Jung Jungho, Dragon’s Antler, 2025, Archival pigment print, 100 x 73.5 cm © Jung Jungho

Can words that have survived through endless circulation give birth to gods of their own? Do they wander about, possessed by divine inspiration? What sacred and mysterious power resides in the primordial origins of words? I have taken the words I wrote at the beginning of this essay and turned them into questions because they arose, to a considerable extent, from the photographs of Jung Jungho.

When I first entered the exhibition space and encountered his photographs, I sensed something slippery, closer to the scales of a fish than to a pattern. I even seemed to detect a faint fishy smell. The photographs, sparsely arranged at different heights along a long wall, appeared less like artworks than windows piercing the white surface and opening onto landscapes beyond reality. In other words, they were "tangible illusions" that broke free from their enclosing frames and made each scene feel vividly present.

Some words suppress the rumors surrounding them and acquire lives of their own, eventually finding places to settle. These words do not simply travel from mouth to mouth. Instead, they rush through our ears and awaken the gods residing deep within our minds. The countless sites associated with dragons across this land are also places where divine inspiration and spiritual presence have taken deep root.

Geomryongso, the source of the Namhan River, is one such place, as is Dumulmeori, where the Bukhan and Namhan Rivers converge. Dumulgyeong at Dumulmeori is a sacred site where divine spirits are summoned and born.

The artist set out to find the "dragon sites" of Yongam-dong in Sangdang-gu, Cheongju. Each of these places had taken root beyond the power of the rumors surrounding them. The visible forms of the landscape, the auspicious energies emanating from those forms, and the shadows flowing across the land by day and night were more powerful than the rumors themselves.

Yongam-dong is embraced by Uamsan, Mangsan, Sangdangsanseong Fortress, Seondosan, and Seondusan, arranged like a crane-wing military formation. Interestingly, an online search for this area brings up a popular hangover soup restaurant called "Legend of Bones." The legend of bones, indeed. Durubong Cave, which the artist visited, was also a site where bones had actually been discovered.

He traveled to places associated with dragons, including the large and small dragon caves, Dragon Rock, Guryongsa Temple, and Yongdam, encountering traces of legends that had been passed down through generations. The stories sometimes slipped and flowed away, but the scenes he captured through the pentaprism of his camera carried those narratives deep into the well. It was a realm that was simultaneously real, unreal, and surreal. Myths deeply rooted in reality shed their mythical shells and continued to exist as transparent, living presences.

In the "Gii" (Accounts of Marvels) section of 『Samguk Yusa』(Memorabilia of the Three Kingdoms), Iryeon wrote: "The sages of old established nations through rites and music and imparted teachings through benevolence and righteousness, without speaking of strange phenomena, extraordinary powers, disorder, or spirits.

Yet when a ruler was about to rise, he would respond to heavenly signs or receive prophetic records, and only after demonstrating qualities beyond those of ordinary people could he ride the tide of great change, seize a momentous opportunity, and accomplish great deeds." The expression "strange phenomena, extraordinary powers, disorder, and spirits" refers to the four categories of the uncanny (怪異), extraordinary strength (勇力), disorder (悖亂), and supernatural beings (鬼神).

Jung Jungho has been tracing the tangible manifestations of these mysterious forces. The fundamental essence of art may well lie in "creative sorcery." The reason so many places bear names associated with dragons is that people hoped to "ride the tide of great change, seize a momentous opportunity, and accomplish great deeds."

Such aspirations can be found in the legend of Dragon Rock, the mysteries of The Secret of Guryongsan, and the truth of Hole. He even discovered traces of the dragon in the dried, twisted scales of Pollack Head. People have always searched for dragons. In Korean, the dragon is called "mireu," a word that also evokes Maitreya, or Mireuk. In this context, his works may be understood as a journey in search of the manifestation of Mago-Maitreya.

It is said that more than ten caves disappeared between 1976 and 1983 as a result of limestone quarrying. Even now, in 2024, the city of Cheongju continues to erase not only caves but also countless traces of villages, people, and myths. Words are disappearing. Ancient layers of time are being erased. New urban narratives may grow in their place, but a city without a past may become a city of villains.

A city deprived of its own history will be left with nothing but empty shells. Confucius declared that he would not speak of strange phenomena, extraordinary powers, disorder, or spirits. Yet can such forces ever be absent from the lands where people live? We must bring words back to life. We must create and raise up human stories, allowing them to flow once again. We must allow surviving words to give birth to gods. We must let them wander, filled with divine inspiration. Only then might we, too, rise toward the heavens.

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