This Easter Sunday began with a gentle breeze and the warmth of spring sunshine.
After attending a beautiful resurrection mass, we joined an egg hunt in the courtyard behind the church—a joyful tradition that never fails to delight.
Easter egg hunting is a beloved activity where children search for colorful plastic eggs filled with candy or small treasures.
The egg has long been a symbol of new life and renewal, making it the perfect expression of the Easter message.
Today, as little feet ran through the grass and cheerful laughter filled the air, it truly felt like spring had arrived—in both the season and the heart.

After the morning festivities, I made a quiet visit to a nearby bookstore.
I’m currently working on a new children’s picture book, and I wanted to explore fresh ideas and study how others tell stories through words and images.
Flipping through pages, I took time to notice the rhythm of the text, the layout, the illustration styles, and how stories were structured to captivate and comfort.
It reminded me once again that making a picture book is not only about creating—it’s about deeply listening to the child’s heart.
Moments like these—simple, slow, intentional—feed my creative spirit more than anything.

Today felt like a quiet beginning.
A celebration of hope, playfulness, and the determination to keep creating.
With Easter’s message of new life still ringing in my mind,
I return to my worktable ready to build something beautiful,
and to share something meaningful—with joy, love, and light.

What is it?
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“I Am Texas” is a student art competition that invites young artists to explore and express what Texas means to them. Through drawing, painting, and mixed media, students create original 2D artwork based on personal connections, cultural symbols, and historical inspirations related to Texas.

Themes students can explore:
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• Texas landscapes and wildlife
• History and heritage (e.g., independence, symbols, architecture)
• Daily life in Texas or Texas-inspired imagination
• Personal or family connection to the state
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Why it matters:
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The contest not only celebrates art but also encourages students to explore Texas history and culture in a personal, meaningful way.
For out-of-state students, it becomes a valuable educational and creative experience to learn about another region of the U.S.

Learning Texas Through Art – Our Journey with the “I Am Texas” Contest

This year, I had the joy of preparing for a very special art contest with my students: the “I Am Texas” Art Contest.

Originally created for students living in Texas, this contest celebrates the history, culture, and spirit of the Lone Star State through student artwork.
But what made it even more meaningful for us is that the organizers graciously opened submissions to students from other states too.
Even though we are based in New York, many of our students have a genuine love and fascination for Texas—its landscapes, symbols, animals, and stories.

I personally hope a New York version of this contest will one day exist.

Until then, preparing for “I Am Texas” gave us an amazing opportunity to experience another state’s history and culture in a hands-on, imaginative way.

More Than a Contest – A Creative Classroom Adventure

While working on their artwork, students didn’t just draw—they asked questions, researched, read, and shared stories.

One student painted the Texas Declaration of Independence as an aged document filled with hidden history.

Another imagined a breakfast table full of Texas flavors—eggs, bacon, and grapefruit, alongside the state flag and local flowers.
Others illustrated Texas longhorns, cowboy boots, bluebonnets, desert plants, oil pumps, and even famous Texas sayings like “Howdy, y’all!”
Through art, students connected visuals with ideas. Each element they chose led them to learn more about Texas—from why the bluebonnet is the state flower to what armadillos represent.
Art became a bridge--connecting curiosity to discovery, creativity to knowledge.

A Heartfelt Thank You to the Organizers

We are especially grateful to the contest organizers for allowing out-of-state submissions.
That one simple “yes” created such a meaningful experience for us.
It reminded us that what matters most in education isn't always the rules or borders—it’s the passion to learn and the courage to express.
So thank you. Your open-mindedness gave our students the chance to tell their version of what “I Am Texas” means—and that’s a gift they won’t forget.

Why Art Contests Matter So Much

Every time I help students prepare for an art contest, I’m reminded that art isn’t just about “how well you draw.”
Art is how children explore who they are.
It’s how they imagine the world, how they ask questions, and how they try to understand the past and present.
“I Am Texas” wasn’t just a theme. It was a way for students to say,
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“This is what I see. This is what I love. This is how I connect.”

Whether we live in Texas, New York, or anywhere in between, we all have something to learn from one another.
Art is one of the best ways to begin.

When I first arrived in this quiet suburban neighborhood in the U.S., what touched me most wasn’t anything grand or cinematic—it was the wild rabbits.
They hop freely through front yards and back gardens, as if they’re part of the neighborhood.
These rabbits are nothing like the white, fluffy ones from fairy tales. American rabbits have shorter ears, slender bodies, and a warm brown hue. At first glance, they seem plain. But when I see them leaping across lawns in the early morning light, I can’t help but feel a sense of calm and healing.
In spring, the rabbits return, squirrels dash through the trees, and the air fills with birdsong. I think I’ve always longed for this season—without realizing just how much.

Spring That Stirs Old Memories

This year, spring reminds me of a very different time: the spring of 1997 in Korea.
That was the year of the Asian financial crisis, known to us simply as IMF.

Suddenly, companies collapsed, jobs disappeared, and families faced unprecedented uncertainty. I still remember how adults wore strained expressions. There were fewer smiles, less ease, more worry.
Although Korea gradually recovered in the years that followed, the panic of that time has never fully left my memory.
And perhaps I think of it now because the global economy feels unstable again—like a boat tossed in a storm.
What if such hardship returns?
Will we be able to hold on again?
What about the people around me—my neighbors, fellow artists, families just trying to get by?

Can Art Survive Uncertainty?In times of crisis, art is often viewed as non-essential.

When wallets tighten, creative expression is the first to be cut.
As an artist, I ask myself: How can we survive with art when survival itself is in question?
This spring, I’m preparing for another outdoor art show.
These shows have always been precious to me—opportunities to connect with art lovers, observe market trends, and grow as a professional.
But honestly, I feel nervous. Will people still stop and look at paintings when their minds are heavy with inflation, layoffs, and uncertainty?
Still, I believe in the power of art.

Throughout history, art has persisted—through wars, pandemics, and economic crashes.

Van Gogh painted sunflowers from a hospital bed.
During lockdowns, people sang from balconies.
Art isn’t just a luxury.
It is a language of the soul. A balm for the wounded. A spark in the dark.

This Easter, May We Be Reborn with Hope

Easter isn’t just about colorful eggs or festive meals.
It is the celebration of life that rises again.
Of light that returns after darkness.
Of resurrection and renewal.

This Easter, I hope that healing will come not just to bodies, but to economies, to communities, and to hearts.

I hope that the cold weight of uncertainty begins to thaw,
That joy finds its way back into our lives,
And that people everywhere can breathe a little easier.
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Above all, I hope that art continues to remind us of who we are—even in the hardest of times.
Happy Easter.
May this season be the beginning of genuine restoration.

Today was one of those rare spring days when the sunlight feels especially gentle.
I visited a local church with my child to attend an Easter egg hunting event, and what started as a simple outing turned into a surprisingly moving experience.
Easter egg hunts are a joyful tradition that symbolize new life and hope. Children search for colorful eggs—sometimes filled with candy or small toys, sometimes beautifully decorated—scattered across a field or garden. It’s lighthearted and fun, but it also carries a quiet message of renewal.
What left the strongest impression today wasn’t just the excited laughter of children or the cheerful decorations. It was the spirit of the people who made this event happen.

​The Face Painting Volunteer Who Made Magic Happen

One moment I’ll remember for a long time is meeting the volunteer at the face painting booth.
Rather than sticking to a few pre-drawn samples, she responded to each child’s request with creativity and kindness.
Even when asked to draw something unexpected, she didn’t hesitate—she simply smiled and made it happen.
Seeing her bring flowers and rainbows to life on each child’s face, watching their eyes light up with joy—it reminded me how meaningful small acts can be. Her paintbrush carried more than just color; it carried care, attention, and a sense of being seen.

Gratitude in an Uncertain Time

These days, it’s easy to feel weighed down.
With the economy under strain, consumer confidence low, and the world feeling politically and socially unstable, many of us are simply trying to get through the day.
That’s why events like this feel even more valuable.
In the midst of uncertainty, a small community gathering becomes a symbol of hope.
The volunteers who put in the time and effort, the parents who showed up with patience and smiles, the organizers who quietly worked behind the scenes—all of them made something beautiful happen.
I’m deeply grateful to have been there. It reminded me that community is not something that just exists—it’s something people choose to build.

Choosing to Build Something

wasn’t just about eggs or games or balloons.
It was about remembering that we can be part of creating beauty and warmth, even in difficult times.
I want to be someone who contributes to a community like this.
Someone who helps it grow with care, creativity, and compassion.
And maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll be the person who paints a child’s face and reminds them that magic is real.

At the edge of the day,
the sun quietly slips behind the horizon,
leaving a golden trail across the sea.
As I watch the light fade,
it feels as if the world is gently whispering,
"Whatever kind of day you had… it's okay now."
There are days when life feels dry and unkind.
Sometimes it's the world that feels distant,
and sometimes it's your own heart that feels like cracked soil.
But still…
just like this peaceful view,
the world, too, can become breathtakingly beautiful in an unexpected moment.
Like watercolor bleeding gently across paper--
blending, fading, then shining again.
That’s the kind of world I hope for.
Not perfect, not always smooth,
but when you step back and take it all in,
a life that is warm and whole--
like a painting made up of small, imperfect strokes.

Even if the world feels rough sometimes,
may our days still come together
like one quiet, beautiful masterpiece.