Judgment and Beauty. An essay by Yoon Soo Lee for a special issue of "Luminalities" edited by Myron Beasley

Liminalities: On Contemplation

Judgment and Beauty


1. Judgment.

Judgment. I am so good at it. But I hate it.

Growing up, judgment was part of our everyday meal. Along with rice, kimchi, and water, it was a part of our daily ingestion for how to be a human—how to understand the world. Judgment kept us from skipping homework. Judgment kept us from spending too much money. Judgment kept us in line with societal and familial responsibilities. Judgment also kept people at a distance, and judgment kept us feeling a bit better than anyone around us. Judgment was productive, but it was also hostile. When I watched television, commentary such as this might happen:

That one should not be wearing shorts. Look at their calves. Are they blind? Are the producers blind? Oh, that one sure is ugly. No wonder they are a comedian. You have to make up for it somehow.

Even this process of recollecting is painful. Like an alcoholic remembering all the events of Christmas past coming back to haunt them. Many of these judgments had to do with how people looked. It was all about the visual.


2. Visual Judgment

I am a visual artist. I am a graphic designer. Depending on the need for clear and precise communication, my work ebbs and flows between art and design. Depending on how strict the interpretants have to be kept in check, I work as a communicator or visual explorer. Interpretants are the microscopic cultural lint that floats around us that distorts, filters and interferes with the visual information that we decode. If I have to design signage for an emergency room, I would have to be very clear about the core needs of the user. Interpretants that are part of that particular community or country have to be measured and accounted for so that quick decisions can be made with little effort and with minimum risk of mistakes in comprehension. If I were to design the CD cover for Lady Gaga, interpretants be dammed, I could do a mash up of Jackson Pollack, Yayoi Kusama, and James Ensor, name it interpretive visualization of contemplation and call it a day. Interpretants point to how critical precise judgment needs to function in the communication process.

Due to my training as a designer, most of my work has been anchored in the function of communication. What is the goal? Who is the audience? As a goal-oriented person, this was a perfect match.

But it turns out, with age and finally being comfortable enough in my own skin, I am also exploring—without any other goal other than exploring my thoughts, ideas, dreams and desires. The problem occurs when I get into the making part. The visualization part. Because that’s when all the judgment kicks in. Is it beautiful? Is it aesthetically pleasing? Will people like it? Will it move them? Or bore them? Is it redundant? Is it cliché?


3. Judgment and Beauty

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. When the beholders who are in charge of creating and consuming imagery start to agree, manage, control, manipulate the images of beauty, reality can become distorted, and our value system can be subjected to external pressures to conform.

When I first started teaching graphic design in the mid-90s, my biggest hurdle was talking about taste and style to students. The privileged students understood taste and style knowingly and unknowingly. If grading the results of a graphic design projects were predicated on the visual outcome only, the privileged students got better grades with more ease than the student who juggled two jobs. The merits of graphic design education came charging at me like 1000 murderous bulls. If I art directed my students so that they had a good looking portfolio, they could possibly get jobs, but are they the owners of their own work? Isn’t failing a part of the learning process? But if students only have a handful of chances to create work, how can they balance learning through failure and creating a marketable portfolio? I was accused of promoting ugly design. When the teacher does not replace the students’ visual choices for the teachers’ own taste, the student work can look naïve, and even tasteless compared to the well polished student work of the portfolio schools: the schools whose goal it is to make beautiful portfolios for students so that they can get an entry level design job. At this point, Graphic Design education becomes focused vocational training, instead of focusing on the critique of visual culture and how to practice it mindfully. Allowing students to fail at making visuals, allowing students to fail at making meaning is like letting a child taste mud—once they taste it, they may then choose not to taste it again, not because we forbade them, but because they can make a decision for themselves. The choices are self-propelled instead of being based on rote memory. As a new professor, I intuitively understood that the design process was more important than the particular outcome, but in a world where short-term accountability was a core measurement for success, I felt helpless, frustrated and angry. And my anger went to blame beauty. It went to blame the vanity of designers. It went to blame the human desire to consume beautiful objects.

Is it beautiful? Fuck beauty. Is it aesthetically pleasing? Fuck aesthetics. Whose beauty are you talking about? The imperial set of beauty standards that you have breathed in unknowingly? Fuck beauty.

And yet I creep towards it. Like a baby towards a mothers teat.


4. Practice Love

When I was in high school in the mid 80s, getting ready to go to art school, I wanted to be a painter. Or a sculptor. But whatever I made, whatever I drew, it looked sad. And defeated. I did not have the words to express concepts such as depression, or projection, but that is what was happening. As I could not bear to look at sad things, I decided to become a designer. A designer was a conduit for communication. No one had to look at me. They looked at the message. And I had to do my best to create a message for the audience and for the client. A perfect match for a Korean woman: don’t look at me, but look at what function I can fulfill. But the desire to express myself and my thoughts never died. One cold day in January of 2001, I made a simple passive declaration of “I am so not a painter.” And with that statement, I started to make paintings. The paintings that came out of me were pretty. They were beautiful. If I identified as a warrior, my paintings felt like they wanted to be Barbie. I felt betrayed by my paintings.

The paintings that came out of me were made out of polka dots. They came out in concentric circles. I decided that if these paintings were truly mine, and they were not accidental, that meant that I had to be able to replicate it. Like a science experiment.

So my goal was to replicate the previous painting. But what happens when you repeat something? You learn. And that learnedness makes you try new things. And so I ended up creating a painting that was different. It was something new. I, then, of course, had to try and replicate that new painting. Which lead to more learning. So the paintings grew and morphed. And each time, I did not give up on my initial goal that I had to try and replicate the painting.

Why the scientific experiment of replicating? Perhaps it had to do with not believing in myself. It seems to me that when you are not good enough, you have to scientifically prove yourself to the imaginary “others” of the world, where they sit in judgment of who you are based on their standards. You are before the judge and jury and you have to make a case for yourself: what you are, what your worth is, and why you should exist in this world. My art making took on the role of evidence gathering. I am worthy because I can make these things. And it was not an accident that I made these beautiful things, because, if it were an accident, I could not have made it twice. The fight for worthiness, and defending myself against the judgment – there it is again, judgment – chased me all throughout the process of making.

One day, I had to name these paintings. And I found the title “practice love”. Practice as a verb, and practice as an adjective. As love is living and never finite we have to practice love and have practice loves. The daily ritual of painting became a prayer for love, a deep love, a forgiving love, of accepting love. A love that stays with you, a love that dies with you, a love that never leaves. Because it is inside you.


5. Beauty

Judgment, beauty, practice love. Judgment. Beauty. Practice love. I wish I arrived at a simple, crisp conclusion. I wish I could say that I now understand my conflict with beauty and am able to pursue it without guilt. But conclusions have been elusive. Perhaps because conclusions are yet another device for control and predictability.  Brené Brown says in her TED Talk “The Power of Vulnerability” that research is a desire to control and predict. A desire to control and predict. Perhaps that is at the heart of all academic fear—the need to control the uncontrollable. Maybe this is why I painted the way I painted. And maybe this is why I think about beauty the way I do. Because I can easily say something is not valuable if it is not measurable and controllable.

So what is beauty now? Beauty is still in the mind of the beholder. But my eyes now see visuals with context. The visual has a person behind it. The visual has feelings behind it, a history behind it, a story behind it. It is linked to a specific person. A real person. Anonymity can kill compassion. Because then the visual is a ‘thing’ or an ‘object’ and not a person. Anonymity makes the visual into an orphan that does not have a home or parents. We can take cheap shots at it or we pity it. Instead of having a relationship with it. If you care for something, if you love someone, do you ever judge it for its beauty? Maybe this is why they say love is blind.

Today I contemplate my sight and I contemplate my blindness in my pursuit to create visuals to express and share how I see the world, and how I hope the world to be.

Judgment. I hate it. But I am so good at it. I am learning how to use it wisely. With compassion. With love.

Judgment. Beauty. Practice. Love.

Judgment and Beauty (pdf download here)

sabbatical epilogue

Sabbatical is over. There was no grand opening. There was no grand revelation. There was no grand book to be shared. I did walk away with one big thing. I met my two greatest critics.

After I got over all the methodical preparation (procrastination) for making the book, I started to make things. And what happens when you start making things? For me, I start judging it.

Sister Corita Kent said that not to critique something while you are making it. But some things are easier said than done. So as I was making, I was having a full on critique session at the same time. There were two critics in the room with me. (Imaginary critics that is.) 

The first critic is the design critic. She looks at my preliminary sketches and says quietly, 

“Oh, is that all? Really? I guess we can’t all be special. At least your trying. But you do know that this is so trite. And juvenile. It’s a bit of a cliche, no?” 

This critic takes no prisoners. I try different strategies. I take risks and try something new.

Then the second critic come in. She is the fierce mother critic. She asks me, 

“Oh, so this is about you, not about the kids you are trying to reach. Of course it’s about you. That’s what self-centered people do, no?” 

I have no place to hide. I find myself trusting the truth of both of these critics. And yet I cannot seem to make anything that pleases either of them. The pain continues.

Then one day I finally realize something. I have to trust myself. Even though the critics are right, they are not helping me by looking over my shoulders. I have to ask them to leave me. Leave me alone for a while. I have to believe that I have good intentions. I have to believe that the process will lead the way. I have to trust my body as it makes marks and chooses colors. I have to trust the book baby as I trust my own son: that they will grow into who they need to in spite of my good intentions, in spite of who I want them to become. Because they are not me and I am not them. I am over the hump. And I run out of time.

So what now. I am still making. I am still writing. In between the slices of time of here and there. Day by day. Little by little. Bit by bit. There is a Korean saying: 티끌 모아 태산. It translate to gather dust to make a mountain. I have a small handful of dust. I am on my way.

Methodical Preparation

It turns out methodical preparation for a project is another form of, wait for it… procrastination.

I have been buying tools, paper swatches, researching printing options, looking at wacom tablets, an iPad stylus, inventing and building photoshoot structures for consistency of lighting and photography, ordering more equipments, tools and materials online, then another trip to JoAnn Fabrics, Utretch, Michael’s, and Lorraines. A whirl wind of busywork all to disguise that I don’t want to draw.

I am creating a picture book for children. So I have to draw. 

The last time I drew seriously was when I was in high school. It was 1983 and I was preparing for the entrance exam for university. I was applying for the design department and for that we had two tests. A drawing test and a color composition test. My last month of preparation before the exams looked something like this.

Wake up at 5:30am. Take the first bus to my drawing studio. From 6:30-9:30am go through a self-imposed three hour drawing test (pencil rendering of a plaster reproduction of a roman sculpture.) Take the bus to second studio where I would study color composition. From 10:30-1:30 pm, go through a self-imposed three an a half hour color composition test. Crit with the instructor, then wash up and go back to drawing studio. Have some food then sit and draw until 11:30pm. Then catch the last bus home, sleep some then start the day all over again at 5:30 am. No one told me I had to do this. No one gave me the outline and said you must do this in order to succeed. I did this to myself. Just to make sure. Because I really needed to get into Seoul National University. I was 17.

I did this for about a month. On top of the fact that I had been in “training for the last year.” This was just the final cherry on top of the “MUST GET TO THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN” routine. Then we took a bus to our university of choice and took the test. I did well enough and I got into the school of my choice.

My relationship with drawing is fraught with anxiety about performance, being good enough, and almost always about being judged.

No wonder all of my perfectionists have escaped. All 1001 of them. Time to let go. How?

I think I am overthinking everything. The robust machinery of “mass-production” is constantly nagging at my elbow saying things like “production value” and “economic effort.” Fuck it. I keep forgetting that this is about relationships. My relationship to myself, my relationship with my child, my relationship with all the children out there who feel lonely—lonely because they feel like that they are the only ones who look like them, who feel like them, who think like them. All I am trying to do is put on my little light to say, “I am here, and I understand what you are going through.” Just like this blog.

So I say, focus on the love. Focus on sharing. I can only be who I am, and I am going to have to honor that.

New rules of conduct.
1. Have fun. If I am not having fun, something is not right.
2. Start with what comes easy. Path of least resistance is not a rude thought.
3. Notice what I keep away from and resist. And ask that part questions.
4. Have small, short, achievable goals to start with. There is a Korean saying about collecting dust to make a mountain. So do a little everyday.

Details: Who's in charge here, the Devil or God? (Or, The Vortex of Minutia)

[English Version Below]

영어 문화권에 이런 말이 있다. Devil is in the details. 혹은, God is in the details.

요는 디테일의 중요성에 관한 어구다. 실수를 범할 때, 주로 작은 세부적인 부분에서 실수를 범하기 쉽다는 말일 수도 있고, 깊게 연구하여 세부적인 부분까지 공부하면 새로운 발견, 기발한 창의력, 혹은 깊은 진실을 찾을 수 있다는 말이다.

칠 년 전에 있었던 일이다. 나의 아이는 태어난 지 육 개월. 월, 수 금은 학교 선생을 하루종일 하고, 화, 목, 토, 일은 육 개월 된 아이를 하루종일 쳐다보고. 어디를 가도 나를 필요로 하는 사람들에 둘러싸여 일상을 보냈다. 여러 사람에 둘러싸여 살면서도 깊은 외로움을 느꼈기에, 그 외로움을 달래기 위해 블로그를 시작한 일이 있다. 블로그에 일상을 기록하며, 배우는 것이 있으면 정리하여 쓰기도 했다. 그중에서 가장 인상 깊게 남았던 배움 중에 하나가 바로 Devil is in the details이라는 개념이었다.

아이를 키우면서 가까이, 조심스럽게, 자세히, 날마다 들여다보니, 보이는 것도 많고, 느끼는 것도 많고, 배우는 것도 많았다. 그러던 하루, 무엇인가를 자세히 들여다보게 되었다. 그 자세한 것이 무엇인지, 지금 기억은 없지만, 아마도 사춘기를 지나고 있는 젊은 사람에게 있어서의 코끝의 여드름쯤 되는 것이 아니었을까 한다. 본인에게는 엄청난 수치심과 서글픔, 화남을 주는 일이었으나, 막상 아주 중요한 일은 아닌—그런 일이었었을 게 분명하다. 코끝에 난 여드름을 고치고자 얼만큼의 요령을 부렸을까. 하지만 코끝에 난 여드름이 아니라, 육 개월 된 아주 작은 아이의 감기일 수도 있었을 것이고, 아니면, 그날따라 밥을 잘 안 먹으려 한 것일 수도 있고, 아니면, 갑자기 낮잠을 잘 안 자는 것일 수도 있다. 요는 이 작은 일을 아주 큰 일로 만들어 버린 나는 아이를 잡고, 나를 잡고, 하루를 아주 흉하게 보냈다. 그 하루를 마무리하면서 드는 생각이 Devil is in the details. 아, 아주 작은 일을 크게 만들어 버리는 것은 악마가 시키는 일이구나. Devil is in the details라는 어구가 처음으로 다르게 보이는 게 이 날이었다. 행복에서 불행으로 직행하는 방법이 바로, 너무나도 작은 일을 큰일인 양 만들어 버리는 우리의 일상.

하지만, 이 작은 일들의 소용돌이는 엄청난 위력을 가지고 있다. 사소하고 작은 일에 집중하고 집착함으로써 나의 허기가 체워지고, 허무함이 체워지고, 뭔가 내 인생도 의미가 있고 중요성이 있다는 느낌을 줄 수 있기 때문이다. 하지만, 이러한 허기 체우기를 위한 사소한 일에 집중하기는 중독성이 강한 게임과 같기 때문이다. 승부욕이 강하고, 목적 지향적인 나에게는 Farmville 2의 중독성은 강하다. 소를 길러, 우유를 모으고, 우유를 모아서, 치즈를 만들고, 치즈를 만들어 동전 몇게 교환 받고, 동전 모아, 소 한마리 더 사고. 작은 일들을 집중적으로 모아, 무엇인가 끝임없이 하고있다는 착각을 나는 만들어 나간다. 나의 뇌는 원한다. 끝없이 성취감을 느끼기 위해서인가.

십여년 전에 읽은 책이 있다. Irvin Yalom이라는 미국의 저명한 심리학자의 책을 읽으면서 existential pain, 실존적 고통에 대해 배웠다. 실존적 고통에는 네가지가 있다고 한다.
1. 죽음. 우리는 모두 죽는다.
2. 외로움. 우리는 모두 혼자다.
3. 자유. 우리는 궁극적으로 자유인이가. 그렇다면 내가 처해있는 상황이 내 탓인가.
4. 무의미. 허무함. 인생의 의미는 무엇인가. 의미가 있기는 있는 것인다.

나는 이 네가지 실존적 고통의 이름들을 알게 되면서, 이상한 기쁨을 느꼇다. 마치 몇 십년간 진단없는 오랜 질명을 앓고 있는 사람이 드디어 질병의 병명을 알게 된 것 같은 느끼이라고 해야 할까. 내 머릿 속에서 상상해 낸 존재하지도 않는 질병이라고 생각하고 있다가, 갑자기 어두운 숲 속에서 전등을 켜게 된 느낌이랄까.

실존적 고통 중에서도 무의미함이 가장 힘든 고통이었다. 그래서 열심히 도망도 갔다. 술, 일, 테레비. 아니면 불평, 불만. 누군가 비난하고, 누군가에게 책임을 물어야하고, 문책, 비판, 비난. 쉴 날이 없었다. 하지만, Brené Brown이라는 심리학자에 의하면, 비난은 고통을 방출하는 수단이라고 한다. 고통을 방출하는 방법. 비난. 비난이 정신적인 방귀인가? 난 고통이 왜그런지 참 많았다. 그래서 여러가지 나의 처한 사정에 대한 불평, 불만이 많았다. 그래서 비난도 심했다. 여자로 태어난 것에 대해. 한국 문화에 대해. 그래픽 디자인에 대해. 마음의 문이 비좁아 까깝한 사람들에 대해. 무식한 사람들에 대해. 가부장적인 사회 제도에 대해. 유색인 차별 문화에 대해.

비난. 고통. 비난은 고통을 방출하는 수단이라고 한다. 길기도 긴 이 비난의 목록을 내려 놓고, 나의 고통과 친해지고자 한다. 적어도 옆에 앉아 얘기라고 들어주면 어떨까 한다. 무릎이 까져 우는 아이의 까진 무릎을 고쳐주지는 못하여도, 아픔 마음 알아주는 것도 큰 도움이 되지 않은가. 내 속안에 우는 아이들 쳐다본다. 그리고, 웅야웅야를 읊으며 달래줘 본다. 당장 고쳐지지 않은 그 많은 것이 있지만, 그 길고 긴 목록 자체에 지치지 말고, 하루의 일상을, 우는 그 아이를 그 때, 그 때 달래 주듯이, 조금씩, 천천히, 살아가 볼란다. 나는 나의 고통과 친해지고자 한다. 나의 고통이 가지고 있는 이야기를 들어주고자 한다. 그러면서, 내가 누리고 있는 이 많은 것들에 감사를 올리고, 기쁨을 나누며 살고자 한다.



I used to keep a private blog when I was a new mother. As over-powering as the new experience of being a mother was, so was the isolation. I was either immersed in teaching all day, or sitting alone with a new born all day. So to see if a falling tree makes a sound when there is no one there to hear it, I started a blog.

I found this entry from when my baby was about five months old from October of 2007:

Eli can now roll onto his tummy. It started with a desire to get closer to the boob. Eli gets on his side. He then scrunches up his legs, and using the momentum, twists and turns onto his belly. The trick is to make sure the arm doesn't get stuck under the belly. After about two weeks of struggle Eli is now officially a "roller-over." Since yesterday he has gone onto his tummy every chance he gets. It's usually when I'm too far away--just out of arms reach. With his desire to move closer, Eli will end up on his tummy. This morning was no exception. Eli rolled onto his tummy when we were in bed. Then he started scrunching his legs up under his belly in a crawling fashion. This boy will be moving in no time it seems. We will be putting up bed rail/guards this weekend so that Eli does not have an unfortunate tumble.

This week I am coming to terms with my own desires to do "everything right" by Eli. It is a variant strain of the "perfectionist." I thought I had given up on this horse over a decade ago. Alas, it still lives and breathes. Perhaps it is stronger because such a vulnerable being is in front of me. This leads to putting my actions, and Eli's reactions under the microscope. Over analysis can only lead to hyper criticism. My lesson this week is to take deep breaths and to look at the big picture: Eli is flourishing as are his parents. Minutia can be not only unhealthy but deadly to the spirit. The phrase, "the devil is in the details" come to mind. I have a completely different understanding of this phrase today.

What I notice from this post is the attention to detail. Looking under the microscope. Finding things you expect to find and also finding things you don’t expect to find.

I remember this day. I remember having a big ah-ha moment of understanding the devil as deep and unhealthy scrutiny. I realized for the first time that sometimes skimming the surface is actually a positive and healthy thing. This was a shock as I associated deep scrutiny as my guiding light to intelligence and wisdom. Alas, intelligence is not always connected to wisdom, as intelligence lives in the brain, and perhaps should visit the heart more often.

But the vortex of minutia is a powerful phenomena. The never-ending-to-do lists of everyday life. Especially when it comes to your precious and non-negotiable things: children, kitty cats, career, or it is a calling, do I have a calling? why don’t I have a calling? professional accomplishments, house work, dirty dishes, dirty fridge, the leaves that need to be racked, and oh, all the weeds… and Eli should start a sport soon, and maybe go back to learning how to read in Korean, and my partner and I should start a project together, and I should start working on that book, and post more entries on the blog, update that class project, and finish writing that letter… what was I talking about?

The vortex of minutia is powerful. It fills the emptiness of our lonely existence. It gives us purpose. And makes us feel like we are doing something with our lives. But it is not unlike an addictive game. Like the one that I’m playing right now. Farmville 2. You collect milk, make it into butter and make that into cheese and sell it for a few coins so that you can save up to buy another cow, so that you can collect more milk, so that you can make more butter… I love having goals. It fills the void. But if not kept in check, it can take over.

I remember reading Irvin Yalom’s book on psychotherapy where he introduces the idea of existential pain. There are four:
1. We will all die. (And you will lose all that is precious to you.)
2. We are alone. (Even if you love and are loved, you are still alone.)
3. The meaninglessness of it all. (or What is the meaning of life?)
4. We have freedom. (Which implies we are to be blamed for the condition we are in.)

I remember feeling almost happy when I found these concepts. It was like having an ailment all your life, feeling like you have an imaginary illness, and years if not decades later finding out that there is a name and a diagnosis that goes with your sorrows. Existential pain. Yes, I have it. And I think I am so used to running away from it. Or drowning it in external factors such as drink or work or something called focused attention to detail. And now I am learning how to live with it. I am learning to live with my pain. Without blaming anyone, or anything for it.

Blame. Here is another concept that needs attention. Brené Brown says that blame is a way to discharge pain and discomfort. Pain and discomfort. I have that. And I have gone through many searches and hunts to find blame. The blame of being born a woman. The blame of being born in Korea. The blame of being a graphic designer. The blame of being narrow minded. The blame of patriarchy. The blame of politics. The blame of racism. The blame of sexism. The blame of ignorance.

I am shedding my ghosts of Christmas pasts, and learning to sit with my pain and discomfort. And in the mean time, I am learning how to be grateful for all that I have, and learning how to share the joy.