Listening to the Breath of Jeju's Haenyeo: An Artistic Exploration

As familiar sounds drew people to the round fire pit, a space where haenyeo gather to warm themselves and share time away from the sea, the essence of 'breath' captivated those present.

At the Venice Biennale's main exhibition on May 7, Yoi's work 'Breath Orchestra' infused life into the dimly lit Arsenale. The sound of breath, erupting from deep within, resonated with the tenacity and fragility of life, akin to the struggle against rough waves.

Yoi was the only Korean artist invited to this main exhibition curated by Koyo Kuo. His work 'Breath Orchestra' is a synthesis of sound, video, and drawing. One wall displayed videos of 9- to 10-year-old girls from Jeju performing breaths reminiscent of the haenyeo's underwater sounds, while the opposite wall featured footage of sleeping haenyeo. Visitors sat around the fire pit, occasionally listening intently to the sharp, penetrating sounds of breath.

In an interview, Yoi expressed a desire to convey the 'stillness in the water.' "I wanted to talk about sensations that are neither visible nor audible. I believe there is a shared intention between the exhibition's theme of listening to what is often overlooked and my work," he said.

Yoi identifies as both a haenyeo and not a haenyeo. He first visited Hado-ri in Jeju in 2021, drawn by the sea. Naturally, he found himself at a haenyeo school. "I learned to swim as if I were absorbing the ocean, and I gradually became involved in diving," he explained.

Haenyeo in their 60s to 80s taught Yoi the nuances of diving, sometimes scolding him, other times offering praise. Their bond deepened as they shared meals and coffee while waiting for the tides. “We would gather to eat, drink coffee, and talk. After diving, we would bathe, change clothes, and clean up together. We became frighteningly close,” he said.

At the beginning of his diving experience, Yoi focused on his body, feeling the pressure and the struggle within. Gradually, he began to perceive the flow and structure of the sea, surrendering to the rhythm of nature dictated by the moon's phases. He learned the underwater topography shared orally among the haenyeo.

At one point, he sensed the breath of labor and solidarity. The instruction to 'manage on your own in the sea' became increasingly daunting. The silence of the ocean was intimidating. "Then suddenly, breaking the stillness, one haenyeo surfaced, and I heard her take a breath, 'pa-.' That sound, though invisible, brought me comfort. I realized I was not alone. Even though it was silent and unseen, I could sense the solidarity we often speak of in that stillness."

From that moment, the stillness became 'the time when everyone holds their breath and works underwater.'

Thus, 'Breath Orchestra' tells a story about stillness. Yoi created a score for breath: a quick inhalation just before entering the water, the pause for breath underwater, and the rough exhalation upon surfacing—all intertwined like an orchestra of each haenyeo's breath. The sound was completed through live performances involving those engaged in music, yoga, and dance.

He also recorded moments in the water and conversations that took place during post-diving baths. Yoi decided to express this in his own way. He gathered nine girls from Hado-ri and nearby villages, the same age at which the haenyeo began diving decades ago. Over two years, he produced videos capturing the 'breath of labor' with the girls.

Yoi also documented the 'sleeping haenyeo' through the community's elder women. Over two to three years, on days when the elders rested from diving, they gathered at the village hall. He captured the everyday scene of them eating and watching TV, often drifting into short naps. "If someone passed gas while sleeping, they would wake up briefly and then fall back asleep," he recalled.

He lamented the strong, resilient image of haenyeo portrayed externally. This is why he chose not to depict scenes of diving. "In the past, people refrained from discussing haenyeo due to the stigma of it being a lowly profession. There were even events where they were paraded under the title of 'Miss Haenyeo,' akin to Miss Korea. Now, they are only depicted as grandmothers or mothers."

The fire pit also symbolizes a time for recovery. "Relationships are not maintained solely in the water. To rely on and care for one another in the sea, recovery time is essential. While diving is a solitary struggle against one's body, it is also a collective endeavor," he noted.

Yoi reflects on the reality of the haenyeo community's diminishing bonds. "Younger haenyeo cannot sustain themselves solely through diving. They must engage in influencer activities or run restaurants, adapting to what is possible in today's era. I grapple with whether it is right to change and maintain the essence, even if it means losing it, or to preserve the original ways even if they fade away. I have conflicting feelings about both."
When asked, "Are you a haenyeo?" Yoi replied, "I think it’s more accurate to say I am not a haenyeo. If I say I am, who would I be? But I love haenyeo."

This project was produced with the support of the Korean Arts Council, the Samsung Cultural Foundation, the Tiger Foundation, and the American Friends of Zaytuna.