Since the 14C Joseon dynasty* the custom in Korea has been for the people to address the sovereign directly through an oral petition system. Confucianism called for the king to leave the capital and travel public roads around the provinces so as to be available to opinions of the people, and King Taejong followed the custom of Song Emperor Taizu, to hang a drum, which commoners could sound and then present their petitions. Over time this developed into sangeon, or written petition, and gyeokjaeng, spoken appeal. This still vital system asserts the long historic and fundamental sense of the importance of democracy to Korean culture. When times and reality are hard to bear, sound may be what is needed by the Koreans to overcome their circumstances: make some noise, and make a change. Or in the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas' phrasing "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night", live fiercely and with passion, and give not unto unfair oppression.
As a Japanese, I think of the Gwangju Student Independence Movement of 1929, a clash between the Japanese ultranationalist occupation and Korean students started a protest movement against Japanese rule that spread not only across Korea, but into parts of China, Japan, and the West. Even today we still bear traces of colonial relations.
In this work, metal pieces of varying length are suspended, in the dark, ringing in a chain of faint sounds. Voices connect in chains, and at times, cause momentous things to occur. These chimes (a phenomenon of the here and now) can link, sometime, somewhere, to events, and shape history. For better or for worse, things and situations intertwine and form chains. We remain shackled to historical resonances. It can be difficult to be heard. Still, I would prefer to believe in the legacy of voices that pull against the chains of spiralling negativity, just as this region has continued to do for so many years.