Sunday, 1:06 PM
Work doesn’t really care that I’m having an exhibition. Driving back from Yangpyeong, I step on the gas and manage to open up the gallery at Project K just a few minutes late.
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Dongsin and Sun walk in. Why do I suddenly feel like it’s my birthday? The carefully wrapped package in Dongsin’s arms turns out to be an exquisitely crafted wooden side-table he’s made for me.
Sun leans in and whispers that he worked long and hard on it. She’s also brought a gift: specialty coffee from Huehuetenango, Guatemala. We view the exhibition.
Despite my limited Korean, I clearly understand when Dongsin says that the way I look at Korea is powerful and illuminating;
it means the world to me.
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Family comes to see the exhibition, all smiles and encouragement. HRM’s cousin Chan Young is there too and when everyone else leaves, he stays on.
Then two of his friends come in to join him. The three of them discuss the work, sometimes in earnest and sometimes in jest. One of the women has very sharp eyes.
She asks me when the photograph of the dress shoes was taken. I remember it was spring time, possibly mid-May. She scrutinizes the photo and observes that the water-logged newspaper visible above the shoes is dated November of the previous year.
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Andrey enters. He is a Russian curator and one of the founders of the Moscow Biennial. He’s been trying to make it to the gallery for the past three days and now he is finally here.
Chan Young and his friends circle back to us. They inform us they have titled all the works in the exhibition for me. I hand them a checklist and they pencil in the titles for each work next to the thumbnail view.
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As Andrey is leaving, he says he would like to help introduce my work to Russian audiences.
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Where did the time go? It’s a few minutes before closing already. I hear a rumor of approaching voices; the door shakes and rattles. Suddenly Olin and Luca are there, waving, smiling and laughing.
What a great and wonderful surprise that is.