Those of us who came to lunch in the Sport Ute left early for Shin Hyunchul’s house. Either Mrs. Chung or I was going to demonstrate the tea ceremony, which would take time to set up.

Shin Hyunchul is a famous ceramic artist in Korea. I was excited to meet him because Mrs. Chung has quite a bit of his work in her home and it is some of the most beautiful art I’ve ever seen. His tea sets are especially beautiful.

When we pulled up, Mr. Shin stood directing a batch of students who appeared to be moving a log. He was wearing modern hanbok (new version of the Korean traditional clothing), and his long hair was tied in a small knot on the very crown of his head just like Korean men did 100 years ago. The best part was his black beard that was left to grow wild, as if he thought his facial hair had equal rights which would’ve been violated if even just one hair was cut off. He looked just like those guys in the period drama series on Korean TV, only there was no glue stuck to his face.

Immediately, I noticed that one of his students was White, around the same age as me. What the hell? (That must be what people think when they see me.) We introduced ourselves and the words just poured forth. I didn’t even have to think them, they just came; and it felt good. I realized how much class, culture, and language inefficiency really do contribute to communication problems. I’ve come to expect very little talking from myself and I’ve lost some confidence in my ability to articulate what I mean. Maybe all is not lost; maybe when those handicaps are removed, I am still normal.

I found out that Dustin, from Utah, came to Korea to study ceramics from Mr. Shin. Wow. Turns out he is living in Seoul these days studying Korean, probably to help him understand what he is supposed to be learning from Mr. Shin. He agreed to meet with me one day and share some of what he is learning. I can’t wait to dig in. I left him to his log hauling and went inside the smurf house.

And I couldn’t believe it: Large, high ceilinged rooms covered top to bottom in flecked rice paper. Pillows for sitting were arranged in neat rows behind long low tables made from an old roof beam, or an old log cut in two that was once used for pounding rice into dokk, (rice cake). Antique chests and tables sat against the walls. And everywhere were displayed examples of Mr. Shin’s work. I was alone in the room, in the quiet. Mrs. Chung had gone in back to change into hanbok (traditional dress) and Mr. Shin’s wife was preparing stuff in the kitchen. I walked around looking at each piece, feeling them all. The textures and shapes of his work speak directly to me: I just want to sit and study the way light reflects off the glazed contour of a tall thin pot, or run my hand the length of a bowl just to feel the curve reflected in my fingertips. His tea sets are among the most special because when your hand grasps the tea pot or serving bowl, it simply feels like it belongs in your hand; you can feel the artist’s fingers just under yours.

The ruckus of the group’s entrance into the house carried in Mr. Shin too, in its momentum. He sat down in front of the low logs-as-tables, at the head of a tea set arranged on a thick metal plate with holes in it that set nicely inside the rim of an extremely large bowl with a wavy lip. It could’ve been a huge flower and the bowl was very typical of Mr. Shin’s style. He served us nokch’a (green tea). His technique was much more informal than what I’m learning and I like it better. Though, you really need to have a big bowl to pull it off. Instead of pouring hot water into the tea pot and each tea cup to heat them, he carelessly ladled hot water over the whole arrangement, the excess running onto the metal plate, through the holes in it, and into the big bowl. He was not careful in the least and I thought that this casualness facilitated the social comfort. What I am learning is very rigid and quiet and is intended for those who must sit straight, bow only from the waist, and try at all costs not to move their heads: it is for nobility. But Mr. Shin, he was like the respected villager inviting friends into his home and showing us a great conversation. The tea flowed over the cups like words between us. The cups are small, so the tea was served anew every few minutes. With each steeping the leaves effuse a slightly different flavor, noticeable mostly in its strength. So it was, each round, with the atmosphere of the room. At lunch, the feeling was stuffy and haughty, but here on the floor with the tea flowing endlessly, the women loosened up and chatted, some even cackling with laughter. At the helm, literally fueling our ascension into a more comfortable and familiar place, sat Mr. Shin quietly brewing tea.

I think that full beards, in obscuring other features, frame the eyes. I guess his eyes seemed the most salient feature of his face, and they were saying the whole time that he is a man at peace. Other things, like his posture or the way he handled a tea cup, also suggested his knowledge of tranquillity. But mostly, when he spoke I noticed how gentle his voice sounded and at first I thought it was just nice and didn’t notice that his voice was the first Korean male voice I’ve heard that carried such gentleness.

The playing field between the group and me was leveled a bit. See, I know more about tea than even some of those older Korean women. I could do the better job and I was the one they had to watch to learn from. When Mrs. Chung - not me - demonstrated the ceremony for malch’a (green tea made from leaves that have been ground into powder), I was surprised at how many of the women didn’t know they were supposed to drink from the bowl, or even how to drink from it. It felt good, maybe even vindicating.

Time to go, time to make purchases. And purchase I did. If you saw how small the pieces and how large the price, you’d think I was nuts, but I can’t pass up things that grab me like that. I didn’t have any money (remember) so I bought them on faith because I’m a friend of Mrs. Chung, who is a good friend of Mr. Shin. At any rate, even if I’d had money with me, I wouldn’t have had enough to pay them.

Well, I thought we were leaving, but as the last of the group put on their shoes, Mrs. Chung told me to sit and relax, we were staying awhile. Two other women from the group stayed too and pretty soon Mr. Shin came back in from saying goodbyes. We drank tea again. This time it was a special tea called Boeech’a. It was as dark as black coffee with a strong flavor that seemed kind of like bark. The leaves come from China pressed into large three dimensional mushroom shapes. We drank until all the cookies and snacks were gone from the little plates dispersed around the room, each of us stopping by the toilet before heading to the car.

It was late afternoon, but Mrs. Chung and Mr. Lee wanted to visit another artist, who is a friend of Mr. Lee’s, in the nearby town of Yoju.

"Do you have time?"
"Sure."

What a stark contrast. The artist and his wife live in a small addition to a metal warehouse among a colony of such structures inhabited by artists. The couple is young and I learned that they have lost a lot of money in the economic depression and are having to move to a smaller location. Their work is nice, but not unique. I wasn’t interested in their pieces because of this and also because I had just spent a lot more than what I think is reasonable for painted, cooked dirt. Still, their pieces were nice and I felt bad visiting and not buying: It’s not polite. But I had no money! The pressure was excruciating for awhile, as Mrs. Chung and Mr. Lee told of the couple’s situation and then urged me to pick a piece I liked. I guess maybe they didn’t understand the financial situation I was in, having nearly bankrupted myself at Mr. Shin's house. I don’t know. I got a little angry at them. But I still felt really bad for this young couple trying to eke out a living. And I have such respect for them, both being artists and trying to earn a living doing what they love. I noticed that much of the pottery in Mrs. Chung’s house comes from their shop, and while we were there, she bought yet another big bowl which she said she would give away as a gift. It was obvious to me that she is trying to help them out.

Well, the prices were rock bottom and the couple so generous to me - they gave me a ramen bowl as a gift - that I couldn’t leave without buying something. I chose an elegant and inexpensive plain white pot with lid, a style very popular in the last dynasty. Who knew? Mrs. Chung I think, believes I am yangban (noble) at heart. She says my taste in pottery is the same, my language too, and that I’m very polite. Every new person to whom I am introduced hears from her the story of my saying "I'm sorry." It is her story of me to tell and it makes me feel like I’m her daughter and she’s proud of me.

I wish I could visit the young couple more often, bringing people with me who would buy. But they live so far away amidst so many other generic looking warehouses that I can only visit them if Mrs. Chung goes too - and if Mr. Lee drives.

Apparently the male half of the couple likes painting nudes, which seems strange because nudes seem like something almost absent from Korean art (that I've seen) - unless they’re seriously abstract. There were a couple of pots with nude women glazed onto them, all of them were contorted along with the curve of the piece so that I kind of wanted to turn my head to figure out what each woman was doing. He was working on one where the woman was sitting upright, her legs spread wide and flipped up behind her, beyond her head. Her hands held a black round object that obscured her vulva nearly, but there was still a bright red triangle revealing what one would instinctively peer under to try and see. Mrs. Chung, embarrassed but giggling a little slyly said, "What is that thing she’s holding?" Maybe it was a mirror? I don’t know, they didn’t translate for me. Many of them had voluptuous round hips and bulging breasts with pointy nipples. I thought: he’s not painting Korean women (at least not the modern ones).

Finally on the road home. What a day! What loot. I thanked Mrs. Chung for one of my best experiences in Korea. I feel so glad to know her.

"I had a great time today."