On the Gods of the Sea: Writing a History of the Weird and the Eerie
On the weird and the eerie, born of our fixation on the unfamiliar. Such a sensation arises when something exists in a place where nothing should be, or when nothing exists in a place where something should be.**
On the shaping of the dokkaebi, the faceless god of the sea. Dokkaebi-chambong, or Mulchambong, Kim Seobang, Yachae, Geumchae, Okchae, Yeonggamsin — all of these names refer to the dokkaebi, and it is said that fishing villages centered on the southwestern sea used to hold a folk ritual, Dokkaebi-gosa, offering rites to pray for a bountiful catch.
Although this tradition is now difficult to find, in an interview in May 2023 with Oh Chun-ok (shimbang and holder of Jeju Intangible Cultural Heritage No. 2, Yeonggam-nori, b. 1953) in Jeju, I was able to find traces of this figure in 'Yeonggam(-nori)' (yeonggam being the Jeju word for dokkaebi). I also came to learn that, besides Yeonggamsin, festivals for gods such as Yeongdeung Halmang, the god of wind, and the Dragon King god, are still held every year, like an ember that has not yet gone out.
On the deification of historical figures. Following Generals Im Gyeong-eop and Choe Yeong, General MacArthur, too, became a god, grounded in the regional and historical character of the West (Yellow) Sea.
The MacArthur shaman painting (musindo) was judged to be a counter-memory image created by the mansin Yi Jeong-ja, shaped by the absence of fathers caused by the Korean War, the era in which a U.S. military base stood in Incheon, and the erection of the MacArthur monument (1957). These images felt, to those who did not directly experience that era, like a medium connecting the past to the present.
On the phenomenon of Amabie (アマビエ), a god of the sea that resurfaced once again, in Japan. Amabie is a sea yokai with long hair and a beak, scales on its body, and three-forked legs; its presence was negligible before Covid-19, but it briefly and explosively emerged as a deity believed to protect people from the pandemic, before soon sinking back beneath the surface.
It is said to have been an image of a yokai drawn by people of the Edo period, carrying the earnest wish to protect their families from plague. I was able to find an answer to my questions about this phenomenon by interviewing the journalist Yamada Takako (director, citizen journalist, Incheon Honorary Citizen Diplomat, b. 1967).
On the various forms of fear that produce a sense of the eerie, and on whether the power of images created to resist fear still holds today: the image of Amabie, for a time, answered the demands of reality, playing a role of recovery and healing.
On Mazu, the sea god of Asia. My encounter with Mazu took place at Uiseondang (義善堂) in Incheon's Chinatown. At the altar of Uiseondang, Guanyin stood at the center, with Mazu and the Dragon King god's altar on either side. As the function of the place was lost, much as the coastline itself was losing its function, the past felt more vivid there than the present.
