What Was That?
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Sara Sejin Chang Sara van der Heide. For Texas Project , Che photographed the declining red-light district in Miari in Seoul after the government initiated the anti-prostitution law in He also made short films and archives that capture the trauma of the modern Korean history by documenting the bunkers during the post-Korean War period and the abandoned U. Army camps in South Korea after the Iraq War. In recent years, Che produced a documentary project Mansudai Master Class which is about the monuments and statues made by North Korea in Africa.
Starting with this project, he is currently creating a documentary theater, a film, an installation about the North Korean propaganda culture and identity. Myohyang in North Korea. The six-story building is The exhibition hall is made without wooden materials, but it looks like it is made of wood and there is no window, but the building can control light and humidity automatically.
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The main hall displays gifts sent to Kim Il Sung from national political parties, national leaders, and political figures from all five continents on a continent and country basis. The annex displays the gifts sent to Kim Jong Il, and they are displayed as the same classification method.
The Hall is divided into exhibitions, and it takes a year and a half if you spend one minute per gift. Currently, the International Friendship Exhibition Hall is a public museum that serves as a major tourist spot, promoting the international reputation of former North Korean leaders to foreign visitors. If I categorize the gifts in the catalog by continent, North Korea get the most gifts from African countries, followed by Arab countries and Asia, and finally from Europe and North America. The national leaders who have sent the gifts are those who have supported the former socialist parties or are generally considered as dictators.
This catalog is a propaganda tool to highlight the superiority of the dictatorship system. It is also an interesting tool for promoting the friendship between North Korean dictators and their friends. I scanned the images of the gift photographs in this catalog by using a portable stick scanner. This illegal scanning act caused tension in my hand as if I stole some products in a commercial store, making the movement of the hand a little faster and shaking.
As a result, the scanned images are distorted in an unpredictable manner, and the quality of the images are, therefore, degraded. The distorted and diminished photographs could lower the authority and symbolism of North Korea in the pictures. The project consists of the re-edited version of North Korean documentary film Worldwide Support for Kim Il Sung, the illegally scanned photographs, and 3-D printed objects from the photographs and the film.
First, the film is a North Korean propaganda film produced in the mids that depicts Kim Il Sung as a great leader whom the world leaders admire. But, the actions of African leaders are somewhat different. They are the continent that makes up the largest number of gifts in the catalog, and they behave differently from other countries.
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Phone number is invalid. Desired number of tickets Number of tickets is required. Number of tickets is invalid. After dinner was over I repaired with my friend, Dr. Hammond, to the garden to smoke my evening pipe. The Doctor and myself found ourselves in an unusually metaphysical mood.
We lit our large meerschaums, filled with fine Turkish tobacco; we paced to and fro, conversing. A strange perversity dominated the currents of our thought. They would not flow through the sun-lit channels into which we strove to divert them. For some unaccountable reason they constantly diverged into dark and lonesome beds, where a continual gloom brooded. It was in vain that, after our old fashion, we flung ourselves on the shores of the East, and talked of its gay bazaars, of the splendors of the time of Haroun, of harems and golden palaces.
Black afreets continually arose from the depths of our talk, and expanded, like the one the fisherman released from the copper vessel, until they blotted everything bright from our vision.
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Insensibly, we yielded to the occult force that swayed us, and indulged in gloomy speculation. The question, I own, puzzled me. That many things were terrible, I knew. A shattered wreck, with no life visible, encountered floating listlessly on the ocean, is a terrible object, for it suggests a huge terror, the proportions of which are veiled. But it now struck me for the first time that there must be one great and ruling embodiment of fear, a King of Terrors to which all others must succumb.
What might it be? To what train of circumstances would it owe its existence? That there must be one Something more terrible than any other thing, I feel. I cannot attempt, however, even the most vague definition. I feel as if I could write a story like Hoffman to night, if I were only master of a literary style. How sultry it is!
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Good night, Hammond. We parted, and each sought his respective chamber. I undressed quickly and got into bed, taking with me, according to my usual custom, a book, over which I generally read myself to sleep. I opened the volume as soon as I had laid my head upon the pillow, and instantly flung it to the other side of the room.
I resolved to go to sleep at once; so, turning down my gas until nothing but a little blue point of light glimmered on the top of the tube, I composed myself to rest. The room was in total darkness. The atom of gas that still remained lighted did not illuminate a distance of three inches round the burner. I desperately drew my arm across my eyes, as if to shut out even the darkness, and tried to think of nothing. It was in vain. The confounded themes touched on by Hammond in the garden kept obtruding themselves on my brain. I battled against them. I erected ramparts of would-be blankness of intellect to keep them out.
They still crowded upon me. While I was lying still as a corpse, hoping that by a perfect physical inaction I should hasten mental repose, an awful incident occurred. A Something dropped, as it seemed, from the ceiling, plumb upon my chest, and the next instant I felt two bony hands encircling my throat, endeavoring to choke me.
I am no coward, and am possessed of considerable physical strength. The suddenness of the attack, instead of stunning me, strung every nerve to its highest tension. My body acted from instinct, before my brain had time to realize the terrors of my position. In an instant I wound two muscular arms around the creature, and squeezed it, with all the strength of despair, against my chest. In a few seconds the bony hands that had fastened on my throat loosened their hold, and I was free to breathe once more. Then commenced a struggle of awful intensity. At last, after a silent, deadly, exhausting struggle, I got my assailant under by a series of incredible efforts of strength.
Once pinned, with my knee on what I made out to be its chest, I knew that I was victor. I rested for a moment to breathe.
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I heard the creature beneath me panting in the darkness, and felt the violent throbbing of a heart. It was apparently as exhausted as I was; that was one comfort. At this moment I remembered that I usually placed under my pillow, before going to bed, a large yellow silk pocket handkerchief, for use during the night. I felt for it instantly; it was there. I now felt tolerably secure. There was nothing more to be done but to turn on the gas, and, having first seen what my midnight assailant was like, arouse the household.
I will confess to being actuated by a certain pride in not giving the alarm before; I wished to make the capture alone and unaided. Never losing my hold for an instant, I slipped from the bed to the floor, dragging my captive with me. I had but a few steps to make to reach the gas-burner; these I made with the greatest caution, holding the creature in a grip like a vice.
Quick as lightning I released my grasp with one hand and let on the full flood of light. Then I turned to look at my captive. I cannot even attempt to give any definition of my sensations the instant after I turned on the gas. I suppose I must have shrieked with terror, for in less than a minute afterward my room was crowded with the inmates of the house. I shudder now as I think of that awful moment. I saw nothing! Yes; I had one arm firmly clasped round a breathing, panting, corporeal shape, my other hand gripped with all its strength a throat as warm, and apparently fleshly, as my own; and yet, with this living substance in my grasp, with its body pressed against my own, and all in the bright glare of a large jet of gas, I absolutely beheld nothing!
I do not, even at this hour, realize the situation in which I found myself. I cannot recall the astounding incident thoroughly. Imagination in vain tries to compass the awful paradox. It breathed. I felt its warm breath upon my cheek. It struggled fiercely. It had hands. They clutched me. Its skin was smooth, like my own. I wonder that I did not faint or go mad on the instant. Some wonderful instinct must have sustained me; for, absolutely, in place of loosening my hold on the terrible Enigma, I seemed to gain an additional strength in my moment of horror, and tightened my grasp with such wonderful force that I felt the creature shivering with agony.
Just then Hammond entered my room at the head of the household.
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Hammond, doubtless struck by the unfeigned horror expressed in my countenance, made one or two steps forward with an anxious yet puzzled expression. A very audible titter burst from the remainder of my visitors. This suppressed laughter made me furious. To laugh at a human being in my position! It was the worst species of cruelty. Now, I can understand why the appearance of a man struggling violently, as it would seem, with an airy nothing, and calling for assistance against a vision, should have appeared ludicrous.