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Saturday, January 27, 2018
쓰잘데없는 생각이 자꾸
Friday, January 26, 2018
A useless thought
Saturday, January 13, 2018
울 코트
매서운 날씨에 차 밖으로 나갈 엄두가 나지 않았다. 웅크리고 앉아 백미러를 들여다보며 두리번거렸다. 영구차 손님 석에 훤칠하고 잘 생긴 선배님이 회색 울 코트를 입고 엷은 미소를 띄고 있었다. 주변에 모인 조객들도 야릇한 미소로 답례했다. 누군가는 ‘어 웃어!’ 하는 분도 있었다. 남자들은 마누라가 죽으면 화장실에 가서 웃는다고 했던가!
모양은 둘째치고 따듯한 옷을 입고 나가는 뒷모습을 보니 김장 끝내고 월동 준비하고 난 듯 마음이 편안하다.
Friday, January 12, 2018
A wool coat
Saturday, December 30, 2017
챈들러 방식
Friday, December 29, 2017
Chandler method
I had stir-fried anchovies and pickled cucumbers left over from my husband's lunchbox. It hasn't even been that long since I ate them with rice, but I'm already hungry again. So I grabbed a slice of bread, laid some cheese on top, added apple and avocado, and stuffed it into my mouth. A big cup of tea, too. Now full, I lay on the rug and stared at the ceiling, wondering what I should paint today. Yesterday, I finished a piece called "Trace."
"Trace," how funny. It sounds like the title of a teenage girl's diary, but still—I just wanted to name it that.
What is a trace, really? A memory that's passed, time that stayed for a while, a mark left behind. I scratched at the canvas with white paint. It would probably show better on a darker background. But maybe it doesn’t have to be clear. Traces are meant to fade anyway.
While I was planning my next piece, I suddenly remembered the gas bill, electricity, phone, credit card, insurance, and my mother-in-law’s funeral plan payments. I put down my brush. After organizing the bills, the sun had already set. It was time for my husband to come home. I quickly got to chopping. I can slice pickled cucumbers with perfect spacing so easily—so why can’t I do the same with my painting? I scold myself like the mother of the famous calligrapher Han Seok-bong scolding her son: “You can chop rice cake just fine, but why not your art?”
I try to comfort myself—“It’s because daily life always follows me like a shadow.” But honestly, how long am I going to keep making excuses?
I remembered something I read in an essay by Haruki Murakami—the “Chandler method.”
“First,” Chandler says, “choose a desk. Set it up with manuscript paper, a fountain pen, and any materials you need. Be ready to work at any time. Then, every day, spend a set amount of time—say two hours—at that desk.
If you can write during those two hours, great. But writing doesn’t always come easily. Some days you won’t write a single line. Some days you’ll want to write but can’t, and it’ll frustrate you. Other days, you just won’t feel like writing at all. Or maybe you’ll feel that, deep down, today just isn’t a day for writing.
So what should you do? Even if you don’t write a word, Chandler says: stay at the desk. Just sit there. You don’t have to do anything, but you’re not allowed to distract yourself—no reading, no magazines, no music. Just be ready to write. Eventually, the cycle will come back around. You’ll write again. No good comes from getting anxious and doing pointless things.”
Murakami said, “I kind of like that method.”
Yeah, maybe I should try the Chandler method for my own work, too.… But first, I need to make dinner.
Starting next year, for real this time. I just hope it doesn’t end in three days like all my other resolutions…



