingly grown another bump on its side. It’s that toughness that helped it cross the Pacific Ocean and set roots all the way in Jeju Island from Mexico. What seemed mysterious and impossible was therefore made possible.

I think it’s the same way with people. By connecting with each other, through their roots and ancestors, it should be seen not as being difficult to survive because it has been uprooted, but that it continues to thrive by shifting its roots.

BY SHIN MIN-HEE [shin.minhee@joongang.co.kr]