Journal of Korean Art and Archaeology Vol.5
PUBLISH DATE
2011. 01.
pISSN
2577-9842
eISSN
2951-4983
INTRODUCE
- PORTRAITS OF THE JOSEON DYNASTY
- The new format allows each issue to devote plenty of space to a Special Feature on a single topic, in addition to Feature articles on other topics, and the occasional Collection article. The present volume focuses on Joseon Dynasty portraits, with four articles on different aspects of this important field. The late Professor Dietrich Seckel’s otherwise monumental study of East Asian portraiture, Das Porträt in Ostasien (3 vols., Heidelberg 2005), published when he was already 95, has scant material on Korea, so these articles are especially welcome. Between them, they cover all aspects of the production, display and, all too often, destruction of portraits, and their changing purposes over time. Foremost is Cho Insoo’s article on the production and enshrinement of Royal Portraiture: portraits of Joseon monarchs that were originally intended for display during court rituals. Of these, the most important was the portrait of the founder, King Taejo, displayed in a special royal portrait hall. Unlike in Western Asia and in Europe, where portraits of the monarch were familiar to everyone because his likeness was depicted on coinage, in Korea this was not the case, and the royal portraits were central to prescribed ceremonies and rituals to which ordinary people had no access. The author has investigated the checkered history of the royal portraits and the halls where they were displayed, noting the destructions during the Japanese and Manchu invasions, and the subsequent revival of the tradition after a century of disuse, following which the Joseon kings used royal portraiture to strengthen the power of the monarchy, often against strenuous opposition from the Confucian bureaucracy. Scholar-official portraiture, on the other hand, the subject of the second article, by Kang Kwanshik, was principally used in the early Joseon dynasty to recognize merit subjects, those who had done meritorious service for the state or the monarch. It is interesting to note, in the portrait of Shin Sukju, showing him around 1453 when he was in his mid-thirties, that the rank-badge appears to be embroidered directly on the robe, exactly like those worn by three leading Chinese officials in Xie Huan’s painting of Literary Gathering in the Apricot Garden of circa 1437 (former collection of Wango Weng, now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City). By the early seventeenth century, however, Korean portraits of literati had evolved a distinct style of their own, and featured carpets that in Ming China were the prerogative of imperial portraits alone. Following the example of Song Siyeol who wrote a self-deprecating inscription on his own portrait, balanced by a royal encomium, Joseon literati portraits came to have a commemorative role, and were displayed in shrines devoted to the memory of Confucian scholars, to encourage self–cultivation and reflection. The third article, by Lee Soomi, continues the theme of Joseon portraiture, but with especial regard to the actual manufacture of the portrait paintings, from initial sketches on paper to the finished work, and examining in particular the role of pigments applied to the back of the painting silk, in order to achieve a heightened opacity and depth of color. An understanding of the processes involved in the making of a portrait is not only intrinsically valuable, it is also useful in the evaluation of some of the actual portraits that are still extant, for example the unique and mesmerizing Self-Portrait of Yun Duseo, still in the collection of Nogudang, the Confucian shrine honoring the memory of Yun’s grandfather, which, although painted on paper rather than silk, also proves to have some coloring applied to the back. This article includes a series of illustrations of front and back, only feasible when the paper backings are removed during conservation and remounting, that show exactly what colors were applied on the back, and to which areas: generally pink for the facial features, and white for the beard or throat. Continuing the main theme, the fourth article, by Kwon Heangga, returns to royal portraiture, this time in the reign of King Gojong, in the late nineteenth century, when photography had already made a significant impact. Whereas very few portraits of earlier Joseon monarchs have survived the invasions and other trials of time, King Gojong’s portraits are quite numerous, and include photographs taken by western visitors, in particular Percival Lowell from America, who in 1884 was granted two audiences to photograph both the King and the Crown Prince. His carefully composed and extremely dignified photographs of King Gojong, both standing and seated in the Nongsujeong Pavilion inside the Changdeokgung Palace, with pine trees visible in the background, published in 1885 in his book, Chosön, Land of the Morning Calm, are a far cry from traditional royal portraiture, and show to what extent King Gojong was willing to engage with the outside world. While few examples remain of early Joseon portraiture and of royal portraiture in particular, two of the remaining four articles in this issue offer even greater challenges for their authors, in that material evidence is extremely scarce, or difficult to interpret, while the last deals with a very particular instance and a veritable superabundance of actual remains. The first of these, by Seong Chuntaek, examines the probable patterns of hunter-gatherer interactions in the Post-Glacial period of Korean prehistory, with the aid of comparisons with archaeological theory in other regions of the world. Most worthy of note is that at the period of maximum glaciation (Last Glacial Maximum, circa 12,000 BP) what is now the West or Yellow Sea was considerably narrower, and the sea passage between the Korean mainland and the archipelago of Japan was also very narrow, allowing for possible contacts across the straits. As the ice receded, the sea level rose, progressively widening the West (Yellow) Sea to its present extent, and distancing the Korean peninsula from Japan. The author suggests that the paucity of archaeological evidence from the post-glacial period may be the result of foraging bands having to search beyond their original areas as the land area in the south of the peninsula shrank from the rising sea level, together with concentrations of population in estuarine areas, leading to new patterns of exchange with neighboring groups. The second feature article, by Kim Jongil, on the archaeology of the Neolithic and Bronze Age of the Korean peninsula, also has to contend with a scarcity not so much of evidence, since in this case and especially in the Bronze Age there are plenty of finds, as of interpretation, due to the long-term domination of the field by mainly male archaeologists who have been slow to recognize or indeed to document at all the female perspective in the prehistory of Korea. As with the previous article, the author has taken full advantage of recent archaeological theories from other parts of the world, such as post-processual archaeology, and applied them to the archaeology of Korea, to suggest how one should interpret finds from burials of the Neolithic, when images of female figurines indicated that women and femininity were recognized as being of clear social value in the community, and of the Bronze Age, when there was a more significant assertion of masculinity, for example in burials with bronze weapons. Two articles are devoted to ceramics, both involving trade between the Korean peninsula and the Chinese mainland. The first, by Jang Namwon, is devoted to the question of ceramic exchanges between Korea and northern China during the first two centuries of the Goryeo dynasty, contemporary with the Liao and Jin dynasties on the mainland. Two arguments emerge from the discussion: firstly, that the early Goryeo kilns, by producing white wares as well as celadons at the same kilns near the Goryeo capital Gaegyeong, and by the adoption of a two-stage firing technique, bisque firing followed by glaze firing, were predominantly influenced by northern Chinese kilns, even if the structure of the kilns themselves, and some production methods, show evidence of southern Chinese practice. Numerous bowls show a broad flat ring-foot, typical of northern Chinese white wares such as Xing and Ding, which were at the height of their success. Secondly, some artifacts such as fragments of janggo (ceramic drum bodies) from at least two sites, show carving of designs either in the body or through black slip, that were then filled with white clay, while other vessels such as maebyeong were decorated with painted designs in iron oxide. These techniques parallel those found in northern Chinese wares, and demonstrate that the inlay technique was already being practiced in Korea in the tenth century, prior to its more common use in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The last article in this issue, by Lee Taehee, appearing under the heading Collection, is also devoted to ceramics, but in this case the artifacts under discussion are, with a handful of exceptions, all from China. They were discovered by accident by a fisherman in 1976 when pieces of ceramics surfaced in his fishing nets. Following eight years of underwater excavation, in eleven stages when the weather conditions permitted, and subsequent examination of the cargo, now housed in the National Museum of Korea, the heavily-laden vessel was determined to have set sail from the Chinese port of Ningbo, probably en route to Japan, in the summer of 1323, under the Yuan dynasty. Crucial evidence for the precise date was provided by inscribed wooden tags, some dated, many of them accompanying a consignment of twenty-seven tons of copper coins. Even this staggering quantity of valuable metal, however, must take second place to the well over 27,000 pieces of ceramics from the cargo, mainly Longquan celadons, but also from several other Chinese kilns, and including a couple of items of Japanese pottery, together with seven Korean celadons which must previously have been exported from Korea to China. It can truly be said that this amazing find has led to a great deal of research on the maritime trade of the time, as well as on the ceramics themselves. Among the items illustrated here, one should mention one of special significance: the oval porcelain dish with floral decoration in underglaze copper-red, showing how well this technique had been developed, at a time when the parallel technique of underglaze painting in cobalt blue had yet to be seen: significantly, not a single piece of porcelain decorated in underglaze blue surfaced from this cargo. It is hoped that readers will welcome the changes in presentation of this fifth volume of the Journal of Korean Art and Archaeology, the first to appear under the leadership of the new Director of the National Museum of Korea, Kim Youngna: suggestions for further improvements, as well as for articles deserving to be included, are always welcome. Warm thanks are due to the members of the Editorial Board, to the several translators of the articles, whose names now appear at the end of each article, rather than remaining in anonymity as before, as well as to Park Myoungsook who as Managing Editor has transmitted queries to and responses from the authors and the design team. Roderick Whitfield Percival David Professor, Emeritus SOAS, University of London
COPYRIGHT & LICENSE
ⓒ 2011 National Museum of Korea
This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0(https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/) which permits use, distribution and reproduction in any medium, provided that the article is properly cited, the use is non-commercial and no modifications or adaptations are made.
divsion line
Editorial Note
Editorial Note
The new format allows each issue to devote plenty of space to a Special Feature on a single topic, in addition to Feature articles on other topics, and the occasional Collection article. The present volume focuses on Joseon Dynasty portraits, with four articles on different aspects of this important field. The late Professor Dietrich Seckel’s otherwise monumental study of East Asian portraiture, Das Porträt in Ostasien (3 vols., Heidelberg 2005), published when he was already 95, has scant material on Korea, so these articles are especially welcome. Between them, they cover all aspects of the production, display and, all too often, destruction of portraits, and their changing purposes over time. Foremost is Cho Insoo’s article on the production and enshrinement of Royal Portraiture: portraits of Joseon monarchs that were originally intended for display during court rituals. Of these, the most important was the portrait of the founder, King Taejo, displayed in a special royal portrait hall. Unlike in Western Asia and in Europe, where portraits of the monarch were familiar to everyone because his likeness was depicted on coinage, in Korea this was not the case, and the royal portraits were central to prescribed ceremonies and rituals to which ordinary people had no access. The author has investigated the checkered history of the royal portraits and the halls where they were displayed, noting the destructions during the Japanese and Manchu invasions, and the subsequent revival of the tradition after a century of disuse, following which the Joseon kings used royal portraiture to strengthen the power of the monarchy, often against strenuous opposition from the Confucian bureaucracy.
Scholar-official portraiture, on the other hand, the subject of the second article, by Kang Kwanshik, was principally used in the early Joseon dynasty to recognize merit subjects, those who had done meritorious service for the state or the monarch. It is interesting to note, in the portrait of Shin Sukju, showing him around 1453 when he was in his mid-thirties, that the rank-badge appears to be embroidered directly on the robe, exactly like those worn by three leading Chinese officials in Xie Huan’s painting of Literary Gathering in the Apricot Garden of circa 1437 (former collection of Wango Weng, now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City). By the early seventeenth century, however, Korean portraits of literati had evolved a distinct style of their own, and featured carpets that in Ming China were the prerogative of imperial portraits alone. Following the example of Song Siyeol who wrote a self-deprecating inscription on his own portrait, balanced by a royal encomium, Joseon literati portraits came to have a commemorative role, and were displayed in shrines devoted to the memory of Confucian scholars, to encourage self–cultivation and reflection.
The third article, by Lee Soomi, continues the theme of Joseon portraiture, but with especial regard to the actual manufacture of the portrait paintings, from initial sketches on paper to the finished work, and examining in particular the role of pigments applied to the back of the painting silk, in order to achieve a heightened opacity and depth of color. An understanding of the processes involved in the making of a portrait is not only intrinsically valuable, it is also useful in the evaluation of some of the actual portraits that are still extant, for example the unique and mesmerizing Self-Portrait of Yun Duseo, still in the collection of Nogudang, the Confucian shrine honoring the memory of Yun’s grandfather, which, although painted on paper rather than silk, also proves to have some coloring applied to the back. This article includes a series of illustrations of front and back, only feasible when the paper backings are removed during conservation and remounting, that show exactly what colors were applied on the back, and to which areas: generally pink for the facial features, and white for the beard or throat.
Continuing the main theme, the fourth article, by Kwon Heangga, returns to royal portraiture, this time in the reign of King Gojong, in the late nineteenth century, when photography had already made a significant impact. Whereas very few portraits of earlier Joseon monarchs have survived the invasions and other trials of time, King Gojong’s portraits are quite numerous, and include photographs taken by western visitors, in particular Percival Lowell from America, who in 1884 was granted two audiences to photograph both the King and the Crown Prince. His carefully composed and extremely dignified photographs of King Gojong, both standing and seated in the Nongsujeong Pavilion inside the Changdeokgung Palace, with pine trees visible in the background, published in 1885 in his book, Chosön, Land of the Morning Calm, are a far cry from traditional royal portraiture, and show to what extent King Gojong was willing to engage with the outside world.
While few examples remain of early Joseon portraiture and of royal portraiture in particular, two of the remaining four articles in this issue offer even greater challenges for their authors, in that material evidence is extremely scarce, or difficult to interpret, while the last deals with a very particular instance and a veritable superabundance of actual remains. The first of these, by Seong Chuntaek, examines the probable patterns of hunter-gatherer interactions in the Post-Glacial period of Korean prehistory, with the aid of comparisons with archaeological theory in other regions of the world. Most worthy of note is that at the period of maximum glaciation (Last Glacial Maximum, circa 12,000 BP) what is now the West or Yellow Sea was considerably narrower, and the sea passage between the Korean mainland and the archipelago of Japan was also very narrow, allowing for possible contacts across the straits. As the ice receded, the sea level rose, progressively widening the West (Yellow) Sea to its present extent, and distancing the Korean peninsula from Japan. The author suggests that the paucity of archaeological evidence from the post-glacial period may be the result of foraging bands having to search beyond their original areas as the land area in the south of the peninsula shrank from the rising sea level, together with concentrations of population in estuarine areas, leading to new patterns of exchange with neighboring groups.
The second feature article, by Kim Jongil, on the archaeology of the Neolithic and Bronze Age of the Korean peninsula, also has to contend with a scarcity not so much of evidence, since in this case and especially in the Bronze Age there are plenty of finds, as of interpretation, due to the long-term domination of the field by mainly male archaeologists who have been slow to recognize or indeed to document at all the female perspective in the prehistory of Korea. As with the previous article, the author has taken full advantage of recent archaeological theories from other parts of the world, such as post-processual archaeology, and applied them to the archaeology of Korea, to suggest how one should interpret finds from burials of the Neolithic, when images of female figurines indicated that women and femininity were recognized as being of clear social value in the community, and of the Bronze Age, when there was a more significant assertion of masculinity, for example in burials with bronze weapons.
Two articles are devoted to ceramics, both involving trade between the Korean peninsula and the Chinese mainland. The first, by Jang Namwon, is devoted to the question of ceramic exchanges between Korea and northern China during the first two centuries of the Goryeo dynasty, contemporary with the Liao and Jin dynasties on the mainland. Two arguments emerge from the discussion: firstly, that the early Goryeo kilns, by producing white wares as well as celadons at the same kilns near the Goryeo capital Gaegyeong, and by the adoption of a two-stage firing technique, bisque firing followed by glaze firing, were predominantly influenced by northern Chinese kilns, even if the structure of the kilns themselves, and some production methods, show evidence of southern Chinese practice. Numerous bowls show a broad flat ring-foot, typical of northern Chinese white wares such as Xing and Ding, which were at the height of their success. Secondly, some artifacts such as fragments of janggo (ceramic drum bodies) from at least two sites, show carving of designs either in the body or through black slip, that were then filled with white clay, while other vessels such as maebyeong were decorated with painted designs in iron oxide. These techniques parallel those found in northern Chinese wares, and demonstrate that the inlay technique was already being practiced in Korea in the tenth century, prior to its more common use in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.
The last article in this issue, by Lee Taehee, appearing under the heading Collection, is also devoted to ceramics, but in this case the artifacts under discussion are, with a handful of exceptions, all from China. They were discovered by accident by a fisherman in 1976 when pieces of ceramics surfaced in his fishing nets. Following eight years of underwater excavation, in eleven stages when the weather conditions permitted, and subsequent examination of the cargo, now housed in the National Museum of Korea, the heavily-laden vessel was determined to have set sail from the Chinese port of Ningbo, probably en route to Japan, in the summer of 1323, under the Yuan dynasty. Crucial evidence for the precise date was provided by inscribed wooden tags, some dated, many of them accompanying a consignment of twenty-seven tons of copper coins. Even this staggering quantity of valuable metal, however, must take second place to the well over 27,000 pieces of ceramics from the cargo, mainly Longquan celadons, but also from several other Chinese kilns, and including a couple of items of Japanese pottery, together with seven Korean celadons which must previously have been exported from Korea to China. It can truly be said that this amazing find has led to a great deal of research on the maritime trade of the time, as well as on the ceramics themselves. Among the items illustrated here, one should mention one of special significance: the oval porcelain dish with floral decoration in underglaze copper-red, showing how well this technique had been developed, at a time when the parallel technique of underglaze painting in cobalt blue had yet to be seen: significantly, not a single piece of porcelain decorated in underglaze blue surfaced from this cargo.
It is hoped that readers will welcome the changes in presentation of this fifth volume of the Journal of Korean Art and Archaeology, the first to appear under the leadership of the new Director of the National Museum of Korea, Kim Youngna: suggestions for further improvements, as well as for articles deserving to be included, are always welcome. Warm thanks are due to the members of the Editorial Board, to the several translators of the articles, whose names now appear at the end of each article, rather than remaining in anonymity as before, as well as to Park Myoungsook who as Managing Editor has transmitted queries to and responses from the authors and the design team.
Roderick Whitfield
Percival David Professor, Emeritus
SOAS, University of London
Article
Article
Royal Portraits in the Late Joseon Period
- Cho Insoo(Korea National University of Arts)
The characteristics of Joseon royal portraiture are exemplified by Portrait of King Taejo (太祖, r. 1392-1398) (Fig. 1), which is the only extant royal portrait that was actually produced during the Joseon Dynasty. Enshrined in the Gyeonggijeon (慶基殿) Hall in Jeonju, the full-length portrait shows a middle-aged King Taejo, seated on a sumptuous royal throne, wearing a winged cap (ikseongwan, 翼善冠) and blue royal attire (gollyongpo, 袞龍袍). Although the painting is a reproduction made in 1872, it still reflects the style of portraiture from the early Joseon period. King Taejo’s portraits were enshrined in royal portrait halls (jinjeon, 眞殿) that were scattered throughout the kingdom. Royal portraits enjoyed tremendous prominence during the Joseon period, and a great number of archives regarding the painting of royal portraits survive to the present day. As mentioned, however, the portrait of King Taejo is the only royal portrait produced during the Joseon Dynasty that is known today. There are three other surviving portraits of kings—a half-length image of King Yeongjo (英祖, r. 1724-1776) and portraits of Emperors Gojong (高宗, r. 1863-1907) and Sunjong (純宗, r. 1907-1910)—but all of these were made around 1900, during the Great Han Empire (大韓帝國, 1897-1910).
Fig. 1.
Portrait of King Taejo (太祖, r. 1392-1398) Copied in 1872. Color on silk, 220.0 x 151.0 cm. (Gyeonggijeon Hall and National Palace Museum of Korea).
This article uses archival records to investigate the production and enshrinement of kings’ portraits, and examines the significance of painting royal portraits and constructing royal portrait halls during the late Joseon period. In particular, special attention is given to the reproduction of royal portraits and the restoration of royal portrait halls after foreign invasions in the late 16th century.
Royal portraits served a multitude of functions, and can thus be explored from various perspectives and approaches. One could examine their aesthetic value as works of art, or focus on their religious aspects as ritual objects. The main purpose of this study, however, is to investigate the political function of royal portraits, emphasizing the fact that they were primarily produced and utilized within the realm of Joseon court politics.
Collapse of the Tradition: Royal Portraits under King Seonjo (宣祖, r. 1567-1608)
Following the tradition of the Goryeo Dynasty (918-1392), Joseon monarchs commissioned the painting of royal portraits from the beginning of the dynasty. In particular, King Taejo, the founder of the dynasty, had several portraits completed and enshrined at six sites around the country, including Junwonjeon Hall (濬源殿) in Yeongheung, Jipgyeongjeon Hall (集慶殿) in Gyeongju, Munsojeon Hall (文昭殿) in Hanseong, Gyeonggijeon Hall in Jeonju, Yeongsungjeon Hall (永崇殿) in Pyeongyang and Mokcheongjeon Hall (穆淸殿) in Gaeseong (Cho Insoo 2004, 2006 and 2010; Lee Soomi 2005). In addition, portraits of former kings were housed in a special royal portrait hall called Seonwonjeon Hall (璿源殿),1 initially located at Gyeongbokgung, the main palace. Each king would usually have a number of portraits depicting him in various forms, including full-length, half-length, and equestrian portraits, so Seonwonjeon Hall housed dozens of images of past kings.
However, most of these paintings and royal portrait halls were incinerated during the Japanese invasion of 1592 (Cho Sunmie 1983, 116-119). King Seonjo and his vassals had to evacuate immediately, and they were only allowed to bring spirit tablets housed in the Royal Ancestral Shrine (jongmyo, 宗廟) (Seonjo sillok). The large collection of portraits of previous kings at Seonwonjeon Hall could not be transported and were buried instead, sustaining great damage as a result.
During the Japanese invasion, the royal portrait halls in Gaeseong and Pyeongyang were destroyed, and the portraits of King Taejo that had been enshrined there were lost. Three portraits of King Taejo from Yeongheung, Gyeongju, and Jeonju were smuggled to safety by local officials, and thus managed to avoid the destruction. One portrait of King Sejo (世祖, r. 1455-1468) also survived, thanks to the efforts of Buddhist monks who stored it in Bongseonsa Temple (奉先寺) at Gwangneung. Unfortunately, with the exception of these four paintings, all other royal portraits were either lost or destroyed.
Following the invasion, King Seonjo could not actively execute a plan to restore all of the destroyed royal portrait halls or to commission new royal portraits to replace those that had been lost. The king remained in refuge until 1593, when he was finally able to return to the palace, but even then he had to postpone reconstruction of the devastated palace and royal household due to the war, which lasted until 1599. Still, he felt it was necessary to reconstruct the royal portrait hall in Yeongheung, so that at least one portrait of King Taejo could be properly enshrined.
Notably, some 60 meritorious subjects had portraits bestowed on them during King Seonjo’s reign. Subjects who distinguished themselves in battle against the Japanese were offered the title of “Military Order of Merit” (Seonmu gongsin, 宣武功臣), while the vassals who escorted King Seonjo to safety in Uiju were given the title of “Meritorious Subject Escorting the Monarch” (Hoseong Gongsin, 扈聖功臣). Furthermore, those who helped to suppress a revolt led by Yi Monghak (李夢鶴, d. 1596) in 1596 received the title of “Meritorious Subject Suppressing the Disturbance” (Cheongnan Gongsin, 淸難功臣). The work of selecting these meritorious subjects and recording their contributions began in 1601 and was completed in 1604. A total of 109 retainers were selected as meritorious subjects, and the 64 who had survived the war were presented with their portraits by the king (Hoseong seonmu cheongnan gongsin dogam uigwe). Despite this great number of new portraits commissioned by the court, the rebuilding of the royal portrait halls and the restoration of royal portraits did not begin until the reign of King Gwanghaegun (光海君, r. 1608-1623).
Restoration of the Tradition: Royal Portraits under King Gwanghaegun (光海君, r. 1608-1623)
After King Gwanghaegun ascended the throne in 1608, he endeavored to reconstruct the palaces and portrait halls. In his first year, King Gwanghaegun rebuilt the Royal Ancestral Shrine for the spirit tablets of previous monarchs, and also repaired Changdeokgung Palace. Then, in 1614, he reconstructed Gyeonggijeon Hall in Jeonju, followed by Pyeongyang’s Yeongsungjeon Hall in 1617. Finally, in 1619, he reconstructed Nambyeoljeon Hall (南別殿) in the capital, Hanseong (present-day Seoul) (Gwanghaegun ilgi). Thus, at that time, the state was maintaining a total of five halls, including the previously established royal portrait halls in Gangneung and Yeongheung, to enshrine King Taejo’s portraits. As such, King Gwanghaegun restored all of the halls of King Taejo’s portraits that had been built in the early Joseon period to their original condition, with the exception of the one in Gaeseong. Just as the original construction of the halls and enshrinement of the portraits had been closely connected to the political circumstances of that time, the later restoration of the halls and reproduction of the kings’ portraits were also related to court politics.
The restoration of Jeonju’s Gyeonggijeon Hall in 1614 can be attributed to King Gwanghaegun’s active interest in and strong support for the royal portraits. During the war, one of King Taejo’s portraits was safely moved from Gyeonggijeon Hall to Mt. Myohyangsan. Once the reconstruction of Gyeonggijeon Hall was complete, Gwanghaegun decided that the portrait should be returned to the newly rebuilt hall. Moreover, since Taejo’s portrait was being transferred to Gyeonggijeon Hall via the capital, Hanseong, King Gwanghaegun also ordered a magnificent reception to be held to welcome the portrait when it passed through the capital.
When the portrait arrived in Hanseong on the ninth day of the ninth month, King Gwanghaegun and his retainers went to the Guest Hall of Cherishing China (Mohwagwan, 慕華館) to receive the portrait and perform ancestral rites before it. King Taejo’s portrait was finally enshrined in the newly reconstructed Gyeonggijeon Hall in the eleventh month of the same year, and, to celebrate the enshrinement, a state examination was conducted in Jeonju.
The re-enshrinement of King Taejo’s portrait in Gyeonggijeon Hall was an important event in the post-war reconstruction, because Jeonju, once the clan seat of the royal Yi family, had been considered a historically significant site since the beginning of the Joseon Dynasty. The enshrinement occurred during a politically sensitive period, as Kim Jenam (金悌男, 1562-1613)—the maternal grandfather of King Gwanghaegun’s half-brother, Prince Yeongchang (永昌大君, 1606-1614)—had recently attempted a revolt against the king. As a result of the treasonous acts that took place in the fifth month of 1613 and the power struggle between rival factions to gain the throne, Prince Yeongchang was sent into exile. Then, in the second month of 1614, King Gwanghaegun, who upon taking the throne had executed his older brother Prince Imhae (臨海君, 1574-1609), also put his younger half-brother, Yeongchang, to death. Immediately after Prince Yeongchang’s execution, King Gwanghaegun began to pursue the reconstruction of Gyeonggijeon Hall and the enshrinement of King Taejo’s portrait. Gwanghaegun was keenly aware that such a public expression of his veneration for the founder of the dynasty would help to legitimatize his succession to the throne and reinforce his royal influence over the people.
The restoration of Yeongsungjeon Hall in Pyeong-yang and the enshrinement of Taejo’s portrait therein were also politically motivated actions strongly supported by King Gwanghaegun. As mentioned above, during the Japanese Invasion of 1592, the portrait of King Taejo housed in Yeongsungjeon Hall had disappeared and the hall was destroyed by fire. King Gwanghaegun ordered that Yeongsungjeon Hall be rebuilt and that a copy of King Taejo’s portrait (painted in the likeness of the Gyeonggijeon Hall portrait) be produced and enshrined in the newly constructed hall. By the third month of 1617, the reconstruction of Yeongsungjeon Hall was complete and the copy of King Taejo’s portrait was finished. The portrait was scheduled to be sent from Jeonju to Pyeongyang via the capital, but the journey was repeatedly delayed due to King Gwanghaegun’s ill health. The portrait eventually left Jeonju in the eleventh month of 1617, but before reaching Hanseong, it was held in Suwon for a long time because of some exceptional circumstances at Gwanghaegun’s court. The portrait finally entered the capital the following year, but then King Gwanghaegun decided that, rather than continuing to Pyeongyang, it should be enshrined in the capital, alongside the portrait of King Sejo, which was currently housed at Mt. Myohyangsan. Thus, the portrait of Sejo was ordered to be sent to the capital, but it too was delayed and had to be temporarily housed in Gaeseong. The two royal portraits remained on the outskirts of the capital longer than expected, before finally arriving at Nambyeoljeon Hall in Hanseong in the ninth month of 1619.
Today, it is difficult to discern why the portrait of King Taejo, which was supposedly created for Yeongsungjeon Hall in Pyeongyang, was eventually enshrined in Nambyeoljeon Hall in the capital or why it remained in Suwon for so long. But, like the restoration of Gyeonggijeon Hall in 1614, these events were certainly tied to the political circumstances of the time. The copy of the portrait of King Taejo was completed and sent to the capital in the eleventh month of 1617. About that same time, King Gwanghaegun had provoked controversy at court by demoting the status of Queen Inmok (仁穆大妃, 1584-1632), a queen of his predecessor King Seonjo, to that of a commoner. Some of the king’s subjects protested his decision by refusing to sanction various government events and services. Thus, although the king had planned to hold a splendid reception for the portrait of King Taejo, that was now impossible due to the lack of support and participation from his subjects. King Gwanghaegun clearly wanted to utilize King Taejo’s portrait to strengthen his own base of power, so it seems likely that, in consideration of the unfavorable circumstances, he chose to postpone the portrait’s arrival rather than risk the embarrassment of a lackluster ceremony. Throughout his rule, King Gwanghaegun persistently mentioned King Taejo’s portrait, indicating the significant role that the painting played in this maelstrom of political changes.
Destruction of the Tradition: Royal Portraits under Kings Injo through Hyeonjong (1623-1674)
In 1623, King Gwanghaegun was dethroned by a coup, led by two political factions: the Seoin faction (西人, Western faction) and the Namin faction (南人, Southern faction). They enthroned Prince Neungyang (綾陽君), who became known as King Injo (仁祖, r. 1623-1649). Injo’s reign was marked by near constant warfare, and the royal portraits suffered serious damage as a result. Under the dominant influence of the Seoin faction, King Injo implemented a policy towards China that was strongly pro-Ming and anti-Manchu. Irritated by the consistently anti-Manchu policy of the Joseon Dynasty, the Manchus dispatched an army south across the Amnokgang River (鴨綠江) in the first month of 1627. King Injo and his court fled, taking refuge on Ganghwado Island. The invading Manchu forces eventually withdrew from Korea after the Joseon court signed an agreement describing its future relationship with the Manchus as one of “younger brother to older brother.” Meanwhile, the royal portrait formerly enshrined in Nambyeoljeon Hall was brought to Ganghwado Island and returned to the capital after the war (Injo sillok).
King Injo drew the ire of many officials when he endowed his father, Prince Jeongwon (定遠君, 1580-1619), with the posthumous title of King Wonjong (元宗). In 1632, before the posthumous title was awarded, King Injo had already enshrined a portrait of his father in Nambyeoljeon Hall, alongside the other royal portraits. To justify this, Injo cited the precedent that King Seongjong (成宗, r. 1469-1494) had endowed his father with the posthumous title of King Deokjong (德宗, 1438-1457), and enshrined his portrait in the hall of royal portraits.
In 1636, the Manchus proclaimed the beginning of the new Qing Dynasty, and they demanded that Joseon, as a vassal state, supply an annual tribute. Rejecting the Manchu demands, the Joseon court prepared an armed force to fight against a Manchu attack. The second Manchu invasion of Korea started in the twelfth month of 1636 when the Qing army again crossed the Amnokgang River into Joseon territory. King Injo took refuge in Namhansanseong Fortress, but the Manchu forces besieged the fortress until Injo surrendered in 1637. Before the war began, the portraits of Kings Taejo and Sejo in Nambyeoljeon Hall were sent to Ganghwado Island, while King Injo took the contested portrait of King Wonjong with him to Namhan Fortress. The portrait of Taejo was severely damaged when the Qing army invaded Ganghwado Island, and it was later buried. The portrait of King Sejo was temporarily lost, but was recovered after the war.
The Manchu Invasion of 1636 was much shorter than the Japanese invasion of a generation earlier, and overall, the damage to Joseon territory was less devastating. However, Yeongsungjeon Hall was burnt down and the portrait of King Taejo that had been enshrined in Nambyeoljeon Hall was destroyed. In all, during King Injo’s reign, two portraits of King Taejo disappeared, while the new portrait of King Wonjong was painted. The next two successors to the throne, King Hyojong (孝宗, r. 1649-1659) and King Hyeonjong (顯宗, r. 1659-1674), did not reconstruct any royal portrait halls, nor did they commission any new copy of King Taejo’s portrait.
Reconstruction of the Tradition: Royal Portraits under King Sukjong (肅宗, r. 1674-1720)
When King Sukjong ascended the throne in 1674, portraits of King Taejo were housed in the royal portrait halls in Jeonju and Yeongheung, while portraits of King Sejo and Wonjong were displayed in Nambyeoljeon Hall in Hanseong. King Sukjong was well aware of the significance of King Taejo’s portrait in consolidating royal authority, so he attempted to have a portrait of King Taejo enshrined within the walls of the capital (Sukjong sillok; Jin Junhyeon 1996, 89-119). To achieve this goal, King Sukjong had to prevail upon some his subjects, who thought that rulers should not use the royal image and the royal portrait halls to increase their own power.
King Sukjong took advantage of conflicts between political factions to produce new portraits of rulers, unlike the preceding monarchs. In 1688, he ordered that a copy of Taejo’s portrait be painted in the likeness of the Gyeonggijeon Hall portrait. Once the copy was completed, it was kept in Nambyeoljeon Hall in the capital. Thus, King Taejo’s portrait, which had been absent from the capital for four decades, was finally re-enshrined within the capital by King Sukjong (Yeongjeong mosa dogam uigwe; Yi Songmi et al. 1997, 7-16; Kim Jiyeong 2003, 627-637). Like King Gwanghaegun before him, King Sukjong attached great political significance to copying King Taejo’s portrait and enshrining it in the capital city. Around 1688, the king’s court was divided by a power struggle between the Seoin and Namin factions, as the king’s highly favored concubine, Lady Jang (張嬉嬪, 1659-1701), gave birth to a son, while the king’s second wife, Queen Inhyeon (仁顯王后, 1667-1701), remained childless. Under this complicated situation, King Sukjong effectively suppressed the leading power group (Seoin faction) and retained power by wielding strong authority over the production of royal portraits.
The Uigwe, the official manual of state rituals, states that King Sukjong issued direct instructions regarding the painting of the kings’ portraits. When Taejo’s portrait arrived in the capital from Jeonju, King Sukjong came out to receive it personally. He also installed a rigorous selection process to determine which painter would be allowed to copy the portrait. Eight painters were initially recommended by high officials, but after a series of thorough tests, two finalists emerged: Jo Segeol (曺世傑, 1628-1705) and Yun Sangik (尹商翊, ?). Finally, after a very strict selection process, Yun, the younger painter, was selected as the principal painter for copying the portrait of King Taejo. After the portrait was produced and successfully enshrined, the subjects and painters who had been involved in painting the new portrait of the king were rewarded. To celebrate the second birthday of the prince, King Sukjong renamed Nambyeoljeon Hall as Yeonghuijeon Hall (永禧殿) in 1690, in the hope of perpetuating more propitious events (Fig. 2). King Sukjong sought to use this event to fortify his political dominance over his subjects, many of whom had opposed the copying of King Taejo’s portrait.
Fig. 2.
Yeonghuijeon Hall depicted in “Capital City” of Map of Korea (海東地圖). Mid-18th century. Color on paper. (Gyujanggak).
In addition to affirming his authority by reproducing King Taejo’s portrait, King Sukjong also promoted his kingship by having his own portraits painted and distributed to the palace and royal portrait halls around the country. For approximately 100 years, since the reign of King Seonjo, the convention of painting the living monarch’s portrait had absolutely ceased, so the production of King Sukjong’s portrait in 1695 denotes the revival of an early Joseon Dynasty tradition. Sukjong had two portraits painted by Jo Segeol, one of which was kept at the palace and the other which was sent to the newly built Jangnyeongjeon Hall (長寧殿) on Ganghwado Island.
King Sukjong also significantly revamped the system of preserving the royal portraits by ordering the reconstruction of Seonwonjeon Hall, the special royal portrait hall for housing the portraits of former kings that had been built at the beginning of the Joseon Dynasty. The new Seonwonjeon Hall was constructed at Changdeokgung Palace, flanking the main reception building, Injeongjeon Hall (仁政殿) (Fig. 3).
Fig. 3.
Injeongjeon Hall and Seonwonjeon Hall depicted in the Eastern Palace (東闕圖), Early 19th century. Color on silk. (Korea University Museum).
In the year marking the 40th anniversary of King Sukjong’s enthronement in 1713, he ordered another portrait of himself to be produced (Eoyong dosa dogam uigwe 1713; Yi Songmi et al. 1997, 16-29; Kim Jiyeong 2004a). The king met frequently with subjects and painters to discuss the details of his portraits; the meetings with painters would allow them to observe his face in detail in order to compose a more realistic portrait. For this particular portrait, Sukjong broke with convention by having domestically produced hwamunseok (花紋席, straw mats with floral designs) depicted beneath the throne, rather than the imported carpets that had appeared in previous royal portraits (Kang Kwanshik 1998, 263-265).
Various terms were used to refer to the king’s portrait, including “Face of the King” (eoyong, 御容), “Hanging Scroll” (jeongja, 幀子), “Shadow” (yeongja, 影子), and “Painted Royal Face” (suyong, 睟容). King Sukjong decided to replace those terms with a newly coined word meaning the “Essence of Royalty” (eojin, 御眞), a term that has only been used in Korea (Cho Seonmi 1983, 147-158; Yi Songmi et al., 1997, 29-32). Again, painters who excelled in portraiture were recommended, and Jin Jaehae (秦再亥, 1691-1769) was selected as the main painter for King Sukjong’s portrait. Two portraits of Sukjong were painted at that time, one of which was enshrined in Jangnyeongjeon Hall on Ganghwado Island while the other was placed in the restored Seonwonjeon Hall.
King Sukjong’s decision to have his own portrait painted and enshrined next to the portraits of dead monarchs was a very controversial decision. For example, Eo Yugu (魚有龜, 1675-1740) strongly opposed the idea of subjects bowing before a portrait of the living monarch. This conflict reveals an old, persistent tension between monarch and officials, as well as the power struggle among factions in the political matrix of the Joseon court.
In 1681, King Sukjong published Royal Genealogy (Seonwon gyebo giryak, 璿源系譜紀略), the official genealogical record of the royal family, in order to demonstrate the origin and pedigree of the royal Yi household (Fig. 4). After its initial compilation, the book was reprinted over one-hundred times in order to make updates and add information on newly implemented royal family events. The added contents included instructions for producing and copying royal portraits, as well as how to properly wash out the old royal portrait once a successful reproduction was made, and details about the site changes in the enshrinement of the king’s portrait (Gyujanggak sojang wangsil jaryo haeseoljip 2005, 32-34 and 107-133). In the Joseon period, it was common practice for a new portrait to be made to replace an older one that had become too damaged to be fit for ritual purposes. Similar to the way in which religious images were discarded and replaced, the old portrait was usually washed out (secho, 洗草) or buried (me’an, 埋安). The process of washing out was a popular method to erase ink and colors on silk or paper used for official documents, religious paintings and portrait sketches.
Fig. 4.
Royal Genealogy (璿源系譜紀略). 1681. (Academy of Korean Studies, Jangseogak).
Through his emphasis on royal portraiture, King Sukjong achieved his goal of reinforcing his sovereign power by glorifying his legitimate dynastic succession to the throne and eulogizing the accomplishments of preceding rulers. In this context, royal portraits and royal portrait halls played an essential role in supporting King Sukjong’s political agenda. Sukjong was responsible for reviving the systems related to royal portraits in the late Joseon period, and later monarchs followed in his footsteps by actively utilizing the king’s portrait to strengthen their political authority
Renaissance of Royal Portraits under Kings Yeongjo (英祖, r. 1724-1776) and Jeongjo (正祖, r. 1776-1800)
Inheriting and developing on King Sukjong’s policy on royal portraiture, King Yeongjo used royal portraits to manifest his royal authority. He consolidated the system of producing and preserving royal portraits, thus creating a method that was handed down through the end of the dynasty (Yeongjo sillok; Jin Junhyeon 1994, 19-72; Kim Jiyeong 2004b). In addition to the five extant royal portrait halls—Yeonghuijeon Hall, Seonwonjeon Hall, Jangnyeongjeon Hall, Gyeonggijeon Hall, and Junwonjeon Hall—King Yeongjo also ordered his portraits stored in Changuigung Palace (彰義宮), Taeryeongjeon Hall (泰寧殿), Yuksanggung Shrine (毓祥宮), and Mannyeongjeon Hall (萬寧殿).
In 1735, King Yeongjo ordered a newly painted portrait of King Sejo to be enshrined in Yeonghuijeon Hall, and he also had the hall expanded from three to five chambers to accommodate King Sukjong’s portrait (Fig. 5). In the newly added fourth chamber, where King Sukjong’s portrait was enshrined, the king installed a special throne (yongsang, 龍床) as shown in the Royal Ancestral Shrine, and displayed an obongsan byeongpung (五峯山屛風, a screen painted with the sun, moon, and five peaks), a symbol of royal power. The interior of the fourth chamber of Yeonghuijeon Hall closely resembled that later built at Sinseonwonjeon Hall (新璿源殿) at Changdeokgung Palace (Fig. 6).
Fig. 5.
Illustration of Yeonghuijeon Hall in The Revision of the Five National Rites (國朝續五禮儀序例). 1744. (Gyujanggak)
Fig. 6.
Interior of New Seonwonjeon Hall located in Changdeokgung Palace. Sinseonwonjeon (新璿源殿). 2010. (Daejeon: National Research Institute of Cultural Heritage), p. 138.
King Yeongjo commissioned two portraits of King Sukjong by the master painter Jang Gyeongju (張敬周, b. 1710), having one enshrined in Yeonghuijeon Hall and the other in Seonwonjeon Hall. With the addition of more kings’ portraits, Yeonghuijeon Hall became the official hall of royal portraits, and one of the most sacred sites of the royal Yi family, comparable with the Royal Ancestral Shrine. At that time, Seonwonjeon Hall, reserved exclusively for portraits of former kings, contained only the portrait of King Sukjong. But since it was situated within the palace, unlike Yeonghuijeon Hall, King Yeongjo regularly visited Seonwonjeon Hall to offer incense, and also used the hall to conduct state affairs and inform his royal ancestors of significant happenings in the kingdom.
In 1721, the previous ruler (and half-brother to King Yeongjo), King Gyeongjong (景宗, r. 1720-1724), had established a new building west of Jangnyeongjeon Hall on Ganghwado Island (Fig. 7). King Sukjong’s image was hung inside the new building, while the old building was used for temporary storage. King Yeongjo eventually changed the name of the new building to Mannyeongjeon Hall and enshrined his own portrait there (Fig. 8).
Fig. 7.
Jangnyeongjeon Hall from Palace of Ganghwado Island (江華府宮殿圖). 19th century. Color on paper, 98.9 x 68.6 cm. (National Library of Korea).
Fig. 8.
Mannyeongjeon Hall from Palace of Ganghwado Island (江華府宮殿圖). 19th century. Color on paper, 98.9 x 68.6 cm. (National Library of Korea).
King Yeongjo had a number of portraits of himself produced during his lifetime; after taking the throne, he ordered his portrait to be painted every ten years. In fact, even before he was enthroned, King Yeongjo had a portrait of himself painted when he was still the prince (Fig. 9). In 1733, two images of King Yeongjo were enshrined in Seonwonjeon Hall and Yuksanggung Shrine, respectively. In 1744, two portraits were sent to Yeonghuijeon Hall and Mannyeongjeon Hall, and in 1754, two more paintings were made for Yuksanggung Shrine and Changuigung Palace (Fig. 10). Changuigung Palace was the king’s former residence before his accession, while Yuksanggung Shrine is a tablet hall constructed for his biological mother, Lady Choe (淑嬪崔氏, 1670-1718). In 1763, only one portrait was produced, which was placed in Taeryeongjeon Hall, and in 1773, the final two portraits were produced and situated in Taeryeongjeon Hall and Yuksanggung Shrine. With his images executed every ten years (a total of five times throughout his 52-year reign) King Yeongjo is one of the most frequently painted kings of the entire Joseon Dynasty.
Fig. 9.
Portrait of Prince Yeoning (延礽君, later King Yeongjo, 英祖, r. 1724-1776). 1714. Color on silk, 150.1 x 77.7 cm. (National Palace Museum of Korea).
Fig. 10.
Portrait of King Yeongjo (英祖, r. 1724-1776), by Jo Seokjin (趙錫晋, 1853 -1920) and others. 1900. Color on silk, 110.5 x 61.8 cm. (National Palace Museum of Korea).
King Yeongjo expected his subjects to remember him in the future by viewing his portraits, so he often showed the portraits to his subjects, both inside and outside of the palace. He also frequented Seonwonjeon Hall, where King Sukjong’s portrait was housed, and he would sometimes prostrate himself and cry before the portrait of King Sukjong in Yeonghuijeon Hall. Since King Yeongjo, the production and preservation of portraits of deceased kings and living monarchs came to be considered an essential task of the royal household. Any monarch who effectively assumed this crucial responsibility wielded royal authority and actively engaged in political activities.
Emulating King Sukjong, King Yeongjo also promoted numerous cultural enterprises as a means of transmitting political and royal propaganda. He ordered Wi Changjo (魏昌祖, 1703-1771) to compile the Records of Royal Ancestors’ Tombs and Shrines in Hamgyeong-do Province (北道陵殿誌), which provides details about the tombs and historic relics related to the founder of the dynasty, King Taejo, and his forbears. The book also includes the record of Junwonjeon Hall, the hall of King Taejo’s portrait. The Paintings of Royal Ancestral Tombs and Shrines in Hamgyeong-do Province (北道各陵殿圖形) are assumed to have been produced in conjunction with Wi’s compilation (Academy of Korean Studies 2002, 132-134) (Fig. 11). The latter is a visual representation and sanctification of the cradle of the dynasty and the birthplace of the dynastic founder.
Fig. 11.
Junwonjeon Hall from Paintings of Royal Ancestral Tomb and Shrine in Hamgyeong-do Province (北道各陵殿圖形). 1808-1840. Color on silk, 51.3 x 59.0 cm. (National Research Institute of Cultural Heritage).
In 1751, Jogyeongmyo Shrine (肇慶廟) was built next to Gyeonggijeon Hall, to honor Yi Han (李翰, ?), the reputed apical ancestor of the royal Yi family (Fig. 12). The ancestral tablets of Yi Han and his wife were enshrined therein. Along with Gyeonggijeon Hall, it constituted a sacred site of the Joseon Dynasty, symbolizing the tracing of the distinguished Yi royal family lineage all the way back to the Silla Kingdom (57 BCE– 935).
Fig. 12.
Jogyeongmyo Shrine and Gyeonggijeon Hall (肇慶廟慶基殿圖形). After 1899. Color on paper, 112.8 x 92.2 cm. (National Research Institute of Cultural Heritage).
The operational system that King Yeongjo established related to the production and enshrinement of royal portraiture was continued by his successor, King Jeongjo. Under Jeongjo, Yeonghuijeon Hall, Seonwonjeon Hall, Jangnyeongjeon Hall, Gyeonggijeon Hall, and Junwonjeon Hall were all maintained, as were the halls for King Yeongjo’s portraits, such as Yuksanggung Shrine and Changuigung Palace. In addition, King Jeongjo had his own portraits enshrined in Gyujanggak (奎章閣, the royal library), Gyeongmogung Shrine (景慕宮), and Hyeollyungwon Tomb (顯隆園). Upon his enthronement, King Jeongjo moved King Yeongjo’s portrait from Mannyeongjeon Hall on Ganghwado Island to Jangnyeongjeon Hall, where King Sukjong’s portrait was housed. Then, in 1778, Jeongjo ordered Seonwonjeon Hall to be renovated to accommodate King Yeongjo’s portrait, and had another of Yeongjo’s portraits enshrined in Yeonghuijeon Hall.
Following King Yeongjo’s precedent, King Jeongjo planned to have his portrait painted every ten years and placed in Gyujanggak. He established Gyujanggak as a major political structure for policy research and reforms, and attempted to use this institute as his base for reasserting his royal authority. Considering Gyujanggak’s political significance for Jeongjo’s court, it was quite meaningful that he chose to have his own portrait enshrined there (Fig. 13).
Fig. 13.
Gyujanggak (奎章閣), by Kim Hongdo (金弘道 1745-after1806). 1776. Color on paper, 144.4 x 115.6 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
When King Jeongjo’s portrait was painted in 1791, a smaller painting was also sent to Gyeongmogung Shrine, the shrine of his father, Crown Prince Sado (思悼世子, 1735-1762, posthumously entitled Crown Prince Jangheon, 莊獻世子). The following year, Jeongjo enshrined another of his images in Hyeollyungwon Tomb, where his father was buried. The enshrinement of his portrait in the shrine and tomb of his real father was part of Jeongjo’s project to reinstate his father, who died tragically amidst court power struggles. Such actions not only demonstrated his filial piety, but also reaffirmed his royal lineage.
King Jeongjo was continuously involved in cultural enterprises to promote various agendas related to the royal household. For instance, he built stelae and stela pavilions at Jipgyeongjeon Hall in Gyeongju to commemorate King Taejo’s accomplishments. Around this time, Former Site of Jipgyeongjeon Hall (集慶殿舊基圖) was painted (Fig. 14).
Fig. 14.
Former Site of Jipgyeongjeon Hall (集慶殿舊基圖帖). 1798. Color on paper, 42.0 x 28.0 cm. (Gyujanggak).
Continuing the Tradition: Royal Portraits under Kings Sunjo, Heonjong, Cheoljong, and Gojong (1800-1897)
The convention of copying royal portraits and preserving them in royal portrait halls continued without change into the 19th century. Rulers were primarily concerned with upholding the previously established traditions of painting royal portraits and constructing shrines for them, and sometimes exploiting this system according to their own needs. Thus, no efforts were made to reform or change the royal portrait system. Since the portraits of previous rulers were well preserved and ruling sovereigns continually had new portraits made, the total number of royal portraits consistently increased. The background for making a new portrait of a reigning king once every ten years is not clear. In these cases, however, the new portrait was not a reproduction made after the older one but the most recent and updated image of the king. This practice is referred to as “painting a portrait (dosa, 圖寫)” instead of “copying a portrait (mosa, 模寫)” in various official documents concerning royal portraiture. Therefore, the old portraits which contained younger likenesses were not discarded but were added to the inventory and preserved together with the later versions. As a result, by the 1890s, more than 50 portraits of 11 kings were distributed in royal portrait halls around the country (Seonwon gyebo giryak; Cheoljong sillok; Sunjo sillok; Heonjong sillok).
In order to house the portrait of King Sunjo (純祖, r. 1800-1834), King Cheoljong (哲宗, r. 1849-1863) added a sixth chamber to Yeonghuijeon Hall, which by then held portraits of many generations of Joseon kings, including Kings Taejo, Sejo, Wonjong, Sukjong, and Yeongjo (Cheoljong sillok, seventh month, 15th day in 1858, the ninth year of the reign of King Cheoljong) (Fig. 15). At that time, the images of King Jeongjo, Sunjo, and Heonjong (憲宗, r. 1834-1849) were not yet enshrined there. King Cheoljong decided to enshrine Sunjo’s portrait in Yeonghuijeon Hall in order to confirm his position and authority as lawful successor to the crown. King Cheoljong’s legitimacy was in question because he was an adopted son of the deceased King Sunjo, and thus merely a collateral descendant of the Yi Royal lineage. Thus, by elevating the status of King Sunjo, who had the same claim to the throne as Cheoljong’s biological father, Prince Jeongye (全溪大院君, 1785-1841), the king intended to reassert his legitimacy. Years later, in 1872, King Gojong ordered the extant portraits of Kings Taejo and Wonjong in Yeonghuijeon Hall to be copied, in order to commemorate the eighth 60-year anniversary of the founding of the Joseon Dynasty. This conventional method of boosting royal authority and seizing control of court politics had been used effectively by preceding rulers (Cho Insoo 2006, 29-56).
Fig. 15.
Portrait of King Cheoljong (哲宗, r. 1849-1863), by Yi Hancheol (李漢喆, b. 1808) and others. 1860. Color on silk, 202.3 x 107.2 cm. (National Palace Museum of Korea).
After King Sunjo added an extension to Seonwonjeon Hall in 1802, portraits of Kings Sukjong, Yeongjo, and Jeongjo were enshrined in its first, second, and third chambers (respectively). During King Heonjong’s rule, Seonwonjeon Hall was expanded to five chambers to add two more kings’ portraits (Fig. 16). King Cheoljong later extended the building again to enshrine King Heonjong’s portrait. After these repeated extensions, Seonwonjeon Hall underwent a startling transformation in 1868 under the reign of King Gojong. At that time, Gyeongbokgung Palace, which had been burnt during the Japanese invasions of Korea (1592-1598) and left in ruins for the next three centuries, was restored. With Gyeongbokgung resuming its original function as the main palace, Seonwonjeon Hall had to be relocated there as well. Thus, six royal portraits that had previously been placed in the former Seonwonjeon Hall at Changdeokgung Palace were transferred to the new Seonwonjeon Hall. Then, in 1895, Japanese agents assassinated Queen Myeongseong, forcing King Gojong to take refuge at the Russian legation in 1896. When he returned in 1897, he took up residence at Gyeongungung Palace (presently Deoksugung Palace), and so Seonwonjeon Hall also had to be relocated there. Gojong established a new Seonwonjeon Hall at Gyeongungung Palace and had the kings’ portraits moved there from Gyeongbokgung Palace.
Fig. 16.
Portrait of King Ikjong, by Jo Seokjin (趙錫晋, 1853 -1920) and others. 19th century. Color on silk, 147.5 x 90 cm. (National Palace Museum of Korea).
Unlike Yeonghuijeon Hall, Seonwonjeon Hall was not considered an “official” portrait hall, and thus could contain different images of the same king. After a king died, his portraits were moved from local shrines into Seonwonjeon Hall in the capital. Since King Sukjong had established Seonwonjeon Hall as an informal repository of kings’ portraits, state ceremonies were not conducted there. For the same reason, Seonwonjeon Hall did not hold a portrait of King Taejo until 1900, because portraits of Taejo were only to be housed in official royal portrait halls, such as Yeonghuijeon Hall.
Local royal portrait halls were managed by personnel from the capital, but that did not prevent unfortunate incidents from occurring there from time to time. For example, in 1837, thieves damaged King Taejo’s portrait at Junwonjeon Hall during an attempted robbery; the damaged portrait was transferred to the capital to be copied (Yi Songmi et al. 1997, 38-44; Kim Jiyeong 2005, 522-538). In 1866, the French invaded Ganghwado Island, doing considerable damage to the palace architecture there, including Jangnyeongjeon Hall, where portraits of Kings Sukjong and Yeongjo were still held. To avoid theft or destruction, the two portraits were first moved to neighboring temples and then later to Yeonghuijeon Hall in the capital. King Jeongjo’s portrait was moved from Hyeollyungwon Tomb to the secondary palace in Hwaseong, where the newly constructed Hwaryeongjeon Hall (華寧殿) housed two royal portraits.
The tradition of painting the portrait of a living sovereign also continued in the 19th century, as King Sunjo placed his own portrait in Gyujanggak. During Heonjong’s reign, portraits of his grandfather (King Sunjo) and his father (Crown Prince Hyomyeong, posthumously endowed with title of King Ikjong (翼宗, 1809-1830)) were enshrined in Gyeongugung Shrine (景祐宮), dedicated to Lady Bak (綏嬪朴氏, 1770-1822), King Sunjo’s mother. This followed the example of King Yeongjo’s portrait being enshrined in Yuksanggung Shrine (dedicated to the king’s mother) and that of King Jeongjo in Gyeongmogung Shrine (dedicated to the king’s father). Other portraits of Kings Sunjo and Ikjong were also kept in Gyeongmogung Shrine.
The dominant ideology of the time cherished tradition and custom, so the kings sought to emphasize their adherence to those values. King Gojong in particular enforced many policies to redeem his royal authority, such as producing the portraits of previous Joseon kings, constructing and restoring royal portrait halls, and maintaining historical relics that were emblematic of royal ancestors’ achievements. King Gojong’s activities to propagate his political agenda noticeably increased after he declared the establishment of the Great Han Empire in 1897.
Conclusion
As chief of state, the king’s portrait symbolizes the rule and sovereignty of a dynasty. However, for much of the Joseon Dynasty, the king’s rule was restricted by a complex system of checks and balances operated by the Confucian bureaucracy. After the Manchu Invasion of 1636, royal authority was further diminished. As powerful, long-term officials accumulated more influence, the king’s political control and sovereignty waned. However, King Sukjong was able to reestablish his dominance of the court and his royal authority, which in turn allowed the subsequent rulers, Kings Yeongjo and Jeongjo, to exert their sovereign power more effectively. Amidst such complicated political circumstances, discourse and controversy concerning royal portraiture was reflective of the power struggle and conflict between the ruler and his civil bureaucrats. Kings often commissioned multiple royal portraits of themselves and their ancestors and then obliged subjects to pay dutiful respect before the images. On the other hand, scholarly officials tried to invoke Confucian precepts in order to oppose the production of more royal portraits, but nevertheless, the number of royal portraits constantly increased during the late period of Joseon Dynasty, as every ruler made it customary to have portraits of themselves and previous monarchs painted and enshrined.2
The reason for the constant increase hinges on the use of royal portraits as objects for worship during ancestral rites in later Joseon society. Rituals conducted over a long period of time form the conventions and traditions of a given society. In particular, state rituals contribute to consolidating social order and spreading the ruling ideology and social values. For believers, ritual is not merely a metaphysical exercise, but a faith-driven system related to practical goals. To comply with ritual ceremonies, all of the participants must consent to or agree on the norms, values, beliefs, or expressive symbols represented in the course of the ritual. Thus, in addition to their political purposes, the rituals related to the production and enshrinement of royal portraiture during the Joseon Dynasty had religious significance as well. Hence, when examining the royal portraits and their related rituals, we must consider their function within the Confucian context, keeping in mind that religious perspectives lie behind such practices. Through such an approach, further investigation can provide us with a more comprehensive understanding of the characteristics and roles of royal portraiture in later Joseon society.
Literati Portraiture of the Joseon Dynasty
- Kang Kwanshik(Hansung University)
When Neo-Confucianism was established as the official state ideology of the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910), the religious principles of the previous Goryeo Dynasty (918-1392) were abandoned and suppressed in favor of a government structure that centered on Neo-Confucian rituals and civil official administration. Coveted government positions were typically awarded to the yangban (literati) class through the civil service examination system. The dynasty established a bureaucracy in which the royal house worked in alliance with the administration of civil officials, who thus had a voice and authority in governance. Literati who obtained a classical education and became versed in the literary arts were the foundation of the system, which in turn emphasized Neo-Confucianism and the flourishing of literati culture. Because rites play such a central role in Neo-Confucian thought, a strong ritual culture developed to visualize the ideals of Neo-Confucianism. The strong material characteristics of these rituals influenced and inspired the rise of visual and material culture. In the 500-year span of the dynasty, all of these factors led to the development of portraiture that emphasized Neo-Confucian characteristics, particularly literati portraiture.
Literati portraiture of the Joseon Dynasty reflects the ideological and political changes in Neo-Confucianism. The development of ritual culture was inherently intertwined with Neo-Confucianism, and it took a varied and diverse course through the era. Portraits were made to be enshrined and used as commemorative images in ancestral rites, so their ritualistic functions were of utmost importance. Yet the portraits were not merely ritual objects; they also reflected the political context in which they were created and the idea of self-cultivation. Therefore, examining literati portraiture in terms of these various factors, rather than within a broad historical context, can provide a more comprehensive understanding of the portraits and the socio-cultural environment in which they were created.
Political Portraits of Early-Mid Joseon Dynasty Meritorious Subjects
During the Goryeo Dynasty, Buddhism was the state ideology, so people commonly held Buddhist funerary rituals and preserved portraits of the deceased in Buddhist temples. Therefore, in addition to royal portraits and portraits of meritorious subjects, many ordinary officials had their portraits preserved in temples near their gravesites. Yet with the founding of the Joseon Dynasty and the implementation of Neo-Confucianism, the use of portraits for funerary rituals was forsaken as a Buddhist custom (songnye, 俗禮). Instead, as the standard funerary custom (jeongnye, 正禮), the dynasty implemented the use of mortuary tablets (honbaek, 魂帛 and sinju, 神主) and rituals that followed the principles of the Neo-Confucian scholar Zhu Xi (朱熹, 1130-1200) from the Song Dynasty (960-1279). During the early-mid Joseon Dynasty, as Zhu Xi’s Neo-Confucianism spread and became further substantiated, the ritualistic context of portraiture that had developed within Buddhist funerary rites began to wane. Then, during the late 15th-century reign of King Seongjong (成宗, r. 1469-94), a literati (sarim, 士林) contingent who emphasized Neo-Confucian ideology began to flourish. The ideals of this group strengthened and spread throughout the 16th century, and by the early 17th century, their influence was so great that, after King Seonjo (宣祖, r. 1567-1608), the practice of creating royal portraits (eojin, 御眞) was entirely halted. The representative Neo-Confucian literati of the early-mid Joseon Dynasty did not paint portraits, and no ceremonial royal portraits were created to be housed in the royal portrait halls until after the reign of King Hyeonjong (顯宗, r. 1659-1674).
While the ritualistic elements of the portraits declined during the early-mid Joseon Dynasty, more political characteristics began to emerge. After Neo-Confucianism was established as the state ideology, many political conflicts arose, from both within Joseon and from abroad (Japan and Qing China), during the early-mid Joseon Dynasty. From these conflicts, many heroic and loyal figures emerged, who assisted in establishing and maintaining the royal house and dynasty. Thus, from the beginning of the dynasty to the 17th century of mid-Joseon, many meritorious subjects (gongsin, 功臣) were recognized for particular acts of service. This practice started with the meritorious subjects who played key roles in the founding of the dynasty (gaeguk gongsin, 開國功臣) and developed over time until more than twenty different gongsin-related titles were given to over 900 individuals. The concept of loyalty (chung, 忠) was central to Neo-Confucian political thought, and the meritorious subjects were the physical embodiment of this concept. Hence, their names were documented in special records (gongsin nokgwon, 功臣錄券) and they were granted special gongsin titles, official posts, and wealth. Another way to visually acknowledge and commemorate the meritorious subjects and their loyalty was to reward them with a portrait.
To exemplify the importance of these individuals and their contributions, particularly gaeguk gongsin who assisted in the founding of Joseon in 1392, their portraits were enshrined in special portrait halls called Gongsingak (功臣閣, Hall of Merit Subjects), including one hall in the capital named Jangsaengjeon (長生殿) Hall. In fact, during the chaotic early days of founding the dynasty, with numerous urgent issues demanding attention, the portraits of gaeguk gongsin sometimes had to be hung right alongside the portrait of King Taejo (太祖, r. 1392-98), which was a violation of ceremonial protocols regarding royal portraits (Taejong sillok 1411 and 1418). Notably, however, many gaeguk gongsin who were initially honored were later deemed to be traitors, because of internal conflicts within the royal house. Due to such instability and inconsistency, naming meritorious subjects and creating their portraits remained a sporadic practice until the mid-15th century, at which time the Merit Subject Halls (where the portraits were hung) were entirely eliminated. Beginning in 1466, all tasks related to meritorious subjects were consolidated and supervised by Chunghunbu Office (忠勳府, the office of loyalty and meritorious deeds). Portraits of meritorious subjects were still painted, but, in a significant policy change, the portraits were given to the honoree, while the office merely recorded and kept records of their names. But the decision to eliminate the Merit Subject Halls and present the portraits directly to the individuals had unexpected results. Because the portraits were now distributed and enshrined all over the country, instead of being kept only in the special halls, this change actually served to further promote and reinforce the portraits’ political function, as well as the Neo-Confucian idea of exemplary citizenship.
Since portraits of meritorious subjects are essentially political images symbolizing loyalty and allegiance, the figures are usually depicted in their most formal official robes (sangbok, 常服), displaying their bureaucratic rank and authority. They are typically attired in official dress (dallyeong, 團領) and black official’s hat (osamo, 烏紗帽), with their ranks depicted by a large rank-badge (hyungbae, 胸背) and belt (gakdae, 角帶). The format and style of the portraits largely followed Ming Dynasty (1368-1644) portraiture, with some modifications to befit Joseon society. Ming bureaucrats were painted facing forward, seated on a splendidly decorated chair that was usually covered with either a tiger pelt or silk. Their hands are visible, with one hand placed on a knee and the other holding a belt. The Joseon officials, on the other hand, sit upright with their arms crossed, their hands concealed inside their sleeves, and their feet placed on a footrest. Their posture, attire, and surroundings all contribute to the solemn and reverent tone of the painting. Compared to the more naturalistic pose of Ming bureaucrats, the Joseon portraits of meritorious subjects emphasize and symbolize the importance of loyalty to the king, as well as Neo-Confucian political and ritual pedagogy.
The portraits of meritorious subjects were created by the best court painters, so they are usually of the highest quality. What’s more, they also have definitive dates of production, making them important archival objects that allow us to investigate the production process and stylistic development of early-mid Joseon Dynasty portraiture. Unfortunately, since many of the 15th and 16th century portraits were lost during the Japanese invasions of Korea (壬辰倭亂, 1592-1598), it is difficult to know the exact forms of the portraits from this early period. Thus, extant portraits of meritorious subjects from this early period, such as Portrait of Shin Sukju (申叔舟, 1417-1475) (Fig. 1) and Portrait of O Jachi (吳自治, late 15th century), are especially important. Shin is depicted in a green robe with a rank-badge of two silver pheasants, indicating a post of the third-rank. From the attire, this portrait was created when Shin received jwaik gongsin (佐翼功臣) in 1453 for his service in assisting King Sejo (世祖, r. 1455-1468) obtain the throne. O Jachi is portrayed in a dark blue (lapis lazuli) robe with a tiger-and-leopard rank-badge, denoting a second-rank military officer. He received jeokgae gongsin (敵愾功臣) in 1476 for his role in suppressing a revolt. Both figures are wearing robes with no decoration or design and large rank-badges embroidered with gold thread, and their elaborate, brightly colored inner robes of purple, green, and red can also be seen. A pattern is featured even on the lining and inner robe of O Jachi, and such delicate elaboration brilliantly conveys a modest sense of grandeur. The portraits emphasize the official rank and stature of the individuals and effectively visualize their solemnity and dignity.
Fig 1.
Portrait of Shin Sukju (申叔舟, 1417-1475). Joseon Dynasty, c.1453. Ink and color on silk, 167.0 × 109.5 cm. (Private collection).
The artists used color washes and fine lines to create and subtly shade their subjects’ face and features. The robes are simply depicted with flat coloring, contour outlines, and slight shading. Their bodies are hidden within voluminous robes that billow above and below a narrow, belted waist. All of these features combine to convey a martial feeling of strength, similar to the portrait of King Taejo. Such characteristics mark the aesthetics of the time, reflecting the militarism and dynamism behind the establishment of the new dynasty and the quelling of early conflicts.
In comparison, the portraits of meritorious subjects from the first half of the 17th century emphasize more abstract, stylized, and flatter forms. Also, these portraits become more decorative and elaborate, as chaejeon (彩氈, colorful Chinese wool carpet) with a colorful geometric design covers the entire floor below the sitter and the rank-badges on the robes and hats are replaced by five-colored embroidery and a cloud or flower design. The new style of portraiture is well illustrated by Portrait of Song Eonsin (宋言愼, 1542-1612), who was named a seonmu gongsin (宣武功臣) in 1604 for his service during the Japanese invasions, and Portrait of Yi Sibang (李時昉, 1594-1660) (Fig. 2), who was named a jeongsa gongsin (靖社功臣) in 1624 for helping King Injo (仁祖, r. 1623-1649) gain the throne.
Fig 2.
Portrait of Yi Sibang (李時昉, 1594-1660). Joseon Dynasty, c.1625. Ink and color on silk, 169.0 × 93.0 cm. (Daejeon Prehistoric Museum, entrusted by private collector).
The first half of the 17th century was marked by foreign invasions, sweeping political change, and an intensification of Neo-Confucianism. The portraiture style evolved to emphasize the strict values of moral upstanding and loyalty, values which pertained to Neo-Confucian thought. The depiction of chaejeon is a significant change, as it had only been featured in imperial portraits in Ming China, and was never included in portraits of officials. In 15th-century Joseon, chaejeon was only painted in portraits of the king, but it began to appear in Joseon portraiture of officials in the early 16th century, as seen in Portrait of Yu Sunjeong (柳順汀, 1459-1512) (Fig. 3), which signifies the elevated status of officials. This phenomenon demonstrates the deepening influence of Neo-Confucian thought and the growing power and authority of yangban bureaucrats during the mid-Joseon period.
Fig 3.
Portrait of Yu Sunjeong (柳順汀, 1459-1512). Joseon Dynasty, copied in early 18th century. Ink and color on silk, 172.0 × 110.0 cm. (Seoul Museum of History).
Since portraits of meritorious subjects are essentially political, they were greatly affected by power shifts between political factions. For instance, the Seoin faction (西人, Western faction) held power in 1623 (Injo banjeong, 仁祖反正), but they were overtaken by the Namin faction (南人, Southern faction) in 1689 (Gisa hwanguk, 己巳換局), followed by the rise of the Noron faction (老論, “The Old Faction”) in 1694 (Gapsul hwanguk, 甲戌換局). With each transfer of power, the meritorious honors of officials from the previous faction were revoked and their portraits were collected and publicly incinerated in front of the palace. Still, portraits honoring the loyalty and service of certain past individuals continued to be held in high regard, and in the later periods, the political and aesthetic aspects of the portraits were very influential. For example, when the portrait of King Taejo was copied in 1688, the 14th year of King Sukjong’s reign (肅宗, r. 1674-1720), the Portrait of Yu Sunjeong (Fig. 3), was summoned to the palace so that the king and officials could study it. Then, to select four royal portraitists, a competition was held among the court painters, to see who could do the best job copying the painting. The copies of Portrait of Yu Sunjeong that were painted by the selected royal portraitists were then granted to the descendants of Yu Sunjeong. This process later became the tradition when painting royal portraits and portraits of meritorious subjects. Kings Yeongjo (英祖, r. 1724-1776) and Jeongjo (正祖, r. 1776-1800) also requisitioned portraits of meritorious subjects to be brought to the palace so that they could be studied and copied, including portraits of Yi Hangbok (李恒福, 1556-1618), Yi Sibaek (李時白, 1581-1660), Yi Huwon (李厚源, 1598-1660) and Kim Seokju (金錫冑, 1634-1684). The descendents of the meritorious subjects not only received the new copies of the portraits, but they were also sometimes promoted or given official positions, if they did not already have one. For example, Kim Seokju’s descendant Kim Gijang (金基長, 1741-1786) was promoted to a higher official position.
Self-Cultivation Portraits of Mid-Late Joseon Dynasty Literati Scholars
As a Neo-Confucian state, Joseon was greatly influenced by literati in politics and academia, so portraits of scholars were very important. During the early part of the dynasty, Neo-Confucian scholars believed that the usage of portraits of the deceased in funerary ceremonies was heretical, since it was a representative Buddhist custom. Accordingly, in early-mid Joseon, literati were reluctant to have their portraits made.
But in the 17th century, Neo-Confucianism became more pervasive, and absorbed into Joseon Society. The use of mortuary tablets was firmly established, and attitudes shifted back toward portraiture. Song Siyeol (宋時烈, 1607-1689), a leading Neo-Confucian scholar and politician, had his portrait made, emulating Zhu Xi. Following Zhu’s example, Song used portraiture to emphasize the significance of self-cultivation and self-reflection. At this time, a more realistic stance on rituals took hold and the convention of enshrining both mortuary tablets and portraits was practiced. Thus, the ritualistic and self-cultivation characteristics of portraiture were again stressed and cherished. Consequently, in the late 17th century, a new phenomenon arose: literati portraiture. The aspects of ritual and self-reflection related to literati portraiture became a fundamental feature of Neo-Confucian ritual culture.
A literati portrait generally depicts a man in a scholar’s robe (simui, 深衣) and hat (bokgeon, 幅巾). Such portraits were typically hung either in a portrait hall (yeongdang, 影堂) or in the memorial hall of the subject’s academy (seowon, 書院), so that he could be commemorated and honored by other scholars and students. Two good examples of literati portraiture are the 1683 portrait of Song Siyeol by court painter Han Sigak (韓時覺, b. 1621) and the 18th-century copy now in the collection of the National Museum of Korea. In creating his own portraits, Song Siyeol adhered to the tenets described in the Books of Rites (禮記) and The Family Rituals of Zhu Xi (朱子家禮), and also studied the Portrait of Zhu Xi, in order to insure that the image embodied Neo-Confucian ideals and portrayed his Neo-Confucian identity. In the portrait (Fig. 4), Song is portrayed wearing a black hat, a white hemp robe with black trim, and a long black-and-white belt. He stands in a reverential pose, with his hands placed one over the other. The relatively simple style, with the palette largely confined to black and white, allows the portrait to emphasize the particular Neo-Confucian principles of reflection and self-possession.
Fig 4.
Portrait of Song Siyeol (宋時烈, 1607-1689). Copied in late 18th century. Ink and color on silk, 89.7 × 67.6 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
After seeing his portrait, Song adorned it with some “self-cautionary comments” (jagyeongmun, 自警文). The remarks highlight the virtues of self-examination and introspection, which are fundamental aspects of “portraits of Neo-Confucian notables” (yuhyeonsang, 儒賢像).
I have meager knowledge and qualities, living a rustic existence in a humble woodland hut. The window is lit and all is quiet, but reading continues despite hunger. My appearance is haggard and pale, and my learning is incomplete. I have turned away from the King’s truth and have not followed the words of the wise. I am thus nothing but a bookworm.
Song’s words are sharply critical, embodying the self-cultivating characteristics of literati portraiture. Song’s portrait was frequently copied by successive generations of disciples and displayed in academies and shrine halls throughout the country, further propagating the ritualistic, academic, and political aspects of the image. Song, who was respectfully called Songja (宋子, “Master Song”), was venerated as a preeminent scholar, and the 18th-century portrait of him in the National Museum of Korea (Fig. 4) was created within this context, to reflect the ideology and idealism that he represented. King Jeongjo wrote a funerary ode (chijemun, 致祭文) on the portrait, which fully addressed the ritualistic, reflective, and political contexts of the image and accentuated the importance of self-cultivation.
His integrity and loyalty have been respected for ages [cheonchu, 千秋]. I have esteemed and revered him my entire life. He was also admired by past kings [seonwang, 先王]. There is no scholar who would not respect him. His words were reasonable and logical. He became highly proficient [jongjang, 宗匠] in learning the principle [ihak, 理學]. Unable to complete all his affairs [gyeongnyun, 經綸] and services [saeop, 事業], lamentably he entered his final days. He has a shrine [sadang, 祠堂] in Seoul. His portrait is lofty and solemn. Scholars fill the entire courtyard. I have sent for the Royal Secretary [seungji, 承旨] and raise a wine glass.
After Song Siyeol, during the 18th century, the traditional Neo-Confucianists were supplanted by the descendents of the rustic literati (sallim hakja, 山林學者), who gained academic and political control. This movement believed that portraits were important, and the production of portraits increased. Most of the literati were fond of Zhu Xi and Song Siyeol, and adhered to their precedent of wearing the white scholars’ robes. However, due to some ideological distinctions between the schools of thought, some literati now wore a new style of robe and hat. In addition to reflecting the generational changes within academia, the portraits also display a greater variety of decorative and realistic characteristics. Literati portraiture of the late Joseon Dynasty was diverse in both style and form.
The portrait of Yun Jeung (尹拯, 1629-1714) is an example of such diversity. Yun Jeung was a former student of Song Siyeol who made a political and ideological split from Song’s group Noron (老論, “The Old Faction”) to form his own group Soron (少論, “The Young Faction”). Yun’s portrait accentuates introspection, as well as the psychological and ideological burden of failing to be loyal (siljeol, 失節). Thus, instead of the usual scholar’s hat and white robe, Yun wears a straight-collared robe (jingnyeong, 直領) and a rectangular hat (banggeon, 方巾), the garb of an ordinary civil official and literatus. Bak Sedang (朴世堂, 1629-1703) (Fig. 5), another leader of the Soron faction, also wore a white robe and hat, but he insisted on adhering quite literally to the “angular shape” (bang, 方) of clothing described in the Books of Rites by wearing a collar molded into the shape of a quadrilateral. These differences reflect a conscious movement away from Zhu Xi Neo-Confucianism.
Fig 5.
Portrait of Bak Sedang (朴世堂, 1629-1703), attributed to Jo Segeol (曺世傑, 1628-1705). Joseon Dynasty, c.1690. Ink and color on silk, 85.0 × 58.6 cm. (Academy of Korean Studies, Jangseogak, entrusted by Bak family).
Notably, the portraits of Noron literati who upheld the teachings of Song Siyeol, such as Kwon Sangha (權尙夏, 1641-1721), Han Wonjin (韓元震, 1682-1751), Kim Wonhaeng (金元行, 1702-1772), and Kim Yian (金履安, 1722-1791) (Fig. 6), exemplify the same elements as Song’s portrait. However, the late 18th-century portraits are more realistically painted. In addition, another change in the aesthetic style of late Joseon Dynasty portraiture is the inclusion of blue robes with black collars, hemlines, and edges (襴衫, nansam), along with pointed, pyramidal hats (程子冠, named after the famous Chinese scholar, Chengzi (程子, 1033-1107) of the Song Dynasty). These changes can be seen in the portraits of Yun Bonggu (尹鳳九, 1681-1767) and Yi Chae (李采, 1745-1820) (Fig. 7).
Fig 6.
Portrait of Kim Yian (金履安, 1722-1791). Joseon Dynasty, late 18th century. Ink and color on silk, 170.0 × 79.7 cm. (Ewha Womans University Museum).
Fig 7.
Portrait of Yi Chae (李采, 1745-1820). Joseon Dynasty, 1802. Ink and color on silk, 99.2 ×58.0 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
Commemorative Portraits of Late Joseon Dynasty Scholar-Officials
The legacy of Song Siyeol was quite strong, so the strict suppression of portraiture became significantly weaker by the late 17th century. Consequently, in the 18th century, more portraits were made emphasizing self-cultivation and ritual. In addition to the usual portraits of the king and preeminent Neo-Confucian literati, portraits of ordinary bureaucrats began to be created. As portraiture became a fundamental component of aristocratic ritual culture, a significant development arose: commemorative portraiture.
Also in the 18th century, foreign styles from Qing China and the West were incorporated into paintings. Traditional principles were enhanced with linear perspective and chiaroscuro techniques, thereby helping to develop a realistic painting style that concretely and vividly depicted popular life. With these new techniques, various types of portraits were produced depending on the appearance, rank, and status of the literati, as well as their ideological, political and aesthetical inclinations. In the newer, more realistic portraits, the differences and inclinations of the subjects became even more striking and natural.
The portraits of Chae Jegong (蔡濟恭, 1720-1799) reflect the particular aspects of 18th-century commemorative portraits of scholar-officials. After enduring a period of political alienation, Chae was allowed to return to officialdom thanks to King Jeongjo’s “policy of impartiality” (tangpyeong jeongchi, 蕩平政治), and he even rose to become prime minister. Because he preferred portraits that reflected his political success, he is depicted in his official robes. In three different portraits, he is painted wearing the three types of official dress of the late Joseon Dynasty. In his court dress portrait (jobokbon, 朝服本), Chae wears a grand, vivid red court robe, accessorized with a jade sash (paeok, 佩玉) and gold headpiece (geumgwan, 金冠), and he holds an ivory tablet (sanga hol, 象牙笏). In his bureaucrat portrait (sangbokbon, 常服本), Chae is depicted in the representative black official robe (heukdallyeong, 黑團領). Lastly, in his ordinary official image (sibokbon, 時服本), Chae wears the rouge-tinted everyday robe (hongdallyeong, 紅團領) (Fig. 8). Together, the three portraits in official garb allow Chae to effortlessly display and celebrate his political accomplishments.
Fig 8.
Portrait of Chae Jegong (蔡濟恭, 1720-1799) (Portrait in Official Robe), by Yi Myeonggi (李命基, b. 1756). Joseon Dynasty, 1791. Ink and color on silk, 120.0 × 79.8 cm. (Suwon Hwaseong Museum).
Upon seeing the three portraits, Chae composed the following complimentary remarks (chanmun, 贊文), which clearly express his thoughts:
Wearing the sash of a high official [gogwan, 高官] and holding a tablet (hol, 笏), What policies did I approve as a prime minister? Hair is white and face is wrinkled, What activities became accomplishments? Living in peace from birth to death, Are you as happy as me? -Portrait in Court Dress
In all eternity, only King Yeongjo understood my heart, King Jeongjo granted me a new life [jaesaeng, 再生] with his grace. Though I was not avoided or hated by the wicked, Who will believe that I served the King with virtue? -Portrait in Black Official Dress
Your appearance and your heart, grace of your parents Your head and your legs, grace of your King. The fan is due to the King’s grace, as is the incense pouch [hyangnang, 香囊]. Which of your adornments is not due to his kindness? After I withdraw from my post, my shame is in not being able to repay such kindness. -Portrait in Official Robe
After seeing himself wearing such noble and luxurious court attire in his commemorative portrait, Chae expressed his gratitude for the royal favor he received from Kings Yeongjo and Jeongjo, and his satisfaction and confidence in his bureaucratic persona. Like his predecessors Song Siyeol and Kwon Sangha, Chae held the high office of prime minister. Yet, his portraits in court and official dress differ significantly from the aforementioned literati portraits, wherein the sitter embodies a scholar’s identity in literati robe, emphasizing introspection. Chae’s portraits, on the other hand, superbly display the sumptuous and varied court attire of the late Joseon Dynasty. Also, the portraits demonstrate the importance of realism through the artists’ use of linear perspective and chiaroscuro.
Just as the portraits of Prime Minister Chae Jegong clearly illustrate the style of scholar-official portraiture of the late Joseon Dynasty, the portrait of Police Commander Yi Changun (李昌運, 1713-1791) is a representative example of military-official portraiture. Similar to scholar-officials, military officials are depicted wearing black official robes, but they have different rank-badges. While the rank-badges of scholar-officials have winged animals, such as cranes and geese, the badges of military officials have four-legged animals, such as tigers, leopards, and lions. Since scholar-officials had a superior social status, many military officials preferred to be painted wearing a crane-and-cloud (unhak, 雲鶴) rank-badge, but this pervasive practice was often prohibited by law. Few extant portraits depict military officials in their military uniforms.
Yi Changun came from an important family of military officials, and his family held several high-ranking military positions, including Police Commander, Commander of the Capital Guards, and Commander of the Northern Approaches. Being very proud of his military status, Yi is portrayed wearing the uniform of a military commander (gugunbok, 具軍服) (Fig. 9). He is attired in a violet military robe (jeonbok, 戰服) over a narrow-sleeved blue inner robe with red cuffs, along with a soldier’s felt hat (jeollip, 戰笠) with a peacock feather and a beaded hat string (paeyeong, 貝纓). His accessories include an indigo soldier’s belt (jeondae, 戰帶), a sword (paedo, 佩刀), a military amulet (byeongbu, 兵符), and the wisteria rod (deungchae, 藤策) in his right hand. The portrait is an excellent example of the grand attire of military commanders.
Fig 9.
Portrait of Yi Changun (李昌運, 1713-1791). Joseon Dynasty, 1782. Ink and color on silk, 153.0 × 86.0 cm. (Private Collection)
Meanwhile, lower-ranking bureaucrats who were not considered prominent scholars preferred to be portrayed in simple, unadorned habitual dress (yaboksang, 野服像), as exemplified by the portrait of Im Mae (任邁, 1711-1799) (Fig. 10). Im, a virtuous low-ranking official, interacted with calligraphers and painters who favored Qing trends. Wearing a jade-colored robe and black hat, he sits behind a small desk that holds books and a scroll from China, and a pair of glasses. The portrait embodies the character of a scholar who enjoys poetry and painting. Im’s complimentary comments further stress the aesthete literati persona: “Clumsy, but apparently proud; limited, but with loyalty; indolent and unfocused, instead it is close to reality.”
Fig 10.
Portrait of Im Mae (任邁, 1711-1799), by Han Jeongrae (韓廷來, ?). Joseon Dynasty, 1777. Ink and color on silk, 64.8 × 46.4 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
Similar to Im’s portrait is that of Seo Jiksu (徐直修, 1735-1811) (Fig. 11). Seo, a county magistrate (gunsu, 郡守) who appreciated calligraphy and painting, is portrayed standing in socks (beoseon) on a mat, wearing the plain robe and hat of the literati. The simple attire, as well as his posture with hands clasped inside his robes, conveys a sense of honesty and straight-forwardness. In 1790, the two most prominent court painters—portrait specialist Yi Myeonggi (李命基, b. 1756) and Kim Hongdo (金弘道, 1745-after 1805)—were asked by King Jeongjo to paint the altar portrait (hubultaeng, 後佛幀) for Yongjusa Temple (龍珠寺). At that time, the artists became acquainted with Seo Jiksu, who was assisting on the Hyeollyungwon (顯隆園) tomb project. Yi and Kim collaborated on the portrait of Seo, with Yi painting the face and Kim the body. Though the portrait was of the highest caliber, Seo surprisingly found it to be deficient; he wrote that it did not portray the mental and spiritual characteristics of the “dignified” self. It shows that, regardless of the painter’s skill, it is very difficult to accurately grasp the private complexities of a person’s inner life, and even more challenging to visually illustrate those aspects. But this disparity can perhaps be reconciled by painting one’s own portrait, which makes self-portraits inherently idealistic. Self-portraits focus on expressing the self, and, as the most introspective of images, are thus categorized as commemorative portraits.
Fig 11.
Portrait of Seo Jiksu (徐直修, 1735-1811), by Yi Myeonggi (李命基, b. 1756) and Kim Hongdo (金弘道, 1745-after 1806). Joseon Dynasty, 1796. Ink and color on silk, 148.8 × 72.4 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
The self-portraits of Yun Duseo (尹斗緖, 1668-1715) and Kang Sehwang (姜世晃, 1713-1791), two of the finest painters among the literati of the late Joseon Dynasty, precisely illustrate these aspects. Yun Duseo was fully capable of serving as a high-ranking official, but he chose to retreat from public service in order to avoid political strife. He was a man of the arts who enjoyed poetry and painting. For his self-portrait, he first used a mirror to draw his head, face, and torso with willow charcoal (yutan, 柳炭), and then used ink and paint to complete the face, which gazes directly out at the viewer (Fig. 12). Since portions of the image are unfinished, the portrait can be considered a sketch (chobon, 草本) on paper. But the traces of charcoal were almost removed over time, and thus it makes the portrait look as if the portrait only depicted the face. As a result, the close-up view of Yun’s face draws the entire focus. By eliminating all extraneous aspects, with the exception of a skull-cap (tanggeon, 宕巾), Yun highlights the introspective, psychological features of the self in what is rightly considered the finest self-portrait of the late Joseon Dynasty.
Fig 12.
Self-Portrait of Yun Duseo (尹斗緖, 1668-1715). Joseon Dynasty, early 18th century. Ink and color on paper, 38.5 x 20.5 cm. (Haenam Nogudang).
Meanwhile, Kang Sehwang painted a self-portrait which includes some external elements, including an unusual choice of attire: ordinary literati robes combined with a black official’s hat (osamo, 烏紗帽) (Fig. 13). His inscription explains the odd combination:
Fig 13.
Self-Portrait of Kang Sehwang (姜世晃, 1713-1791). Joseon Dynasty, 1782. Ink and color on silk, 88.7 × 51.0 cm. (National Museum of Korea, entrusted by private collector).
Who is that man? His beard and brows are white. He wears a black official’s hat on his head and a non-official’s robe [yabok, 野服] on his body. Hereby his heart is in the mountains [sallim, 山林], though his name is in the court [jojeong, 朝廷]. He hides thousands of books from Iyu [二酉, two famous libraries in ancient China] in his heart, and shakes the Five Mountains [五嶽] with his brush. How will people know? It is only to please himself.
Due to political conflict, Kang was initially excluded from government (yain, 野人), and so enjoyed the life of a literati. But after the “impartiality policy,” he entered government at an advanced age and served in high-ranking positions. The portrait symbolizes his “performative roles.” While it would likely have been difficult for ordinary court painters to understand and describe the scholar-official persona, Kang effectively represents his own dual identity as a scholar-official: “half-bureaucrat” (bangwan, 半官) and “half-outsider” (banya, 半野). His self-portrait is creative and distinctive for his clever melding of the two identities. The process of becoming a scholar-official was long and arduous: first, studying the principles of nature and society in order to cultivate Neo-Confucian knowledge and refinement, and then passing the civil-service examination to receive a government post. Thus, many who achieved such positions chose to have a set of portraits: one in official attire and the other in non-bureaucratic dress. Kang, however, portrayed the binary self-identity of bureaucrat and outsider in a single image. His self-portrait can be seen as symbolically manifesting the fundamental aspects of Joseon Dynasty literati.
Conclusion: The Significance and Distinction of Joseon Dynasty Literati
The establishment of Neo-Confucianism as the state ideology of the Joseon Dynasty led to the development of literati rites and culture, which in turn led to the development of literati portraiture. Within the Neo-Confucian system of beliefs and behavior, literati portraiture carried political, ritualistic, and philosophical meaning, and these various traits are reflected in the changing form and style of the images.
Portraits of meritorious subjects, which were particularly popular during the early-mid Joseon Dynasty, depict individuals in their official court robes, emphasizing their official rank and political authority. The subjects are depicted in courteous, civil postures, signifying their loyalty to the court and state. But as the Neo-Confucian political order and ritual culture became more pervasive by the mid-late Joseon, there was a rise in portraits of Confucian notables. Emphasizing the notions of self-cultivation and reflection, these austere portraits show literati in scholars’ robes and hats, with dark and light contrasts. Finally, in late Joseon, commemorative portraits of bureaucrats proliferated. High-ranking officials are depicted in grand, ornate court dress to emphasize their political accomplishments. Conversely, ordinary literati are shown in simple, undecorated attire, portraying their humanity and virtue. In contrast with the style of court painters, painters from the literati created aestheticized self-portraits that envisaged the subtle and manifold facets of the inner self.
By examining the overall circumstances and reality of the Joseon era, we can accurately grasp the significance and meaning of literati portraiture within their historical context. Additionally, since the particularities of Neo-Confucian rites and culture were fundamentally internalized, many facets of portraiture were extrinsically concise, conventional, and strictly formalized. Furthermore, the portraits intrinsically reveal the aesthetics of simplicity and refinement.
Two Stages in the Production Process of Late Joseon Portraits: Sketches and Reverse Coloring
- Lee Soomi(National Museum of Korea)
This paper examines portraits from the late Joseon Dynasty (17th–19th century) within the context of their production process, rather than considering them only as completed works. Today, the extant portraits are typically viewed as finished products and displayed as “results,” but this conventional approach neglects many crucial aspects of the portraits. These works emerged from specific times and locations, and they were conceived and produced through a fairly rigorous sequence of stages. In order to deepen our understanding of these portraits, this study investigates two of the overlooked stages of portrait production: sketches and reverse coloring.
The Korean word chobon (草本) refers to an initial sketch that artists make when they first conceive of the entire painting in their mind. Such sketches serve as drafts that depict the subjects in the first stages of the portrait production.1 Despite the wealth of insightful scholarship about Joseon portraits, the portrait sketches have only recently begun to receive scholarly attention.2 There are at least two reasons for this scholarly neglect: very few portrait sketches have survived, and they were never regarded as finished works. Usually, the sketches were destroyed once the portraits were completed, since they were viewed as the mere groundwork for the completed works (jeongbon, 正本).
Another major feature of the Joseon portraits was baechae (背彩), a technique of applying colors to the reverse side of the painting, which was used for both the sketches and the completed portraits. Since a layer of backing (baejeop, 褙接) is typically applied to the portraits, it is only possible to examine the reverse side of the portraits during the conservation process, when the backing is removed. Thus, the study of this technique has not progressed much, since most portraits still remain intact and uninvestigated. However, the portraits in the collection of the National Museum of Korea recently underwent a scientific examination that yielded rich materials, and revealed traces of reverse coloring, even with the backings affixed (Yu Hyeson and Jang Yeonhui 2007 and 2008). Based on these materials, this paper examines the portrait sketches and reverse coloring, which were two of the most integral stages in portrait production.
Production Process of Joseon Portraits
The nature of portrait sketches and reverse coloring becomes clear when the full production process of portraits is comprehensively examined. This process essentially consists of two distinct stages: the sketch stage, followed by the stage to create the final portrait. The sketches are the rough works that depict the sitters in the early stages of the production, while the portraits refer to the completed works, which are based on the revised and improved sketches. Another type of division can be made between the three types of subject depicted in a portrait: the process of making a portrait of a real, living person is called dosa (圖寫); copying a pre-existing portrait is mosa (模寫), and making a posthumous portrait is chusa (追寫) (Cho Sunmie 1983, 148).
Portrait sketches were produced in a number of different ways, depending on the subject. If the subject was alive, the painter sketched the person in real life. When copying another portrait, the painter placed a piece of paper over an existing portrait and traced it. For a posthumous sketch, the painter likely created the portrait sketches from the recollections of the deceased’s family and friends, in the absence of an extant portrait. The remaining records and portrait sketches allow us to reconstruct the usual production process for the portraits as follows.3
Part 1 – Making sketches on oiled paper
1. Prepare the oiled paper. 2. Moktancho (木炭草, charcoal sketch) or yutancho (柳炭草, willow charcoal sketch): On the oiled paper, draw the rough outlines of the sitter using willow charcoal. 3. Meokseoncho (墨線草, ink outline sketch): Go over the rough outline with ink to make it more precise. 4. Baechae (背彩, reverse coloring): Observing the ink lines on the front, apply colors to the reverse side. 5. Seonyeomcho (渲染草, sketch with color wash technique) or pilmyocho (筆描草, sketch with focus on lines): On the front of the paper, detail the face through shading, either by applying a color wash technique or by drawing very fine lines. Either method is performed in close accordance with the colors on the reverse, which are visible through the translucence of the paper.
Part 2 – Creating final portraits on silk
6. Fasten silk to a wooden stretcher and then process the silk by way of agyoposu (阿膠泡水, applying watered glue and alum to silk), which fills in the holes between the silk strands, thereby enhancing the colors and preventing them running. 7. Place the silk (still fastened to the stretcher) over the completed sketch, and trace the ink outline onto the silk. 8. Apply colors to the back of the silk, in accordance with the ink outlines on the front, which are visible through the silk. 9. Finish by shading (again, either by the color wash method or by drawing fine lines) to the front of the silk canvas, while observing colors on the reverse, as seen through the silk.
Throughout the entire process, the original portrait sketches functioned as the specific guidelines of the final work, and thus provided a preview of the intended effects before the portrait was finally painted on silk. The patrons of the portraits had detailed discussions about these sketches, as they tried to decide how the final works should look. The portrait sketches also provided the criteria for deciding formal aspects of the final portrait, including the composition, color scheme, reverse coloring, shading, lines, and so on.
Types of Portrait Sketches
Sketches on Oiled Paper or Untreated Paper
Most Joseon portraits were painted on silk, although there are a few exceptions that were executed on paper. On the contrary, almost all of the portrait sketches were drawn on paper, but they were drawn on two different types of paper: oiled (yujibon, 油紙本) and untreated (jibon, 紙本).
Most portrait sketches were drawn on paper treated with oil, since the oil makes the paper semi-transparent. This effect allowed colors applied to the reverse side to infiltrate onto the front, like today’s tracing paper. Therefore, painters could do preliminary tests of tonal effects, created by combining the colors on the front (jeonchae, 前彩) and back (baechae, 背彩). Testing the colors on oiled paper was a necessary step for the painters before proceeding to the final portraits on silk. The surviving portrait sketches on oiled paper, such as those housed in the National Museum of Korea, reveal that the semi-transparent paper becomes brown and discolored over time. Yet, in its original state, the oiled paper was likely semi-transparent yellow, the same as plain untreated silk. Oiled paper might also have been prepared in order to create a copy of a pre-existing portrait. The oiled paper would have been placed over the original to enable tracing, since the semi-transparent paper revealed the original placed underneath.
Despite the ostensible benefits of using oiled paper, some surviving works were executed on untreated paper. Some of these works are recorded to be final portraits, while others seem more likely to be sketches for a finished portrait on silk. For example, the Portrait of Yi Wonik (李元翼, 1547-1634) (Fig. 1) was painted on a few pieces of untreated paper that were pasted together. Both the brushwork and coloring are very lively and spontaneous. Considering that multiple pieces of untrimmed paper were haphazardly pasted together, the painting was probably a sketch for a portrait, rather than a final work. The painter may have used thin, untreated paper rather than oiled paper, since the former was also well-suited for making sketches.
Fig. 1.
Portrait of Yi Wonik (李元翼, 1547-1634). Joseon Dynasty, 17th century. Ink and color on paper, 165.5 x 81.0 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
The Portrait of Yi Wonik, examined above, leads us to reconsider the Self-Portrait of Yun Duseo (尹斗緖, 1668-1715) (Yu Hyeseon et al. 2006, 81-95), in the collection of Nogudang (綠雨堂) in Haenam, and the Portrait of Yi Insang (李麟祥, 1710-1760) (National Museum of Korea 2009, 273-75) (Fig. 2). To the naked eye, both of these paintings seem to be on untreated paper, but microscopic and X-ray fluorescence (XRF) analysis has recently revealed that both paintings have colors applied to their reverse side. The traces of reverse coloring on untreated paper indicate that the paper used for both paintings was extremely thin, such that it revealed what was painted on either side.
Fig. 2.
Part of Portrait of Yi Insang (李麟祥, 1710-1760). Joseon Dynasty, 18th century. Ink and color on paper, 58.0 x 33.0 cm. (National Museum of Korea )
In addition to the reverse coloring, the Portrait of Yi Insang shows traces of revisions in the area of both the ear and chin, and a sketch-like treatment of the robe. These two features are often observed in portrait sketches. The Self-Portrait of Yun Duseo also demonstrates traces of the reverse coloring and a simple description of the robe. In addition, according to the collector, the work has been preserved rolled without any backing or mounting (Cheon Juhyeon et al. 2006, note. 9). Again, these features strongly suggest that the Self-Portrait of Yun Duseo may have been a portrait sketch, rather than a final portrait.
Painting Techniques Used in Portrait Sketches
Extant portrait sketches were drawn with various kinds of materials (including charcoal, ink, red ink, or color pigments), and with different painting techniques. In this section, I will divide portrait sketches into four categories—moktancho (木炭草, charcoal sketch), meokseoncho (墨線草, ink sketch), seonyeomcho (渲染草, wash sketch), and pilmyocho (筆描草, fine brush sketch)—and examine the defining features of each type. However, it cannot be ascertained whether the extant portrait sketches were produced as sketches of living people, posthumous sketches, or copies of existing portraits.
First, moktancho refers to charcoal sketches made in the earliest stages of the portrait production process, which are commonly termed “rough sketches drawn with willow charcoal” (yutanyaksa, 柳炭略寫), since the charcoal was usually obtained by burning willow wood. Examples are found in an album called Chilbunjeonsincheop (七分傳神帖, Album of Portrait Sketches that Transmit the Spirit), named after the title which is affixed to the cover. The album consists of 17 portrait sketches on oiled paper, one willow charcoal sketch on untreated paper, a portrait of Kang Sehwang (姜世晃, 1713-1791), and various colophons. The album was made by Im Wi (任偉, b. 1701), who collected portrait sketches by his son, Im Huisu (任希壽, 1733-1750) and then wrote colophons for some of them. He also included works by other painters, including the Portrait of Kang Sehwang (Cultural Heritage Administration Korea 2007, 262-77; National Museum of Korea 2009, 213-16).
The Portrait Sketch (Fig. 3) was originally executed on separate paper, but was later included in the album Chilbunjeonsincheop. The sketch is a yutancho, in which the painter carefully drew the sitter at first sight, using rather soft willow charcoal. Such examples of yutancho, illustrating the initial stages of sketching, are quite rare, since the yutancho was usually expunged when the painter inked over the sketch. Another rare example of yutancho is the sketch for the Portrait of Chae Jegong (蔡濟恭, 1720-1799) (Fig. 4), which shows more refined lines than those found in the willow charcoal sketch from the album. The subject’s face and official cap are defined in firm lines of willow charcoal, and only the collars and shoulder of the official robe are drawn. There are no traces of colors applied to either the front or back of the sketch.
Fig. 3.
Portrait Sketch from Chilbunjeonsincheop (七分傳神帖, Album of Portrait Sketches that Transmit the Spirit), (c.1750). Joseon Dynasty, 18th Century. Willow charcoal on paper, 31.9 x 21.8 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
Fig. 4.
Portrait of Chae Jegong (蔡濟恭, 1720-1799). Joseon Dynasty, late 18th century. Willow charcoal on paper, 72.5 x 47.2 cm. (Suwon Hwaseong Museum).
Second, the Portrait of Song Siyeol (宋時烈, 1607-1689) (Fig. 5) from 1680 is a good example of the meokseoncho stage (墨線草) of sketches, wherein the painter outlined the subject solely with ink on thin paper that was slightly treated in oil. In this portrait, the paper is so thin that one can discern traces of the woven bamboo mold on which the paper was formed. Another Portrait of Song Siyeol (Fig. 6), attributed to Kim Changeop (金昌業, 1658-1721), is also a meokseoncho in which the painter repeated brushstrokes on the body to define the contour and size of the sitter’s robe. Thus, it is a meokseoncho that aimed to bring the body into focus.
Fig. 5.
Portrait of Song Siyeol (宋時烈, 1607-1689). Joseon Dynasty, late 17th century. Ink on paper, 36.5 x 56.5 cm. (Private collection).
Fig. 6.
Portrait of Song Siyeol (宋時烈, 1607-1689), attributed to Kim Changeop (金昌業 1658-1721). Joseon Dynasty, late 17th- early 18th century. Ink and color on paper, 37.0 x 50.5 cm. (Private collection).
The other two categories of portrait sketches refer not so much to the stage of production, but to the method of depiction. The third type is seonyeomcho (渲染草), which indicates a portrait sketch in which the volume of the sitter’s face is expressed with light ink, light color washes, or light pigments. After the contour of the face is outlined in ink, the artists applied the color wash method to create shading without visible lines. An example is found in the Portrait of Im Suryun (任守綸, 1680-1752) (Fig. 7) from the Chilbunjeonsincheop. Im Huisu seems to have given his utmost attention to capturing the sitter’s most notable physical features, given that he used somewhat simpler description than that shown in the album called Myeonghyeonhwasang (名賢畫像, Portrait Sketches of Renowned Officials), which will be examined shortly (National Museum of Korea 2009, 214-15). It is not known whether the portrait sketches on oiled paper in the Chilbunjeonsincheop were ever transferred onto silk as final works. According to Im Wi’s colophons, which are written beside the sketches, Im Huisu was not commissioned by the subjects to paint the works; he created them simply out of a need to express himself. Despite this unusual circumstance, Im Huisu still applied colors to the back of the paintings in order to enhance their quality as portrait sketches. In some of the sketches from the album, the faces are painted on the back with flesh-colored pigments. XRF examinations have revealed that other sketches, whose reverse sides are still inaccessible, also show traces of reverse coloring (National Museum of Korea 2009, 273-75).
Fig. 7.
Portrait of Im Suryun (任守綸, 1680-1752) from Chilbunjeonsincheop. Joseon Dynasty, 1749. Ink and color on paper, 23.8 x 11.5 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
The Myeonghyeonhwasang consists of 33 portrait sketches on oiled paper, portraying dignitaries who were active during the reigns of King Yeongjo (英祖, r. 1724-1776) and King Jeongjo (正祖, r. 1776-1800).4 This album really exemplifies both the use of oiled paper as the paintings’ ground and the technique of reverse coloring. Considering the superb use of the color wash method, these portrait sketches are exquisite seonyeomcho that were most likely executed by professional painters. The faces have as much detail as final works. On the right side of the Portrait of Jo Yeongjin (趙榮進, 1703-1775) (Fig. 8), the artist made some sketches of the beard and eyebrows in different styles. The painter also tested several different shapes of the facial hairs so as to select the most appropriate, and revised accordingly in preparation of the final work. As opposed to the highly detailed face, the artist made a very rough sketch of the subject’s body with casual and lively brushstrokes.
Fig. 8.
Portrait of Jo Yeongjin (趙榮進, 1703-1775) from Myeonghyeonhwasang (名賢畫像, Portrait Sketches of Renowned Officials). Joseon Dynasty, 18th century. Ink and color on paper 41.2 x 31.8 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
The Portrait Sketch of Chae Jegong (蔡濟恭, 1720-1799) (Fig. 9) provides a glimpse of the degree of precision which could be achieved in seonyeomcho sketches through the elaborate color wash method. It is important to note that the painter precisely applied the reverse coloring to the face, and even separately colored the white and the pupils of the eyes on the reverse side of the painting. Perhaps most unusual, after finishing the face, the painter applied white pigments to the front in order to confirm the size of the body and the contour of the robe.5
Fig. 9.
Portrait Sketch of Chae Jegong (蔡濟恭, 1720-1799), front and back. Joseon Dynasty, c.1791. Ink and color on paper, 65.5x50.6cm. (Suwon Hwaseong Museum)
Fourth, pilmyocho (筆描草) is characterized by the use of repeated minute lines on the face to achieve volume, as shown in the Portrait Sketch (Fig. 10). The boundless repetition of precise brushstrokes in the sketchs gives the subject’s skin a smooth appearance, recalling the brushwork of the final portraits.
Fig. 10.
Part of Portrait Sketch. Joseon Dynasty, 19th century. Ink and color on paper, 64.5 x 50.8 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
In terms of the production stage, these four types of portrait sketches can be listed in the order of moktancho → meokseoncho → seonyeomcho or pilmyocho. While moktancho and meokseoncho refer to the sequential order of the production, seonyeomcho and pilmyocho represent different manners of description, both of which happened during the final stages of the portrait sketches.
The descriptive manners used in seonyeomcho or pilmyocho closely resonate with the style of the final portraits of the time. For example, the 17th-century Portrait of Yi Wonik (李元翼, 1547-1634) (Fig. 1), which seems to be a sketch rather than a final work (as discussed above), recalls the general style of final portraits from the 17th century. Specifically, the artist utilized delicate lines and light coloring, instead of rendering with an excess of lines and applying deep coloring. Meanwhile, the sketches from the Myeonghyeonhwasang, which were produced in the 18th century, mirror the stylistic trend of 18th-century portraits, in which the color wash method and shading are used to create more realistic portraits. The Portrait Sketch (Fig. 10), which is classified as pilmyocho, was produced in the 19th century. Thus, it illustrates the style that prevailed in 19th-century portraits, wherein shading is created with numerous tiny, fine lines, making the subject appear more three-dimensional.
Reverse Coloring (Baechae,背彩)
The baechae technique of applying colors to the reverse side of a painting was used for both sketches and final portraits in the Joseon period. In the records from that time, this method is called either baechae (北彩) or baeseol (北設). Kim Gwangsu (金光遂, b. 1696) told King Yeongjo about an ancient Chinese painting that he had examined, wherein colors were applied to the reverse side and then covered with a backing layer of paper (Seungjeongwon Ilgi—fourth month, second day in 1745, the 21st year of King Yeongjo). Reverse coloring has also been noted in Buddhist paintings of the Goryeo period (高麗, 918-1392), but was used more elaborately in the Joseon portraits (Chung Woothak 1997, 27-29, 49-57; Bak Jiseon 1996, 62, and 2009, 15). In addition to portraits, baechae was also employed in the Joseon period for blue-and-green landscape paintings and for official paintings recording court events.
King Yeongjo himself articulated the reasons for this technique during an interesting dialogue with his subjects, while appreciating a portrait of King Sejo. King Yeongjo remarked that “over time, all of the color pigments of the portraits of famous military commanders have worn away, since the faces were only painted on the front, without reverse coloring” (Seungjeongwon Ilgi—ninth month, second day in 1735, the 11th year of King Yeongjo). In other words, color pigments on the front of a painting are relatively exposed to light and friction, and thus are more susceptible to deterioration and exfoliation. Under such circumstances, reverse coloring would have been well received by both painters and patrons for offering enhancing the effect of the colors especially in the facial features.
When opaque pigments, mostly made from minerals, are applied to the front of a canvas, traces of the brushstrokes are revealed or stained. On the other hand, when the back of the painting is colored, the colors are seen through the weave of silk, resulting in more subtle coloring effects. Among the various painting techniques of the time, Joseon scholars favored reverse coloring, which allowed painters to represent subtle facial features and complexions.
Reverse Coloring on Portrait Sketches
It is difficult to pinpoint exactly when the technique of creating fine coloration by using colors on both the front and back of portrait sketches on oiled paper began. The contents of the portrait sketch album, Myeonghyeonhwasang in the collection of National Museum of Korea show that the tradition of using reverse coloring on portrait sketches was firmly established as early as the 18th century. The album allows us to examine reverse coloring, since its portrait sketches are currently preserved as loose leaves without any backing. In order to better understand how painters used reverse coloring in the portrait sketches of the late Joseon period, I will classify the reverse coloring techniques shown in the album.
In all of the portraits from the Myeonghyeonhwasang album, the faces are painted with colors on the back. However, each portrait displays different methods and areas of application. In making the faces, various hues of pink were applied to the back of the canvas, and the painters seem to have applied the colors differently in order to represent the unique facial complexion of each sitter. In particular, the method for depicting the eyes demonstrates the various forms of reverse coloring for the face, which can be divided into three general categories: applying the same colors for the eyes and the rest of the face, coloring the face and leaving the eyes unpainted, or applying white for the eyes and coloring the face separately. The method for depicting the subject’s beard and other facial hair also varies. For subjects with white beards, the painters sometimes did not apply reverse coloring, because the white on the back would overlap with the color of beard applied on the front. On the other hand, as seen in the Portrait of Yi Changui (李昌誼, 1704-1772) (Fig. 11), the painters sometimes colored the mustache and beard white on the back of the silk and then drew the individual hairs on the front.
Fig. 11.
Portrait of Yi Changui (李昌誼, 1704-1772), front and back, from Myeonghyeonhwasang. Joseon Dynasty, 18th century. Ink and color on paper, 51.2 x 35.5 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
In depicting the official hats, artists either did not use any reverse coloring or else only used light ink on the back to color the two wings of the cap. For both styles, the patterns of the wings are roughly drawn on the front. Notably, one unique phenomenon can be seen in the reverse coloring of official hats. In the Portrait of Yun Dongseung (尹東昇, 1718-1773) (Fig. 12), the painter rather discursively brushed flesh color, black and white over the main part of the hat. Similar examples are found in portrait sketches from the album. It seems that, since the main part of hat was eventually going to be rendered in dark black, the painters used that portion of the canvas to preview the effect of lighter colors of reverse coloring on the front.
Fig. 12.
Portrait of Yun Dongseung (尹東昇, 1718-1773), front and back, from Myeonghyeonhwasang. Joseon Dynasty, 18th century. Ink and color on paper, 48.3 x 37.3 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
Depictions of the official robe also demonstrated variations in reverse coloring technique. Sometimes the white collar of the robe was painted in white and no coloring was applied to the back of the robe, but sometimes the back of the robe was colored and the white collar was not. However, in most cases, no reverse coloring at all was used for the official robes.
The Myeonghyeonhwasang album mainly consists of half-length figures with a focus on faces, and each page of the album demonstrates the fine color wash method employed on both the front and back. Despite these shared features, reverse coloring was applied in various ways, and the coloring on the front also shows different details. This might indicate that the portrait sketches from the album were executed by different painters. It is also important to note that the painters used different manners of coloring to suit different subjects. For example, two of the portrait sketches from the album demonstrate different ways of coloring on both the front and back, even though they depict the same person, whose identity remains unknown (Figs. 13-14). It seems likely that the painters tested different ways of coloring in order to find the most appropriate for the person being depicted.
Fig. 13.
Portrait Sketch, front and back, from Myeonghyeonhwasang. Joseon Dynasty, 18th century. Ink and color on paper, 38.5 x 24.7 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
Fig. 14.
Portrait Sketch, front and back, from Myeonghyeonhwasang. Joseon Dynasty, 18th century. Ink and color on paper, 32.6 x 20.6 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
Reverse Coloring on Final Portraits
Portrait sketches were typically preserved without backing, allowing us to examine their reverse coloring. In contrast, the reverse coloring of final portraits can usually only be examined if a work is being repaired or conserved, which necessitates the removal of the layers of paper backing. However, the National Museum of Korea recently conducted X-ray photographic analysis in order to examine reverse coloring of portraits whose backings remain intact.
Different types and thicknesses of pigment are penetrated in varying degrees by the X-rays, thus allowing us to determine where and how pigments are applied to the paintings. For example, pigments with high density are shown bright in X-ray photographs, since they offer a low degree of penetration. Used in conjunction with microscopic examination and XRF analysis, X-ray photography gives us a more accurate way to examine traces of reverse coloring on the final portraits, even if the backing is still affixed. I will now discuss the nature of the reverse coloring found in the final portraits that were scientifically investigated at the National Museum of Korea.
The X-ray photograph of the Portrait of Shin Im (申銋, 1639-1725) (Fig. 15) reveals that the face and forehead were painted with colors on the back, but the pupils were not. Interestingly, the pupils were painted with black ink on the front, whereas the sclera (whites of the eyes) were colored with lead white (yeonbaek, 鉛白) on the back, with no colors applied on the front. In contrast, in the Portrait of Song Siyeol (Fig. 16), the entire face is colored in the back, without any regard for the eyes. This manner of reverse coloring can also be seen in other portrait sketches. In a few of the portrait sketches from the Myeonghyeonhwasang album, the painters used white on the front to paint the sclera, but in most of the final works, the white coloring is applied only on the back. For most portraits, including the Portrait of Shin Im, the beard is either unpainted in the back. Thus, in the X-ray photographs, the beard area always appears dark, as only the strands of beard that were painted on the front are shown.
Fig. 15.
Portrait of Shin Im (申銋, 1639-1725) and its X-ray photograph. Joseon Dynasty, 1719. Ink and color on silk, 151.0 x 78.2 cm. (National Museum of Korea)
Fig. 16.
Portrait of Song Siyeol (宋時烈, 1607-1689) and its X-ray photograph. Late Joseon Dynasty. Ink and color on silk, 89.7 x 67.6 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
Most of the late Joseon portraits, including the Portrait of Shin Im, show traces of reverse coloring in the robes. However, in the two 17th-century portraits—the Portrait of Hong Gasin (洪可臣, 1541-1615) and a portrait said to depict Jo Ui (趙誼)—the X-ray photographs revealed no traces of reverse coloring in the official dress (dallyeong, 團領). In those two works, the colors and patterns of the official dress were rendered in black ink on the front (Yu Hyeseon and Jang Yeonhui 2008, 263-276). In the case of the Portrait of Jo Gyeong (趙儆, 1541-1609), also 17th-century, the official dress was colored in black ink and color pigments on the front. Reverse coloring does not seem to be applied with the exception of the collar, sleeves, and rank badges on chest, although much of it has scraped off. The face was painted pink on the back (Jang Yeonhui et al. 2008, 85-93) like the other portraits. On the other hand, one 17th-century example of reverse coloring for the official dress is the Portrait of Yi Jungro (李重老, 1577-1624), where the black official dress was colored blue-gray on the back, while the front featured a thin layer of black organic pigments (Bak Jiseon 2009, 25-27; Cho Sunmie 2009, 492-493). This work represents a rare example of reverse coloring used for the official dress in the 17th century portraiture. Further discussion on the periodic characteristics of reverse coloring awaits more research materials.
The painters’ distinctive manners of reverse coloring can be examined through the X-ray photographs, which clearly reveal the directions and flows of the brushstrokes on front and back. In the Portrait of Shin Im (Fig. 15), the painter consistently wielded the brush up and down, while the painter of the Portrait of Seo Jiksu (徐直修, 1735-?) (Fig. 17) applied long, steady brushstrokes on the back of the robe. The painters of both the Portrait of Yi Jae (李縡, 1680-1746) (Fig. 18) and the Portrait of Yi Chae (李采, 1745-1820) (Fig. 19) applied colors on the back of the robes, following the contour of the robes, as seen most clearly in the left sleeve in the Portrait of Yi Chae. Perhaps this indicates that the painters developed the technique of reverse coloring by paying more attention to the characteristics of the robes depicted.
Fig. 17.
Portrait of Seo Jiksu (徐直修, b. 1735) and its X-ray photograph, by Yi Myeonggi (李命基 b. 1756) and Kim Hongdo (金弘道 1745–after 1806). Joseon Dynasty, 1796. Ink and color on silk, 148.8 × 72.4 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
Fig. 18.
Portrait of Yi Jae (李縡, 1680-1746) and its X-ray photograph. Joseon Dynasty, late 18th century. Ink and color on silk, 97.8 x 56.3 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
Fig. 19.
Portrait of Yi Chae (李采, 1745-1820) and its X-ray photograph. Joseon Dynasty, late 18th century. Ink and color on silk, 99.2 × 58.0 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
The Portrait of Yun Geup (尹汲, 1697-1770) (Fig. 20) from 1762 accentuates the artist’s superb ability, including fine reverse coloring. The painter employed very orderly brushstrokes when painting the face and the official dress on the back, and the collar under the ear was thickly painted on the reverse side. The collar appears bright white in the X-ray photograph, but microscopic examination reveals that no colors were applied to the front of the canvas in that area. Thus, it would seem that the bright white consists entirely of thick applications of lead white on the reverse side. In other words, the painter creatively employed reverse coloring to create a sense of depth in the collar, while bringing the beard into relief.
Fig. 20.
Portrait of Yun Geup (尹汲, 1697-1770) and its X-ray photograph. Joseon Dynasty, c.1762. Ink and color on silk, 151.5 x 82.8 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
A closer examination of the area of the official hat in the Portrait of Yun Geup reveals traces of brushstrokes to test the effect of the reverse coloring, a technique also noted in the portrait sketches. During the sketch stage, the painters often used the main area of the hat to test colors that would be applied on the face, and a similar technique was used by the painters of the final portraits. This was also a way to reduce the waste of pigments. In light of the production cost and efforts, the painters sought the most efficient way of making the portraits, while minimizing their use of materials. In the portrait sketches, the painters usually did not apply any reverse coloring to enhance the body of the hat, but the painters of the final portraits often did color the back of the body of the hat, as shown in the traces of reverse coloring revealed by removal of the backing of several works (Bak Jiseon 2009, 25-27; Cho Sunmie 2009, 71, 87, 204, 492). In addition, the final copies also show evidence of complete reverse coloring on the embroidered rank badges on the chest, the chairs, the colored and patterned mats (chaejeon, 彩氈), and other small items. In the Portrait of Jeong Gyeongsun (鄭景淳, 1721-1795) (Fig. 21), dated to 1777, the pupils and iris of the eyes were painted in gold on the back, a technique also seen in the Portrait of Seo Maesu (徐邁修, 1731-1818) from 1792 (Yu Hyeseon and Jang Yeonhui 2008, 282-286). These examples show that the reverse coloring technique became more refined over time.
Fig. 21.
Part of Portrait of Jeong Gyeongsun (鄭景淳, 1721-1795) and the microscopic photograph of the iris. Joseon Dynasty, 1777. Ink and color on silk, 68.2 x 56.3 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
Conclusion
This paper reconsiders the portrait sketches (chobon, 草本) and the reverse coloring technique (baechae, 背彩) used to create late Joseon portraits, two areas which have long been overshadowed by the completed works.
During the Joseon era, the production of a portrait was an exceptionally complex process, which encompassed reviews, revisions, supplementations, or entire reworkings made according to joint decisions by the subject, patrons, reviewers, and the artist. At each stage, the portrait sketches were used to model and preview the style and manner of depiction that could best capture the shape of the subject, the coloring, and the overall tone of the portrait. Painters made several different portrait sketches for the involved parties to examine. Notably, in addition to the standard official titles and names of the subjects, two of the portraits from the Myeonghyeonhwasang album (the Portrait of An Jip (安𠍱, b. 1703) and the Portrait of Sim Seongjin (沈星鎭, b. 1695) also feature an ink inscription reading jeongboncha (正本次), which means “one that will be used for making the final copy.” This label seems to indicate that the sketch was selected as the final draft of the portrait, through comparison with other versions. Similarly, the Portrait of Yi Hangbok (李恒福, 1556-1618), in the collection of Seoul National University Museum, is inscribed in red ink with the character yong (用), which also suggests that it was a portrait sketch “would be used for making the final copy.”
Since multiple sketches were required to make a portrait, the painters developed efficient and economical sketching methods. Viewed in this light, it is interesting to note that most extant portrait sketches, including those from the Myeonghyeonhwasang album, are half-length figures wherein the painters paid considerable attention to the rendering of the faces. It would seem that the painters first and foremost focused on the faces, where the essence of the subject’s persona could be discerned. But they expended little effort in rendering the robes, which were usually drawn quite roughly and conventionally, with no reverse coloring. For instance, when the rank badge was drawn on the chest, the painters sometimes simply described its patterns in ink, as seen in the Portrait of Yun Geup (Fig. 22), or else marked its position but left the patterns undrawn, as seen in the Portrait of An Gyeomje (安兼濟, b. 1724) (Fig. 23). The painters of both of these portraits omitted the individually specific patterns on the rank badges, instead substituting them with the standardized type. One notable exception is the Portrait of Song Sunmyeong (宋淳明, b. 1708) (Fig. 24), where the patterns of the official robe were described in detail and reverse coloring was employed.
Fig. 22.
Portrait of Yun Geup (尹汲, 1697-1770) from Myeonghyeonhwasang. Joseon Dynasty, 18th century. Ink and color on paper, 38.3 x 33.5 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
Fig. 23.
Portrait of An Gyeomje (安兼濟, b. 1724) from Myeonghyeonhwasang. Joseon Dynasty, 18th century. Ink and color on paper, 53.2 x 34.5 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
Fig. 24.
Portrait of Song Sunmyeong (宋淳明 1708-?) from Myeonghyeonhwasang. Joseon Dynasty, 18th century. Ink and color on paper, 40.5 x 26.0 cm. (National Museum of Korea).
Examples of portrait sketches that depict full-length figures require further attention in this regard. Full-length sketches, such as those done for the Portrait of Yi Wonik (17th century) (Fig. 1), stand in sharp contrast to the half-length sketches, where the painters focused primarily on the faces. Given that the full-length sketches were usually produced before the 18th century, it is possible that portrait sketches may have developed from full-length figures to half-length figures, with more focus on the faces.
However, when painters drew particularly important portraits, such as that of the king, they paid more attention to the body and attire, even in the portrait sketches. The record from the Seungjeongwon Ilgi (承政院日記, Daily Records of the Royal Secretariat) describes the appraisal of the sketches executed for the portrait of King Gojong (高宗, r. 1863-1907) in the ninth year of his reign (1872). It is recorded that the painters made several portrait sketches of the king dressed in various attire, including a royal hat (bokgeonbon, 幅巾本), a winged cap (ikseongwanbon, 翼善冠本), a dragon robe (yongpobon, 龍袍本), or a military uniform (gunbokbon, 軍服本) (Seungjeongwon Ilgi—second month, tenth day & fifth month, third day, in 1872, the ninth year of King Gojong). For important subjects, such as kings and royalty, painters usually produced larger portrait sketches, focusing on more than the faces. For instance, in two portrait sketches of Emperor Sunjong (純宗皇帝, r. 1907-1910), the painter Kim Eunho (金殷鎬, 1892-1979) depicted not only the face in great detail, but also the entire upper half of the subject. The artist also drew a full-length figure of a relative of the king in the Portrait Sketch of Duke Yi Jun (李埈公, 1870-1917), in National Museum of Contemporary Art, Korea.
In terms of reverse coloring, portrait sketches and final portraits used similar techniques, such that the methods applied in the sketch were often also adopted in the portrait. This pattern indicates that the techniques tested in the portrait sketches were possibly chosen for the portraits. However, in the sketches, the subjects are usually shown half-length, with the focus on their faces, with limited use of reverse coloring outside the face area. In the final portraits, on the other hand, reverse coloring is often applied to broader areas including the hat, robes, chairs, patterned mats, floral straw mats (hwamunseok, 花紋席), or other small items.
The portrait sketches represent the intermediate stages of the portrait-making process, but they often depicted the characteristics and personalities of the subjects even more directly than the final portraits. Reverse coloring is the representative practice which influenced the overall tone of the Joseon portraits. This technique was designed and elaborately employed throughout the production process to maximize the pictorial effects of the final work. But these two crucial steps of portrait production have long been overlooked in previous studies of portraits, which have focused solely on the completed works.
Joseon portraits were produced through an arduous process which required agreement among the subject, patron, painter, and critic. By taking note of this process, we can begin to uncover a wealth of hidden information in the portraits that reveals much more about the context in which they were produced. Hopefully, in the future, a rich variety of materials and investigative methods will be employed in this respect to further illuminate the characteristics and periodic changes of Korean portraiture.
King Gojong’s Portrait and the Advent of Photography in Korea
- Kwon Heangga(Korea National University of Arts)
During the late 19th and early 20th century, photos of King Gojong (高宗, r. 1863-1907) frequently appeared in various Western and Japanese print media, travel brochures, and geographical texts. These photos usually accompanied news coverage of the Great Han Empire (大韓帝國, 1897-1910), the Korean empire that succeeded the Joseon Dynasty, as the world pondered the fate of Korea amidst the Sino-Japanese War, and the territorial and political disputes between Japan and imperialist European countries, and then finally under Japanese colonization. However, in sharp contrast with images of European kings or the Japanese emperor, who were always photographed wearing official royal uniforms, King Gojong was typically shown in traditional gowns, symbolizing an unsophisticated, backward nation that needed to be civilized. After Korea was colonized by Japan, these photos were seen as images of a defeated, conquered nation, and were often sold to foreigners as souvenir postcards.
Although most of these photos were taken by visiting foreigners, they were not simply random snapshots; in fact, they were taken under strict conditions with the king’s permission. Therefore, before these pictures were ever seen by outsiders, the images were carefully composed, with the king’s background, attire, and pose all painstakingly selected for foreign consumption. In light of such circumstances, it is important to closely examine how the advent of photography altered the representation and meaning of royal portraits from the Great Han Empire.
King Gojong left behind numerous portraits, more than any other Joseon monarch. This proliferance was made possible by the emergence in Korea of new mediums such as oil painting and photography around the end of the 19th century, marking a turning point in traditional art. However, the portraits were created with a political agenda in mind, as the king attempted to strengthen the legitimacy of his throne. In order to examine the hidden gaze behind the perception of the “fallen Joseon king,” this paper looks at how the public consciousness and political function of royal portraits changed after the introduction of photography, from the 1880s through the duration of the Great Han Empire.
Changing Roles of the King’s Portrait
Throughout the Joseon Dynasty, royal portraits served as objects of worship in state rituals, but they also symbolically projected the legitimacy of the crown. Unlike the traditions associated with Western portraiture, portraits of Joseon rulers were produced under careful observation according to strict regulations. Once a portrait was completed and consecrated into a royal shrine, it was forbidden for anyone outside the palace to see it. Notably, it was not the painting alone which served as a sacrament projecting the legitimacy of the Joseon monarchy, but the combination of the portrait, the rituals, and the royal portrait halls where the portraits were enshrined. Therefore, the symbolic role of royal portraits did not rest in the images themselves, but in the protocols of the institution that surrounded them. This explains why, even after the Joseon Dynasty opened its ports to international trade, the royal portraits were never shown to foreign guests. For example, in William Elliot Griffis’ book Corea, Without and Within, published in 1885, the illustration King and Queen of Corea (Fig. 1) shows the Joseon monarchs wearing Chinese-style gowns, demonstrating that, at that time, westerners were still relying heavily on their imagination to conjure up images of the Joseon king.
Fig. 1.
King and Queen of Corea. 1885. Illustration from Corea, Without and Within by William Elliot Griffis (Philadelphia: Presbyterian Board of Publication), p. 211.
During the early years of modernization, the portraits of heads of state were commonly exchanged at official state gatherings or distributed to diplomatic offices, as symbols of national sovereignty and power. In 1872, the Japanese emperor was photographed for a portrait to be used for diplomatic purposes. By the early 1880s, when diplomatic ties were being established, European countries were asking for a royal portrait of the Joseon sovereign, but this request would go unfulfilled until 1883 at the earliest. It was under these circumstances that King Gojong started being photographed.
The earliest surviving photograph of King Gojong was taken by Percival Lowell (1855-1916) in 1884. At the start of the 1880s, the Joseon Dynasty was beginning to import Western technology and culture from China and Japan, and the first photographic equipment was introduced to the Korean peninsula at this time. Between 1883 and 1884, the first Korean photo studios were founded by Kim Yongwon (金鏞元, 1842-92), Ji Unyeong (池運永, 1851-1935), and Hwang Cheol (黃鐵, 1864-1930) (Choe Injin 83-118). Kim Yongwon and Ji Unyeong were court painters and bureaucrats who both studied photography after it filtered in from Japan. In particular, Ji Unyeong was given special tax-allowances from the government to import photographic equipment from Japan, and in 1884, he was given permission to photograph King Gojong. The fact that King Gojong was among the first Koreans captured by the lens of the newly-introduced camera illustrates that photography was being actively sponsored by the Joseon government as part of their efforts to welcome modern Western technology (Yun Chiho 2001, 91-92).
The whereabouts of Ji Unyeong’s photographed portrait of King Gojong are still unconfirmed, but Percival Lowell took a photograph of the Joseon monarch on the very same day, and that picture was included in Lowell’s photo album, which is presently in the permanent collection of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, as well as his book, Chosön, the Land of the Morning Calm (1885).1 In 1883, Lowell was invited to stay in Korea and serve as a general councilor during the exchange of ratifications of Jo-Mi suho joyak (朝美修好條約, Joseon-U.S. Friendship Treaty). He was the first Westerner to receive an official invitation from the Joseon monarch, and during his stay he was given special permission from the government to photograph the palace, as well as the outskirts of Seoul. Before returning to Japan in March 1884, Lowell was given two opportunities to photograph the Joseon monarch and the crown prince on March 10 and 13, 1884 (Yun Chiho 2001, 91-92). Lowell’s photos—His Majesty the King of Korea and The Crown Prince of Korea (Figs. 2, 3 and 4)—were taken at Nongsujeong Pavilion (濃繡亭) inside Changdeokgung Palace (昌德宮), an area often used to welcome foreign envoys. The pictures might even be a reenactment of Lowell’s first meeting with the monarch in the wintery month of December 1883, when the king sat behind a western-style desk in an open, carpeted pavilion (Lowell 1885, 158). The three photos were taken in the same location, but in Fig. 2 and Fig. 4, large ceremonial censers can be seen on either side of the pavilion steps. The censers are absent from Fig. 3, indicating that they were purposefully re-arranged during the photography session. In addition to the mindful positioning of the censers, the meticulously arranged space with a western-style carpet and chair demonstrates the conscious effort that went into presenting the Joseon monarch to the world and emphasizing the Joseon Dynasty’s positive attitude towards modernization.
Fig. 2.
His Majesty the King of Korea, by Percival Lowell. 1884. Photograph from Chosön, the Land of the Morning Calm: A Sketch of Korea by Percival Lowell. 1885. (London: Trübner).
Fig. 3.
His Majesty the King of Korea, by Percival Lowell. 1884. Photograph ©2011 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
Fig.4.
The Crown Prince of Korea, by Percival Lowell. 1884. Photograph ©2011 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
Lowell’s photos mark the first time that a Joseon monarch attempted to cultivate an image specifically for foreign diplomatic purposes, rather than traditional ritualistic purposes. In 1897, Isabella L. Bird (1831-1904) asked to take King Gojong’s portrait on behalf of England’s Queen Victoria (r. 1837-1901), and he enthusiastically agreed, again showing great interest in cameras. Thereafter, the king took it as part of his diplomatic duties to have his photograph taken by foreigners (Bird 1898, 259).
Another noteworthy aspect of Lowell’s photographs is that they feature the king together with the crown prince. The Crown Prince of Korea (Fig. 4) is the only picture taken of Crown Prince Yi Cheok (李拓, 1874-1926, thereafter known as Emperor Sunjong) when he was ten years old. From this point forward, whenever King Gojong was being photographed, he enthusiastically insisted that his son be photographed as well, so that the prince had an equal chance to be recognized and documented by foreigners (Bird 1898, 259-260). Then, starting in the late 1880s, the king began sitting for portraits together with his son (Fig. 5). Interestingly, around the same time, while the Great Han Empire was being represented by images of the Joseon emperor and his son, the Japanese emperor began posing for official portraits with his empress. According to Japanese art historian Wakakuwa Midori, the idea to create and distribute photographic portraits featuring the Japanese emperor together with his wife was conceived in order to symbolize western-style monogamy, and to demonstrate that Japan was an enlightened, progressive modern country, with a culture similar to that of the West. In contrast, the portraits of King Gojong with his son clearly presented the patrimony of the Joseon Dynasty. While several pictures still remain of Gojong with his son, photos of Queen Myeongseong (posthumously known as Empress Myeongseong, in accordance with King Gojong’s pronouncement of the Great Han Empire) are conspicuously absent. Her absence implies that the area in front of the camera was seen as public space. During the 1880s, Confucianism still dominated the collective consciousness of the Joseon people, so the area in front of a male photographer was considered a diplomatic or public arena where only men were allowed to enter.
Fig. 5.
The Korean King and Crown Prince by Taylor Thiriat. 1892. Photogravure printing based on a photograph from “Voyage en Corée,” Le Tour du Monde by Charles Varat. 1892. (Paris: Hachette).
The National Anthropological Archives at the Smithsonian Museum in Washington D.C. has two portraits of the Joseon monarch (1884), which are marked with the caption “Creator: Higuchi,” implying that they were sold and circulated by a Japanese man named Higuchi. One of the two portraits is a cropped photo of King Gojong signed by Commodore Robert W. Shufeldt (Fig. 6). This signature indicates that this picture was most likely an official portrait of the monarch used for executive purposes, as Commodore Shufeldt was a U.S. representative at Jo-Mi suho joyak (朝美修好條約, Joseon-U.S. Friendship Treaty) in 1882. These details show that the portrait photographs of the monarch taken in 1884 played an official role in representing the Joseon crown until the 1890s. Among them, Lowell’s portrait can be seen as the basis of all the most familiar representations of King Gojong, including Antonio Zeno Shindler’s 1892 oil painting The Joseon King, and the king’s first portrait to be introduced in Japan, printed in the True Records of the Chinese-Japanese War (日淸戰爭實記, 1894), published at the beginning of the Sino-Japanese war.
Fig. 6.
The King of Korea (“Creator: Higuchi”), taken in the East Palace of Changdeokgung Palace. 1884. Photograph. (Smithsonian National Anthropological Archives).
King Gojong’s Portrait within the Media
After Japan defeated the Chinese in the Sino-Japanese war, Queen Myeongseong advocated for stronger ties between Korea and Russia, hoping to prevent Japan from interfering in Joseon political affairs. In response, in 1895, a team of Japanese assassins entered Gyeongbokgung Palace and murdered the queen, forcing the king to take refuge in the Russian consulate in 1896. One year later, Gojong returned to Deoksugung Palace and proclaimed the founding of the Great Han Empire, declaring himself emperor. This series of political events focused international attention on the tense relationship between Japan, Korea, and Russia, and it was at this juncture that King Gojong’s portrait began to actively circulate among international magazines, lithographs, and other media from England, France, Japan, and many other countries. Meanwhile, in Korea, copies of the king’s portrait were distributed among the people as a way to boost patriotism. When King Gojong took up residence at the Russian consulate, the Joseon people were left feeling bewildered and distressed. Thus, upon the king’s return, his advisors exhorted him to take measures to increase national patriotism in order to restore people’s loyalty and allegiance. For example, in the September 22, 1896 issue of Dongnip Sinmun (독립신문), some Korean intellectuals argued that schools should teach students to stand and salute the picture of their ruler and the national flag in order to promote national sovereignty. Hence, the political function of royal portraits underwent another change, as Gojong’s image was used to elicit patriotic allegiance within a turbulent political climate.
Interestingly, Christian missionaries were among the first people to exploit the propagandist power of King Gojong’s portrait. The November 1896 issue of The Korean Repository, published by an American Methodist minister named Henry Gerhard Appenzeller (1858-1902), featured an article entitled “His Majesty, The King of Korea,” with a picture of the monarch wearing traditional white mourning dress, an image in sharp contrast to his previous portraits (Fig. 7).2 This photo was taken in 1895 at the Russian legation by Mrs. L. B. Graham of the United States legation, after the Japanese assassination of Queen Myeongseong. Then, the Russian diplomat to Korea, Hon. C. Waeber, obtained the king’s consent to publish the picture in the magazine. Even though the publisher of the magazine was foreign, this represented the first time that a Joseon monarch had ever permitted his image to be circulated domestically and internationally through mainstream media. The accompanying article describes King Gojong as a highly learned and civilized monarch, in possession of great insight and memory. The article and picture were also published in both The Kobe Chronicle (December 14, 1896) and The Japan Advertiser (December 16, 1896), with the additional comment “A portrait of a great king with a strong presence.” The photo also ran in The North-China Herald (a British-published, English-language paper in China) on December 18, 1896, along with this sympathetic caption and quotation from Hamlet:
Fig. 7.
His Majesty, The King of Korea by L. B. Graham. 1896. Photograph from The Korean Repository in November 1896, p. 423.
A charming old gentleman for an afternoon tea party. From his appearance, he must be constantly repeating to himself Hamlet’s cry of despair, “The time is out of joint. Oh, cursed spite That ever I was born to set it right!”
The decision to publish the photo of King Gojong in mourning attire was a reflection of American and Russian criticism of the Japanese assassination of Queen Myeongseong. In addition, the accompanying article praised King Gojong as an enlightened ruler, further emphasizing the attempt to keep Japan politically in check. Still, King Gojong must have been quite anxious to restore the tarnished image of his reign to have submitted to being photographed in his mourning dress, and then have the picture published internationally.
Yet another example of the dissemination of the king’s portrait involved an advertisement in a special issue of Geuriseudo Sinmun (그리스도 신문, “The Christian Newspaper”) from July 15, 1897. The paper was owned by Horace G. Underwood, a Presbyterian missionary from the U.S., who published a special issue to commemorate the monarch’s birthday, in which he offered a free photolithograph of the king with the purchase of a one-year subscription. The actual photo has not survived, but the evidence of the promotion provides an important clue about how the king’s portrait was employed by mass media. The motive behind this promotion was not as simple as it initially appeared, as Underwood was not simply hoping to distribute copies of the royal portrait or increase the circulation of his newspaper. In fact, the promotion was linked to a massive Christian worship service that Underwood was planning for the king’s birthday. With the portrait and the commemorative service, attended by more than 2000 people, Underwood was emphasizing that King Gojong’s royal authority had been bestowed by God, and that Christianity was the religion of loyalty and patriotism (Yi Manyeol 2001). Underwood needed the king’s full, enthusiastic support to spread Christianity in Korea, so he organized the special service and distributed the royal portrait to show Gojong that he had the unconditional support of the Christian church.
While the distribution of the royal portrait in The Korean Repository was meant for Westerners, the photo in Underwood’s newspaper targeted the Joseon people in an effort to build up public opinion. Notably, Underwood’s photo was released while the king was secluded at the Russian consulate, preparing to proclaim the founding of the Great Han Empire. Considering that the king gave Underwood permission to print this specific picture around a month before the publication, it would seem that the purpose of this photo went beyond Underwood’s plan to propagate Christianity. Specifically, it was part of a strategic plan enacted by the king and his advisors to arouse the nation’s patriotic fervor as Gojong prepared to declare himself emperor.
Commercialization and Regulation of the Royal Portrait
By the time he announced the founding of the Great Han Empire in 1897, Emperor Gojong was well aware of the political capacity of his pictures. In that case, what context were his portraits produced and distributed in, as he began urgently strengthening his sovereignty? In the West, the carte de visite (small cards bearing a person’s photograph) became wide-spread in the 1860s, and national leaders actively used photographic images to portray themselves as new rulers of modern states. For example, Queen Victoria, rather than taking the conventional route and posing for a traditional portrait by herself, opted for an intimate photograph with her husband. By allowing this new portrait to be merchandized, she was recreating her image to represent herself as the queen of a new modern state (Homans 1998). On the other hand, the Emperor of Japan used his portrait as a political tool during the Meiji period. Instead of being merchandized like the photo of Queen Victoria, the Japanese emperor’s portrait was sanctified. The Meiji government commissioned an official portrait of the emperor, which was then distributed nationwide to be hung in public institutions and schools under strict regulation and management, with various protocols involved (Taki Koji 2002). Through such consecration, the photo became a visual means for promoting the uniquely Japanese nationalism that transformed the emperor into the godhead.
The situation in Korea presented yet another example. As mentioned, the monarch clearly recognized the mainstream power and the political capacity of his photographs. However, even when he was founding the Great Han Empire, Gojong did not attempt to strengthen his dominion by producing or distributing any “official” portraits of himself. Clearly, some basic conditions limited the production and distribution of royal portraits in Korea, such as the lack of technical expertise, the substandard photographic technology, and the underdeveloped mass media. In fact, royal portraits were primarily merchandized by either Westerners or the Japanese.
The most widely disseminated image from the Great Han Empire was the photo entitled The King and the Crown Prince of Korea (Fig. 8), estimated to be from around 1900. Throughout the duration of the Great Han Empire, this picture was frequently reprinted and circulated in virtually every type of print media, including newspapers and textbooks. In the photo, the emperor wears the military uniform of the Commander-in-Chief, while the crown prince wears the military uniform of the Vice Commander-in-Chief, in accordance with the new national codes for royal attire that had recently been established. The full dress military uniform worn by Emperor Gojong announced to those at home and abroad that he was a modern ruler with full command over the military and naval forces of the Great Han Empire. On the other hand, his son’s gaze and posture are both somewhat askew, giving him an unsettled look that does not convey a strong positive image of the Great Han Empire. At the bottom of the postcard is the name of the photographer, Karl Lewis, who manufactured and merchandized this picture from Yokohama, Japan.3 At the start of the Meiji Restoration, Yokohama was home to a large industry producing pictures exclusively for foreigners, generally consisting of Japanese landscapes or pictures of geishas. Emperor Gojong’s portrait was produced and sold alongside such souvenir items, confirming that he only allowed foreigners to take his photograph for diplomatic purposes and was not directly involved with the dissemination of his image.
Fig.8.
The King and the Crown Prince of Korea (postcard), published by Karl Lewis, a photographer in Yokohama, Japan. Period unknown.
After Gojong officially proclaimed himself emperor, various emblems of the newfound state were promoted, but they did not include any portraits of the emperor. For example, in 1902, a stamp was issued to commemorate the 40th anniversary of Gojong’s ascension to the throne, but rather than a portrait of the sovereign, it showed the wonyugwan (遠遊冠), a traditional royal crown worn by Joseon kings on special occasions (Fig. 9) (Jeong Gyo 2004, 64; Mok Suhyeon 2004, 26-73). Gojong’s image was not even featured on the nation’s banknotes, which were instead decorated with other symbols of the Great Han Empire, such as the eagle, pear blossom, and Namdaemun Gate. According to Constance Taylor, the Joseon people thought it disrespectful to use the monarch’s image on everyday items like money and stamps, which were easily dirtied from being passed back and forth (Taylor 1904, 37).
Fig. 9.
Postage stamp commemorating 1902 as the 40th year of Emperor Gojong’s reign. Printed in Korean Postal History 1884-1905 by Meiso Mizuhara. 1993. (Tokyo: Japan Philatelic Society Foundation), p. 284.
Actually, around this time, the use of the emperor’s image became subject to regulation to prevent it from being recklessly merchandized by the public. In 1901, Murai Brothers Company (村井兄弟商會), a Kyoto-based tobacco company that entered the Korean market in 1899, tried to boost their cigarette sales by putting images of celebrities, dignitaries, and monarchs, including Emperor Gojong, on their cigarette packs. This action apparently did not go unnoticed, because from June 25 to 27, 1901, in both Hwangseong Newspaper (황성신문) and Jeguk Newspaper (제국신문), the following regulation appeared several times in large print: “From this time forward, it is prohibited to print any images of Emperor Gojong.” At that time, it was a common marketing ploy to package products with pictures of famous people, such as well-known gisaeng (Korean female entertainers). But with the palace preparing for a large-scale celebration of Emperor Gojong’s reign in 1902, they clearly frowned upon having a picture of the emperor equated the same status as other celebrated individuals, particularly a gisaeng. This episode offers evidence of the preventive measures taken by the palace to maintain the sanctity of the crown.
Imperial Symbols of the Great Han Empire
Portraits of the monarch were most actively produced in various mediums during the period from 1899, when the first modern constitutional law of the Great Han Empire was announced, until 1902. The latter year marked the 40th anniversary of Gojong’s reign, and extensive preparations were made to commemorate this occasion. In 1901 and 1902, the palace held two separate events to produce official portraits of the emperor, resulting in a total of seven royal portraits. Examples include Portrait of Emperor Gojong by Hubert Vos (Fig. 10), the first oil painting ever painted in Korea, and Portrait of Emperor Gojong (高宗御眞) (1901) by Chae Yongsin (蔡龍臣) (Fig. 11). The portrait which best exemplifies how the monarch wanted himself to be seen is Joseph de la Nézière’s Official Portrait of the Korean Emperor (Fig. 12), completed in 1902. According to the La Vie Illustrée from January 29, 1904, this image is not a photograph of the emperor, but a photograph of de la Nézière’s painting of the emperor.
Fig. 10.
Portrait of Emperor Gojong, by Hubert Vos. 1899. Oil on canvas, 91.8 x 198.9 cm. (Permanently consigned to National Museum of Contemporary Art, Korea).
Fig. 11.
Portrait of Emperor Gojong (高宗御眞), by Chae Yongsin (蔡龍臣). Early 20th century. Light coloring on silk, 180 cm x 104 cm. (National Museum of Korea). The original painting was painted in 1901, but it has been lost. This is a surviving painting based on the original.
Fig. 12.
Official Portrait of the Korean Emperor.1903. Photograph of a painting by Joseph de la Nézière from La Vie Illustrée: Journal Hebdomadaire (Paris: Felix Juven) on January 29, 1904.
According to de la Nézière’s personal records of his experience in Korea in 1902, when he asked to sketch a drawing of the emperor’s face, Emperor Gojong entered wearing his imperial robes and sat on the royal throne, backgrounded by a large folding screen of the Irworobongbyeong (日月五峯屛, a royal folding screen showing a sun, moon, and five peaks, which represented the authority of the Emperor). The artist wrote that Emperor Gojong, in his golden robes, “matched well with the sun, moon, and mountains, to create a wonderful sight.” His painting (Fig. 13) was executed in bright golds and oranges, capturing the distinctive quality he mentioned.
Fig. 13.
The Land of the Morning Calm, Official Portrait of the King by Joseph de la Nézière. 1903. Illustration from L'extrême-Orient en Images: Sibérie, Chine, Corée, Japon (Paris: Felix Julien).
This portrait shows the emperor, adorned in his royal robes, sitting in the recently constructed Junghwajeon Hall (Han Yeongu 2002, 1-21). When Gojong returned from the Russian legation, he resided at Gyeongungung Palace (now Deoksugung Palace). At that time, Jeukjodang Hall was temporarily being used as the main hall where state affairs were conducted, but the space was rather cramped, with low ceilings. In fact, it was so small that neither the royal throne nor the royal folding screen could be installed. Thus, the emperor ordered the construction of Junghwajeon Hall to serve as the new main hall, in order to show off his imperial authority and sovereignty. So the space depicted in de la Nézière’s painting represents the emperor and his authority.
The royal folding screen, with its sun, moon, and five peaks, was not the only imperial symbolism represented in the portrait. On top of his hwangnyongpo (黃龍袍, golden royal robe), Emperor Gojong wears a golden sash and a medal of the highest honor that was established during the Great Han Empire: geumcheok daehunjang (金尺大勳章). The choice to use geumcheok (金尺, golden scale) as a symbol of the Great Han Empire goes back to the old legend that King Taejo, the first king of the Joseon Dynasty, had a dream before he became king, in which he received a geumcheok. After Taejo’s kingship was established, the golden scale came to symbolize rule over heaven and earth (Gojong sillok, fourth month, fourth day, 1900; Jeong Gyo 2004, 22). In other words, this portrait is a virtual collage of both traditional and modern imperial symbols: the newly-constructed Junghwajeon Hall, the gold throne, the royal folding screen, the gold robe, and the medals with the gold scale. Therefore, the painting strongly reinforces the divine legitimacy of the imperial throne. But at the same time, the emperor’s military-style medals worn over the traditional royal robe indicate that the Great Han Empire was no longer a kingdom stuck in the past, but an emerging empire joining the ranks of the international order. As a westerner, de la Nézière was almost certainly unaware of the traditional Korean iconography behind the royal portrait, and so just faithfully painted what he saw. Thus, this portrait reveals exactly how Emperor Gojong wanted to be represented: as an absolute ruler inheriting the legitimacy of the Joseon Dynasty, as well as a sovereign of a modern nation.
This particular portrait also illustrates how Emperor Gojong and the Japanese emperor differed in their feelings towards producing portraits. The Japanese emperor did not intervene in any part of the production and distribution of his official portrait. He did not enjoy being photographed and did not feel comfortable wearing his newly issued Western-style uniform. Therefore, when the time came to produce a new portrait for official use in 1888, the Italian painter Eduardo Chiossone (1832-1898), who was invited to Japan to help design the first modern Japanese banknote, was asked to make a covert sketch of the emperor. Chiossone then took his black-and-white sketch of the emperor’s face and merged it with a photograph of himself in an imperial military outfit (Fig. 14), before finally making another black-and-white sketch of the composite. The completed work was then photographed, and the resulting image is still used today as the Meiji Emperor’s official portrait (Chiba Kei 2002, 114) (Fig. 15). In this impressive portrait, the Japanese sovereign sits confidently, filling the frame with his presence, with one hand tightly gripping a sword and the other resting on a table. This picture, being a composite of Chiossone’s body and the emperor’s face, literally shows the “emperor with a Westerner’s physique,” which was the manifestation of the type of sovereign the Japanese people were seeking at the time: an emperor possessing hegemonic masculinity. Thus, this image strongly represented the modern nation Japan was striving to become. With bureaucratic strategy, this official portrait of the Meiji Emperor became a symbol of national unity. But it was the Meiji government, and not the emperor himself, who transformed this portrait into an idol to be worshipped by the nation.
Fig. 14.
Eduardo Chiossone’s Model of the Japanese Emperor. 1888. Photograph. (Banknote and Postage Stamp Museum, Tokyo, Japan).
Fig. 15.
Meiji Emperor’s Portraiture (明治天皇 御眞影) by Uchida Kyuichi. 1889. Photograph of Eduardo Chiossone’s black-and-white sketch of the Japanese Emperor. (Imperial Household Agency, Japan). Printed from Tenno no shozo (天皇の肖像, Emperor’s Portraiture) by Taki, Koji (多木浩二). 2002. (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten).
On the other hand, unlike the Japanese emperor, Emperor Gojong was heavily involved in the creation of his portrait and actively modeled for both the camera and the canvas. Yet his images were not proactively utilized within the political arena. In terms of iconography, the portrait of the Japanese emperor adopted the traditions of Western portraiture, including the convention of showing the subject in three-quarters view. Thus, the final image succeeded in idealizing the emperor as a symbol of culture, masculinity, and the modern state. On the other hand, Emperor Gojong looked directly at the viewer while surrounded by traditional royal symbols that over-shadowed the modern motifs in his portrait. In the end, those details served to reinforce his image as a traditional king.
Conclusion
This paper has examined many aspects of the production and distribution of King/Emperor Gojong’s portrait from the 1880s to the 1900s, including the conception and context of the images, the shifting motivations behind the images, and their political capacity. During this period, portraits of the monarch were mostly created by Westerners, and the driving forces behind their distribution and process were just as diverse as the different styles of the portraits themselves. Notably, King Gojong was the first Joseon monarch to be photographed, and also the first to have his royal portrait circulated among the masses. Despite the fact that he was primarily photographed by foreigners, these images functioned outwardly as emblems representing the Joseon nation, while inwardly serving to elicit loyalty and allegiance among the Gaehwapa (開化派, Enlightenment Party) group of reformers, the general public, and the emperor’s own political party.
The mass printing and distribution of royal portraits, as well as the changing awareness towards their political function (albeit slim), presented the opportunity to analyze the internal conditions in which this new visual medium was introduced and received at the beginning of the 20th century, as Korea entered a new modern age. However, the development of the political discourse of King Gojong was distinctly limited by the lack of photographic and printing technology, as well as the disappointing development of mass media, which was not advancing as smoothly as expected. As a result, King Gojong endeavored to use his portrait to strengthen his imperial power and bolster the traditional functions and protocols behind the crown. During King Gojong’s reign, protocols related to the production of royal portraits were rapidly changing, even as many other traditions were being reinforced. As new forms of media emerged during King Gojong’s reign, the traditional functions of royal portraits were not replaced with new roles, but those functions were expanded, as the portraits took on new political signification.
Postglacial Hunter-Gatherer Adaptations in the Korean Peninsula
- Seong Chuntaek(Kyung Hee University)
In Korean archaeology, postglacial cultural change is undoubtedly one of the most difficult issues to address. The challenge lies in the paucity of adequate archaeological data, and the resultant lack of literature dealing with this critical period. Korean scholars of previous generations hypothesized that Paleolithic hunter-gatherers moved off the peninsula to the north, while subsequent Paleo-Asiatic people moved down to the unoccupied Korean Peninsula (Kim Jeongbae 1973; Kim Wonyong 1986). However, this assumption has been subjected to reasonable criticism for being too simple and for lacking supporting evidence (An Seungmo 2003; Yi Seonbok 1991).
Many continue to hope that reliable archaeological data will eventually emerge to fill the gap. Despite the unprecedentedly rapid increase in the number of excavated sites during the last two decades, however, we still do not have any relevant archaeological sites to help us address the postglacial human adaptation in the southern peninsula. Rather than avoiding the archaeological discussion of this integral period, I try to explain the phenomena in terms of the dynamics of hunter-gatherer subsistence and mobility. The likely response of hunter-gatherer groups to the changing environment provides an alternative explanation for the paucity of archaeological evidence from the postglacial period.
Postglacial Environmental Change
The climate change associated with the last glacial period is recognized globally, and the abrupt temperature drop known as Younger Dryas (YD) (c. 12,800-11,500 calibrated years BP) has been detected not only in the northern latitudes, but also in southern China, the Yellow Sea, and East China Sea. The YD stadial was followed by a sudden rise in temperature, marking the onset of the Holocene and postglacial period. The subsequent 3000 years of global warming was so rapid that it drastically altered the structure of global vegetation systems and caused major faunal extinctions in many parts of the world.
In Korea, the most characteristic feature of postglacial environmental change is the emergence of the peninsula itself. As Fig. 1 shows, the rising sea level swiftly submerged the once exposed Yellow Sea Basin. During the Last Glacial Maximum (LGM), Korea and Japan were still divided by the narrow Korean strait (12-15 km wide and 10-30 m deep) (Lee Eunil et al. 2008). Still, during the LGM, the geographical affinity between the two regions provided opportunities for considerable cultural contact, as exemplified by tanged points and backed knives, which are typical artifacts of the early Japanese Neolithic (Jang Yongjun 2007). The exotic objects from Japan still appear in southern coastal sites in Korea during the early Neolithic period, but subsequently, the increasing distance between the two regions likely became an obstacle greatly hindering routine contact. In other words, postglacial environmental change in Korea, marked by the emergence (around 12,000 BP) of the Yellow Sea in the west and the widening of the once extremely narrow straits dividing the peninsula from the Japanese Archipelago in the east, due to the rapid rises in sea level, must have been a significant challenge to local foraging groups trying to adapt to the new environment while maintaining regional social networks
Fig 1.
Sea-level change and emergence of the Yellow Sea during postglacial period (Redrawn based on Lee Eunil et al. 2008, Fig. 1; Shin Sukjeong 1998, 238). The LGM line indicates the inferred coastline during the maximum extent of continental glaciers (Last Glacial Maximum), also representing the narrow strait between Korea and Japan. The 12,000 BP and 10,000 BP lines illustrate the rapid change in sea level that eventually created the modern day geography of Korea.
Critical Review of Current Perspectives
Again, the primary archaeological problem obstructing analysis of this setting is an utter lack of hard evidence to demonstrate aspects of adaptation to the changing environment. The traditional archaeological explanation assumes cultural discontinuity and the immigration of new people from Siberia, a typical historical explanation of culture change focusing on diffusion and migration. In an influential monograph of Korean archaeology, Kim Wonyong (1986:22) wrote:
... rather than staying where they were and developing the Mesolithic culture, the Paleolithic people moved to the north in pursuit of large animals. Thus, the modern day Korean Peninsula was uninhabited territory for 2000-3000 years during the early postglacial period...
The new people who moved down to inhabit the unoccupied peninsula then established the Neolithic culture (Kim Jeonbae 1973; Kim Wonyong 1986). However, this account conflicts with the current archaeological data, such as the fact that the emergence of pottery in Siberia actually postdates early pottery remains from the Amur region (An Seungmo 2003).
In the 1970s and 1980s, another possibility was suggested: the Mesolithic concept. Choe Bokgyu (1974) and others, including some North Korean archaeologists (Kim Yonggan 1991), postulated that microliths were the index artifacts for the Mesolithic. However, tephrochronology(dating by means of the study of layers of volcanic ash) and other relative dates now suggest that the microlithic tradition goes back to the late MIS 3 (Seong Chuntaek 2008 and 2011). In fact, the Mesolithic concept has lost its relevance in East Asian contexts, given that the early emergence of pottery in the Amur and Japan goes back to the late Pleistocene, based on radiocarbon dates as old as 13,000 B.P. from Ustinovka 3 and Novopetrovka.
While some still advocate the cessation of human occupation during the period, many have begun to turn their attention to adjacent areas in search of relevant evidence for postglacial cultural change. As scholars assume that similar cultural features were widespread throughout much of Northeast Asia, Gosan-ri and Sangnodaedo are considered two possible candidates for human occupation during the postglacial period in Korea (Lee Heonjong 2002). Lee Dongju (1998: 67) even proposes possible migration routes from the Amur to the Japanese Jomon via the two sites, but his hypothesis is as simple and unsubstantiated as the 1970s hypothesis of Paleo-Asiatic migration. Both Gosan-ri and Sangnodaedo are located in southern islands of Korea, not on the peninsula per se. As a matter of fact, we still do not have unequivocal archaeological evidence of postglacial human occupation in the southern peninsula.
Some attribute the paucity of data to geological processes that induce heavy erosion (Yi Seonbok 1992: 23). While the possibility of occupations currently submerged in the Yellow Sea cannot be denied, I do not agree with the opinion that most inland occupations were eroded away. In fact, a significant number of postglacial geological deposits exist throughout the peninsula; thus, the problem is not the lack of deposits themselves, but rather the lack of evidence suggesting human occupation.
Despite the incredible increase of archaeological expeditions during the last two decades, we certainly do not have sufficient archaeological evidence for postglacial human occupations in Korea. We have numerous Late (Upper) Paleolithic sites throughout the peninsula, as exemplified by the dense distribution of more than 50 archaeological locations, mostly Late Paleolithic, in the county of Imsil (Lee et al. 2007). In other words, decades of archaeological research have failed to uncover considerable postglacial archaeological evidence.
Yet many still seem to anticipate that we will eventually find relevant archaeological records for the period, and indeed, we cannot negate the possibility that future research will reveal unknown cave or rock-shelter sites. Unfortunately, the example of Europe teaches us that few cave occupations appear once estuarine adaptations become widespread. I believe that it is time to consider “absence of evidence” to be “evidence of absence,” given the great increase in the amount of archaeological field research over the last two decades and the concurrent lack of data. Therefore, I herein present my own hypothesis, which proposes the significant drop in human occupations in the Korean Peninsula during the postglacial age, based on a critical review of hunter-gatherer mobility, social networks, and population structure.
Hunter-Gatherer Mobility and Demographic Structure
Most hunter-gatherer societies are mobile, with the exception of several coastal groups that rely on aquatic resources. Many human behavioral ecologists posit that such mobile lifestyle is the outcome of a long evolutionary process towards securing food and other resources (Kelly 1995).
As shown in Table 1, mobile foraging bands routinely consist of several families, comprising 25-50 individuals, and they maintain a low population density of 10 to 20 per 100 km2. They vary considerably in how often they move their residential bases, from two to 50 times per year. For example, the Hadza in East Africa move their camp 27 times/year, at an average of 8 km distance and area of 2,520 km2(Kelly 1995). The total year-round area of subsistence and mobility of a local band varies in the mean distance of move from 5.9 to 70 km, and in area from 260 km2 for the Ju/'hoansi to 20,000 km2 for the Nunamiut. The foraging area largely depends on the type of resources that a group relies on, with arctic hunters normally taking larger subsistence territories than temperate zone foragers. Table 1. Summary of mobility, group size, and population density for some well known hunter-gatherer groups Group Geographic location Band size Residentialmove per year Average movedistance (km) Total area (km2) Populationdensity (100 km2) Netsilingmiut North American Arctic 14 16.8 6,000 0.5 Baffinland Inuit Arctic 35(mean)(Iglulingmiut) 60 12 25,000 0.5 Nunamiut Alaska 10 69.5 5,200-20,500 2 Cree Northern Hudson Bay 25-50 2,890-3,385 0.4 (Waswanipi) Crow North America 38 19.2 61,880 2.6 Aché(Guyaki) Paraguay 16 50 5.9 780 3 Ainu Japan 2 4.3 171 Ngadadjara Australian desert 20 37 43 2,600 Hadza East Africa 20-60 27 8 2,520 15 Semang Malay Peninsula 20-30 26 11.3 2,475 5-19 Batak Philippines 17-26 54 Alywara Australia 1,500 2.5 Birhor India 27(mean) 8 10.3 130 22 Ju/'hoansi Southern Africa 25(average) 260-2,500 10-16 This table was prepared by summarizing the data from Kelly 1995, Table 4-1 (pp. 112-115), 6-2 (p. 211), 6-4 (pp. 222-226).
According to the central place foraging model, individuals and small work groups radiate from and return to a central place. Daily foraging distances vary, but foragers usually make one- to two-hour trips (5 to 10 km) to exploit nearby food resources. While the productivity decreases as the length of time foragers spend in a patch increases, the marginal value theorem predicts that foragers move their camp to another resource patch before they have completely depleted the current patch (Kelly 1995). Factors affecting the frequency and pattern of mobility include productivity of target resource patches, distance, topography, and (significantly) the relationship with neighboring bands. However, the most important constraint is the existence and availability of animal resources, as settlement patterns rely closely on the type and availability of high return resources, as predicted by the diet breadth model.
One of the most influential works regarding hunter-gatherer group size and social networks was the population model proposed by Martin Wobst in 1974. According to Wobst’s simulation, a local foraging band made up of 5-7 families and 25-30 persons is the minimal social unit that “can withstand shortterm fluctuations in fertility, mortality, and sex ratio for any length of time” (Kelly 1995, 211). In other words, having around 25 members provides enough size for the group to stay demographically viable while still remaining small enough to avoid rapidly depleting local resources.
Mobile local bands, however, could not sustain their long term survival without social ties involving friendships and partnerships with other neighboring groups, as the social network provides a safety net securing long term survival. Cooperative groups stay in regular contact with each other, exchange resources and information, and importantly, form marriage partnerships. From a spatial perspective, such social ties can be modeled in a series of hexagonal structures, where a local band regularly contacts with six comparable neighboring groups (Fig. 2). Hence, the seven groups, consisting of 175 to 200 people, form a larger group connected by regular and direct contact. Ethnographic works on band-level societies also reveal 5.4 to 5.97 adjacent groups in regular contact, which is consistent with the spatial model (Birdsell 1953).
Fig 2.
A schematized model of hunter-gatherer spatial structure proposed by Whallon (2006: 267, Fig. 4), with modification
Studies go further in suggesting two tiers of the hexagonal model, wherein 19 mobile bands of 475 to 500 people form breeding networks or a “marriage universe” (Whallon 1206; Wobst 1974). Notably, the number of 500 people originally comes from the ethnographic and gene flow model for Australian Aboriginal data (Birdsell 1953). The figure essentially indicates the minimum size of a breeding population unit, since no mobile local bands can be self-sufficient. The allied network also provides culturally related band groups, as well as archaeologically applicable models for late Pleistocene and early Holocene hunter-gatherers. The successful global dispersal of anatomically and culturally modern humans can be directly attributed to such social ties, demographic structure, and division of labor, which have been almost universally observed in historic foraging groups (Gamble 1999; Wobst 1974).
Putting aside complex issues, hunter-gatherers normally maintain flexible territoriality and social boundaries, which in turn suggests that territoriality and boundaries are best understood in terms of connections to other groups. In other words, such factors are social, rather than geographical. In this way, the residential and logistical mobility of a local band is planned and practiced in a relationship with other neighboring groups.
Archaeological Implications
Focusing on the social dimensions of hunter-gatherer mobility, Whallon (2006) convincingly demonstrates the spatial structure of final Pleistocene and early Holocene occupations in Germany. A mobile band made up of 25 to 30 persons is estimated to move in a radius of 28 km, based on the reconstruction of Magdalenian exploitation areas, covering a total of about 2,500 km2. The regional bands each measure a radius of 125 km, encompassing 47,500 km2, and a population of 475-500 people, being made up of 19 local or minimal bands each of 25-30 people. The maximal band, comprising 7 adjacent regional bands, measures a radius of 325 km, and encompasses about 332,500 km2, with a population of 3,325-3,500 people (Fig. 2). The regional and maximal bands represent the social allies who regularly exchange information, materials (e.g. lithic raw materials), and individuals through marriage.
Furthermore, “exotic” materials are sometimes transported from as far as 200-300 km, providing the need to consider larger “indirect” contact zones. At this level, the social contact is mostly confined to “non-utilitarian” symbolic items, such as shells and exotic lithic raw materials, as discussed by Whallon (2006). According to Gamble (1999), in Upper Paleolithic Europe, the average distance that lithic raw materials were transported was 51.6 km in the south-west, 82.2 km in the northwest, and 157.3 km in the northern central.
This estimation in turn provides a valid starting point for considering the regional hunter-gatherer societies of the southern Korean Peninsula, which measures some 100,000 km2, not a large territory for highly mobile foraging bands. According to Whallon’s (2006) model, we can hypothesize that the area was inhabited by some 40 local bands and six regional bands of interbreeding groups, thus constituting just two or three maximal regional bands with a marriage universe of some 500 people.
Provided that this is a tentative estimate based on ethnographic data and archaeological research on North Central Europe, we may assume more local bands and regional groups. Even so, if the area of 1,000 km2 were occupied by some 100 local bands, the population would still be less than 5000. Again, if we consider a population density of 5-10 people per 100 km2 for the bottom line, the population could not exceed 10,000. In any case, we can estimate that the southern Korean Peninsula was occupied by a small number of mobile foraging bands who maintained close social ties with other groups. Based on this reasonable scenario, the system would have been quite vulnerable to environmental change, i.e., vegetational and faunal restructuring.
Postglacial Hunter-Gatherers at the Crossroads
Any successful discussion of changing adaptive strategies of postglacial hunter-gatherers must consider their demographic structure. Populations of small societies are more prone to changes caused by both internal and external circumstances, such that unpredictable fluctuations could drop the population well below the carrying capacity. While many mechanisms were known to control population growth, the population largely depends on interactions between reproduction, foraging behavior, and resource abundance. Given the spatial structure in terms of demography, small fluctuations of resource density can likely be absorbed by a regional social network. In this way, the population structure is not only an aspect of local bands, but is closely related to the regional exchange network. While short term fluctuations in resources can likely be offset by spatial allies or other safety nets, if neighboring local bands suffer similar subsistence failure, due to perennial unpredictability and prolonged resource perturbation, the problem can rapidly disperse through the regional network, resulting in significant population decrease at the regional level.
I believe that this was essentially what happened with postglacial hunter-gatherers in the Korean Peninsula. Although the creation of the peninsula geography would not have resulted in environmental deterioration at the level of glaciation, such transformation likely threatened the regional network that had existed for several thousand years. Given that foragers move their residential base before the resources are depleted, as predicted by the marginal value theorem, the rising sea levels and subsequent loss of habitat in the Yellow Sea Basin likely forced local mobile groups to increase both the distance and frequency of their mobility, while some groups would have merged with northern and eastern allies. Given the close regional networks and high mobility during the final Pleistocene, as evidenced by numerous microlithic assemblages throughout the peninsula (Yi Heonjong 2002; Yi Gigil et al. 2007; Seong Chuntaek 2008, 2011), such movements probably affected the entire system of adjacent regional bands.
According to the diet breadth model and other studies of foraging behavior, the most likely response to changes in the environment and in the type and density of resources is to expand the diet breadth or to specialize in high-return resources. The postglacial decline of available animal resources, especially high-return large game and migrating herbivores, put pressure on mobile foraging bands to increase the distance and frequency of mobility. Significantly, such movements likely affected other local bands in the regional network. Given the constant flow of information among neighboring groups, and the fact that the territory of the maximal band was only a few hundred kilometers in radius (Whallon 2006), the challenge facing postglacial hunter-gatherers in the Yellow Sea Basin and the peninsula rapidly spread through the region like a domino effect.
If the subsistence failure suffered by local bands could not be absorbed into the regional level, the subsequent population decline would have forced the dwindling groups to move and merge with one another, which would have had a major impact on the regional network. As discussed, we can estimate that fewer than 100 local bands inhabited the peninsula during the final Pleistocene. As the peninsula environment emerged, resources would have become increasingly unpredictable, thus altering the spatial demographic structure. The population dropped significantly in the Korean Peninsula, and of course, there could be no influx from the south, due to the rising Yellow Sea and increasing distance from the Japanese Archipelago.
While I would not go so far as to propose that the peninsula became completely uninhabited, it is extremely likely that the population in the southern peninsula decreased significantly. The drastic drop in population density was likely caused primarily by “population packing” in newly emerging resource patches, particularly riverine and estuarine areas, in the lower Amur, where a few final Pleistocene and early Holocene sites have been recognized.
However, it is important to note that the complete abandonment of the previous habitat would not have been a profitable strategy for highly mobile hunter-gatherers. Foraging bands with a larger range of logistical food supplies could have continued to make infrequent visits and seasonal trips to the southern peninsula, and they could be archaeologically represented by limited activity stations (Binford 1980). Also, we cannot exclude the possibility of human occupations in the southern coastal areas, given the postglacial Gosan-ri site in Jeju.
Conclusion
While “absence of evidence” does not equate to “evidence of absence,” the substantial increase in archaeological field research over the last two decades indicates that it is time for archaeologists to consider why we do not have unequivocal evidence of postglacial occupation in the Korean Peninsula. The present essay presents a hypothesis explaining the paucity of the archaeological record by considering the population dynamics of mobile hunter-gatherers.
Based on archaeological applications of ethnographic research on foraging groups from around the world, I assume that, during the final Pleistocene, the Korean peninsula was occupied by a small number of well established regional networks, consisting of local mobile bands exchanging materials, information, and personnel. Given the lowered sea level during the Last Glacial, maximum many foraging bands in Korea would have established networks with other bands in the region now covered by the Yellow Sea. Postglacial environmental change in Korea is characterized by the emergence of peninsular geography, as the rising sea level formed the Yellow Sea and increased the distance between the Korean peninsula and the Japanese Archipelago. The rising sea level and diminishment of productive habitats must have been a substantial challenge to the foraging groups who once inhabited the region now covered by the Yellow Sea.
Given the tight subsistence schedule and spatial alliance networks that hunter-gatherers typically establish (Kelly 1995; Whallon 2006; Wobst 1974), the extensive deterioration of resource habitats in the Yellow Sea Basin forced groups to increase the distance and frequency of their foraging excursions. Such frequent, large scale residential and logistic moves likely caused domino effects that rippled through the other mobile bands in the alliance network. In this case, the southern Korean Peninsula may have witnessed a significant population drop, as new regional networks were established around the new resource patches, in turn providing the basis for early Neolithic cultures in and around the Korean Peninsula.
Women and Femininity in Prehistoric Korea
- Kim Jongil(Seoul National University)
With the recent explosion of archaeological data in Korea, several new research agendas have been spotlighted, though they have hardly been noticed outside the field. Despite pioneering works by Sarah Nelson (1993), Kim Gwongu (2000), and Kim Seonju (2010), issues of women and gender are still largely ignored by Korean archaeology. There are two discernible reasons for this lack. First and foremost, Korean archaeological data shedding light on gender identity or the role of women remains quite scarce. Second, most research in Korean archaeology tends to focus on a very limited range of subjects, such as the emergence of social hierarchy, the process of forming the early states, and conflict or war. These subjects certainly cannot and should not be fundamentally separated from gender issues. Nevertheless, perhaps because gender issues do not ostensibly seem to be closely related to these issues, Korean archaeology has failed to take women and gender issues into account within its main research agendas.
In addition, another sensitive and debatable issue underlies this situation; namely, who tends to direct the main research agendas within the discipline, both implicitly and explicitly? Simply stated, the field of Korean archaeology is dominated by males with “formal” education and “formal” degrees (PhDs and Masters of Philosophy) who occupy a select number of influential positions at academic institutions, i.e. universities. In such a situation, it is unlikely that female perspectives regarding gender in archaeology can gain wide recognition, or that the past can be actively researched from such a perspective.
For these reasons, in most accounts of prehistoric Korea, women are strangely absent. Or at best, they are relegated to a very restricted role or a passive and subsidiary position in the social change of Korean prehistoric society. This is certainly not a problem that is unique to Korean archaeology, and has been discussed in the archaeologies of Europe and America since the 1970s (Gero and Conkey 1991; Kehoe 1998; Sørensen 2000). Therefore, rather than addressing this issue purely in theoretical terms, I will focus on how to embody women in Korean prehistory and how to aptly describe them amidst the lack of archaeological data. In addition, I will suggest some prerequisite theoretical frameworks for embodying and interpreting these invisible women and examine their applicability to the extant archaeological data.
Theoretical Issues for Gender Studies in Korean Prehistory
In order to use archaeological data to embody and describe these invisible (or periodically visible) women, research should pursue the following topics. First, how might women have constituted their own identity through material culture? Second, the rise of material culture altered social structures and constitutions (i.e., by increasing the division and specialization of labor); how might such changes have affected the identity, as well as the social (and symbolic) role, of women? And third, how did the changing identity and role of women and the evolving social structure impinge on one another? To better understand women in prehistoric Korea, it seems indispensible to do some preliminary theoretical reviews related to these topics.
Individual Identity & Archaeological Data
With the advent of post-processualism in archaeology, it has been widely accepted that material culture cannot be considered to be a mere reflection or result of past human action. It is now widely recognized that language is inherent to our social life, and the same can be said of our material culture. That is, language and material culture, rather than being mere derivative aspects, actually enable our social existence. Thus, like language, material culture must be considered in terms of its own distinct existence and meaningful constitution. Accordingly, we tend to experience, constitute, and relate ourselves to the world through this pre-existing material culture. Furthermore, we participate in the world by producing, using, and disposing of the material culture, as we simultaneously subjectify ourselves, form our identity, and sense our own personhood (Merleau-Ponty 1962).
In terms of archaeological data, various elements of material culture serve as media and impetus for human subjectification and the formation of individual identity, including body ornaments, settlements, and burials. Body ornaments can be used for various means of self-expression in different situations, while settlements serve to mediate and enable our social relations in the domain of life. Meanwhile, burials allow the living to readjust and reinforce a range of social relationships with their authorities, social positions, and various social norms. In particular, body ornaments, which are closely and directly related with individual bodies, could be good evidence for examining how the female body was gendered, as has been done with the male body and weapons and armory (Kim Jongil 2009; Sørensen 2000; Treherne 1995).
These arguments are built upon the belief that it is possible to use the body (and bodily movement) to forge a relationship with the world through material culture, and that the body itself tends to be objectified and delimited (and thus incarnated) in different ways. For example, people typically believe that they have an external boundary formed by their physical body, i.e. their skin and bones. But such a boundary can be altered according to cultural context. For example, body ornaments like weapons and armor can form a part of the body, and they can also make the body gender specific. Thus, the boundary of such a body has been refined, such that its social and cultural significations extend far beyond a body that comprises only skin, bone, and hair. This example indicates that culture is not simply a passive “extra-somatic” method of responding to an environment, but is actively constituted by the body in many various ways. Accordingly, individuals and communities of individuals, as the subjects of social action, can use material culture to constitute their own social and cultural bodies. And in doing so, they can simultaneously constitute society and culture (or at least a part of culture).
Structuralism & Femininity
Structuralist archaeology accepts the primary arguments raised by structuralism and structuralist linguistics, which can be summarized as follows:
1. Language is a sign system, constituted by the signifier and the signified. 2. The relationship between the signifier and the signified is arbitrary, and a sign can be discerned by the difference represented by binary opposition. 3. The sign’s linguistic value is decided by other signs, and in particular, by relative comparison with other signs, rather than its own original value. 4. The signs form a sort of metonymic chain (Barthes 1973; Saussure 1983).
As in language, material culture is also constituted by the signifier, exemplified by material artifacts (e.g. pottery) and the signified, represented by its usage (e.g. cooking or carrying water). Moreover, the meaning and value of material culture can be grasped by binary opposition and relative comparison, and it also constitutes a metonymic chain (Hodder 1990; Kim Jongil 2008). Therefore, material culture is understood as a system of signs and symbols. Notably, however, material culture differs somewhat from language in that the signifier and the signified are not inherently arbitrary. In such case, the slippery relation between the signifier and the signified, and the “floatation” of the signifier that occurs in the absence of the signified, cannot be completely justified. Such arbitrariness could not possibly be conceptualized in many archaeological contexts, where an object’s utilitarian function or suitability for use as a tool is emphasized, thus limiting its possible range of meaning. Yet the arbitrariness between the signifier and the signified could still be conceptualized within some specific contexts, such as a museum exhibition in which the meaning and function of material artifacts are redefined or reinterpreted.
It should also be mentioned that if the meanings of sites and material artifacts are interpreted solely by binary opposition, then the latent abundance of interpretations, which produces diversity and perhaps even ambiguity, can be ignored. Nonetheless, the meaning and significance of any sites and artifacts should be comprehended and interpreted within a context; namely, in association with other sites and material artifacts. Hence, material culture is constituted by a kind of chain of meanings based upon the principle of binary opposition, and this chain of meanings clearly represents the metonymic chain and metaphoric relation mentioned above. Such a chain could be schematized as: Male Female inner (back) outer (front) death life wild domestic dark light west east (Hodder 1990, 10 and 27)
Furthermore, based upon Neolithic cases from Anatolia and South Europe, Hodder suggested that males could be associated with burials, hunting, weapons, copper, axes, masks, and stone tool production, while female could be related to homes, furniture, decoration, weaving, spinning, ovens, food storage and preparation, signs, and figurines (69). The chain of meanings constituted by binary opposition could vary depending on the specific historical or cultural context. If we can grasp the existence of women (or material culture associated with women) in relation to a chain of meaning like this, then we may be able to infer and interpret how the chain was formed, how it changed over time, and the significance of the change. This would make it possible to analyze how individuals and communities create and adapt their identities by placing those processes within a symbolic sphere, rather than continuing to attempt to explain social change in simplified socio-economic or political ways.
Structuration & Femininity
Since the 1980s, the theories of Giddens and Bourdieu have deeply influenced the interpretation of material culture (Bourdieu 1977; Giddens 1984). While Giddens’s theory can be critiqued for interpreting the relationship between human action and material culture through a simplified circular pattern of logic, it has value in that it emphasizes the importance of material culture’s active role. For example, according to Giddens, the successive construction of identical or similar types of houses or burial places (and likewise the identical or similar division of the inner space in houses and burial places) is enabled by the human action involved with such construction and division, which is already regulated by various extant social rules and symbolic values. And furthermore, such social rules and symbolic values are maintained by continuous social practices, such as the successive construction of houses and tombs.
Bourdieu’s theory of practice, exemplified by the concept of “habitus,” tends to focus on incarnate or intrinsic human practices, i.e., those which are considered to be natural and safe. Thus, this theory can help us grasp the meanings of such practices in everyday life (Bourdieu 1977). In particular, habitus makes us aware of the different embodied and habituated activities of women (or men) in the domain of everyday life, in terms of gender issues. Concomitantly, this theory can also elucidate the engendering process of space and time, as well as the various social practices that happen within the spatial and temporal sphere.
Therefore, although structuration and practice theory have some limitations, including a failure to account for social change, they provide an interpretative framework for understanding various social actions of both individuals and communities that occur within spatial and temporal spheres. In particular, they can help us understand how individuals can direct changes to existing social structures, such as material culture, as well as how those structures affect the individuals.
Women in Prehistoric Korea & Archaeological Interpretation
As mentioned, archaeological data from prehistoric Korea that demonstrates individual identity, and especially female gender identity, has rarely been found or reported. Despite some exceptions, such as Okbang 4 district 26 stone cist and Bonchon-ri 2 stone cist, Jinju (Kim Jaehyeon 2002, 139), material artifacts demonstrating gender identity or closely related to gender categorization have rarely been found in conjunction with biological data (e.g. bones) allowing for gender or age identification.
Therefore, instead of simply introducing data or attempting a truncated description of female gender identity based on partial and fragmented data, I will examine the context in which female gender identity was formed or expressed (or suppressed) in prehistoric Korea in terms of the overall formation of individual identity, including male identity, from a comparative perspective.
Formation of Femininity in Korean Neolithic Age
Thus far, the earliest archaeological data found in Korea that directly relates to women is from the Neolithic period. One representative relic is a female figurine found in Sinam-ri #2 site, Seosaeng-myeon, Ulju, Ulsan which was discovered alongside pottery with a fingertip motif and pottery with a comb pattern (Fig. 1). The same type of female figurine was also found in Nongpo-ri site, Cheongjin, Hamgyeongbuk-do province (Fig. 1). In addition, earthenware symbolizing the female sexual organ and anthropomorphic figurines (or faces) of indeterminate sex were found in Yul-ri Shell Midden, Geomgok-dong in Busan, Suga-ri Shell Midden in Gimhae, and Osan-ri site in Yangyang (Fig. 2). Face-shaped ornaments and wrist or ankle bracelets (made of bone or shell) have also been found in many sites, including Seopohang in Gulpo, Sandeung Shell Midden, Yeondaedo and Yokjido in Tongyeong, Suga-ri in Gimhae, and Ando Shell Midden in Yeosu (Fig. 3). In particular, body ornaments were found near the wrist and ankle of a human body in Yeondaedo, Ando Shell Midden, indicating that the ornaments were worn by the tomb occupant (Fig. 4).
Fig. 1.
Female figurines. Neolithic period.
Left: Sinam-ri II (신암리 II). 1989. (Seoul: National Museum of Korea), p. 66.Right: Joseon Yujeokyumul Dogam: Primitive Society (조선유적유물도감: 원시편).Reprint 1990. (Seoul: Donggwang Publication Company), p. 133.
Fig. 2.
Anthropomorphic artifacts. Neolithic period.
Left: Prehistoric and Ancient Culture (선사와 고대문화). 1996. (Busan: Busan National University Museum), p. 10.Upper right: Seoul National University Museum. 2007. Seoul National University Museum Catalogue (서울대학교 박물관 소장품 도록), 17.Lower right: Wando Yeoseo-dong Shell Midden (완도 여서동 패총), by Kim Geonsu (김건수) et al. 2007. (Mokpo: Mokpo National University Museum), p. 421.
Fig. 3.
Body ornaments from various regions. Neolithic period.
Left: National Museum of Korea. 1996. (Seoul: National Museum of Korea), p. 26. / Center and right: Prehistoric and Ancient Culture (선사와 고대문화). 1996. (Busan: Busan National University Museum), p. 10.
Fig. 4.
Bracelet and female bone from Ando Shell Midden I site in Yeosu. Neolithic period. Ando Shell Midden (안도패총), by Cho Hyeongjong (조현종) et al. 2009. (Gwangju: Gwangju National Museum), pp. 10 and 213.
Based upon this archaeological data, we can make several assumptions about women and femininity in prehistoric Korea. First and foremost, it would be premature to assume that these relics serve as evidence that symbols of fertility and fecundity were inherited from the Paleolithic period, or that they represent some ancestral god of the tribe or the phylogeny of matrilineal clan society (Kim Wonyong 1982, 1-18; Archaeological Institute of Academy of Social Science 1977, 12). Nevertheless, this data suggests that femininity, symbolized by fertility and fecundity, was an important social value in the society, in relation with hunting and the inception of agriculture (Hodder 1990, 60-70; Gimbutas 1989, 141-159).
Second, these findings allow us to conceive a possible chain of meaning centered on women (or female values), that is, the possibility that various body ornaments were used by women as a form of self-expression. For example, at Yeondaedo, #1 and #7 burials (Fig. 5, left) are assumed to be male, due to the presence of stone axes, while the #2A and #14 burials (Fig. 5, right) are assumed to be female, based on the presence of shell or jade (Table 1).
Fig. 5.
Burial sites from Yeondaedo
Top: #7 burial / Bottom: #14 burial. Yeondaedo I (연대도 I), by Han Yeonghui (한영희) and Im Hakjong (임학종). 1993, (Jinju: Jinju National Museum).
Table 1 - Grave goods from burials at Yeondaedo site Tomb Sex Excavated Artifacts 1 M Pottery, stone axe 2 F(A) Shells, bracelet 3 ? ? 4 M Obsidian, pottery, harpoon 5 F Fish hook, pottery 6 ? ? 7 M Stone axe, pottery, ankle bracelet, ornaments 8 ? Pottery 9 M Pottery, stone tool 10 M? Pottery, stone tool 11 M Pottery, obsidian 12 F Pottery, fish hook 13 F? ? 14 F Pottery, obsidian, jade (bracelet) 15 F? Pottery
It can be safely assumed that, in the construction of these tombs at Yeondaedo Shell Midden, the individual identity would be expressed by the various body ornaments buried with the body, and that gender identity can be at least hypothesized based upon the presence of certain types of items, such as stone axes or bracelets. This phenomenon is also observed at the Ando Shell Midden site in Yeosu, where two bodies were found in the #1 tomb. One of the bodies was about 159 cm tall and had five shell bracelets on its arm, and was thus assumed to be female (Fig. 4). Based on these observations, a possible chain of meaning can be formed regarding women (or men) in the Korean Neolithic period: Female Male shell bracelet stone axe female figurine ? pottery pottery obsidian tools obsidian tools
Although this assumption cannot be generalized to apply throughout the Korean Neolithic period, it seems reasonable to assess that at least some Korean Neolithic people emphasized their individuality (as a kind of individual identity) and constituted their gender identity through burial rituals, specifically the use of burial goods and their chain of meaning, and that such gender identity would be socially acknowledged within the community. Nonetheless, this expression of gender identity would not necessarily be stressed or accepted in relation to social change based upon the subsistence economy of that time, because, just as in Europe, there is no clear evidence that the acceptance of such female value would be directly and closely related to the introduction and diffusion of agriculture.
Woman & Identity in Korean Bronze Age
Archaeological data pertinent to gender identity (particularly female) from the Early and Middle Bronze Age of Korea is quite limited, but some well known artifacts have been found, such as the bronzeware from Daejeon, featuring a man tilling his field (Fig. 6) and the Bangudae rock art from Ulju (Fig. 7). Notably, the surface of the Daejeon bronzeware shows a man using a small plow to till a field and a woman who is putting something into a pot. The images seemingly allow us to infer that men usually worked in the field, which generally requires more strenuous physical labor, while women performed domestic tasks, which generally require less strenuous physical labor. Also, the rock art from Bangudae includes a male figure with exaggerated genitalia, suggesting that masculinity and the male body was emphasized in terms of gender differentiation and gender roles, in accordance with the labor division and specialization that marked this period.
Fig. 6.
Bronzeware from Daejeon, featuring a male tilling a field and a female carrying a pottery vessel. National Museum of Korea. 1996. (Seoul: National Museum of Korea), p. 45.
Fig. 7.
Bangudae Rock art from Ulju, featuring a male image. Bangudae: Fragments from Rock Art of Ulju (반구대: 울주암벽조각), by Hwang Suyeong (황수영) and Mun Myeongdae (문명대). 1984. (Seoul: Dongguk University Museum), p. 110.
A similar phenomenon has been observed in the diffusion of agriculture from Central to Western Europe and the pertinent social change in the middle phase of European Neolithic Society. For example, in the case of European Neolithic Society, as agriculture spread from Central Europe to more peripheral areas, new agricultural techniques were adopted, such as animal traction and plowing, which required significantly more physical labor and strength. In addition, more conflicts arose between groups over arable land, so that masculinity would likely have gained more precedence in society over femininity. At the same time, a specific patrilineal group began to construct communal burials, including their own ancestors, in order to justify and legitimize their land rights (Hodder 1982, Sherratt 1990). Notably, this rising emphasis on male symbolic value and its chain of meaning, rather than female symbolic value, is associated with the increasing significance of ancestry and community (and, of course, communal value). With this inference in mind, the spatial structure and placement of settlements and burials might be used to examine how female gender identity was constituted and maintained.
It has been suggested that long houses dated from the Early or Middle Bronze Age were divided into two or three sections with particular reference to the location and number of hearths, and that these compartments were related to a household community (An Jaeho 2006, 54-59). However, the distribution pattern of artifacts in houses from the period indicates that the inner domestic spaces were actually divided and structured rather differently. For example, the inner space of the #12 house from the Heunam-ri site (Fig. 8) is divided into two areas: one area where pottery was used or stored, and one area where mostly stone tools were discovered. A similar spatial division was noted in Linear Pottery Culture (generally abbreviated as LBK) houses from the early European Neolithic period. Granted, more precise and detailed information about the excavation and post-depositional process is required before any solid inferences can be made regarding the original distribution pattern and its context. But still, the fact that artifacts were found within the house, with no evidence of distortion or alteration of the space by either natural or cultural transformation, tentatively suggests that the distribution pattern of artifacts can provide in situ contextual information about daily life during the period. Accordingly, we can infer that the inner space of houses was divided into at least three areas: an area for storage or cooking, an area for producing or storing stone tools, and an area for sleeping or rest.
Fig. 8.
Inner space of #12 house, Heunam-ri site, Yeoju. In the area on the left, pottery likely used for storage was found, while stone tools were found in the area on the right. Heunam-ri Settlement 4 (흔암리 주거지 4). 1978. (Seoul: Seoul National University Museum), image 26 (modified by the author).
Recently, a similar assumption has been made in reference to the spatial division of a long house from Sosa-dong in Pyeongtaek. The inner space of this house is assumed to have been divided into two areas: an area for women and children, where the hearth was located and domestic tasks were performed, such as weaving, simple woodwork, preparation of the fire, cooking, and storage; and another area for men, where tools and weapons were made for hunting and war (Kim Byeongmo et al. 2008, 142-143). This observation indicates that the division of inner space by function seems to be closely related to gender differentiation. It has been widely accepted, according to various archaeological analogies, that areas for food storage and pottery can be associated with women, while areas for making stone tools can be associated with men, though such an assumption seems quite contentious and problematic.
Of course, our assumptions about these individual residences certainly cannot be generalized and extended to all other houses and settlements from the period. Still, it seems quite possible to consider the division of the inner space of houses according to a chain of meaning based on labor division by gender. This gendered spatial division conditioned and enabled the everyday activities of individuals, and served to maintain and institutionalize the existing gender differentiation as a medium in everyday life.
This gender differentiation was also exemplified in another way, apart from everyday life, in the burials and burial groups, which were constructed beginning in the Middle Bronze Age. For instance, the Songguk-ri culture, which is representative of the Middle Bronze Age of Korea, employed two types of pattern for the inner placement of burial groups (those consisting of more than five burials): concentric and linear. For the concentric pattern, exemplified by burial groups at Sanui-ri and Oseok-ri, two or three central graves are encircled by several other graves. In contrast, the linear pattern, observed in burial groups from Songguk-ri, Namsan-ri and Majeon-ri C district, consists of linear rows of graves.
Since no notable burial goods have been found at the Sanui-ri and the Oseok-ri sites, it is difficult to discern the relation between the central and peripheral burials. Even so, the burials at the center were clearly referenced in the placement and construction of the outlying burials (Fig. 9). In addition, the fact that most of the burials (with two or three exceptions) do not include any burial goods suggests the existence of some doctrine restricting the use of burial goods as a means of expressing individual or communal identity, such as one’s specific lineage group within the community. And inhibiting the use of burial goods for individual expression implies an emphasis on collectivity and equality between the members of the community, rather than an endorsement of differentiation and distinction.
Fig. 9.
Burial placement at Oseok-ri site. Oseok-ri Site (오석리 유적), by Yi Namseok (이남석). 1996. (Gongju: Gongju National University Museum).
While emphasizing equality between community members, the custom of having two or three central burials also serves to legitimize the symbolic power or authority of those central individuals, more so than a common ancestral burial. In contrast, in the linear burial groups, several of the graves have stone daggers or stone arrowheads located at one end or the other (Fig. 10). It is not currently clear whether this placement of daggers or arrowheads indicates the temporal sequence of burial construction or if it is a reference for the overall construction and placement of burial groups. However, looking at the Majeon-ri C district burial group, the daggers or arrow-heads are present in 12 out of the 27 total burials (not including five burials that are only 1 m. in length, assumed to be infant or child burials). Considering the near 1:1 ratio between burials with and without daggers or arrowheads, and the wide acceptance that daggers and arrowheads are largely associated with men, it is possible to infer that those objects are symbols of men or masculinity, rather than status symbols or prestige goods signifying social hierarchy. If this supposition were true, and if the burials with daggers and arrowheads were in fact referenced in the construction and placement of the other burials, then those individuals were probably males who played an important role in the community, rather than people who held a high rank or status within the community.
Fig. 10.
Burial placement of stone cist burial group at Namsan-ri site. “Prehistoric Burial Group from Namsan-ri, Tancheon-myeon, Gongju,” by Yun Mubyeong (윤무병). 1987. Essays written to commemorate the retirement of Prof. Sambul Kim Wonyong I (삼불 김원룡 교수 정년 퇴임 기념 논총 I), p. 57.
This emphasis on equality and collectivity is also evidenced by the emergence of wooden wall or enclosure sites or storage facilities, possibly for surplus goods, which began in the later phases of the Early Bronze Age. In the Early Bronze Age, consumption of domestic goods, food preparation, and storage of surplus produce was typically restricted to the individual household level. However, in the Middle Bronze Age, some activities developed which indicate a shift towards the group or community level. Foremost among these is the storage of surplus goods, since it seems likely that such goods were somehow distributed to the larger group. Furthermore, the enclosures and wooden walls would have acted as boundaries and defensive facilities, indicating a distinction between community insiders and outsiders, also contributing to the emphasis and augmentation of communality.
In light of these inferences, it could be argued that female gender expression was made and maintained by engendering space in the context of everyday domestic life. But at the same time, such expression would seem to have been stifled through the burial practices and the emergence of communal storage facilities, which seem to stress collectivity and equality.
As for the men, the presence of the stone daggers and arrowheads indicates that their individual identity was at least somewhat acknowledged by a community. Certainly, even in a period when individual expression is restricted, it seems plausible that some power relationships would be constituted and sustained between members of a community. But in this period, an expression of power or a power relationship could perhaps have been executed by emphasizing equality and community, rather than by displaying individual wealth or distinction. In such case, the symbolic privilege bestowed on women and femininity, as well as the chain of meaning centered on female identity, that had been maintained since the Neolithic period would have gradually lost its integral social value and been indirectly replaced by other alternatives.
Paradoxically, however, amidst this apparent emphasis on equality, the use of bronze objects expressing individual identity and masculinity emerged.
Use of Bronze Objects & Appearance of Masculinity
Bronze ritual objects dating from the 5th-4th Century BC have been found in burials all over the Midwestern part of the Korean Peninsula, including the Daegok-ri site, Hwasun in Jeollanam-do province and the sites at Dongseo-ri, Yesan, Namseong-ri, Asan, Goejeong-dong, Daejeon, Nonsan, and Deoksan in Chungcheongnam-do province. These bronze ritual objects, which include hilt-shaped objects, trumpet-shaped objects, a bullet-shaped bronze bell, a two-headed bronze bell, and an eight-headed bronze bell, have been found alongside slender bronze daggers, bronze mirrors, and black burnished pottery (Fig. 11). However, most burials from this period do not contain such bronze ritual objects; often the burials contain some combination of bronze daggers, mirrors, and black pottery, or else single bronze objects like daggers or spearheads.
Fig. 11.
Burial goods from the burial site at Dongseo-ri, Yesan. The Bronze Age Culture in Korea (한국의 청동기 문화). 1992. (Seoul: National Museum of Korea; Gwangju: Gwangju National Museum), pp.30-31.
These burials were likely independently or exclusively placed, as the number of settlements from this period is much lower than previous periods. The emergence in this period of independent burials with bronze ritual objects seems to indicate that individuality and masculinity could now be empha-sized as a means for displaying and executing power, rather than the values of equality and communality which marked earlier periods. If so, what caused this change? Perhaps rituals of burying individuals with particular bronze objects became socially and symbolically acknowledged and accepted within communities. We still do not know if these bronze ritual objects originated from elsewhere, such as in Manchuria or maybe even somewhere outside the Korean peninsula. However, the introduction of such rituals mediated and even propelled the transition from the Middle Bronze Age, with its emphasis on the social value of community, to the Late Bronze Age, when individuals were socially legitimized, as exemplified by the manner of burial construction.
As yet, no direct data exists to show how these bronze objects, such as armor and mirrors, were associated with the buried body, and the masculine body in particular. In fact, it may not be possible to ever determine with certainty the exact nature of the relationship between the masculine body and the bronze objects. Nonetheless, the mere presence of the objects is significant, in that it demonstrates that those who constructed the burials somehow interpreted the identity of the dead through the objects and recognized them on some symbolic level. In other words, the masculine body was socially symbolized by burying the male body in conjunction with bronze armor, thus emphasizing the masculinity of the deceased.
Considering that bronze armor is primarily associated with violence, the possible constitution of masculinity and the male body as a warrior is of great significance as a concrete reference to serve as the foundation for a symbolic value and structure. Such a foundation would have been indispensable as the social hierarchy began to privilege more coercive and physical forms of power, and as more complex societies began to form, such as ancient states. The developing conception of a warrior’s beauty, and the symbolic value of such a conception, would be closely related to significant changes in the structural principles maintaining the society or community, not to mention its implication for the overall perception of the masculine body.
Therefore, the emergence of burial practices utilizing ritual objects indicates the appearance of some sort of fundamental symbolic value, which was a prerequisite for constituting and maintaining the society. This value would have been compromised and accepted by the community members, unlike the advent of high social status reflected by prestige burial goods. This symbolic value would be the bedrock on which various future social changes could be constructed.
Conclusion
In this article, I have attempted to examine the limited archaeological data that embodies the existence of women and the process by which concepts related to femininity and female identity formed in prehistoric Korea. In addition, I have discussed the reasons why the self-expression of the female identity was not clearly visible or highly mediated through the material culture in certain periods.
According to the earliest relevant archaeological evidence, from the Neolithic period, women, female identity, and femininity were expressed in the form of figurines symbolizing abundance and fecundity, indicating that such values were approved and validated as important social values within the community. In addition, the Neolithic period seems to have featured social categorization between male and female (i.e., chain of meaning), as mediated by body ornament or stone axe. In other words, it might be inferred that, during this period, men and women expressed their own identity through body ornamentation and that such self identity and its expression was acknowledged within the society.
In contrast, during the Early and Middle Bronze Age, that type of individual self expression likely became restricted by the increasing division and specialization of labor caused by the rise of agriculture, which in turn led to a greater emphasis on equality and community as social values. This emphasis would have been implemented by the reproduction of these symbolic values as structural principles for the society, and then maintained by the members of the society. This emphasis on equality then saw a significant shift in the Late Bronze Age, as males began to more actively express their individuality and masculinity, as evidenced by burial practices. This change was enabled by a new conceptualization of masculinity and the masculine body, represented by an increasing reverence for the image of a warrior.
Ceramics Exchange between Northern China and Early Goryeo
- Jang Namwon(Ewha Womans University)
When the Goryeo Dynasty (高麗, 918-1392) kilns were first established, they were heavily influenced by the Yuezhou (越州) kilns of southern China, as demonstrated by similarities in kiln structure, construction methods, and ceramic production methods. Later, however, Goryeo assimilated some new elements from northern China, including firing techniques, vessel types and forms, and decorative patterns and techniques. In other words, the following three factors represent such new elements from northern China. First, concurrent production of celadon and white porcelain: even in the early days of celadon production in Goryeo, there were occasions when celadon and white porcelain were made together in the same kiln, although they require different production conditions and processes. Given that, from the late 10th to the 11th century, celadon was mainly produced in southern China and white porcelain in northern China, the coexistence of white porcelain with celadon in Goryeo kilns suggests the influence of northern China. Second, some Goryeo wares showed different shapes and different formal characteristics from southern Chinese wares. One of the main examples of the Goryeo’s deviation from southern Chinese wares is that the bowls with a bi-shaped foot (haemurigup, 玉璧底) produced in Goryeo did not reflect the development of their south Chinese counterparts (as early Goryeo ceramics production closely did regarding kiln structure and various other details), such deviation exemplified by Goryeo’s unique bi-shaped foot wares is important to note: they showed a mixture of anachronistic and eclectic influences of older northern and southern Chinese and even Tang styles. Third, inlay and iron-painting decorative techniques, which developed in northern Chinese kilns such as Cizhou (磁州) kilns, appeared in the early days of Goryeo ceramics production. Thus, this article aims to identify the new techniques and formal elements that appeared in the development of Goryeo ceramics by investigating the relationship between Goryeo and the Liao (Khitan) and Jin (Jurchen) dynasties, and by comparing the manufacturing conditions at Goryeo kilns from the 10th-12th centuries with those of northern Chinese kilns of the same period. Despite the historical importance of Liao and Jin dynasty wares, which had a notable influence on the forms and techniques of Goryeo wares, they have only been broadly addressed in the context of the relationships between Song, Goryeo, Liao and Jin, due to the marked tendency to concentrate on the relationship between Goryeo and Song. As such, this article reinvestigates the relationship between Goryeo and Liao and Jin, already explored in an earlier article (Jang Namwon 2008a). However, due to the difficulty of distinguishing between the kilns of Liao and Jin, and between Northern Song and Jin, and identifying the changes over time at each kiln site, further materials from China will be necessary to provide more concrete evidence in the future.
Relations between Goryeo and Liao and Jin
Goryeo and Liao
During the 10th century in Northeast Asia, the Liao dynasty was founded in 916, the Goryeo dynasty in 918, and the Song dynasty in 980. The foundation of the Liao dynasty (916-1125) marked the start of active official and unofficial exchanges between the Khitans and Goryeo, and Liao culture and technology was introduced to Korea when artisans from Liao settled in Goryeo. In 916, the Khitans had named their new state Liao (遼) and given their founding monarch the title of Emperor. In 928 they established their eastern capital, Liaoyang (遼陽), in the area of the former Balhae capital, Shangjing (上京). By 936, the Sixteen Prefectures of Yanyun (燕雲十六州, an area stretching from Beijing to Datong, modern Hebei and Shanxi) became part of Liao territory. This was an area to which Tang artisans and craftsmen from various fields had fled following the An Lushan rebellion (755). These Han artisans were treated well and in this way the arts and crafts techniques that had been inherited from Tang were assimilated by the Liao. As late as the fall of the Northern Song to the Jin in 1127, some Song craftsmen moved to Shangjing, the “supreme capital” of Liao. Moreover, under Liao rule, major Khitan bases such as Hebei, Shanxi, and Inner Mongolia saw further development in ceramics production. In the early years, ceramics were sometimes imported from the central plains region, but production by artisans at Liao kilns gradually increased (Fig. 1).
Fig. 1.
Map showing location of Liao kiln sites.
Goryeo maintained amiable exchanges with the Five Dynasties (907-959), but became hostile towards the Khitans (Liao) in the process of trying to recover former northern territories. In 993, the Khitans invaded Goryeo, but by 994, relations between the two states had improved, as records show that they established tributary relations. Moreover, following Goryeo’s victory in the Battle of Gwiju (龜州大捷, 1018) during the third Goryeo-Khitan war (1018-19), the two states negotiated for peace in 1022, ushering in a period of more active official exchange. At least until the first half of the 12th century, Goryeo-Khitan (Liao) exchange was as active as Goryeo-Song exchange. However, while Goryeo’s relations with Song centered on trade between private merchants, relations with Liao were mainly based on official government exchange.
In the Amnokgang River (鴨綠江) area, the Khitans established a local government base to serve as the gateway to Liao, as well as a market for the exchange of local specialty products, where private trade did take place. The Khitans, who had defeated Balhae in 926, remained the most powerful force in the Liaodong (遼東) region for the next two hundred years, until the early 12th century. Throughout this period, even during the wars with Goryeo, Liaoyang served as the Khitans’ point of contact with Goryeo. The route connecting Liaoyang and the Goryeo capital Gaegyeong remained in use, pointing to the likelihood of Khitan civilization entering Goryeo through Liaoyang.
King Taejo (r. 918-943), the founding monarch of Goryeo, created the Hunyo sipjo (訓要十條, The Ten Injunctions), which were then passed down to his descendants. The fourth article of this text says, “The Khitans are a barbarian nation with different customs and language to our own, so we should not make haste to follow their customs and institutions.” This clearly indicates Goryeo’s uneasy relationship with the powerful Khitans. From a cultural perspective, however, it is possible that, by the mid-10th century, the customs and institutions of the Khitans were already being introduced to Goryeo. Interestingly, in the year 1129, (seventh year of the reign of King Injong 仁宗, r. 1122-1146), an official report lamented the fact that the spirit and style of the Khitans had spread “from the court to the common people.” By this time, the Liao dynasty had already fallen to the Jin, and Goryeo was working toward better relations with Jin. So it seems that Khitan culture and institutions were introduced during the early stages of the Goryeo dynasty, and had become widespread by the first half of the 12th century.
When the Jin dynasty (1115-1234) was established, it is generally believed that Goryeo considered the Southern Song dynasty to represent China proper, but Goryeo was still very mindful of Jin, and in fact maintained rather distant relations with Southern Song, which was now much weaker. Accordingly, Goryeo did not consider it necessary to continue the tribute-investiture system (朝貢-冊封) with Southern Song, and most state exchanges between Goryeo and Song came to an end.
According to Xuanhe fengshi Gaoli tujing (宣和奉使高麗圖經, Illustrated Record of the Chinese Embassy to the Goryeo Court in the Xuanhe Era), written by the Song envoy Xu Jing (徐兢) in the first half of the 12th century, among the tens of thousands of Khitan prisoners of war in Goryeo, those possessing a particular skill were kept in the capital, Gaegyeong.1 From this, it can be deduced that Khitan artisans played a part in developing the art and crafts of Goryeo. In addition, a record from Goryeosa (高麗史, History of Goryeo) from 1116, the 12th year of the reign of King Yejong (睿宗, r. 1105-1122), says that when the king travelled to Nanjing, the southern capital of Liao, he watched various song-and-dance performances and other entertainments at a Khitan village. Khitan artisans were influenced by southern wares, as evidenced by discoveries of Yuezhou celadon in major Khitan archaeological sites, including a covered bowl found in the pagoda at Jingzhisi (靜志寺) in Dingxian (定縣), Hebei province, dating to 997 (second year of the Taping Xingguo, 太平興國), and a celadon dish found in the tomb of the Princess of the Chen (陳) state in Naimanqi (奈曼旗), Zheli Mumeng (哲里木盟), Inner Mongolia, dating to the seventh year of the Kaitai (開泰) reign of Liao, 1018 (Fig. 2).
Fig. 2.
Celadon jar in the shape of a leather flask, from the Yuezhou (越州) kiln. 10-11th century. Height 23.0 cm. National Museum of Korea.
Goryeo and Jin
The Jin Dynasty (金, 1115-1234) was founded by the Jurchens. From the early 10th century, the Jurchens had been vassals of the Khitans (Liao), but in the early 12th century, as their forces grew in Northern Manchuria, they founded Jin as an independent state. The Jin Dynasty eventually grew to take over the northern half of Song territory, including the once flourishing Northern Song kilns and their advanced production technology. Therefore, the various kilns that had been established in Inner Mongolia during the Liao Dynasty entered their most active period in the Jin Dynasty (Fig. 3). The Northern Song kilns suffered a setback from the Jinkang Incident, when Jurchen soldiers sacked the Northern Song capital, Bianjing, effectively ending the Northern Song Dynasty, but the kilns continued to produce under Jin control. The possibility has also been raised that some of the Ding kilns (定窯) and the Yaozhou kilns (耀州窯) served as official state kilns of the Jin Dynasty (Fig. 4). Production particularly increased at the Jun kilns (鈞窯) in Henan province, and new types of wares were developed to meet the rising demands of the market. The recent excavation of the Zhanggongxiang kilns (張公巷窯) in Henan unearthed some 330 coins alongside celadon vessels, including some coins of the Zhenglong reign (1156-1160) (Zhenglong yuanbao, 正隆元寶) coins cast in 1158 (third year of the reign of the Jin Emperor Hailing 海陵, r. 1149-1161) (Tang Junjie 2010, 64-69). Therefore, it is believed that the Zhanggongxiang wares were made in the Jin period, based on Northern celadon.
Fig. 3.
Map showing location of Jin kiln sites.
Fig. 4.
Celadon incense burner with embossed relief. 12th century. Yaozhou (耀州) Kiln Museum. (Author’s photograph).
In addition, the Ding kilns, the major white porcelain kilns of the northern regions, continued to thrive and, in fact, reached their peak during the Jin Dynasty. Though Jin ruled the central plains of China, it is generally agreed that Jin ceramic ware does not show any significant differences in form from that of the Northern Song Dynasty. On the Goryeo side, after the fall of the Khitans, exchange with the northern kilns would have continued unimpeded from 1125, when Jin conquered Liao and forced a sovereign relationship on Goryeo, until at least 1153, when Jin remained based in the northern regions.
Changes in Goryeo Ceramic Production
Secondary Firing Method
In the 11th century, a new aspect appeared in Goryeo ceramics production: a primary or bisque firing followed by a secondary firing to apply the glaze. After the Five Dynasties period, all of the kilns that utilized the techniques of the Yuezhou kilns employed only a single firing. But around the 11th century, when Korean style bowls with a bi-shaped foot were made in Gangjin, it became common to bisque fire the vessels first, and then fire once more after applying the glaze, with each vessel placed in a separate saggar.
It is not known exactly when or how the secondary firing method began in Korea, but it may have been connected with the Yaozhou (耀州) kilns, based on shards of bisque-fired wares that have been found at Yaozhou celadon kilns in Shaanxi province. The use of multiple firings allows for a thick application of glaze, which produces a deep jade-green or green color, thanks to the scattering and reflection of light in the glaze layer. Evidence of similar glazing and firing methods was also found during the excavation of the Jiaotan official kiln site (郊壇 官窯址) in the city of Hangzhou (Fig. 5). Reflecting the influence of these official kilns, similar vessels, with thin walls and thick glaze fired multiple times, were produced in Longquan (龍泉), Zhejiang province, where ceramics production is known to have been active at that time (around the 12th century). But though the Yaozhou influence on Goryeo wares is considered to be the result of close exchange, the case remains in doubt since twice-fired vessels did not appear in Korea until sometime after the 11th century.
Fig. 5.
Cross-section of multi-glazed celadon, excavated from Hangzhou (杭州). 12th century. (Photograph taken by Shu Peiqi 舒佩琦 at the Hongxi Museum (鴻禧美術館), Taipei).
There is another reason why it is problematic to assert that secondary firing in Korea was directly related to the tradition of the Yuezhou kilns. In Korea, the practice of secondary firing was not confined to the kilns of the central region, where early celadon was produced, but also developed in the kilns of the Gangjin area after the 11th century (Fig. 6). Thus, the source or channel for the introduction of secondary firing techniques to Goryeo between the mid-10th and early 11th century remains in question.
Fig. 6.
Bisque-fired shard (left) and twice-fired shards (right), from Yongun-ri no. 10 kiln site in Gangjin. 11th century. Excavation Report of Yongun-ri Celadon Kiln Sites in Gangjin: Illustrations (康津龍雲里靑磁窯址 發掘調査報告書-圖版編). 1996. (Seoul: National Museum of Korea), p.18, fig. 22.
As for the origin of secondary firing, this method was already common in the production of the three-color (三彩, sancai) ware of the Tang Dynasty. In areas such as Shaanxi and Henan province, white-clay vessels were bisque-fired at high temperatures over 1,000°C, then covered in a low-fire glaze and fired again (Fig. 7). The bisque firing tradition of the kilns of northern China during the Tang Dynasty would have been maintained by the Song Dynasty. In the Yaozhou kilns in Shaanxi province, at least some of the wares produced during the period from the Five Dynasties to the early Northern Song Dynasty were fired twice. The techniques for making three-color wares spread through Shaanxi, Henan, and Hebei provinces and even into Inner Mongolia, and were also used in Balhae and Liao. Moreover, in addition to three-color wares, there is evidence that, in Liao and Jin territory, bisque firing was also used to make wares covered in colored or white glazes after the 11th century (Fig. 8). Therefore, based on international conditions at the time and the types of vessels that have been excavated together, the spread and development of secondary firing in Goryeo seems to date sometime between the late 10th and early 11th century, influenced by the active exchange of goods with Liao and the arrival of Liao artisans in Goryeo.
Fig. 7.
Bisque-fired vessels before three-color glazing, from the Huangye (黃冶) kilns in Henan (河南) province. 8th century. Height 7.4 - 8.5 cm, footring diameter 7.5 - 8.2 cm. New Archaeological Discoveries from the Huangye Kilns (黃冶窯考古新發現). 2005. (Henan: Daxiang Publishing House), fig. 125.
Fig. 8.
Three-color shards from the Gangwa (缸瓦) kilns in Chifeng (赤峰), Inner Mongolia. 11th century. Liao Dynasty Ceramics (遼代陶瓷), by Lu Jing (路 菁). 2003. (Liaoning: Liaoning Huabao Publishing House), fig. 2-41.
Changes in Firing Supports
High quality celadon wares from the southern part of China from the mid- to late Five Dynasties period usually show traces of ring-shaped supports attached to the inside of the foot (Fig. 9). But evidence from Goryeo kiln sites indicates that refractory clay supports were attached to the foot rim for firing (Fig. 10). Ring-shaped supports appeared at kiln sites from the early Goryeo period, but their use seems to have sharply diminished thereafter in favor of refractory supports made from clay mixed with round lumps of black and white sand, similar to supports found in most Liao kilns (Lu Jing 2003) (Fig. 11). Consequently, the use of only clay supports, with no ring support, is likely connected to the introduction of white porcelain production techniques from northern China. Interestingly, the clay supports used in Goryeo are quite similar in number, quality, and color to those used widely in Inner Mongolia throughout the Liao and Jin dynasties.
Fig. 9.
Footring and ring supports, from the Bangsan-dong kiln site in Siheung, Gyeonggi-do province. 10th century. (Haegang Ceramics Museum).
Fig. 10.
Traces of supports on the footring of the bowl from the Seo-ri kiln site in Yongin, Gyeonggi-do province. 10th century. (Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art).
Fig. 11.
Traces of supports inside the bowl from the Gangwa (缸瓦) kilns in Chifeng (赤峰), Inner Mongolia. 10th-11th century. Liao Dynasty Ceramics (遼代陶瓷), by Lu Jing (路 菁). 2003. (Liaoning: Liaoning Huabao Publishing House), fig. 2-11.
Concurrent Production of Celadon and White Porcelain
Another indication of the close relations between ceramics production in Goryeo and northern China is the simultaneous firing of white porcelain and celadon wares in the same kiln. The early Goryeo kilns that first began making white porcelain were near the Goryeo capital, Gaegyeong, and they produced a high proportion of white porcelain (Haegang Ceramics Museum 2000; Ho-Am Art Museum 2003). However, some other early Goryeo kilns, such as those at Bangsan-dong and Seo-ri, produced mostly celadon at first and white porcelain later. White porcelain and celadon are made with different clay paste and have different glaze melting points, and hence usually require different firing conditions. In other words, it is not appropriate to fire them together. But these kilns used different clay and glaze to make the white porcelain, which serves as evidence of the concurrent production of celadon and white porcelain. (Figs. 12 and 13). In this context, which factors led to the production of white porcelain in Korea? In China, white porcelain was widely made in Hebei, Henan and Shanxi provinces, as well as in the autonomous region of Inner Mongolia. Production in Korea would naturally have begun when the techniques and forms entered Goryeo, along with actual vessels. Indeed, production of white porcelain was likely made possible by the arrival of artisans from northern China.
Fig. 12.
Celadon and white porcelain dishes from the Bangsan-dong kiln site in Siheung, Gyeonggi-do province. 10th century. (Haegang Ceramics Museum).
Fig. 13.
Celadon and white porcelain bowls from the Sangban kiln site in Seo-ri, Yongin, Gyeonggi-do province. 10th-11th century. (Author’s photograph).
In the tenth century, the major white porcelain kilns in northern China were the Xing (邢) and Ding (定) kilns in Hebei province. White porcelain forms and techniques are generally thought to have been passed from these northern kilns such as Xing and Ding to neighboring kilns during the Liao and Jin dynasties (Fig. 14). The use of white porcelain compared to other wares started to increase after the 10th century in particular, when the northern part of China came largely under Liao control. Therefore, as ceramics production focused more on white porcelain with the spread of techniques from the Ding and Xing kilns, greater diversity appeared in the northern style wares made in Liao territory kilns, and it is likely that similar developments occurred in Goryeo at the same time.
Fig. 14.
Drawings of cross-sections of white porcelain from the Xing kilns. Jin Dynasty. Xing Kiln Research (邢窯遺址硏究), by Yang Wenshan. 2007. (Lincheng: Kexue publishing), 330-340.
Introduction of Northern Chinese Forms and Decorative Techniques
The diverse types of ceramic vessels produced in Goryeo—including bowls, dishes, bottles, ewers, jars, incense burners, cups and stands, covered bowls, and stationery items—show similar characteristics in both type and form with wares produced at the Ding, Cizhou (磁州), and Yaozhou kilns through the Northern Song, Liao, and Jin dynasties. This section investigates some of the characteristics of the wares that probably entered Goryeo through Liao and Jin and thereby influenced Goryeo wares.
Restoration of Bowls with Bi-shaped Foot (haemurigup, 玉璧底)
In the mid-10th century, the following Korean kilns began production in the central-western part of the country, particularly in the vicinity of the Goryeo capital, Gaegyeong: seven kiln sites in Gyeonggi-do province (the Bangsang-dong kilns in Siheung, the Seo-ri Jungdeok kilns and Seo-ri Sangban kilns in Yongin, the Jungam-ri kilns in Yeoju, the Wonheung-dong kilns in Goyang, the Bugok-ri kilns in Yangju, and the Munae-ri kilns in Anyang); one the Gyeongseo-dong kilns in Incheon city adjacent to Gyeonggi-do province; two in Hwanghaenam-do province (the Wonsan-ri kilns in Baecheon and the Bongam-ri kilns in Bongcheon-gun); the Taeseong no. 1 kilns in Nampo in Pyeongannam-do province; four kiln sites in Jeollanam-do province (the Yongun-ri kilns [Fig. 15] and the Samheung-ri kilns in Gangjin, the Undae-ri kilns in Goheung and the Seondeok-ri kilns in Haenam [Fig. 16]); and the Yonggye-ri kilns in Gochang, Jeollabuk-do province (Fig. 17).
Fig. 15.
Bowls with bi-shaped footrings from the site of Yongun-ri kiln, Gangjin No. 10. 11th century. Yongun-ri, Gangjin Celadon Kiln Site Excavation Report: Illustrations (康津龍雲里靑磁窯址 發掘調査報告書-圖版編). 1996. (Seoul: National Museum of Korea), p.9, fig. 4-1.
Fig. 16.
Top and underside views of the same six celadon bowls with bi-shaped footrings from Sindeok-ri kiln site, Haenam (the top views showing the characteristic circular depression in the center inside the vessel). 11th century. (Gwangju National Museum).
Fig. 17.
Celadon bowls with bi-shaped footrings from Yonggye-ri kiln site, Gochang. 11th century. (Wonkwang University Museum).
By examining the stratigraphy at these sites, we can determine when certain styles and types of pottery became prevalent in Goryeo. In the case of bowls, those with a narrow footring were succeeded by those with a wide footring like a jade bi (a jade disk with a small hole in the middle). However, in the Tang Dynasty, changes in the foot occurred in reverse order. Chinese bowls with a bi-shaped foot, characterized by a large diameter and wide footring, are generally found at kilns where celadon and white porcelain were made together, or at kilns that concentrated on white porcelain from the start. Also, only a small proportion of bowls with a bi-shaped foot have been discovered at Goryeo kilns that did not produce white porcelain, such as the kilns at Wonsan-ri in Baecheon, Bugok-ri in Yangju, and Wonheung-dong in Goyang. The question is, why did the Goryeo kilns that produced white porcelain and celadon together, or that produced only white porcelain, such as the kilns at Bangsan-dong, Seo-ri and Jungam-ri, begin to produce bowls with a bi-shaped foot in the first place?
The onset of production of this style of bowl could possibly be explained in terms of usage, by the spread of the custom of tea-drinking, or perhaps in terms of production tradition, if we suppose that Goryeo artisans sought to restore a bowl type that had been popular during the Tang Dynasty. However, it is not plausible that Goryeo potters suddenly adopted a model of bowl that had been popular a century earlier. Most of the Chinese celadon wares discovered in Goryeo sites from after the 10th century have been bowls with a jade ring-shaped foot, and China was already moving toward new forms at the time. Moreover, the Goryeo bowls with bi-shaped foot have a circular depression engraved on the inside, a feature clearly distinguishing them from their Tang counterparts.
This being the case, the next step is to ascertain which kilns were making vessels with a bi-shaped foot around the same time. Those that were making vessels unmistakably identified as bowls with a bi-shaped foot (disregarding differences in size and proportion) were in Liao and Jin areas. More specifically, such bowls were produced at the Gangwa kilns (缸瓦窯) in Chifeng (赤峰), Inner Mongolia (Figs. 18, 19) and the Lindong kilns (林東窯) in Shangjing, the Supreme Capital of Liao (Fig. 20).
Fig. 18.
Bowls with bi-shaped footrings from the Gangwa (缸瓦) kilns in Chifeng (赤峰), Inner Mongolia. 10th-11th century. Liao Dynasty Ceramics (遼代陶瓷), by Lu Jing (路 菁). 2003. (Liaoning: Liaoning Huabao Publishing House). fig. 2-7.
Fig. 19.
Bowl with bi-shaped footring from the Gangwa (缸瓦) kilns in Chifeng (赤峰), Inner Mongolia. 11th century. (Author’s photograph).
Fig. 20.
White porcelain bowl from the Lindong (林東) kilns in Shangjing (上京). 10th-12th century. Qing Mausolea (慶陵), by Tamura Jitsuzo (田村實造) and Kobayashi Yukio (小林行雄). 1953. (Kyoto: Kyoto University Press), fig. 10.
Further evidence comes from examining archaeological sites that might shed light on the consumption of such wares. One group of sites that can be dated to that time is the royal tombs of the Liao Dynasty, located in the present-day autonomous region of Inner Mongolia. The Qingling (慶陵) or Qing mausolea in Bairin Zuoqi (巴林左旗), Chifeng, are presumed to be the tombs of three Liao emperors: Shengzong (成宗, r. 982-1031), Xingzong (興宗, r. 1031-1055) and Daozong (道宗, r. 1055-1101), whose tombs are named Yongqing (永慶), Yongxing (永興), and Yongfuling (永福陵), respectively. At the site of the Eastern Mausoleum (東陵, presumed to be the tomb of Shengzong, r. 983-1031), porcelain vessels with a wide, flat foot-rim have been discovered, and are thought to have been made at the Lindong kilns (Fig. 21). In addition, at the site of the Central Mausoleum (中陵, presumed to be the tomb of Xingzong, r. 1031-1055), shards presumably from northern celadon wares and white porcelain vessels with a bi-shaped foot have been found, which is helpful in dating the years in which the kilns mentioned above were active (Fig. 22).
Fig. 21.
Ceramics from the site of the Eastern Qing Mausoleum (慶陵 東陵). 10th-12th century. Qing Mausolea (慶陵), by Tamura Jitsuzo (田村實造) and Kobayashi Yukio (小林行雄). 1953. (Kyoto: Kyoto University Press), fig. 149.
Fig. 22.
Ceramics from the building sites of the Central Qing Mausoleum (慶陵 中陵). 10th-12th century. Qing Mausolea (慶陵), by Tamura Jitsuzo (田村實造) and Kobayashi Yukio (小林行雄). 1953. (Kyoto: Kyoto University Press), fig. 150.
In Korea, it seems that artisans or actual ceramic vessels from northern China entered Goryeo from the first half of the 10th century, when Goryeo and Liao formed a peace treaty and began diplomatic relations. Consequently, from the time that ceramics production began in Goryeo, northern artisans who had come to the Goryeo kilns could conceivably have made bowls with a bi-shaped foot alongside white porcelain. Related artifacts with a known production date include the white porcelain ewer (Fig. 23) found at the tomb of Prince of Weiguo (衛國王), the Imperial Son-in-Law, in Chifeng, Liaoning province (959), and the celadon lidded-ewers found with bowls with bi-shaped foot at the kilns of Bangsan-dong (Fig. 24).
Fig. 23.
White porcelain ewer from the tomb of Prince of Weiguo, the Imperial Son-in-Law, in Chifeng, Liaoning province. 959. (Liaoning Provincial Museum).
Fig. 24.
Shards of celadon lidded ewers from the Bangsan-dong kiln site in Siheung, Gyeonggi-do province. 9th century. (Haegang Ceramics Museum).
In the late 11th century, diplomatic relations between Goryeo and Song had been restored, and around the first half of the 12th century, when Goryeo began to actively accept Chinese culture, production of new types of celadon vessels from Northern Song began at the kilns in Gangjin and changes appeared in form and techniques. It is presumed that production of bowls with a bi-shaped foot, adopted from the northern part of China from the 10th century, continued until the early 12th century, undergoing gradual changes along the way.
Inlay Technique
The representative decorative method of Goryeo ceramics from the 12th and 13th centuries is often purported to be the inlay technique (Jang Namwon 2008b), but excavations have revealed that the inlaid white porcelain was already being produced at early Goryeo kilns from the late 10th and early 11th century (Haegang Ceramics Museum 2000; Ho-Am Art Museum 2003). These inlaid white porcelains show two types of inlay methods prevalent at Goryeo kiln sites. The first involves etching into the surface of a janggo (杖鼓, a double-ended waisted drum), and then filling in the carved areas with white kaolin clay (Fig. 25). The second method involves covering the surface of the vessel in black slip, and then etching the design into the surface and filling the carved areas with white clay. For the latter method, the kaolin was applied very thickly to create the impression of a clay body with two layers. The Seo-ri kilns in Yongin show a subtle difference from the second method, in that the surface of the janggo was dressed smooth after the design was filled with white clay (Fig. 26).
Fig. 25.
Shard of an inlaid janggo with leaf decoration from the Bangsan-dong kiln site in Siheung, Gyeonggi-do province (note that a very small part of the inlay still remains in the carved indentation). 10th century. (Haegang Ceramics Museum).
Fig. 26.
Shards of an inlaid janggo from the Jungdeok kiln site in Seo-ri, Yongin, Gyeonggi-do province. 10th century. Report on Excavation of the White Porcelain Kiln in Seo-ri Yongin II (龍仁西里白磁窯 發掘調査報告書Ⅱ). 2003. (Yongin: Ho-Am Art Museum), p. 256.
Notably, the inlay technique has not been found in the kilns of southern China from this early period. Thus, although the basic production techniques of Goryeo ceramics came from the kilns of southern China, the discovery of these inlaid shards attests to the use of the inlay method of northern China. In other words, the influence of southern China was essential when Goryeo ceramics was initially established and developed, but soon there was an inflow of northern influence (Jeong Sinok 2007, 41-85).
Considering all the evidence, we can estimate that Goryeo inlaid wares were produced at the kilns in the central part of the country by at least the late 10th century. Such evidence predates the well-known inlaid celadon wares of the peak of Goryeo ceramics by a century. The technique of carving the design into the clay body and filling it with clay of another color has been found in Chinese kilns from around the same time. Notably, most Chinese kilns where this technique has been found are in northern China, indicating that the development of Goryeo celadon was not influenced solely by the southern Yuezhou kilns. The inlaid techniques found in northern China at the Cizhou kilns and others in Hebei province are diverse and similar to Goryeo inlay. In particular, the method of carving flowers on the surface and filling the space with white clay is reminiscent of the first Goryeo technique mentioned above. At the Jiezhuang kilns (界莊窯) in Hunyuan (渾源), Shanxi province, the design was first pressed into the surface with a stamp, and then the indented space was filled with white clay. Some examples of this method have been found in Liao tombs (Fig. 27) (Feng Xianming, 1987).
Fig. 27.
Shards of inlaid celadon from the Jiezhuang kilns (界莊窯) in Hunyuan (渾源), Shanxi province. 11th century. (Shanxi Archaeological Research Institute, China). “Inlaid Pottery in Northern China during the Song and Jin Dynasties and the Relationship with Goryeo Inlaid Celadon (宋 · 金代 북방지역 瓷器의 象嵌工藝와 高麗 象嵌靑瓷의 關係),” by Jin Daesu (진대수). 1998. In Art History Forum (미술사 논단) 7: 45-76, fig. 17.
Underglaze Iron-painting Technique
From the late Five Dynasties to the early Song dynasty, black pigment was used to paint designs onto white surfaces at several kilns in Shaanxi, Henan and Hebei provinces, as well as at Jiangxi in the south, where migrating potters from the north were known to have settled. Throughout this time period, the influence of this decorative method spread through the Song, Liao, Jin and Yuan dynasties. Across China, from north to south, examples of black-painted porcelain with a white base have been found at many different kilns. At some kilns, such as the Xicun (西村) (Fig. 28), and Chaozhou (潮州) kilns in Guangdong province or the Cizao (磁竈) and Dehua (德化) kilns at the Qudougong (屈斗宮) archaeological site in Fujian province, black designs were sometimes painted straight onto the celadon clay body without first covering it in white slip. The same decorative technique was also used at several kilns in Liao territory which were under the influence of the Cizhou kilns (Fig. 29). Meanwhile, a shard from an iron-painted janggo was found in one of the later layers at the Silongkou (寺龍口) kiln, a major Yuezhou-type kiln in Zhejiang provincce, indicating the widespread influence of the iron-painting technique.
Fig. 28.
Iron-painted ware from the Xicun (西村) kilns in Guangdong province. 10th-12th century. Guangzhou Xicun Kilns (廣州西村窯), edited by Chinese University of Hong Kong, Art Gallery (香港中文大學文物館合編). 1987. (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press), figs. 33 (left) and 38-1 and 38-4 (right).
Fig. 29.
Shards of iron-painted white porcelain from the Gangwa (缸瓦) and Jiangguantun (江官屯) kilns in Inner Mongolia. 11th century. From Liao Dynasty Ceramics (遼代陶瓷), by Lu Jing (路 菁). 2003. (Liaoning: Liaoning Huabao Publishing House), figs. 2-122 and 2-33.
In the Goryeo Dynasty, wares made at the Jinsan-ri kilns in Haenam were entirely covered with iron-painted designs, while vessels made in provincial kilns were decorated with simpler designs (Jang Namwon 2004) (Figs. 30, 31). Goryeo iron-painted wares resemble northern Chinese wares, especially those from the Cizhou kilns, in both the composition of the design and the motifs of black-incised peonies and chrysanthemums. At the same time, they are also similar to wares that were popular at the southern kilns in the Guangdong and Fujian areas in terms of vessel type and decorative technique. As such, it is difficult to pinpoint the exact kiln or even the region where the iron-painting technique originated. It can be estimated, however, that the iron-painted janggo, excavated from the Bangsan-dong kilns in Siheung was produced around the late 10th to early 11th century. The iron-painting technique also appears in various other special types of vessels, as well as forms such as headrests. Of the Korean iron-painted wares, those with Chinese-style designs include the janggo shards found at the Jungdeok and Sangban kilns in Seo-ri, Yongin. Meanwhile, the Jinsan-ri kilns in Haenam contain evidence of a clearly northern Chinese technique, in which the surface is covered in iron pigment, then the background of the design is carved out (sgraffiato) and the design is filled with white slip. Ultimately, it appears that there was a slight time difference between the appearance of southern and northern techniques of iron-painting, but it is presumed that northern elements had a greater influence in this area.
Fig. 30.
Shards of iron-painted janggo from the Jinsan-ri kiln site in Haenam. 12th century. (Mokpo National University Museum).
Fig. 31.
Iron-painted maebyeong vase from the Jinsan-ri kiln site in Haenam. 12th century. (Mokpo National University Museum).
Conclusion
This article has examined the changes appearing in Goryeo ceramics during the 10th to 12th centuries to illustrate how those ceramics were influenced by the Liao and Jin dynasties of northern China. Though I have focused primarily on how ceramics production in Liao and Jin related to Goryeo, some other issues or areas that are perceived to be gaps in the history of the development of Goryeo ceramic production have also been raised. In particular, extending beyond the prevalent emphasis on Goryeo’s relations with southern China makes it possible to investigate the lineage of Goreyo celadon and its production from various perspectives.
First, changes in production techniques were examined, particularly the introduction of secondary firing and the use of different supports for firing. The original technology for secondary firing had already become established through Tang three-color ware, and from there it spread to the Shaanxi, Henan, and Hebei provinces in the north and then to Inner Mongolia. Thus, the prevalence of secondary firing in Goryeo seems to be more closely connected to northern China, specifically to the secondary firing method widely used in the three-color wares of Balhae and Liao, than with techniques used in southern China.
The introduction of new technologies led to the appearance of new techniques and forms in Goryeo ceramics, namely the concurrent production of white wares and celadon. These forms and techniques had been passed down through the 10th and 11th centuries at the Jin Dynasty kilns of northern China. When Liao took control of northern China, the kilns in the region began to concentrate on the production of white porcelain, in response to its increased usage. Over time, the Liao white wares became more diverse as the kilns adopted some of the techniques used at the Xing kilns, which had developed a strong tradition of producing bowls with a bi-shaped foot, as well as the techniques of the Ding kilns. Interestingly, the bi-shaped foot, which was so popular during the Tang Dynasty, reappeared in Goryeo. Contemporary Liao and Jin kiln sites have yielded vessels that were unmistakably bowls with a bi-shaped foot, although different in size and proportion. This combination of white porcelain and a bi-shaped foot was commonly found in both Goryeo and northern Chinese wares from the latter half of the 10th century.
Meanwhile, the production of inlaid wares began around the late 10th century at the brick kilns in the central part of the Korean peninsula. In Goryeo, the inlay technique was first used on white porcelain, which had probably been introduced from northern China, where white porcelain production was well developed. Goryeo wares were also directly and indirectly influenced by the iron-painting technique of the Cizhou kilns. These techniques first appeared in the 11th century in the kilns of the central region, and then spread to the southern region with similar designs and decorative motifs, which would indicate that the iron-painted wares in Goryeo developed in parallel with the general flow of early Goryeo ceramics.
In the early stages of Goryeo ceramics production, the influence of southern Chinese kilns was very strong, but later, as diplomatic relations and individual contacts with the northern dynasties became more active, the production techniques and forms of the north spread throughout Goryeo. In particular, the Liao and Jin dynasties maintained relations with Goryeo for a long period of time, and they not only influenced Goryeo, but would also have assimilated some of Goryeo’s strongest features in return. While this paper has focused on the new techniques and formal elements that entered Goryeo from northern China, future research is needed to examine the issue from a more comprehensive perspective, including how Goryeo ceramics influenced northern China and other parts of Northeast Asia.
Sinan Shipwreck Collection at the National Museum of Korea
- Lee Taehee(National Museum of Korea)
The Sinan Shipwreck Collection comprises more than 30,000 artifacts from a single merchant vessel, including both commercial merchandise and personal items belonging to the people on board. The collection conveys a vivid picture of the East Asian trade that took place on the eastern end of the maritime Silk Route.
The shipwreck was discovered in Sinan, an area marked by a network of narrow channels running through a cluster of small islands in the southwest of the Korea. Traditionally, the residents of this area have engaged in both farming and fishing. The shipwreck was found in the middle of the strait between two islands, Yimjado and Jeungdo, at the exact geographical coordinates of 35° 1' 15" N latitude and 126° 5' 6" E longitude. In 1975, a local fisherman was surprised to find a piece of ceramics caught in his fishing net. He eventually reported his find to the district office, and the full site became known to the public the following year (Fig. 1). Soon, rumors were flying about the valuable underwater ceramic treasure, resulting in rampant plundering. Consequently, the Cultural Heritage Administration of Korea stepped in to protect the site, initiating an official investigation on October 27, 1976. However, the excavation process would be fraught with various predicaments. The water at the site was 20-25 meters deep, with rapid currents and no visibility. Moreover, the investigation was launched at the onset of winter, so the freezing temperatures of the water prevented much progress. These unfavorable conditions inevitably prolonged the duration of the excavation, such that the entire project lasted for nearly eight years (Fig. 2).
Fig. 1.
Newspaper article featuring discovery of the Sinan shipwreck. Dong-A Ilbo on November 2nd, 1976.
Fig. 2.
Excavation of the Sinan shipwreck.
The excavation was conducted in 11 stages, and was officially completed on September 17, 1984. The Cultural Heritage Administration published reports on the various stages of the excavation process: Relics Salvaged from the Seabed off Sinan, Materials I (1981), Materials II (1984), and Materials III (1985). In 1987, another investigation was launched after information arose about the possible existence of a second Sinan ship, but artifacts found at the site were confirmed to be from the original site. The published reports (Materials I through III) cover only the materials specific to the certain stages of the excavation, so a more inclusive report encompassing all of the artifacts was required. Thus, Relics Salvaged from the Seabed off Sinan: A Comprehensive Report was published in 1988, based on extensive research about the entire group of Sinan shipwreck artifacts. This full-scale report is a vital reference that is widely used to understand the complete picture of the artifacts of the Sinan Shipwreck Collection, detailing the excavation process, the types and quantities of the artifacts, and other related information. Table 1 shows the types of artifacts excavated from the Sinan shipwreck site. Table 1. Types and Quantities of Sinan Shipwreck Artifacts (Cultural Heritage Administration 1988, 144; National Research Institute of Maritime Cultural Heritage 2004) Types Ceramics and Earthenware Metal Objects Stone Objects Others Total Copper Coins Red Sandal wood Hull Pieces Celadon Porcelain Black-glazed Ware Mixed-glazed Ware White-glazed Ware Quantity 12,377 5,311 509 2,306 188 729 45 575 22,040 28 tons 1,107 720
The National Museum of Korea has acquired all of the artifacts listed in Table 1, with the sole exception of the hull pieces.2 After the acquisition, the museum completely reorganized the collection of 24,576 items by attributing specimen numbers, beginning with “Sinan 00001.” The museum also maintains a separate listing of 2,329 items under the name “Sindo,” which are the illegally salvaged artifacts that have been confiscated.
The Sinan Shipwreck Collection includes various types of artifacts, including ceramics and objects made of metal, wood, and stone. The artifacts that bear inscriptions shall be considered first, since these items are invaluable written sources providing information on the date, port of call, and destination of the Shin ship.
Of particular note are the 364 wooden tablets (mokgan, 木簡) (Fig. 3) that were attached to items being shipped, serving as a type of shipping tag. They are 10 to 20 centimeters long, 2 to 3 centimeters wide, and mostly made from pine or cedar wood. Each tablet is inscribed with either the name of the owner of the goods or some other seal or mark to identify the owner. Some tablets also record the date and volume of the shipment and, in rare cases, a list of the articles.
Fig. 3.
Wooden tablets excavated from the Sinan shipwreck. c.1323.
The inscriptions on the wooden tablets yield important evidence about the time period of the Sinan ship. Prior to their discovery, the date had been roughly estimated based on the inscriptions on the copper coins. The earliest possible year was determined to be 1311, and the ship was conjectured to have been from the 1320s or the 1330s because it did not appear to contain any blue-and-white wares, which were not yet produced at that time (Jeong Yangmo 1977, 57-58). The discovery and decipherment of the wooden tablets, however, provided a more precise time frame for the Sinan ship’s departure. Eight of the tablets bear inscriptions reading: “third year of Zhizhi” (zhizhi san nian, 至治三年 or 至治叁年), followed by “fifth month” (wuyue, 五月), “sixth month” (liuyue, 六月) or “first day of sixth month” (liuyue yiri, 六月一日). Zhizhi is the name for the reign of Emperor Yingzong (英宗, r. 1320-1323) of the Yuan Dynasty (元, 1271-1368), so the “third year of Zhizhi” should be 1323. The inscriptions denote the time when the cargo was put on board, so assuming that the loading was completed immediately before the embarkation, the ship likely departed sometime around the sixth month of 1323. Kim Wondong, the first scholar to determine this date, made the important point that the wooden tablets were discovered among the shipment of coins: being the most valuable part of the cargo. Noting that the tablets giving an exact date, year, month and day, covered a span of just forty-two days between the fifth and sixth months of the year corresponding to 1323, he put forward the theory that they were loaded last of all, just before the ship set sail (Kim Wondong 1986, 170-1).
The wooden tablets also reveal clues about the possible destination and nature of the Sinan ship. The names of the goods’ owners written on many of the wooden tablets allude to the cargo’s destination. The inscribed names can be divided into two groups: (1) the (probable) names and titles of individuals or monks, and (2) the names of Buddhist or Shinto temples. The names of the former category are assumed to be Japanese, but no single person has yet been identified from other textual sources. The title that appears most often is gangsi (綱司) (Nishitani Tadashi 1985, 259-290), which is on 110 of the wooden tablets. Gangsi is a title possibly equivalent to gangshou (綱首), which refers to the merchant who was both owner and captain of the ship (Nishitani Tadashi 1985, 259-290). Among the temple names, Tofukuji (東福寺) appears most often, on a total of 41 tablets. Other names include Chojakuan (釣寂庵) and Hakozakigu (筥崎宮), which appear on five and three pieces, respectively. Tofukuji, a Buddhist temple located in present-day Kyoto, was founded by the Japanese monk Enni (円爾, 1202-1280), who led the Rinzai school (臨濟宗, Ch: Linzi school) after returning from his study in Song China in the 13th century. Chojakuan is a sub-temple of Shotenji (承天寺) in Fukuoka. Enni also established Shotenji, the main temple, with financing from a Chinese merchant named Xie Guoming (謝國明), who was based in Hakata in Fukuoka. Lastly, Hakozakigu, also in Fukuoka, is a temple that enshrines Emperor Ojin (應神天皇). Thus, on the basis of these inscriptions, it can be construed that the Sinan ship was scheduled to stop at its port of call in Hakata en route to Kyoto.
Furthermore, the names on the wooden tablets also reveal the nature of the Sinan ship as being similar to jishajoeiryotosen (寺社造営料唐船, ship for temple construction fund, which ran between Japan and China). Jishajoeiryotosen denotes merchant vessels that were dispatched under the control of the Shogunate government for the construction or expansion of Buddhist temples, from the late Kamakura (鎌倉) Shogunate to the early 14th century (Murai Shosuke 2006, 113-143).3 Considering the fact that Tofukuji was seriously damaged by fire in 1319, it seems possible that the Sinan ship was a merchant vessel that was dispatched to collect money and objects for its restoration. In addition to the wooden tablets, other inscribed items include a cargo box that bears the word daikichi (大吉, good luck), ceramics inscribed with poetry, and a bronze bottle marked with auspicious characters. Finally, a bronze weight with inscriptions substantiates the Sinan ship’s port of call (Fig. 4). The bronze weight is 9.3 cm high, and the words gengshen (庚申) and qingyuan (慶元) are inscribed on either side of it. Gengshen is a year in the Chinese 60-year cycle, which most likely indicates 1320. Qingyuan is the name of an administrative district centered in Ningbo (寧波), a seaport city of the Zhejiang Province. The city was formerly called Mingzhou (明州), which, based on the bronze weight, seems to have been Sinan ship’s port of departure.
Fig. 4.
inscribed Bronze Weight. c.1320. Height 9.3 cm.
To summarize the above discussions, the Sinan ship was a merchant vessel that departed Mingzhou (present day Ningbo), China in 1323 for Hakata, Japan. The ship was laden with various merchandise that would be used to raise money for the reconstruction of Tofukuji. Accordingly, most of the goods date from the early 14th century, and none later than 1323. Moreover, the selection of merchandise seems to reflect the tastes of the Japanese.
This section will discuss the types of medium found among the Sinan Shipwreck Collection. Ceramics constitute the majority of the artifacts, and thus have received the most attention, in terms of both exhibitions and academic research. A total of 20,600 items of various types have been retrieved so far. Of these, there are just seven Goryeo celadons and two Japanese potteries, with all of the other items being products from China. These can be categorized into the following types: celadon (12,350 pieces), porcelain (5,200 pieces), black-glazed ware (500 pieces), jun-glazed stoneware (180 pieces), brown-glazed stoneware (2,280 pieces), white-glazed ware with black decorations (9 pieces), and earthenware (190 pieces) (Jeong Yangmo 1991, 385-386). Celadons and porcelains are the two largest categories, followed by brown-glazed stoneware. Whereas the celadons and porcelains could have been export items, the brown-glazed stoneware was probably used as storage containers on the ship (Jeong Yangmo 1991, 385).
Most of the recovered celadons were produced from the Longquan (龍泉) kilns or related sites in Zhejiang Province. In the Southern Song period (1127-1279), the Longquan kilns produced high quality “plum green” celadons, under the influence of the Song imperial kilns. During this time, the body of the celadons became thinner while the glaze became thicker. Beginning in the Yuan period, however, the Longquan celadons generally became less sophisticated, growing distinctively larger in shape with a thicker body. This period is also characterized by the use of new decoration techniques, wherein designs are applied separately or mottled patterns are made on the surface (Kim Yeongmi 2005, 19-21) (Figs. 5-10). Most of the Longquan celadons from the Sinan shipwreck are from the Yuan period, but there are also some from the Southern Song, as well as some Yuan pieces that reflect the influence of the Southern Song. Chinese celadons were in great demand in Japan at the time. Similar to the Sinan ship, many sunken ships near Japan have also been found to be carrying Longquan celadons (e.g., the site near Kurakizaki in Kagoshima Prefecture, see National Museum of Japanese History 2005, 48-50). Moreover, a number of celadons similar to those in the Sinan Shipwreck Collection have been found around Kamakura, including the piece currently preserved in Shomyoji (稱名寺) of Kanagawa Prefecture (National Museum of Japanese History 1998, 70-79). As the tea and incense cultures flourished in the 14th century, the demand for karamono (唐物), or Chinese craftworks, increased among upper class Japanese, and a substantial portion of karamono were celadons (Saeki Koji 2003, 199-226).
Fig. 5.
Celadon vase with two cylindrical handles. Southern Song - Yuan, China (13th-14th century). Longquan ware. Height 17.5 cm.
Fig. 6.
Celadon bottle with five tubes. Southern Song - Yuan, China (13th-14th century). Longquan ware. Height 11.5 cm.
Fig. 7.
Celadon vase with dragon-fish shaped handles. Southern Song - Yuan, China (13th-14th century). Longquan ware. Height 25.7 cm.
Fig. 8.
Celadon dish with biscuit appliqués of cloud and crane design. Yuan, China (14th century). Longquan ware. Diameter 16.1 cm.
Fig. 9.
Celadon vase. Yuan, China (14th century). Longquan ware. Height 45.2 cm.
Fig. 10.
Celadon incense burner with a design of the Eight Trigrams. Yuan, China (14th century). Longquan ware. Height 14.0 cm.
Most of the porcelains recovered from the Sinan ship are thought to have been produced in Jingdezhen and, unlike the celadons, the majority of them were produced in the Yuan period. Although the celadons outnumber the porcelains among the artifacts, there are more high-quality porcelains than celadons (Jeong Yangmo 1991, 385). The porcelains can be divided into two types: qingbai ware (靑白磁, bluish white porcelains) (Figs. 11-14) and white porcelain. Some of the qingbai wares have rare shapes that have not been found anywhere else. One exemplary piece is a porcelain dish from Jingdezhen with underglaze copper-red decoration of two leaves and a verse couplet. But only half of the verse is written on the dish, so it must have originally been produced as a set of two dishes (National Museum of Korea 2008, 98-101) (Fig. 11). Notably, among the 5,300 porcelain pieces, there are no examples of the blue-and-white ware, which implies that the shipwreck occurred before the production of the blue-and-white porcelains began. The absence also supports the argument that blue-and-white porcelains did not appear until after 1320.
Fig. 11.
Qingbai dish with underglaze copper-red decoration of leaves and verse couplet. Yuan, China (14th century). Jingdezhen ware. Diameter 16.4 cm.
Fig. 12.
Qingbai bottle with elephant shaped handles. Yuan, China (14th century). Jingdezhen ware. Diameter 19.6 cm.
Fig. 13.
Qingbai vase with incised peony design. Yuan, China (14th century). Jingdezhen ware. Height 30.5 cm.
Fig. 14.
Qingbai pitcher. Yuan, China (14th century). Jingdezhen ware. Height 21.3 cm.
The ceramics recovered from the Sinan shipwreck also include 500 pieces of black-glazed wares, such as Jianyao (建窯) wares (Fig. 15). Jianyao was a renowned site for the production of black-glazed wares from the Five Dynasties (907-960) to the Song Dynasty (960-1279). The lustrous brownish-black glaze, made with iron-rich compounds, naturally created various designs during the firing process. The Jianyao wares became famous as the trend of tea drinking became more popular, and they were especially coveted by the Japanese. Today, black-glazed wares are more popularly known by the Japanese term tenmoku (天目), reflecting the Japanese people’s fondness for this style of ceramics. The Sinan Shipwreck Collection also includes wares produced in various other kiln sites in China, including Tiedian (鐵店), Qilizhen (七里鎭), Cizhouyao (磁州), and Jizhou (吉州) (Figs. 16-18).
Fig. 15.
Black glazed tea bowl. Southern Song - Yuan, China (13th-14th century). Jian ware. Height 11.8 cm.
Fig. 16.
White glazed bottle with floral scrolls painted in underglaze iron. Yuan, China (14th century). Jizhou ware. Height 14.6 cm.
Fig. 17.
Opaque white glazed bowl. Yuan, China (14th century). Tiedian ware. Diameter 15.3 cm.
Fig. 18.
Celadon cup stand with inlaid flower design. Goryeo (12th -13th century). Height 6.3 cm.
The seven Goryeo celadons include a maebyeong, bowl, cup stand, headrest, and water dropper. They were probably produced by the Sadang-ri kiln in Gangjin and the Yucheon-ri kiln in Buan, from the 12th to the 13th centuries. Therefore, the production of these items predates that of the Chinese wares, possibly because the Japanese were importing Goryeo celadons that had earlier been exported from Korea to China. There were also two items of Japanese pottery, or setoyaki (瀬戸焼).
The collection also includes 729 metal objects, including a bottle, incense burner, bronze mirror, scale, cup, spoon, ewer, candle stand, kitchen utensils, and a statue of Buddha. Among these, the bottles, incense burners, and bronze mirrors were probably part of the cargo being imported, considering their material and shape. Within the cargo, the number of metal objects is not substantial, if the copper coins are excluded. However, these items reveal a few intriguing factors.
First, many of the metal objects imitate the shape and design of bronze antiquities. This style is related to the revival of ancient bronze wares that prevailed beginning with the Song Dynasty, when it became fashionable to collect bronze wares. This trend is evidenced by the compilations of the following catalogues: Kaogutu (考古圖, Illustrated Catalogue of Examined Antiquities) and Chong xiu Xuanhe bogutu (重修宣和博古圖, Revised Illustrated Catalogue of Xuanhe Profoundly Learned Antiquities). The bronze wares (Figs. 19-22) from the Sinan shipwreck show that this trend for antiquities was also reflected in newly produced bronze wares, and demonstrate that this fashion had spread to neighboring countries (Kubo Tomayasu 2007, 272-273).4
Fig. 19.
Gu (觚), Yuan, China (14th century). Height 26.5 cm.
Fig. 20.
Gu (觚), Yuan, China (14th century). Height 10.2 cm.
Fig. 21.
Bronze bottle with two cylindrical handles. Yuan, China (14th century). Height 23.2 cm.
Fig. 22.
Ingot. Yuan, China (14th century). Length 20.0- 21.0 cm.
The metal items also allude to the nationality of the people on board the ship. Among the various kitchen utensils that were found, there is an object similar to a modern-day frying pan, with a perforation indicating where a wooden handle may have been attached. Another tool resembles a ladle, only slightly larger and wider, with many holes in the middle. This item was probably used to scoop noodles or deep-fried food. These two objects are similar to Chinese cooking utensils, suggesting that at least some of the people on board the ship were Chinese. Moreover, the fact that the kitchen utensils were concentrated towards the rear of the vessel is useful for understanding the structure of the Sinan ship.
In addition, the artifacts also include some bronze bells that were likely used for Buddhist rituals. These bells, along with the Buddhist rosaries and Buddha statues that were found, suggest that Japanese monks were on board. Other items, such as Japanese sword hand guards, called tsuba, and a sheath, further attest to the presence of Japanese on the ship. Meanwhile, the Goryeo bronze spoons indicate that there may also have been Goryeo people on board (Murai Shosuke 2000, 96).
The metal items also include chisels, either circular or oval in shape, and about 20 to 30 cm long. These tools are made of tin, nickel, iron, or zinc, and some are inscribed with the maker’s name, the material, and the weight. These were likely being imported for use as implements for making Buddhist images or other Buddhist crafts.
Moreover, although not included in the total number of metal items, the bronze coins merit discussion. As mentioned, prior to the decipherment of the wooden tablets, the inscriptions on the coins were used to speculate the dates of the shipwreck. The coins constitute a vast proportion of the artifacts recovered from the Sinan shipwreck. In all, about 28 tons of copper coins were excavated. The coins range in date from huoquan (貨泉), which were circulated from 14 C.E., to Zhida tongbao (至大通寶), which were produced between 1308–1311. The 66 cases and 229 types of copper coins discovered in the Sinan shipwreck all represented currencies that were produced during the course of the Chinese dynasties and were actually in use.
The Japanese imported a considerable amount of coins from China, usually offering gold as payment. While the Song government had prohibited an excessive outflow of money, the Yuan had no such restriction. Starting from the Yuan’s first expedition to Japan, Japanese merchants would purchase copper coins from Yuan China, despite the hostile political relationship between the two countries. Japan had two reasons for importing these coins. First, the Japanese actually used the Chinese coins as currency. From the middle of the 10th century, Japan did not produce any currency (at least not officially). However, the demand for currency continued to increase, due to the expansion of commerce and the growth of usury (Min Tu Ki 1977, 19-20). Second, it was cheaper for the Japanese to buy coinage from China than to produce it themselves. Thus, the Japanese imported large quantities of Chinese coins for domestic circulation. Today, every so often, coin-filled jars from the 14th and 15th century are unearthed in Japan, and most of the coins are imported Chinese copper coins (National Museum of Japanese History 2005, 136-145). It is also possible that the Chinese copper coins were used as raw materials in Japan (Sakuraki Shinichi 2007, 206-211). The huge sum of coins retrieved from the Sinan shipwreck seems to attest to this.
Other recovered items include a wooden box that contained ceramics; various stone artifacts, such as a portable grinding stone for tea leaves; dice made from animal bones; and some miscellaneous fruit seeds and timbers. The latter were likely trade items used as medicinal herbs or spices, some of which were no doubt for consumption by the passengers. The red sandalwood, a high quality timber produced in Southeast Asia, was probably being imported to make miniature Buddha statues or accessories.
2011 marked the 35th anniversary of the announcement of the discovery of the Sinan ship. In the course of those 35 years, research on the recovered artifacts has advanced considerably, and the objects have been introduced to the general public through various channels. Since the excavation was first launched in 1976, every step of the process has been widely documented by mass media, and public interest has grown accordingly. The National Museum of Korea has contributed to the process by gathering and organizing the research materials for the further development of the excavation. In 1977, the museum selected items that had been recovered during the third stage of excavation and held a special exhibition entitled Cultural Relics Found off the Sinan Coast, to share the successful recovery of the artifacts with the public (National Museum of Korea 1977). Then, in October of the following year, the museum held an international conference about the Sinan shipwreck, bringing together 14 specialists from Korea, Japan, China, Taiwan, and the United States to present papers on the history, ceramics, and construction of the ship (National Museum of Korea 1978). Although the discussions were somewhat limited, since the excavation was still in progress, the conference was a still a very meaningful event that suggested directions for future research.
Also in 1978, the Gwangju National Museum was opened, and its permanent exhibition was the artifacts recovered from the Sinan shipwreck. In 1981, the Mokpo Conservation Laboratory, now the National Research Institute of Maritime Cultural Heritage (국립해양문화재연구소) was established.5 Moreover, in 1986, when the National Museum of Korea moved into a larger space (the former Joseon Government-General building), a permanent exhibition room was installed to house the “Yuan Chinese Artifacts from the Sinan Coast.”
The recovered artifacts have also received a great deal of international attention. In 1983, as the excavation was nearing its completion, a traveling exhibition called Discovery of the Century: Cultural Relics Recovered from the Sinan Seabed (世紀の発見 新安海 底引揚げ文物) was jointly organized by the National Museum of Korea, Tokyo National Museum, the Japanese daily Chunichi Shimbun (中日新聞), and NHK (日本放送協會, Japan Broadcasting Corporation). The exhibition opened in three Japanese cities—Tokyo, Nagoya, and Fukuoka—representing the first time the Sinan shipwreck artifacts were exhibited abroad.
In 2005, the National Museum of Korea reopened at its current location in Yongsan, with a permanent exhibition of the Sinan Shipwreck Collection in two rooms of the Asian Arts gallery. The exhibited items include various types of ceramics, as well as historical documents attesting to the cultural and historical significance of the artifacts. Curator Kim Yeongmi, a specialist in Chinese ceramics, has organized various themed exhibitions to illuminate different aspects of the collection. For instance, in 2007, the exhibition Jingdezhen Qingbai Porcelain: The Beauty of Pure White Blooming in Blue focused specifically on the qingbai wares recovered from the Sinan shipwreck (National Museum of Korea 2008), while the 2008 exhibition A Vessel for the Soul: Sinan Incense Burner explored the incense culture of East Asia through a display of the collection’s incense burners and related objects (National Museum of Korea 2008). Then, in 2010, the permanent exhibition was reorganized under the name The Rediscovery of Sinan Shipwreck Ceramics. This exhibition announced the discovery of seven more kiln sites, in addition to the five known sites, of the recovered ceramics. And in 2011, the exhibition entitled Tea, Incense, and Carrying the Soul: Longquan Ware from the Sinan Wreck examined the Longquan celadons from various perspectives.
At present, the Sinan Shipwreck Collection of the National Museum of Korea is displayed in two exhibition rooms. One room exhibits the materials related to the cultural context of the Sinan ship and its excavation, and the other mainly displays the ceramics. In celebration of the 40th anniversary of the Sinan ship’s discovery, the museum is planning a special exhibition to shed light on maritime trade in East Asia.