When teaching art, there are moments that go beyond technique or skill. The most meaningful moments happen when children begin to interpret the world in their own unique way. Today, I would like to share two very different yet equally thoughtful works by Wesley and Albert.

First, Wesley’s piece.

Wesley explored the theme of peace through a mixed-media acrylic work. Using cut paper plates, he constructed large, expressive wings and attached them to the canvas to form a bird. This approach moves beyond flat painting into a more sculptural way of thinking.

Against the deep blue background, the white bird stands out clearly, almost glowing. Around it, we see simple yet meaningful symbols of peace and childlike markings that feel honest and spontaneous. The form may not be perfectly refined, but that is exactly where the strength of the piece lies. The wide-open wings naturally convey a sense of hope, freedom, and uplift.

Next, Albert’s painting.

Albert created a landscape where the ocean and a distant city coexist. The warm orange sky contrasts beautifully with the calm blue water, creating a strong sense of atmosphere and depth.

In the foreground, dolphins and whales move through the water with energy and life. In the distance, the city skyline appears almost dreamlike, as if it belongs to an imagined future. The way Albert handled the movement of water and reflections shows a thoughtful use of acrylic paint.

What is especially compelling in this piece is the coexistence of nature and human presence. The free movement of marine life contrasts gently with the structured forms of the city, creating a quiet but meaningful dialogue within the painting.

Although these two works began from very different ideas, they share something essential: a sincere and warm perspective on the world. One speaks about peace, the other about nature and environment. Each student chose their own way to express these ideas, resulting in deeply personal works.

Children’s art is not about finding the “right answer.” It is about asking questions and exploring possibilities. Within these small canvases, we can see thoughts and emotions that are often overlooked.
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I look forward to seeing how these young artists continue to grow and express their vision in the future.

I still remember the initial shock and excitement I felt when I first used ChatGPT. It has since become a vital tool that helps me manage my time with incredible efficiency. However, when AI first entered the scene—showcasing its ability to generate stunning images—my reaction wasn't entirely welcoming. I believe many shared this sentiment.

The Artist’s Struggle with Automation

As a creator, I found myself rapidly losing interest in digital art. It was disheartening to see AI instantaneously produce high-quality images that surpassed works humans spent years mastering techniques to create. For those in the digital art industry, the fear is real. I sincerely hope these tools remain instruments that make life more convenient, rather than weapons that devalue human labor and displace jobs.

Yet, the world is changing at a breakneck pace. There is no denying the convenience AI brings. We are approaching a day when everything made by human hands might be labeled "imperfect" or "inefficient." As an artist, this reality forces me to reflect deeply on how I should approach my work in the future.

AI as a Personal Assistant

Despite the existential questions it raises, AI excels at resolving life's friction points. It is exceptional at drafting, summarizing, and organizing documents. In a business context, receiving help to write formal documents and clarify communication is a massive advantage. I also use it to identify scams, manage budgets, and plan projects.

When I’m overwhelmed, AI helps me simplify my thoughts and provides clear solutions. Because of this value, I transitioned from the free version to a paid subscription. Using the paid version feels like having a dedicated professional secretary; while the free version is a great trial, the "sincerity" and depth of the paid service are much more apparent.

Gemini vs. ChatGPT: A Friendly Comparison

Through my experience, I’ve noticed distinct differences between Gemini and ChatGPT. To me, Gemini feels much more approachable. If ChatGPT is like a formal receptionist in a towering corporate building, Gemini is like a kind neighbor or a friend who answers your questions with genuine care.

While ChatGPT can sometimes be overly wordy—requiring me to frequently ask it to be "short and clear"—Gemini tends to provide exactly what is needed, which significantly reduces mental fatigue. Furthermore, I've found Gemini’s error rate to be lower. ChatGPT often changes its stance or information mid-conversation, making it difficult to trust completely.

Why the Creative Spark Remains Human

Ultimately, these AI tools are mere supporters. The key is to choose the one that fits your taste and use it wisely. As an artist, I do not believe AI will replace me anytime soon. After using these tools for a long time, I began to feel a certain "boredom" with their output.

"True creation knows no boredom. It is fresh, exciting, different, and rhythmic every single day."
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I don’t believe AI can replicate that joyful, creative energy day after day. In fact, as AI-generated images become more common, I suspect there will be a growing preference for art that is "home-cooked," warm, new, and deep—the kind of beauty that only a human spirit can manifest.

​When encountering the works of David Hockney, the concept of "landscape"—as we have long understood it—begins to subtly waver. While familiar subjects such as trees, paths, and forests remain intact, the colors, rhythms, and spatial dimensions contained within them resonate with us in an entirely different manner. Rather than merely reproducing nature exactly as it appears, Hockney reconstructs it through the lens of his own sensations and perspective. Consequently, his forests appear more vivid and warmer than reality, at times unfolding like a dreamscape.

Hockney’s works often evoke comparisons to those of Van Gogh. While they share similarities in their intense use of color and deep affection for nature, Hockney’s canvases possess a far simpler and more lucid structure. Trees repeat like patterns, while paths cut across the composition, generating a distinct rhythm. This compositional approach transcends the creation of mere aesthetically pleasing images; instead, it compels us to reconsider the very way in which we perceive space.

Furthermore, Hockney does not confine himself to traditional painting; he actively embraces digital media, such as iPad drawing. By observing nature—swiftly capturing the light and atmosphere of a fleeting moment—he is forging a new genre of landscape art for the modern era. Ultimately, his body of work leads to a single, overarching question: Are we truly seeing the world as it is? Hockney’s paintings quietly pose this inquiry, prompting us to rediscover the beauty that we may have overlooked amidst the familiarity of our daily lives.

​Thus, we find ourselves confronted with this question: In an era where technology is becoming increasingly sophisticated—and where artificial intelligence can generate images faster and more flawlessly than ever before—does human painting still hold any significance?

David Hockney’s work offers a clear direction in response to this inquiry. Even at the age of eighty-plus, he embraced a new tool—the iPad—and fundamentally transformed a significant portion of his artistic practice. While the tools may have changed, his perspective and the questions he asks remain unaltered. The forests and paths he depicts are not merely simple images; rather, they are the layered accumulation of the time, atmosphere, and lived experiences he perceived in that very moment.

In fact, from a purely technical standpoint, his paintings could conceivably be replicated by artificial intelligence—perhaps even rendered with greater precision. However, the true distinction lies not in the result, but in the process. While artificial intelligence *generates* images based on vast datasets, humans *experience* images through the lens of their own lives and express them based on those lived experiences.

This is precisely what makes Hockney’s paintings so extraordinary. He does not merely replicate nature; instead, he poses the question—"What am I seeing right now?"—every single day, and unravels his answer through his art. This inquiry is not a one-time event; rather, it resembles a form of daily meditation—a question that is renewed and repeated anew each day.

Artificial intelligence can produce images that closely approximate the "correct" answer, yet it cannot formulate questions of its own accord. Human painting, conversely—however imperfect it may be—contains within it questions, traces of the artist, and the living passage of time. Consequently, we find ourselves resonating more deeply with a painting not because of how "well" it was executed, but because of *what* the artist observed and *how* they felt.

Ultimately, the enduring significance of human painting stems not from its technical perfection, but from the perspective and questions embedded within it. And it is precisely for this reason that we continue to pause before human paintings—to gaze upon them, and to reflect.

The most radiant moment in painting emerges from a powerful contrast with darkness. Simply placing bright colors on a canvas does not make them truly shine; they remain merely bright, nothing more. To truly captivate the viewer’s heart, a painting must glow like sunlight, sometimes like a jewel—no, even more brilliantly than that. This is an incredibly difficult pursuit.

Conveying this sense of brilliance and temperature—this inner warmth or coolness—always feels like an ongoing challenge. At some point, I stopped painting directly from photographs. Instead, I began to explore the images that arise in my mind, along with the emotional temperature they carry. Those paintings, without exception, found their way to others—they were sold. It felt as though there were people, somewhere, who understood this same temperature that I feel.

That is why the act of painting remains mysterious, careful, and deeply truthful. Each day, as I stand before the canvas, I feel like someone praying quietly in front of a chapel. I study the light, and I listen for its temperature. This process brings me a profound sense of fulfillment and joy.
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And this work does not stop.
I may walk slowly, but I will keep moving forward.

These two student artworks, inspired by marine life, offer a beautiful contrast in how the same ocean can be imagined and expressed in completely different ways. Audria’s dolphin and Elbert’s whale, created with acrylic and watercolor respectively, reveal not only technical differences but also each child’s unique way of seeing and feeling the world.

Audria’s dolphin painting radiates a sense of joy and lightness. The composition is simple yet clear, with clean shapes and thoughtfully chosen colors. The dolphin leaps playfully above the waves, capturing a moment full of energy and freedom. The use of acrylic paint enhances this effect—its solid, vibrant quality keeps each color crisp and well-defined. Small details, like the soft clouds, the bright sun, and the splashing water, add warmth and a sense of happiness to the scene. This artwork expresses a pure and cheerful vision of the ocean, where imagination feels open and limitless.

In contrast, Elbert’s whale painting carries a deeper and more contemplative mood. Using watercolor, he creates a soft, flowing atmosphere where colors blend gently into one another. The background feels like light filtering through water, as if we are looking up from beneath the ocean’s surface. The whale itself is not just a simple form—it is built through layered textures, lines, and patterns that give it weight and presence. The fluidity of watercolor allows the image to feel alive, almost breathing within the surrounding space. This piece evokes a quiet sense of wonder and depth, turning the whale into something symbolic and profound.

When viewed together, these two works highlight the power of imagination. Starting from the same theme—the ocean—each student arrives at a completely different emotional and visual interpretation. One sees the sea as bright, playful, and full of movement; the other experiences it as vast, mysterious, and reflective. These differences are not about skill alone, but about perspective, emotion, and the individual ways children understand the world.

The ability to draw what one imagines is truly a precious gift. In art, there is no single correct answer—only choices, explorations, and discoveries. Through selecting colors, shaping forms, and building their own visual language, students develop not only artistic skills but also independent thinking and creative confidence.
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Audria and Elbert’s artworks beautifully demonstrate this idea. Their paintings remind us that while the ocean may be one, the ways we see and interpret it are infinite—and that diversity of vision is what makes art so meaningful.

When spring arrives, colorful flowers begin to bloom across the once-frozen earth. Among them, cherry trees—bursting into blossoms like radiant popcorn, as if filled with light—draw the gaze of anyone who passes by. As the season changes, our once-hunched shoulders begin to relax, and our eyes naturally wander outward. The warm sunlight and gentle breeze feel like quiet proof of hope during a time that once seemed endlessly frozen.

This spring, I had the joy of selling my painting A Brilliant Afternoon at an exhibition themed “A conversation with Nature.” The piece reflects a longing for the happiness of spring and the quiet brilliance of light itself. One day, I closed my eyes and found myself in a vision: soft light filtering through a grove of birch trees, and within that peaceful space, a family of deer quietly drinking water. I wanted to capture this serene, luminous moment in watercolor.

Watercolor feels like the most fitting medium to express such dreamlike hope. Its softness, transparency, unpredictability, and gentle diffusion allow me to paint with a sense of quiet emotion. While I paint, I must focus deeply so that the fleeting image in my mind does not disappear. And when the painting is complete, I reflect—little by little—on whether the image I saw and the image on paper truly align.

As I grow older, I feel an increasing sense of gratitude for these moments of inspiration. To receive images and impressions like this feels like one of my greatest gifts. The ability to imagine and to translate that imagination into painting is a profound blessing. It has always been the ultimate purpose of my art—to paint dreams.

This past year, I experienced deep loss. I lost my mother, and earlier this year, I also lost my beloved guinea pig, Squash. Grief can feel like a cold winter that might never end—heavy, dark, and filled with tears. But nature gently reminds us otherwise. It plants seeds of hope even in the midst of sorrow.
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Because of this, my paintings will become even more radiant—brighter, more luminous, and filled with beauty. This year, I want to focus on that brilliance, on the quiet beauty of life itself. And I wonder—what dreamlike images will I be given to paint next?