Seeking the Intangible: Red Sandalwood Cabinetmaker, Cho Ki-jong

  After a short greeting, he led his visitors into a rather desolate-looking building where small and large dusty pieces of wood were piled on top of each other up to the high ceiling.  The carpenter stopped in front of the pile and, pointing at what seemed to me to be the same wood pieces, cheerfully began to explain what kind of wood they were, where they had come from, and how long they had been stored there. Some of the tree names sounded familiar, while some sounded exotic; some of the wood pieces were from Korea and others were from abroad; some of the wood had been stored for a couple of years, but in most cases at least a couple of decades. 

  He then led the visitors into his chilly studio: chilly because of the cold air and lack of any heating system, and “chilling” because of all the sorts of glittering tools that filled two walls of the studio. The smooth wooden handles and shortened sharp points and edges of his tools showed how long he had used them and how well he had kept them. Indeed, he loved these tools that he made himself so much that he had refused proposals that guaranteed the creation of a museum dedicated to just his tools, if he donated them. It was just too difficult for him to part from his own handmade tools that he had used for more than 30 years. Showing us a saw which he had made with Swiss steel long ago and now reduced to 1/3 of its original width because of constant whetting, the carpenter said he felt much more comfortable with his own tools than the other world famous tools he had in his studio. 

  Talking about the origin of the trees in his courtyard, the carpenter guided us to a room filled with his work. Amongst small and large pieces of furniture that shown in red hues, a pale monotonous picture frame stood out. It was a product of one of the most expensive frame companies in the world. According to the carpenter, however, the technique used in the mass-production of this frame was so simple that he could hardly respect the work. For a master of carpentry, who puts pieces of wood together without using a single nail or adhesive, the glued French frame was a trick rather than a skill. True carpentry, for him, means several decades of time to mature the wood, at least a decade of time to learn how to make and keep tools, a long period of time to learn and master the 21 traditional carpentry techniques, and a life-long period of time for further studying and training. Machines, indeed, cannot perform traditional carpentry techniques, and are not as precise as the skilled master’s handwork, he said. It is true that he cannot mass-produce his furniture, but each work has its own unique and original value, and this is one of the reasons why people cherish the traditional, according to him. I also noticed that each piece of furniture in the room was different in size and design, but I could not imagine how much of his time and energy went into each work.

  After the tour around his studio and exhibition room, we sat around a little table and drank ginger tea in his simple den. The shiny, sturdy-looking little table was also his work, from 20 years ago. Sitting face to face now, I recognized that he blinked his right eye much more frequently than the other one. From concentrating on the details of his work without taking a rest caused certain problems in the eye. According to his doctor, the problem can be cured if he only takes a break from his work. Surely he does not want to lose his sight either, but a break from his work would cause him even more stress and anxiety, said the carpenter. When he travels abroad for a couple of weeks, or even when he meets his old friends he hasn’t seen for a long time and has a quick drink together, he soon grows anxious because of missing his work at his studio. 

  Wherever he is, his mind is full of different designs and plans for future works. He spread before me several books of his own drawings of traditional patterns that he found on old temples and buildings and showed me some of his own designs for hinges for furniture. He has never received any formal education in drawing, but practiced sketching by himself in order to preserve the traditional patterns he discovers around the country and uses to create his own designs. With the pile of wood maturing in his storeroom, his old tools and his books of designs, he said, he could easily continue his work for the next two to three hundred years.     

  It touched me to think that he cannot live forever and will not be able to complete all his planned designs. He seemed to take profound interest in every careful step in the creative cycle, from preparing the wood, to designing and completing the work, to selling the finished product in order to fund the next work, all without an assistant or even a student helper. I asked him whether he had ever had any student, and, if not, why not. When he was designated as an Intangible Cultural Property, some students came to learn carpentry from him. The students, however, left him one by one, as they could not stand the hard work and the poor conditions of a traditional carpenter. 

  He compared carpentry to poetry: as it takes decades of study and practice for a poet to write a good poem, a good carpenter is likewise not made over a night and trainees basically cannot make a living before they gain some fame. With the current governmental policies supporting the Intangible Cultural Properties, however, it is impossible to support his own family, let alone students. Faced with this situation, he himself tried to improve conditions for the traditional technicians, making appeals to the government and other relevant organizations, but received almost no positive response and often much condemnation. After years of fruitless appeals, he had to give up on certain things, and is now putting his efforts into creating a record of traditional carpentry techniques and specific works. Knowing that he might well be the last carpenter equipped with all the traditional carpentry techniques, he seemed desperately trying to preserve the tradition in the books he had written and is writing now.

  Leaving his work place, I could see him standing alone in the rear mirror of my car.  My mind was stirred with the different feelings and impressions he had left me with. He was a proud artist, with great passion and creativity; he was a noble master with a life devoted to the tradition of carpentry; and he was also a lonely “Intangible Cultural Property” of South Korea.  What stirred me the most was the fact that he was alone, and I do not know how to save him from becoming so “intangible” that he is completely lost to us.