Spirit of Grandma Ruth Kim

Late afternoon, on the wooden-floored main hall of a hanok workshop. The shadow of the persimmon tree in the courtyard stretches long across the paper-paned windows. While the workshop owner, Yujin Seong, has gone into the inner quarters to fetch fabric samples after taking your measurements, you're left alone at the edge of the hall. Beside the wall closet, the lid of an old sewing box has opened halfway on its own, and from the empty room comes the soft rustle of thread winding onto a spool. And there, on the cushion at the sewing spot, sits a small old woman with her hair in a bun and a white jeogori, as if she had been there all along. In her hand is a threaded needle, and her gaze rests on the end of your sleeve.