Closing 2025, and Walking Toward 2026

Closing 2025, and Walking Toward 2026

It feels as though 2025 began only yesterday, and yet here I am, already preparing to bring this year to a close. Time moves quietly but steadily forward. When I look back, I realize how much this year has held. There were many good moments, countless things to be grateful for, and beautiful memories that will stay with me for a long time.

Above all, I want to express my deepest gratitude to those who have loved me, supported me, and believed in me. Despite my many mistakes and shortcomings, there were people who chose to understand me, help me, and give me courage when I needed it most. Because of them, I am still walking this path. That alone makes this year meaningful.

Of course, not everything was joyful. There were painful moments as well. There were experiences that reminded me, once again, that the world does not always unfold the way we hope it will. In those moments, I learned humility. I was reminded of how small I am in the face of life, and how much lies beyond my control.

There were times when I truly did my best, yet the results were disappointing. In those moments, discouragement naturally followed, and my energy faded. That is a very human response. And yet, even so, I continue to live each day with gratitude. As long as I have time to write and to paint, I feel that everything will be all right. The simple fact that I am given the time and space to do these things feels like a gift in itself.

Along the way, there were also tangible outcomes. Sometimes I received awards, sometimes I did not. Sometimes my paintings sold, sometimes they did not. But more than any of that, I have come to cherish the people who take interest in my work and my journey, those who come to this space, those who visit my exhibitions. Each of them matters deeply to me. Their presence gives meaning to what I do.
I promise myself that I will always do my best. That, at least, will not change.

This year, the central theme of my work was “joy.” As the year comes to an end, I find myself asking an honest question:
Did I truly feel joy while painting?
There is no doubt that I am happiest when I paint. And yet, there are moments when my work begins to feel heavy, almost like a burden. When daily life overwhelms me and I fail to secure time to paint, a quiet anxiety settles in. In those moments, I start thinking about physical conditions and external environments. If only I had a better space, more support, fewer constraints. But I know very well how futile these thoughts are.

Perhaps works born out of difficulty carry greater depth. Comfort and ease do not necessarily lead to meaningful art. Often, it is limitation and struggle that breathe life into a piece.

So I will continue, quietly and steadily, taking small steps forward. And I will continue to record this process. I believe this is my work, my responsibility.
I do not know how the world will respond. From my perspective, the world seems to prefer things that are more glamorous, more polished, more stimulating. But that is no longer my concern. The path of an artist resembles, in some ways, the life of a monk. When one is swept away by trends and external validation, it becomes difficult to create work that is truly honest.

Among the artists I admire most is Paul Cézanne. I respect him deeply because he understood this reality so well. For thirty-five years, he withdrew to Mont Sainte-Victoire and devoted himself entirely to painting, cutting off ties with much of the secular world. I understand his heart.

Fame, for an artist, can be compared to building the most magnificent cathedral in the world. It is dazzling, but it can easily obscure the essence of art. Those who truly wish to practice art often hesitate to step into the spotlight for that very reason.

There is a pure joy that art offers. That is the joy I want to share. But there are challenges. In a world increasingly driven by technology and artificial intelligence, creative and analog practices can sometimes feel as though they are being pushed aside. In moments like these, I remind myself that painting and writing must come first.

I find deep happiness in continuously creating something. I am grateful that creation itself is my profession. I hope that everyone, in their own way, can experience the joy of creating. Perhaps this is why artificial intelligence exists—to take care of simple tasks, so that humans can focus on creative work.
As I close this year, I look toward 2026 with a desire to approach you with deeper reflection. For me, this means not adding more, but emptying myself. Letting go of excess, quieting the noise, and moving closer to what truly matters.
Quietly, but faithfully.
That is how I intend to continue my journey.