Busan art museum benches

My dad isn’t much for art galleries. He’s a bigger fan of benches. He spots one on the first floor of the Busan Museum of Art and tells us he’ll see us later. We disappear into the train rush of Saturday school groups rolling from one piece to another.

At the entrance, a TV house by Nam June Paik, a big Korean name. The screens flash girls and hearts and neon colours. In between exhibition halls and in corners are playful installations and sculptures. Dogs leak urine, starfish scatter, dandelions float upwards.

Favorite is the Fugitive, a series by Kang-Hong-goo. He takes his own image and pastes it into scenes from familiar films, mid stride and wrinkled, screaming face, running from the mass fear monster.

Kwak Duck-Jun cuts his face in half with three US presidents: Bush, Ford, and Carter. Mirror down the bottom half of Time magazine, he takes a self portrait. Skip past the buddhas and calligraphy to slick, tattooed aliens, a lonely Warhol, and an exit.

Father’s found a new bench outside. He tells me that it’s sunny.