Brooks Riley in Art at First Sight:
In the recent K-Drama Our Unwritten Seoul, a simple wooden chair emerges as the iconic stand-in (or sit-in) for a young farmer’s late grandfather, whose favorite chair it had once been. Broken and mended multiple times, patched together with tape, glue, and hastily hammered braces, the chair, on its last legs, gets tossed out by an over-zealous new employee. The young farmer is devastated.
Beyond the obvious metaphor hovering over this minor incident (Age and infirmity are not to be mistaken for worthlessness), the tale rings a bell. How many of us remember a favorite chair, where daydreams were forged, books were read, naps were taken, and the universe doom-scrolled on an app? Or an empty chair at the table as someone’s ghostly absence?
Chairs are fundamental accessories in our lives–dependable, discreet, dotted about our personal periphery like silent sentries—there but not there, part of the family, but also not.
More here.
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