[INTERVIEW] How 'bojagi' helped adoptee reconnect with Korean roots

Dawn Tomlinson, a Korean adoptee bojagi artist from Minnesota, poses with her Minnesota Textile Group project at The Korea Times headquarters in central Seoul, Wednesday. Korea Times photo by Shim Hyun-chul

By Kwon Mee-yoo

Dawn Tomlinson is a Korean adoptee who found her passion in "bojagi," or Korean wrapping cloths made with fabric strips or scraps, and she sees bojagi as a connection to her Korean heritage. The act of sewing leftover fabric fragments into bojagi resonates with her journey as a Korean adoptee rediscovering her roots, threading together the fragments of her identity.

"We, mixed-race adoptees, felt like garbage... I have a friend who made himself a very accomplished man who is a mixed-race adoptee. He said when he was young, he lived in the streets and people would call him 'dust of the streets,'" Tomlinson said during an interview with The Korea Times in Seoul, Tuesday.

"I don't have those memories and am really grateful that I don't, but I feel bonded and we (adoptees) are in this together as we could have been the garbage. (In bojagi-making) there is this idea that you take that and you create something beautiful out of it."

Tomlinson, who is visiting Korea to take part in the 2023 Korea Bojagi Forum and exhibit her creations from May 27 through 31 at Seoul Citizens Hall, related her sentiment to "han," a Korean concept referring to internalized sorrow or grief.

"I heard the word 'han' and somebody tried to explain it to me, and I don't know if that's what it means. I always wondered like, 'Is that what we're doing?' Something like moving forward," she said.

"I don't know that I really understand the concept, but it comes into my head that what we're doing is that we're taking something and we're not buckling under it, but we're overcoming and turning it into something beautiful. Bojagi is about turning into something beautiful and we need to make our lives beautiful. We don't want to carry that and hand it back to our children and I think I have done that."

Dawn Tomlinson with her biological mother Kang Kyung-ja around 1958 / Courtesy of Dawn Tomlinson

Journey from DMZ to Minnesota

Adorning her neck is a silver necklace carved with Korean characters spelling out "Sun-ja," the name she was given at birth in Korea.

Born in a small village near the demilitarized zone (DMZ) in 1956, following the Korean War of 1950-53, to a Korean mother and an American soldier father, Tomlinson was adopted at the age of two by another American serviceman. This soldier, stationed in Korea during his tour of duty, later took her to his home in Minnesota.

"When I was a little girl, he talked to me about being in the orphanage and then coming back to America with him. His military base was not far from the orphanage and he and the guys would visit the orphanage, bringing candies for the kids and donating money. And then he called my mom and said, 'I'm going to bring one home with me,'" she said.

"So just before we went to America, I actually stayed with him in the barracks. I did hear from my father that (my biological mother) came back to get me, but I had already been adopted."

Her parents were advised to bring her up as an American, rather than acknowledging her Korean heritage and her Korean identity was ignored and discouraged while growing up. Despite Minnesota's nickname as the "land of 10,000 lakes and 20,000 Korean adoptees," Tomlinson remained unaware of this community until her adulthood, leading to a somewhat isolated childhood.

Half a century later, her journey brought her full circle back to Korea in 2006, when her daughter's Korean dance group made a tour to Korea, and she returned to her country of birth again a few times with the group.

"My father was in the army here and he brought me home to the U.S. The Korea he remembers was very poor, war-torn and poverty-stricken. And I don't think he ever got that image out of his head, so he was very worried about me when I came back. He did not keep up with the times," Tomlinson explained.

During one of her visits, Tomlinson was captivated by bojagi, a form of traditional Korean fabric art, which she spotted in a shop window in Insa-dong, a tourist area in Seoul. This immediate attraction marked the beginning of her passion for bojagi.

"I just thought 'What is that? It's so beautiful.' I've been doing textiles since I was four and sometimes I wonder if my Korean mother and grandmother might have used a needle and thread because the minute my mother put that in my hand, I loved it and I've always done some kind of textiles," she recalled.

"So I bought a piece of tourist bojagi, because what I saw on the window was handmade and not in my budget. I just brought a very small piece and kept staring at it (wondering) 'How did they do this? How is it constructed?'"

Tomlinson is drawn to bojagi for two major reasons. Firstly, she takes great pleasure in the meticulous process of hand-sewing each stitch. The transformation from a seemingly chaotic double seam into something cohesive and beautiful after a second row of stitching is like magic for her.

Secondly, her connection to bojagi is deeply personal. It represents her continuous search for her biological mother, whom she refers to as "omma," a Korean word for mother. Her adoption made her question her identity from a young age as she did not physically resemble her adoptive parents. Bojagi, in a way, signifies her unceasing quest to understand her roots and establish a bond with her Korean heritage.

In 2009, Tomlinson appeared in the television show "I Miss That Person" with high hopes for locating her mother Kang Kyung-ja.

"My father had the pictures of me and my omma together and sent them to me the day before I went on TV, so they could be shown on TV. (I thought) maybe somebody would recognize her or me, hopefully, but I didn't find her. I must admit, I really got my hopes up and I was just so sure I would find her and I didn't. And I was pretty heartbroken," she said.

As a means to cope and move forward, she decided to channel her energy into creating bojagi.

"For me, instead of touching my mother, my omma, I touch the bojagi. So I believe that perhaps my mother and grandmother must have worked in sewing because I just love it so much. It has to come from someplace. Children take after their parents and it's just so much a part of who I am."

Dawn Tomlinson, a Korean adoptee bojagi artist, poses with "Made in Korea," her interpretation of bojagi using scrap fabrics at The Korea Times headquarters in central Seoul, Wednesday. She wears a necklace bearing her Korean name "Sun-ja." Korea Times photo by Shim Hyun-chul

Stitching life together

At the 2023 Bojagi Forum, Tomlinson presents her "Made in Korea" series, a group work with the members of the Minnesota Textile Group and some beadworks, another artistic outlet for her.

Textile artist Chunghie Lee, who organizes the forum, seeks fresh perspectives, keen to uncover how each artist can contribute to and evolve the craft.

"I do love making traditional bojagi and I've had some pieces in exhibitions in Minnesota because people there don't quite know what it is," Tomlinson said.

"Chunghie wanted pieces that spoke more to the inspiration behind the bojagi. For instance, I had (fabric) pieces that I had collected as leftovers and because the bojagi is by definition leftover, I did an interpretation. This is part of my 'Made in Korea' series, because I was made in Korea."

She ventured to the market asking for scraps of fabric people had to spare and gathered the pieces of unused, unfinished or ill-fitting parts that didn't align with her initial visions and incorporated these scraps into her bojagi art.

"Chunghie is very open to the idea of different interpretations of bojagi as leftovers put together. Things maybe weren't intentional in the beginning, but for instance, when I finish a project and then I would collect the fabric pieces left on my mat and pretty soon I had a lot to create a new bojagi."

The group textile project began with confusion from the members in Minnesota who were not used to the concept of bojagi, as it did not have a set pattern but allowed each member to freely express creativity with the only requirement being the use of a specific stitch.

"At first they didn't understand the concept of this seam, and then when they came back a couple of weeks later, they said it was in fact pretty fun and interesting. I'm always excited to help people understand what (bojagi) is because they appreciate the job even more if they know how it is put together," she explained.

Tomlinson recalled grappling with deep-seated emotions during the first year of her return to Korea, but over time, she said found a sense of freedom.

"I think at one point you start realizing that it's just human nature. Something that we feel so deeply means you have very deep sorrow or grief about what happened or didn't happen," she said.

"So for me, bojagi and finding other people who love bojagi and do bojagi is very very deep. It's rewarding and it's an accomplishment. So, I think what I really want is to be recognized not as just a bojagi artist, but as a Korean bojagi artist."