It’s a strange thing—

the harder I search for something, the more it seems to hide.

And stranger still—sometimes, after all that searching, I forget what it was I was looking for in the first place.

​

My mind became cluttered with constant stimulation.I wander.

Stimulation isn’t bad— but I felt as though I was being carried away by it.

Endless desire made me breathless.And being breathless is exhausting.

It was not the life I wanted.

​

So I began asking myself, “What am I really looking at?”

Inside, a quiet voice.

“Simplify.”

“Let time slow down.”

 

I remembered the days when all I needed was paper, pencil, and eraser.Maybe I am romanticizing the past—

but I don’t think it was ever truly black and white.Black and white, after all, can sometimes hold more colors than color itself.

 

So I chose to turn inward—toward my own heart flow—with just those three simple tools: paper, pencil, eraser.

 

These drawings are not so much about arriving at answers,but about witnessing the process of asking.

Many times, I couldn’t draw anything at all.Sitting before the paper,I felt like a mushroom appearing in the rainy season—

sprouting, fading, sprouting again.

It was dark.

There were long stretches when I couldn’t touch the work. But little by little, I learned to step away from my old habit, from the urge to just do.

 

With a beginner’s mind, my breathing slowed.Drawing itself carried me into that stillness.

That alone felt like enough.

 

This process was full of rejection—but also, here and there, a very small understanding.

 

Each of us has a unique starting point.

For some, it might look like a flower blooming in the heart,

for others, a hidden root, or even a rough, weighty stone.

Through this quiet looking inward, perhaps we each discover a personal landscape—one we didn’t even know existed.

 

— A Letter to Those Visiting the “Flowers of the Heart” Solo Exhibition