Walking a Little More SlowlyThese days, I am walking a little more slowly.
The snail has always been my motif, and sometimes I wonder what it means to move even slower than that.
When someone leaves this world, many thoughts follow.
There is a natural period of mourning.
While we are alive, we create many scenes together.
We love, misunderstand, resent, forgive, help, and hurt one another.
But when the physical presence is gone, those scenes no longer continue.
What remains is a story.
It is difficult to say whether that story is tragic or beautiful.
Human life is rarely entirely one or the other.
It feels more like a record, or a documentary of events that unfolded as they did.
Certain things happened.
Within them, we felt sorrow and misunderstanding.
And despite everything, there was also love.
Someone leaves.
Someone remains.
Those who remain continue their days.
That seems to be the structure of life.
During this time, I have been thinking about what my blog means to me.
My mother did not particularly value my writing.
She believed that artistic work lacked practical meaning.
To her, creating and sharing stories seemed close to daydreaming.
Until I became independent, I could not freely pursue writing or painting.
Supporting my family came first.
I have never fully shared this part of my life with my family back home.
It was simply how that period unfolded.
In time, I became independent and, somewhat later than expected, began pursuing my own path again.
I opened a blog and started recording my daily thoughts about art.
There was a period when I focused almost entirely on painting.
I did not follow a specific philosophy.
I simply repeated the work and stayed with it.
Over time, that practice gave me direction.
It helped me form a steadier sense of where I am going.
These days I am moving more slowly.
But I have not stopped.
This slower pace is also part of the path.

On snowy days, life here comes to a complete stop.
Schools close, and the roads are occupied only by snowplows moving steadily back and forth. Once the snow eases, we step outside with shovels to clear our driveways and sidewalks.

When I first came to the United States, I often wondered why houses were so large.
I thought smaller, more compact homes—like apartment living in Korea—might be more efficient.

After several winters, however, I understood the reason.
When it snows, we are confined indoors. We stock up on emergency food and prepare for what feels like a small survival game. Homes need space—enough room to walk around and stay active, and enough people inside to help each other endure long hours of isolation without boredom.

After years of these semi-forced winters indoors, you begin to develop your own strategies.
The question becomes: how can we endure this quiet, restricted time in a way that is enjoyable and meaningful?
This winter, my classes transitioned online, and I have been spending my days teaching students from home and preparing lessons. Even now, snow still blankets the outdoors, and the air remains bitterly cold—but as I focus on building effective lessons, time seems to disappear.

One unexpected advantage of online teaching is the ability to communicate details that are often difficult to show in an in-person classroom. For this reason, I intentionally simplified my materials. I wanted students to be able to follow along easily, using only what they already had at home.

Pencil drawing turned out to be the perfect medium.
With just an A4 sheet of paper, a pencil, an eraser, and a paper towel for blending, anyone can create a compelling drawing. The simplicity of these tools allows students to focus not on materials, but on observation and technique.
Another discovery emerged through these online lessons: they provide an excellent opportunity to teach proportion—the foundation of beauty in visual art. Portrait drawing, in particular, makes this concept clear.

Most people have experienced the frustration of trying to draw a portrait—especially of a famous person—only to find that something feels off. Even when the drawing looks accurate, it somehow lacks the intended likeness. Facial proportion, angles, and the placement of shadows vary subtly from person to person, and those small differences define individuality.

Portrait drawing trains the eye to observe carefully. It is not about copying a face, but about understanding it.
As I prepared my next lesson, I decided to introduce a more challenging concept: proportion. While it is not an easy topic, mastering it dramatically improves the quality of one’s drawings.

For this lesson, I chose Audrey Hepburn as my subject.
I have always enjoyed drawing her face—not because it is conventionally perfect, but because its imperfections create remarkable harmony. Her beauty cannot be reduced to symmetry or ideal ratios. Even modern cosmetic surgery would struggle to replicate the elegance and charm she possessed naturally.
This led me to a new question: how can beginners learn to draw such a face accurately and with confidence?

That question became the foundation of this new lesson.
Rather than simply copying an image, students learn how to analyze proportion and observe relationships within the face—learning how a portrait becomes convincing, not just recognizable.
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I hope this online class becomes a meaningful experience for my students.
Even as snow freezes the world outside, we continue to learn, to draw, and to explore what beauty truly means—quietly, from inside our homes.

Today, a blizzard swept through our area, leaving nearly 14 inches of snow behind. The conditions were so severe that clearing the snow felt nearly impossible without heavy equipment. Considering the roads and overall safety, we decided to move today’s class online.

What stood out to me was how effective the online format turned out to be. Teaching from a calm, controlled environment made it easier to stay focused and to clearly deliver what needed to be communicated. Without the distractions and uncertainties that often come with in-person logistics during extreme weather, the class flowed more steadily and intentionally.

This experience sparked a new idea for me: during the upcoming break, I want to develop multiple formats of online classes. Rather than seeing online instruction merely as a backup plan, I’m beginning to view it as a meaningful and flexible educational option—one that can be especially valuable in times like these.
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As climate change continues to bring more frequent and unpredictable weather events, there will be more days when stepping outside is difficult or unsafe. Education, like many aspects of life, needs to adapt with greater flexibility and care.
To everyone who is struggling with extreme weather or unable to leave their homes today, I sincerely hope you remain safe and well. May we all get through these challenging moments with patience, resilience, and consideration for one another.

We successfully concluded the SchoolNova 2026 Winter Art Show, and only now do I feel calm enough to put this experience into words.
Last year, I went through a deeply personal loss. Preparing for this year’s exhibition in a world where my mother is no longer present was emotionally heavy. There were moments during the preparation when sadness quietly settled in, and the weight of absence felt especially strong.

Yet, paradoxically, having work that needed to be done helped me endure.
Organizing the exhibition, arranging the artwork, hanging each piece on the wall, and carefully placing name labels demanded my full attention. In those moments, my grief stepped aside, even if only temporarily. I found myself standing again as a teacher, an adult, and someone entrusted with responsibility.

As the students’ artworks began to fill the space, something remarkable happened.
Their pieces sparkled with honesty—unfiltered colors, bold lines, and emotions untouched by hesitation. Looking at their work, I felt a quiet comfort growing inside me. Their art spoke without words, offering a kind of healing that needed no explanation.

Adding to the day’s emotions was the snowfall.
There was real anxiety that the exhibition might not take place as planned. But the snow fell gently and lightly, almost as if someone was watching over us. For a brief moment, I felt as though my mother might be helping me from somewhere above.
Thanks to that small miracle, we were able to hold the exhibition safely and show students their work proudly displayed. Watching children stand in front of their own artwork—smiling, explaining, and sharing it with their parents—was deeply moving and reaffirmed why this work matters.
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This Winter Art Show was more than an exhibition.

For me, it was a reminder that even in grief, life continues through responsibility, creativity, and connection. It was another quiet lesson in how art sustains us, especially when words fall short.
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I am deeply grateful to the students, families, and everyone who helped make this exhibition possible.
This experience will stay with me for a long time.

Where Student Growth Becomes a Shared Experience
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At the end of each semester, the hallways and classrooms of SchoolNova quietly transform. Familiar learning spaces become galleries, and student artworks take their place on the walls, telling stories of time, curiosity, and creative growth. The SchoolNova Annual Art Showcase is more than an exhibition. It is a moment to pause and recognize how much students have explored, questioned, and discovered through art.

From Classroom to Gallery

This year’s showcase features a wide range of work, including painting, drawing, mixed media, three-dimensional pieces, and collaborative projects. Each piece reflects a student’s individual pace and interests. Choices of color, repeated patterns, bold experiments, and even visible revisions reveal the learning process behind the final result.
Students are not creating simply to display a polished outcome. At SchoolNova, the process of exploration and experimentation is valued as much as the finished work, and the exhibition honors that journey.

One Artwork, One Story

Every artwork in the showcase carries a unique voice. Some pieces show sustained focus on a single theme developed over weeks. Others capture moments of discovery through materials and technique. Collaborative works reveal dialogue, compromise, and shared problem-solving among students.
Together, these works send a clear message to students:
Your ideas, efforts, and questions matter.

A Moment of Connection

What makes the Art Showcase especially meaningful is the presence of families, educators, and peers. Parents pause in front of the artworks, asking about choices and inspirations. Students proudly explain their thinking, becoming storytellers of their own creative process.
Through this exchange, students experience something essential: their work is seen, respected, and valued by others. That recognition builds confidence and a deeper sense of belonging.

The Lasting Impact of Art Education

SchoolNova’s art program is designed not only to teach techniques but to cultivate observation, reflection, and personal expression. The public showcase brings this philosophy to life. It allows students to see their growth clearly and to understand that art can be a bridge between people, ideas, and generations.

Looking Ahead

The SchoolNova Annual Art Showcase marks both an ending and a beginning. It closes one chapter of learning while opening the door to new questions and creative challenges. As students step away from the gallery walls, they carry with them the knowledge that their voices matter and that their creativity has a place in the world.
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We look forward to the next showcase and to the many stories of growth yet to come.