Very green: Noh Seok Mee
Distant Mountain
Through a large south-facing window, I can see fields, rice paddies, houses, and beyond them, a distant mountain. From where I live (since the universe sometimes seems to revolve around me), there are mountains all around, but to the south, the mountain stretches far into the distance. It is a small, rounded, modest mountain, not striking like Seoraksan in Gangwon Province. Sometimes that humble mountain looks to me like freshly baked bread. Here, I’ve made several paintings titled 멀리 있는 산 (Distant Mountain)
Window
On a stormy night, I slept very deeply. I must have been very tired recently. By morning, the chaos of the night had vanished, and calm arrived at the window. What survived that restless night? While I lay in the safety of my square little box, in a cozy bed, mouth open, drooling, and deep in sleep, there must have been things cruelly trampled by the storm. They may have fought with all their strength until the very end, perhaps given up what was most precious. I think of what might have disappeared overnight. To be alive is to feel my own breathing, to sense a slight unease.
When I open the window, a breeze drifts inside. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to live within nature, like so many others, and like the images I once dreamed of. Growing up on the outskirts of Seoul, inside my square box, I knew wild animals, insects, mountains, fields, flowers, trees, grass, dew, and stars only from books. As an adult, I traveled. I took buses out of the city just to see green, rode trains to the sea, flew to distant horizons, saw snowy mountains, deserts, the Indian Ocean. I marveled at the eyes of foreigners, the textures of different skin, and the many ways of life.
Now, standing by a river, I observe that the water that flowed earlier is no longer here, and I realise that each moment is replaced by another. The present, which will soon be the past, reminds me of the hopes I once held. I look out from a house with walls and a roof to shelter me from rain, snow, and wind, through a modest square window. A small bird flies from one tree to another. Outside the window is nature, always strange, never mine, always mysterious. There is green, and it breathes.
Very Green.
When I have time, I sometimes leave early in the morning and drive all the way to the East Sea, take a full look at the ocean, and return. But when I only have a short while, I head somewhere not far from home. Sometimes a friend comes along, but often I go alone. Living at the eastern edge of Yangpeyong in Gyeonggi Province, Gangwon-do isn’t far. Friends visiting often tease me: “Where is this? Gyeonggi? Just say Gangwon!”.
Being near the border between Gyeonggi and Gangwon means there are many mountains. There are the small, rounded, gentle mountains of Gyeonggi, and the tall, sharp, and commanding peaks of Gangwon, with mountains somewhere in between. My drives usually take me along the narrow local roads winding through these mountains. I pass mountains, rice fields, farms, small streams, slightly larger rivers, and scattered houses. The combinations are everywhere but never exactly the same. Each season changes them, each weather, each mood. The scenery never gets boring.
I often stop in a suitable place and step into the landscape, or simply stand quietly beside it. It is here that I began painting mountains. I’ve always wanted to, and one day I realize I am doing it.. Every season; spring, summer, fall, winter, has its own unique beauty. Especially in summer, driving along mountain roads, it feels as if a vast, solid green is falling straight onto me. Very green. The thrill is immense.
There are few people along these roads. The border regions of provinces tend to be like this: rugged terrain, far from central villages where people gather. People feel rare, and the surrounding nature feels unspoiled. Yet even the human-shaped landscape nearby is beautiful: small houses, working farmers, barns, ginseng fields, corn and barley fields spread widely across the paddies, blending together. Small rivers and paths weave through it, forming the scenery. Occasionally, a small truck rattles past.
I try to fit this all neatly into the square frame I carry in my mind, but my world always feels a little humble in comparison
- Noh Seok Mee, 2017