The fascination I have with Haruki Murakami’s novels is, at this point, surpassing reality. Whenever mentioned author grabs a few strings of thought from his beautiful mind, it almost always brings about some sort of unknown emotion inside of me. Pretty close to a dangerous yet cute creature. Maybe an animal that would swallow me whole when I disturb it. But still, I was found lost in a trance and making my way to the booth to buy tickets for a tour inside the Arario museum.
What the hell does the museum have in relation to Murakami? I vividly remember the scenes of Murakami’s novels when I’d read a particular paragraph several times only to find myself stuck, not knowing what to make of it. Despite it all, I still continue on the bizarre journey, knowing somewhere along the book, it’ll make sense. That’s exactly how Arario Museum felt like to me. To this day, I still don’t know what to make of the most random pieces they had there but I know somewhere inside me was touched and I could never look at exhibitions the same way ever again.
My favorite piece. It was simple–not grandiose in any way–it sits calmly at a brick and was hung in a dilapidated piece of wood but it triggered something inside me that when we left the floor it was in, it never left my mind. This is the Korean word for “dream”.
But that’s me taking credit off my mother who’s the real art enthusiast. She dragged me to a corner of Jongno-ro street (somewhere along Changdeokgung Palace) for the broken text plastered in the middle of the building piqued her interest. It read, “If all relationships were in equilibrium, then this building would dissolve.” And maybe, subconsciously, I was interested too. We skipped the audio presentation for each exhibit because pretty sure they were in Korean and my elementary Korean might understand nothing at all.
Not only were the pieces out of the ordinary, but even the people roaming around looking through were a wee bit bizarre. I’m not saying they looked weird or anything but more like they seem not to come from that part of Seoul (maybe I’m the only one who understands this). They looked like curators, the stereotypical kind in dramas, only they seemed to be in a daze as they walk through the rooms and floors of the building. Their steps were calculated as if stepping forward a little too fast might get them punished by someone only they can see. They donned meticulously cared-for blazers and straight cut trousers, carefully placed makeup that dissolves to nothing and bags that seemed like locally designed bags (which are still expensive as hell).
I’m not interested in eternity, thank you very much.
And maybe exhibits are supposed to take you somewhere then leave you all alone with your thoughts. Maybe I need to get my ass off here and visit some local museums/exhibitions.
Ticket price: KRW10,000 as of October 7, 2016 inclusive of a cup of coffee from the cafe housed under the same building