The Busan Port at night is a magical place. No one is around
and the boats all sit quiet aside from the occasional pilot coming back in from
assisting a larger ship out of the port. Near the water, benches are set up,
specifically, it seems, to encourage people to watch the port activity. The
lights in the distance shine like unflickering fireflies, and the houses
disappear into darkness. Cars zoom past at all hours and a stray pedestrian
saunters by.
I had the occasion to see the port late night on a weekday
when I first met Philipp. We wandered here after climbing the hill behind China
Town / Texas Street and seeing the port from above. Conversation kept us
occupied as we walked and explored. We talked about everything from family to
traveling to future dreams. We first connected on our mutual love of Russia,
and the topic and storytelling never got old.
Philipp knew about my knowledge of and love for art. He also
knew I had taught others how to look at art, so he gave me a challenge. “If
this were a work of art, what would you say about it?” “This” referred to the
port as it stood in front of us. Excited about the challenge, my eyes lit up,
but to be honest, at first I balked a bit at the port being considered artwork.
I said, “Ok, let’s imagine this is a photograph. And for whatever reason, what
we are looking at now, this, was the perspective chosen by the artist.” I
followed this brief and somewhat uninspired statement with a standard starting
question for looking at any work of art.
“What do you see?”
Before the words came out of his mouth, without even looking
at him, I predicted what he would say. He had told me that he always sees
things as they are.
I started trying to ask him for details or what kind of
story he would tell, but even though he was open, his resistance to
interpretation was strong. I knew I needed to give him a starting point, so I
changed my tune and broke every rule that I have learned for showing children
art. You do not usually tell children what you see because of the assumption
that the child will think there is a “right” answer. I knew Philipp had more
mental capacity than a child, so I forged ahead and broke rules.
“Ok. Let me tell you what I see. You said you see buildings.
Maybe it’s my poor eyesight, but I actually don’t see many buildings, the whole
land mass out in the distance is hard to bring into focus. Instead, I see
lights scattered around, a bit like fireflies, and I see the reflections on the
water. Of course I know there are ships and machinery, but if I really look,
that’s not what I see.”
He stood there for a moment, taking it in. “Weird. When you
were describing all of that, I saw it. Why has no one ever done that for me?”
At this
moment, I realized that Philipp was the kind of person that I admire and want
to be around. Even if he does not know something or is not aware of it, he is
open to the possibility of its existence. He is open to trying new things, even
if it means challenging his world view. That night we decided we had to go to
the art museum together.
Finally, the day before Philipp left for Fukuoka, we went to
the art museum. I usually prefer to go alone for a variety of reasons, but with
Philipp the art museum felt like a different place. He had somehow joined my
inner dialogue and brought it out. We joked and laughed and discussed what we
saw. He helped me see things that I had not seen on my previous visit to the
Busan Bienniale. My personal favorite was his interpretation of a work he
nicknamed “CCTV”. The first time I had seen this work of art, I did not know
what to make of it. I looked at the grid, the yellow arrows, the brown squiggly
lines, the gray circles, and then made a connection between the marks in the
grid and the “key” to the artwork below. I made a connection, but I could not
jump to a story or an interpretation. The work of art did not stick with me.
This second time around was different.
Philipp looked at it for
a minute, and then said, “Ok. Should I go first or you?” I told him to go
ahead.
“So, this artwork is about monitoring, about America
monitoring terrorism. These are cameras, and that is the headquarters. Each
time a beard [brown, horizontal zigzag line] is found, a record is made, and
that person is watched.”
He went on describing
his interpretation of what the grid and organizational chart meant. He had a
description and connection for each element of the artwork, and I was
impressed. He noticed parts of the artwork I had missed and his story made this
artwork come alive. With his description, the art became a dynamic, memorable
work of art with a story and direction. I appreciated his ability to help me
see something I had not seen before.
--written in November 2014 about October 8, 2014.
--written in November 2014 about October 8, 2014.
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