On December 20, 2025, I had the opening of my solo exhibition at Riverside Gallery in Riverside SQ Mall in Hackensack, New Jersey.
Sixty-six artworks, which had been kept inside my studio without fresh air or light, were now under the gallery lights. They looked bright and happy, as if they were enjoying the moment.
I have kept the same body weight since high school. I still keep a few clothes from more than forty years ago. I feel sorry for clothes that stay in the closet for a long time, so once or twice a year, I take them out. I let them feel the wind and the sunlight.
In the same way, I try to show my artworks the outside world through exhibitions.
I do not like buying things, but once I own something, I feel a human-like connection to it. I often talk to my things quietly.
“I’m sorry for keeping you in a dark closet.”
“I’m sorry, my artworks, for keeping you trapped in the studio.”
I even called my old red car my “good daughter.” Before driving, I used to say,
“Good daughter, let’s drive safely today and come home without trouble.”
After 11 years without a single accident, I gave up that well-behaved car and bought a new BMW out of desire. At the dealer’s parking lot, I saw my red car looking at me, as if asking why I was leaving her behind. As she disappeared from sight, I cried.
“I’m sorry for leaving you here alone and going to live well by myself.”
A college friend I met in Seoul once said she took her car to the junkyard and left a bouquet of flowers there before coming to see me. Maybe her gentle heart touched mine.
I called the BMW my “good son.” I said,
“You will drive safely, right? I trust you.”
The BMW felt strong and reliable. It ran well until 40,000 miles. But as soon as the warranty ended, it broke down on the highway. Every repair cost a lot of money. Facing this ungrateful son every day became painful. I sold it without regret.
When the exhibition ends, what will happen to my artworks? If no one takes them home with love, they will return to the dark studio again. As I looked at my artworks shining brightly in the gallery, many emotions passed through my heart.
Thankfully, some close friends said they liked my work and wanted to buy it. I asked the gallery owner to lower the prices. I hoped the artworks would hang in warm homes, bringing comfort and joy.
Even if I lower the price of a good artwork, the world will not fall apart. It is better for my paintings to be loved by someone who truly cares.
This feeling is like a parent sending a beloved child far away, hoping the child will stand on their own, shine brightly, and live happily.
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