It's pouring as if sky has a hole, and my heart was crying, too.
The cyan-green longings spread out to that summer
The morning breeze touched my cheek. It was early in the morning before I could fall asleep
The sound of the whistle of the train always frightened me.
Each of my moments is vanishing like yellow light fading away over the ridge.
I feel. And, I write what I feel.
Merely write when I feel :
I miss my high school friends who became mothers, but cannot be reached now.
My heart was beating by overhearing about my sister’s love affair on the hill.
I wanted to hug my exhausted shoulder caused by a beloved male teacher leaving.
I recalled my keenly cyan-green longings for the past.
My churning mind runs away into faint foggy air.
I wanted to hear my mother operating a sewing machine.
Garden Zinnia became bloody dark red due to a full moon.
Rain shower shake my turbulent heart.
I needed courage from a fear of life.
The utmost sincerity is feeling something exactly as it is.
Feeling is soul language. Soul language is feeling.
But, writing limits my soul language from deep inside.
A soul language that cannot be inspired by limited heart.
Now, I reveal these inspired feelings visually.
And I call those “soul essays”.
They are my visual essays.
Some reflected my deep spirit with heart beating ; others were recorded showing my broken heart with grief, and the excitement of longing.
That is, my images are not a mirror nor merely a form of artistic expression.
Rather, these images represent the consolation, inspiration and rediscovery of my past, present and future. These visual essays are all-encompassing portrayals of my state of mind and heart.