Shine Myong-ok Shin, Vessels, copper, enamel, decal, 2003

The exhibition title Moon-Yang by Korean born Melbourne metalsmith, Shine Myong-ok Shin, is followed by its loose translation in English, Imagery and Motif.  However, as the brief summary at the top of the list of works on show at Fitzroy’s Studio Ingot states, ‘Moon-Yang is the Korean description for pattern,but its implications reach beyond a Western understanding of the word.’  If patterning is about the decoration of surface and, over time, surfaces are layered, then the Koreans, with their 5000 years of civilization and craft tradition, inevitably have a deep stratum of patterns to mine. Shin brings a great deal of this history back to the surface in this exhibition, but whether the meanings of these patterns then take us deeper again is another question.

In Moon-Yang Shin uses patterns and designs from Korean cloth, paintings, temple architecture and nature to embellish her 105 works in brass, copper and silver.  The pieces range from teapots, cups and caddies, shallow bowls, deep containers, spoons, paper knives to jewellery such as brooches, pendants, cufflinks, rings and earrings.  The methods she employs to construct these pieces include casting, soldering and stitching the sides of sheet metal with silk thread.  The surfaces are decorated using enamel, cloisonné, decal transfers, photo-etching and roll-pressing and many of these techniques have been refined by Shin from other art forms such as ceramics and photography to adapt to metal. Her curious and strikingly innovative experimentation has been much admired by specialists and, technically, her work is as fine as it is varied. At first glance Moon-Yang appears more like a group show of five artists than a body of work made by one person in a year and proves that the hand-made can give the mass-produced a run for its money.

In fact Shin is quite interested in this dichotomy and emphasises the uselessness of most of her works though their construction or size.  Eighty of the vessels are bowls so small and so shallow that they’d only accommodate a spoonful of salt or a pair of earrings if they were to be employed within a household. Such contents would interfere with their exquisite patterning anyway. The teapot, stitched at the base and sides, would never hold water and, even if it could, would poison the sipper through the infusion of the brew by its oxidised surfaces.  Shin dismisses such practicalities with a wave to the two-dollar shop where perfectly good ceramic pots can be purchased for mere drinking.  The Korean tea ceremony, Panyaro, like that of the Japanese, is highly ritualistic and refined and is as much about demonstrating devotion to the gods or one’s ancestors as it is about refreshment. Shin’s set, left on the shelf for contemplation, emphasizes its spiritual purpose over the physical.

Also designed for contemplation, though not in any spiritual sense, are the rich decorations which adorn all of these works.  Photo-etched and roll-pressedtext appears on nearly all of the surfaces in both Korean and English. To an English speaking audience the Korean text appears as decorative as the English text would to a Korean monoglot. However, as only fragments of text are used, there is not too much real reading to be done except to note that the English text is taken from books or articles about Australian flora and fauna.  The Korean text, more complicatedly, is taken from two sources: one about patterning and the other from the Hunmin Chong-um, the first book in Korea to use the phonetic alphabet devised by King Sejong in the fifteenth century. Prior to that Korean scholars learnt Chinese characters and ordinary Koreans were illiterate, so this alphabet has real political meaning in Korea and is proudly held up as a symbol of their early social advancement.

The imagery on the works also reflects these sources.  Shin plays with cliché using traditional and ancient drawings from seventeenth-centuryKorean scroll paintings depicting daily life. Fragments of pictures of women washing and serving drinks have been excised from larger scenes and made into decals then transferred onto enamel brooches and bowls. These would be recognised by Korean audiences as classic Koreana, just as the sprigs of wattle and Sturt’s pea, koalas, vegemite jars and coats of arms adorning other pieces shout nationalist jingoism to a Australian audience.  The Australian clichés Shin uses begin with Federation Australiana and extend to sources throughout the twentieth century.  She uses, among other emblems, a kangaroo holding a Coronation shields, a chesty-bond man bursting from his singlet and a smoking stockman holding aloft whatever brand of sauce or furniture polish he chose to endorse at the time.

Shin could perhaps be criticised for sticking only to the published books of well-loved logos and designs.  Apart from one stylised kangaroo in a triangle of green which still hangs from Australian-made products today, there is not much evidence of the contemporary logo and one could argue that, as an artist born elsewhere, she shouldbe in as good a position to spot a contemporary Australian cliché as anyone.

The loudest and brightest of these emblems jar with the delicately etched cherry blossoms (often appearing on the reverse of the same pieces) but their juxtaposition at least alerts us to Shin’s awareness that her Korean motifs are just as overused in her homeland.  Whether she intends this as real critique or actually enjoys the comparison of seventeenth-century Koreana and twentieth-century Australiana, times when each country may be viewed at high points in their cultural histories (?!), it is difficult to see. The pieces are too lovingly made to constitute sharp social comment but, at their worst, their refinement reminds one of high-class souvenir frippery. At their best they are a bizarre pairing of the crass and the cultured.  If these were mass-produced they would be collected as kitsch portrayals of a mad propagandist’s view of the celebratory marriage of cultures which in fact have only very recently begun to exchange polite compliments.

The lidded containers, Yun-Inn (lovers) Arrangement in Black and White and Kangaroo Tea Caddy, are examples of the hand-made taken to extreme.Like nearly all of the pieces in the exhibition these have been made using several complicated processes at once and include finishes of exquisite detail on both the seen and the unseen surfaces.  Each of these containers is made of enamelled copper, the first with white text on black and the second, black text on white.  The fragments of writing refer again to the Hunmin Chong-um (Korean first book) and to Banksia flowers. Both works are sewn together at the sides and Yun-Inn (lovers) has a handle made from copper enamelled with a red floral pattern on the outside and etched with Korean text underneath as well as a small enamelled square stitched to the lid reproducing an ancient picture of lovers meeting illicitly prior to marriage.  (I labour over this description to do justice to the work.)

Additionally, each container is decorated inside with cherry blossoms and translucent blue enamel although this is not visible when the lids are on and the works are displayed in locked cases.  Sarah Ross, Studio Ingot’s co-director is happy to open the cases, however, and speaks expansively about the work and the processes used to make it. The text is applied as a decal transfer made by Shin on the computer and is submerged just below the surface of the glass enamel as it is quickly fired. Ross explains that the difficulty of enamelling in white is due to the risk posed by stray particles of oxidised copper if they happen to land on the work during the firing. However, there are no black marks here — the surfaces are flawless and a testimony to the maker’s skill. In fact the text is so clear and legible it is difficult to tellwithout handling the work that they are not made from printed cards sewn together. If they had been made of paper or card the effect would be no different. Ross reports that fellow enamellers look upon these works with awe but, being situated in Brunswick Street, she also encounters many lay people who cannot quite grasp the point of the hand-made in this mass-produced world.  It is the eternal dilemma faced by every maker today and Shin’s work is a shining champion of technique and labour.

One final body of work includes necklaces and earrings made from cast silver inlaid with red and black cloisonné enamel. In their abstract patterning and chunky 50s style these pieces are strikingly different from the decorative Koreana/Australiana works.  They make no social comment on the cultures of Shin’s adopted or native homelands but do hark back to an international style made timeless now through eternal resurrection.  Like all the works in Moon-Yang these pieces are flawless; however, their mere presence detracts from the other works by their comparative cool stylishness.  They demonstrate Shin’s mastery of yet another laborious technique but diminish any intended exploration of cultural difference and identity in the show overall.  Moon-Yang is truly about surface in the end, just as its title tells us from the beginning.