Hyun-Suk Seo, Jeonhwan Cho
¤Ó¤Ó¤Ó¤Ó¤±

Constructing a story is like building a house. Or, is it?

Carpenter Cho decides to build a wooden house/story on stage. Cornerstones establish the parameters. Pillars and beams come together to create harmony and conflicts. The sounds of hammer are offered as pounding punchlines, the smell of sawdust tear-jerkers. "Art," after all, "begins not with the flesh but with the house," as Deleuze and Guattari put it in not-so-fleshly words.

¤Ó¤Ó¤Ó¤Ó¤± disassembled vowels and a consonant from the Korean alphabet, phonetically corresponding to "I I I I M") is but a loose set of fragments that make up a story, or many stories, but don't necessarily amount to a "drama." This lazy play doesn't become "accessible" to the audience until the right moment comes. Kept in distance in the balcony seats, the audience can only decipher the textual meanings through headsets and binoculars.

With some help of a dubious teletubbie and other passionless colleagues, the carpenter and his workers finally manage to bring to a shape something for all of us to dwell in: a simple question about the complex territory called "stage." Yes, at the "right moment," the willing audience members are invited to be "immersed" in the transitory open structure. ¤Ó¤Ó¤Ó¤Ó¤± is a cosy piece of "auto-constructive" process art with safe bends.