Contemporary Embodiment of Korean Spirit

The Korean Cultural Center New York presented the ChangMu Dance Company this past week and treated the public to an artistic gem. ChangMu Dance Company, currently with fourteen dancers, was founded in 1976 by Kim MaeJa, a pioneer of Korean “creative dance.” This distinctive form innovates contemporary expressions around the spirit and aesthetics of Korean traditions and ideas. MaeJa’s choreographies draw from a foundation in the many traditional Korean dance forms—including shaman, Buddhist, folk, and court dance—infusing the work with movement qualities and themes rarely seen on New York stages. The performances afforded a sublime immersion into a unique aesthetic and cultural experience.

Performance

ChangMu Dance Company

Place

Korean Cultural Center New York, NY, March 2025

Words

Karen Greenspan

ChangMu Dance Company in “Here.” Photograph by Matthew Han, courtesy of Korean Cultural Center New York

The Korean Cultural Center New York, a government institution inaugurated in 1979 to promote Korean culture and aesthetics in New York, opened the doors to its brand new, state-of-the-art facility in June 2024. After many years of planning and construction, the elegantly designed center features pristine spaces including an art gallery, library, traditional Korean garden, cooking studio, a media wall, and a 172-seat stadium style theater for an ideal viewing experience.

The program offered three works—each one bringing to light a unique aspect of Korean tradition and thinking. The opening piece, “Here—1st part,” is a distillation of Ganggangsullae—a traditional harvest event, incorporating song, circle dancing, and games. The dance was typically performed by women under the full moon to ensure a bountiful harvest. From this idea, Maeja built a loose narrative around the power of women and feminine energy, opening with a classic formation of dancers suspended in a timeless communal ritual as they hold hands and slowly circumscribe the space. The costumes of flowing white gauzy cotton brought a contemporary flare to the traditional Korean full skirt, and the moon-like projection on the dark back wall framed the piece to perfection.

The circling dancers eventually formed a line and hinged their bodies forward forming a walking path with their flattened backs. Upon this, one dancer mounted the bowed bodies, and gracefully walked atop them. All the while, each person at the back of the line scampered around to attach to the front of the formation, thereby lengthening the path. I learned that this is an actual game played during Ganggangsullae festivities.

In an unusual and beautiful sequence—also, an evocation of the feminine—seven women filled the stage wearing white gauzy tops and loose pants with a pronounced bustle and gathered train trailing behind them. The electronic score, rich with nature sounds and bird call, echoed through the dancers’ bodies as they stood in place and extended their arms and torsos outward releasing energy from a deep inner core and then allowed them to fold back in. The dancers took their trains in hand and skimmed the floor with tiny footsteps into a myriad of kaleidoscopic patterns, which they paused in just long enough for the eye to enjoy. After a costume change, the work built to a climactic ending with a large group section performed in unison to a strong percussive beat. The repetitive pendular jumping with swinging arms and the occasional overhead swirl suggested an indomitable group heartbeat.

ChangMu Dance Company in “Yool—Shout with Your Body.” Photograph by Matthew Han, courtesy of Korean Cultural Center New York

The second work on the program, titled “Yool—Shout with Your Body,” was described in the program notes as “a self-unfolding gut ritual.” A gut is a Korean shamanic ritual, performed by mostly women shamans, or mudang, who act as mediators between the human and spirit realms. The rituals, involving rhythmic music, song, dance, prayers, and offerings, are meant to harmonize energies and relationships. Untangling knotted threads is a common theme used in these rituals and one that found its way into this contemporary work, which opened with dancer Kim Youngchan in a long white dress, his hands and arms tangled in a mass of white threads. As he tensed against the binding and snapping strings, it was clear that the thread symbolized personal blockages. When five similarly costumed dancers entered carrying large spools of white thread energetically circling Youngchan and unwinding their spools with determination, the thread came to represent societal connections. Choi Jiyeon emerged from the group to dance as the mudang, her face radiating an otherworldly intensity. In a remarkable and unscripted performance (I later learned), she moved with impulsive jerks of the shoulders, sudden flicks of the wrist, and then seemed to write a secret code with her finger across her body and out in space. Suddenly her entire body shook, and she ran to a spot putting her ear next to the floor as if to listen. Then she hit the ground with a loud slap. The work, set to two different shaman chants, continued with various group interactions and configurations offering a riveting and thought-provoking experience.

ChangMu Dance Company in “Chum, Ku Shinmyung.” Photograph by Matthew Han, courtesy of Korean Cultural Center New York

In a rousing conclusion, the company performed “Chum, Ku Shinmyung,” giving expression to another concept deeply ingrained in Korean culture—the coupling of shinmyung (exuberant energy and joy) as an antidote to han (deep sorrow). It is believed that the primordial state of shinmyung is connected to the divine and can be accessed through song and dance. The choreography demonstrated in real life how this works. The lights came up along the side aisles as the performers danced from the back of the theater encouraging the audience to clap and yip along with them as they passed by with joyful movements and facial expressions. Continuing their revelry onto the stage space, they came together jumping and twirling in a group “joy fest.” Eventually, the lights, energy, and music turned sad and somber as the group sank toward the ground falling into stillness. Yet, one dancer’s persistent swaying somehow fanned the group’s pulse back into vitality. As the mood built, some dancers hiked up their skirts and initiated solos revving the group into a joyous circle dance. The rollicking energy kept multiplying as one dancer let loose with a full circle of barrel-turn leaps around the jumping and yipping revelers. The uplift from this singular Korean expression was a true gift. We could all benefit from this happy-making practice.

Karen Greenspan

Karen Greenspan is a New York City-based dance journalist and frequent contributor to Natural History Magazine, Dance Tabs, Ballet Review, and Tricycle among other publications. She is also the author of Footfalls from the Land of Happiness: A Journey into the Dances of Bhutan, published in 2019.

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