Like many others of my generation, I grew up within the traditions of Korean consciousness. Yet, in the cultural vacuum that followed the Korean War, I came to absorb Western culture through an education that offered little more than a superficial introduction to Western ideas rather than a proper understanding of them.
 
Against the historical backdrop of an era in which Eastern art was evaluated according to the standards of Western aesthetics, I was educated to believe that Western theories of visual art constituted the entirety of artistic knowledge. It was only upon reaching the age of forty that I realized I had become a Korean artist shaped by such deeply ingrained prejudices.
 
Beginning in the early 1990s, I traveled frequently to New York for exhibitions. As I began spending time in a foreign country, I found myself confronting questions of identity that anyone living abroad inevitably encounters. For a considerable period, I struggled with myself, enduring painful questions and searching for answers.
 
While teaching at universities and engaging with the local art community, I was repeatedly confronted with a subtly derisive demand: “What can you show us precisely because you are Korean?” This made an already difficult period even more challenging. What, indeed, distinguished me from them? In an increasingly globalized world, the question became all the more perplexing.
 
To define my own identity, I first sought to dismantle the distinctions between East and West that had already taken root within me. I relinquished all the knowledge I had acquired and every skill I had considered useful. I wanted to return to being simply a human being, listening only to the voice that arose from the deepest and most earnest longings within me. For an extended period, I withdrew into seclusion by the sea. It was, in a sense, a spiritual death that transcended time and space.
 
After emptying myself of everything, I became grateful for the clarity and tranquility that gradually emerged within me, and I felt the desire to begin creating new work.
 
The quiet breathing of the sea, which at daybreak seemed almost like the sound of the Earth turning on its axis; the radiant sunlight that appeared determined to leave no shadow anywhere in my mind or heart; the drama of the sky, seemingly identical each day yet never once the same; and the birdsong, imbued with the spirit of a poet whose melodies moved between this world and the next.
 
Flowers blossoming as though every moment were a blessing; grasses and wildflowers that, indifferent to whether anyone called them by name, simply danced with the wind; and all those humble living beings from which I learned how to be born anew.
I came to realize that no greater place of learning could exist. I made these beings, dwelling in effortless harmony with nature, my teachers, asking them questions and listening for their answers.
 
As all desires and intentions receded, I would sit in the clear atmosphere and contemplate nature, feeling as though my entire being were dissolving into the surrounding air. I wanted to express this sensation and to give form to the energy, or qi, that I experienced. It was then that wood grain seemed to approach me, beckoning and capturing my attention. The patterns on thin wooden panels, cut across the annual rings of trees, were extraordinary materials: traces of energy absorbed from heaven and earth and condensed over decades, even centuries.
 
Each species of tree possesses its own grain, form, and character, just as human lives unfold in countless different ways, each carrying its own story. I wished to imbue these naturally formed patterns with the story of my own life, aspiring to live without resisting the subtle order of nature. I incorporated mirrors as metaphors for the human mind and developed various forms through which to express my communion with nature. I also frequently used softly shimmering pearlescent colors in an effort to capture the luminous beauty of the natural world.
 
I began cutting and assembling elements of my works, incorporating mirrors so that they would appear different depending on the viewer's position. By combining these elements with mirrors, I sought to bring together the changes produced by time and space, creating visual effects through which surreal spaces might unfold beyond ordinary dimensions of perception. I wanted to convey that nature, as we experience it, is neither merely ordinary nor simply a repetition of the familiar. When we approach it with calm breathing and a contemplative mind, nature reveals inexhaustible teachings and stories that purify our awareness. Ultimately, I wished only to leave a message of gratitude for how profoundly blessed we are to live as beings sharing life on this Earth.