Tuesday, September 24, 2013

JOURNAL #2

PROMPT: [The significance of the aging portrait of Dorian. How does it relate to the theme of aesthetics? Also, how does the portrait show Wilde's view on the relationship of art/artist and morality?]


    Eternal youth and innocence. These two fascinating words-in many ways portraying very similar symbols and nuance-have captivated people regardless of time and place. Many who were enthralled by the concept, including Emperor Shi Huangdi from Qin dynasty of the ancient China and Juan Ponce de Leon, set out ridiculously lengthy journeys to defy the natural flow of time. Similar line of captivation can be found not only in the lives of historical figures, but also in literature: Oscar Wilde’s masterpiece which was heavily influenced by the Aesthetics movement. In the novel, a beautiful young man named Dorian Gray succeeds in getting both, or at least superficially; he himself does not age or decay, but a fine-looking portrait of him gets old and deformed instead. Every time he does something morally unacceptable, his portrait self takes the blame instead. Such radical demolition of the boundary between real-life and artistry is of huge significance.
     Art is a mirror of one’s life for both Dorian and Lord Henry. They even happily take the extreme stance of considering their lives as pieces of art, which basically illustrates the Aesthetics attitude of life. Such attitude is well reflected in the magical switch of Dorian’s life and his image. The young one is so obsessed with total appreciation of the arts is that he even views his own life as an on-going work of art, and thus blurs the boundary between artist’s life and the artwork. Fascinating and sweet it may sound, but the having such extreme attitude is a violation of an important axiom in the preface: “It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.” Dorian violates this warning that artists should not reveal themselves in their artwork; he not only puts much of himself into his work, but also becomes a part of it by treating his life as a dramatic work of art. For that misdemeanor, Dorian later gets punished: He not able to atone for his sins and is finally left with no other choice than to kill his own soul-by stabbing the demoralized self in the portrait.


     From the crippled misbehaviors of Dorian, the author Oscar Wilde poses a debatable question: Can morality be violated for artistic causes? Generally, moral standards have to be kept no matter what because doing so is a respectable sign of being human. However, the field of arts, considered largely individual and distant from other values in life, may be the only exception in the aforementioned generalization. In other words, artists sometime brazenly defy moral standards of society. Dorian, too, considers his work of art-his Hyde self-first priority in front of all other societal virtues and morality. He sometimes even seems to be glad at his despicable deeds mainly because his artistic representation takes all the blame. Nevertheless, Wilde never gives up hope in regard to human conscience. All the time Dorian committed hideous actions and never seemed to feel guilty, his sense of guilt had been reflected in the painting-his hidden Jekyll inner side. At the denouement, Dorian tries to atone for his sins by stabbing the image in the portrait and eventually pays for them through his death.


     The magical yet cursed portrait is perhaps the most important ‘character’ in the novel, maybe even more significant than Dorian himself. The two personas of Dorian that appear in the story, as I have referenced earlier, are Dorian himself and the portrait. Surprisingly, there is quite amazing similarity between the relationship of the two personas of Dorian and that of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: the real-life Dorian similar to Mr. Hyde, and Dorian’s portrait to Dr. Jekyll. The irony here is that the beautiful Dorian whose eternal youth is guaranteed is in fact the demonic self of a man, and the ugly and deformed portrait is actually the good-hearted self, for the image feels guilty and is aware of Dorian’s wrongdoings as is reflected in the deformation. All in all, the two seemingly incompatible concepts-eternal beauty and hideous deeds-aptly portray Wilde’s views on the relationship of art and morality based on the theme of Aestheticism through the discrepant yet reciprocal personas of real Dorian and the portrait. 

Nowhere Man



<please read with music, if you really want to go deep into Wang Jing's feelings>

  ‘Aika….she’s kind of pretty: Her long blonde hair, beautiful emerald eyes, and all that. Right! Her voice! So low, smooth, and soothing. It’d be awfully nice to marry her. She’ll softly whisper the word ‘love’ every morning in my ears with that marvelous voice of hers. Oh, isn’t that nice! But then again, she’s too plain in some ways. I mean, she’s just one of the many beautiful girls you can meet in the streets of here in Falls Church, Virginia. Nothing REALLY attractive about her, if you actually think about it…’

“Ghhh~~”

  With a loud burp, Wang Jing closed the Facebook screen. For the 19-year-old chemistry geek, Facebook stalking was the only hobby that fascinated him in times when he was alone and tired of taking wild guesses about how many molecules there would be in the entire universe. In such times, he usually visited his friends’ Facebook walls-mostly that of girls-and imagined strange things such as marriage, stage of ennui, and other numerous fantasized behaviors of ‘to-become-girlfriends’.

“It seems like old Wang Jing is facebooking again!”

“What is he up to anyways? Sometimes his abrupt weirdness frightens me like hell.”

“The excessive stalking is not the only problem. Have you guys heard him burp out really loud? I’d really love to find out what the hell goes on under that thick throat of his.”

“Guys, hush! He’s coming!”

“Wh, what are you ladies talking about?”, asked Wang Jing, as he approached the group of girls in his class.

“Nothing! Haha, it’s been some time we’ve had the opportunity to talk to you in person.”, Gloria, a close friend of Aika, answered with a stiff, feigned smile.

“Come one, girls. I heard at least something about me. I heard one of you say out my name during the conversation. By the looks of it, probably wasn’t such a nice thing about me, was it?”

“Hey, now Wang Jing…don’t be so defeatist, you know”

“Defeatist? A, are you guys kid, kidding me or what? I demand that I know the exact content of your conversation. I’m not asking you to explicate on the hexagonal structure of water-hydrogen bonding or something. It’s much simpler than explaining such phenomenon.”

“Here we go again. Another exciting daily chemistry lecture in every day conversation given by Professor Wang Jing. Everybody pay attention!”

“Don’t you dare mock me, you little..”

“Ghhhhhhh~”

  Wang Jing’s loud burp put an end to the hostile talk between him and Gloria. The girls went away with a contemptuous laughter at poor Wang Jing, and Wang Jing feebly walked back home, with the ridiculously thick chemistry textbook-Chemistry: Matter and Change-in his hands, as always.

  As he thought about the bonding angles of various substances, Wang Jing suddenly became overwhelmed by the feeling of dismay: ‘Why am I so terrible when it comes to talking with others? Especially girls, I think. Even today, that was Gloria, one of Aika’s close friends. Wang Jing spent the whole afternoon pondering upon his inability to converse with others in a friendly manner. He’d been in numerous quarrels before-he was somewhat of a hothead even though calm in most times-but to his surprise, the one he had that day made him feel depressed. All his confidence in his own brilliance, super-enthusiasm in chemistry, condescending manner were gone; instead, his mind was filled with worries for the future about his relationships with friends. He couldn’t concentrate on what he was studying. 
  Late at night, Wang Jing repeatedly wrote and erased chemical reaction equations in his notebook, kept his eyes on the brooding night sky, and murmured lonely lyrics of Deng Li Jun’s sad songs. Through the subtly cracked windows, he looked up at the brightly twinkling stars of the Virginia sky, ruminating on where he would fit in the diverse, multi-colored world. From the delineation of the stars, he could see Aika’s face: she was smiling at first with her beautiful emerald eyes gently twinkling at him. Then, in the blink of an eye, she stared at him patronizingly with her charming lips whispering esoteric chemistry-related terminologies. Bewitched by the two discrepant images of Aika up in the sky, Wang Jing drank in the night-scenery. Silently and smoothly, he sang a song of the Beatles with the mind of a drifter in this world.


“He’s a real nowhere man, sitting in a nowhere land, making all his nowhere plans for nobody…”

Monday, September 2, 2013

The Eyes I Can Never Forget...

This summer, I had a chance to go to Yanbian as an academic trip with three of my hubaes. We had decided to research the play culture in Yanbian; since it is a place to which many ancestors of today's Koreans moved either for better life or more active independence movement under the suppressing Japanese rule, we decided that it would be the perfect place to study the evolutionary stages of Korean culture focused on gaming. Because of such sad reminders of Korea's sorrowful days of suffer, Manchuria, a region in which Yanbian is included, has been the topic of numerous Korean literature pertaining to the mournful stories of deep resentment and longing for old homelands. In Yanbian, we saw many historical sites and meaningful places such as the Duman River, Changbai Mountain, etc. as expected. And we did feel some sudden burst in our emotions regarding historical consciousness as we visited many of places figuratively filled with “tears” of our ancestors. However, there was something else other than such historical sites in Yanbian that gave me a shocking emotional burst. It was meeting with a North Korean for the first time in my life.
On the second day of our travel, our guide suggested that we go to a North Korean restaurant where we probably would experience many surprising things. Although the dinner at the LyuGyung restaurant was not originally planned, we decided to go since we were all curious about North Korean style restaurant. We had already watched some North Korean TV shows and newscasts on the first night inside the hotel, but we never had any real-life encountering with an actual North Korean. Both thrilled and somewhat anxious, we entered the restaurant with shiny neon signs.
Inside, the lights were similar to those of bars or clubs; they were a bit gloomy, but not really gothic or frightening. The waitresses, who were really young-all of them probably in their 20s- and beautiful, said hello as we entered in a feigned cheerful tone. They were so defeatist and were making all kinds of feigned welcomes(although many working at restaurants usually do so) that I felt as if I was in a position where I sort of “bought” the waitress’s fake kindness. They served food with a timid North Korean accent. What I noticed to be strange was the atmosphere of rigidity. My companions and I had only spent a little more than half an hour, but we could all feel the awkward sense of stiffness in the waitress’s manners and speech.
Just as we were almost done with our dishes, the lights changed and the ‘Peabada’(‘Blood ocean’ in Korean) concerts started. Our guide told us that the frightening name ‘Peabada’ was the name of this musical group and that the waitresses-who were also performers-were mostly daughters of high-ranking officials in North Korea. We couldn’t figure out why the daughters of high-ranking officials would come to Yanbian instead of living in their homeland, but we could guess that whatever the actual reason was, it was not entirely from their free will. In the acoustic “concert”, members of the Peabada group sang songs and played the piano, guitar, and Gayagum. The lyrics of the songs were all propagandist-praising of the Kim dynasty through excessive flattery.


a group photo with the young waitress whose eyes exhibited
complex feelings of sorrow that more than moved our hearts.
 





























Other than the conformity issue, there was something else that truly caught our attention. It was their melancholy eyes which could never be belied even with their “smiley” faces. Even though they were grinning and delightful on the stage, their eyes were filled with sorrow. I was amazed at how profound I could feel by simply looking at someone’s eyes. When I looked into one of the waitress’s eyes, I swear I saw with my heart a silent yet loud SOS. From those eyes, I-for the first time in my life-deeply pondered about the whole division issue of our nation. Last semester, I spent a long time thinking about North Korean issues to write an essay about them, but I never felt empathic at all. North Korea was a place so distanced away that separated families and Gaeseong industrial complex were none of my problem. Now that I have actually met a North Korean in person, I am shameful of my past indifference. I don’t think I could ever forget the sorrow in those eyes. Because of those eyes, North Korea will be a place with much more spirit and value than the mere object of ideological disparity and emotional wound from the war long ago.