Blue Memories

Words and Image by Sarah Jang

"Blue Memories" 2025

Sarah Jang

Acrylic, Newspaper, PLA

40" x 48"

Blue Memories is a visual representation of the process of forming cultural identity. A tumultuous journey fraught with confusion, affirmation, and reclamation.

Ever since we moved to the States, my parents insisted that my brother and I speak Korean at home. It is a boundary I am so grateful to have maintained, as it bridged potential language barriers and allowed us to navigate, debate, and understand our cultural disagreements with nuance. Above all, language has anchored me to my heritage. The vibrant letters on the left represent an ending-letter game my family plays on long road trips, exchanges brimming with laughter, wit, and warmth.

Whenever our family visits Korea every couple years, I am met with a friction of rapid changes and yet familiar continuities. The most striking transformation is the urban landscape: apartments, high-rises, and highways are perpetually under construction as Korea rapidly modernizes, positioning itself within a global framework alongside a growing influx of diverse cultures and people. The papier-mâché canvas that is textured with newsprint, whitewash paint, and grid wire mirrors this constant state of construction and the drive to reshape Korea away from what it once was.

Yet, remarkably little has changed in the market where my grandmother has worked for 60 years. The same tarps hover above the stalls or double as floor mats for fresh produce. The peak hours still bring a density of crowds that feels like a fire hazard, followed by complete emptiness toward closing. There is the familiar, rich scent of fried snacks, the rising steam from noodle vats, and the mass-produced tassel souvenirs crafted for tourists to take a piece of Korea home. I am met with the fiery dialects of vendors and shoppers, and the endless banter bouncing across tables and kiosks.

Overarching halmeoni’s living room, a massive calligraphy painting of the Chinese character for "dragon" (yong) drawn to resemble the creature itself would keep watch over the family. As a toddler who didn't yet have the words to describe fear, I would sprint across the room whenever no one was around, terrified that the ink would come alive and snatch me back into the hanji paper.

It was only recently that I finally understood what the character stood for. The subject on the right, drawn in India ink, is a remake of that original calligraphy piece. Rendered at a scale three times smaller than the original, it reflects how the situations we once feared and failed to understand become smaller within the grander scope of life. How we possess the agency to reinterpret, redesign, and reestablish the very things we used to run from. This dragon serves as the core anchor of the work.

Hovering nearby are my brother’s eyes. In the original reference photograph from which I extracted the dragon character, my aunt stands in the foreground holding my brother. The original pair of eyes painted in blue depict the confusion and hesitation we carried as children arriving in a new country. The other iterations—the fluorescent pink capturing moments of joy, and the green reflecting fear—embody the spectrum of mixed emotions felt throughout our journey of finding identity in the States.

Though inspired by pre-existing royal palaces, the roof patterns are drawn from the Blue House, the presidential residence. I found the lotus patterns on the roof totems majestic and pure, an architectural embodiment of a Korean history I am only beginning to learn, yet an art form that speaks volumes without words.

Recently, my halmeoni handed me a red beaded bracelet, slipping it into my hands with very few words of explanation. When I asked why she was giving it to me, she offered a terse explanation that it was from a temple before abruptly telling me to "just take it," visibly shy to admit it was an act of love. Words are not her primary dialect; her devotion lives in her quiet generosity and immense sacrifice. Her hands, worn by decades of hard work, still radiate an enduring strength, finding boundless joy and fulfillment in preparing the most nourishing meals for us. I don’t quite know what to call this kind of expression... A blue blush, perhaps: she comes across as cold only because she is too shy, too embarrassed, to reveal the selfless warmth beneath.

These are my Blue Memories.

Tattoos:

My ankle tattoo carries the same lotus pattern as the ones on the bottom right corner of Blue Memories, which are commonly found on the ends of the palace roofings, serving as an extension of my work and culture.

Photography by Clarissa Kam

My arm tattoo serves as a timestamp, a mark of my birth in Korea. It echoes the BCG (Bacillus Calmette-Guérin) vaccine, given to newborns in South Korea within their first four weeks of life. Its stamp-like pattern was common in the 1990s, though it has since been largely replaced by the single-injection scar.