Imagining Art with Children: A Life Devoted to the Joy of Creation

Imagining Art with Children: A Life Devoted to the Joy of Creation

The reason I place equal importance on blogging and publishing books as I do on drawing is simple: to me, all of these are acts of art—each a process of creating something from nothing.

Whether it's a single line drawn on a page or a sentence typed on a screen, I believe that every act of making is infused with the breath of creation.
Much like drawing, writing allows me to pull thoughts and dreams from my imagination and bring them into the tangible world. I take what doesn't exist—what no one has imagined quite like I have—and shape it with my own mind and hands. That process, the pure act of making, is what truly captivates me.

That's why I love all kinds of creative activity born out of imagination--they are like seasonings of creation that bring life to what once was empty. It feels like exploring a new world, or even rediscovering myself in the process.

I’m always imagining, dreaming, and generating new ideas. Even when there is no immediate outcome, that time spent imagining is, in itself, a form of art.
This is exactly why teaching art to children brings me such deep joy.

Children don't censor themselves. They create instinctively, without worrying about outcomes, and they share what they've made freely and generously. Their spontaneous creativity and willingness to share is the purest form of art I know. Being with them always reminds me of why I fell in love with creating in the first place.

In that sense, I deeply resonate with the words of Joseph Beuys, who said, “Every child is an artist.”
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Children are born with their own internal worlds, and they have no hesitation in expressing them. Every time I teach, I see that same fire—the spark of creation—still burning in their eyes.
I want to keep drawing, writing, and imagining with children.
I want to keep planting small seeds of creativity into the world.
Because that is how I live, and that is what being an artist means to me.

​I still vividly remember the emotions I felt when I first wrote my blog, when I published my first book, and when I attended my first exhibition reception.
Those moments were not just events to me, but were thrilling and heart-warming moments, as if a seed that I had nurtured with care for a long time was sprouting.

When I first posted on my blog, it was a careful way to put my thoughts and feelings out into the world. Even with the anxiety that no one might read it, I wrote each line with sincerity. When those words first reached someone, it felt as if my heart had been touched as well.

My memories of when I published my first book are even clearer.

That book was not just a collection of sentences printed on paper, but a small world filled with my time, worries, and passion. Putting that world out into the world required courage and faith, but at the same time, I was filled with excitement and excitement.

And when I attended the reception for my first exhibition. When I first saw my paintings framed and hung on the wall, and people looking at them—I felt an emotion that I can’t express in words.
It wasn’t so much the joy of recognition as the sense of connection with myself and the deep communion I felt sharing my heart with someone through art.

All of these moments had one thing in common: “time built up little by little from nothing.”

As if I were carefully building blocks one by one, I walked my path with a calm and quiet mind.

Even on days when no one applauded, I wanted to be true to myself and be faithful to what I loved.

I believe.
If you do that work silently, steadily, faithfully, and with all your heart, regardless of who is watching--
that effort is never in vain.
That time will bear fruit, and that fruit will embrace you warmly in ways you never expected.

And when you encounter that fruit, you will know for sure.
That all that time from the beginning was love. That it was creation. And that it was me.

If all your efforts were aimed at simple success or quick profits,
even if you achieve what you want, the results will not make you truly happy.
Instead, you will gradually dislike yourself,
and you will begin to have cautious doubts deep in your heart.
Life will become more and more boring,
and you will not even know where you are headed as you keep running forward.
Of course, competition will become more intense,
and it will become more and more difficult to protect yourself in it.
This is because all your efforts were aimed at only the result of success.

Sometimes, I look around and find myself unconsciously becoming competitive.

I feel that way even when I teach children.
In these days when even education has become a place of competition,
even children compare themselves to each other, and parents are burdened with the burden of having to be ahead.

Rather than the joy of learning something,
the pressure to do better has entered children's daily lives.

And this is no different in the world of art. Art should originally be a space filled with comfort, freedom, and joy, but
often even within that space, it is shaken by competition, titles, and the standards of evaluation.

Sometimes I talk to people who only emphasize the name of the school they graduated from,
and do not ask any questions about the painting itself.
To them, art may be a decoration that makes them shine,
or a means of packaging themselves.

But art is not like that.
Art is not for showing, but for feeling.
From a single painting, a single line, or the resonance of a color,
an indescribable emotion blooms,
and through creation, one heals oneself and comes back to life.

That beauty and joy is a world
that only those who have experienced it can know.
For some, a single painting, a single verse of music, or a quiet moment of work
may become the only light that holds on to life.

That is why I hope. May art be not a tool for competition or success for some, but a true comfort, joy, and a source of inexhaustible energy.

Art is already sufficient in itself.
If we can truly connect with it,
we will eventually meet ourselves again in the purest form in art.

​I sincerely hope that we will have more opportunities to experience and understand the world of art in some form.
I hope that an era will come when everyone can feel the joy of creation and naturally share the power of creation in their lives.
And I feel that such an era has already arrived.
Technological advancements, the diversification of creative tools, and above all, people’s interest
are now making creation a daily sensation rather than a special talent.

I enjoy participating in art competitions with my students, including myself.
Some people may find this ironic.
You may ask, ‘Why do you participate in competitions if you don’t like competition?’
But for me and our students, this experience is not simply about competition.

Of course, our children often receive awards.

But they also experience failure just as often.
As all these experiences accumulate,
Students gradually become less obsessed with success or failure,
and gain the strength to enjoy the act of drawing itself and raise their level one step at a time.

Participating in competitions is not simply about the results. In the process, we receive new stimulation by looking at other people's work,
and become humble by objectively reflecting on our own positions,
and above all, we gain an opportunity to connect with more diverse topics and a wider world.
And a very important change occurs.

At first, the competitive field that was tense and burdensome,
but at some point, it no longer feels like competition.

It becomes a space for me to test myself,
a training space to go a little further than who I am now,
a living stage for growth.

I believe this is really important.
Now that the whole world is in the midst of overheated competition,
if our children can learn how to stay centered without being shaken through this experience,
quietly build up their skills, and grow both inside and out,
it will certainly be the most powerful asset for them to live their entire lives.

The sight of children growing while drawing
is like being in a mock test field where they practice reality in advance. Just like real life, there are moments of joy, trembling, and sometimes falling apart,
but in those moments, we learn how to get back up and how to move forward.
Through this process, children become stronger little by little,
and above all, they learn how not to lose their true selves.

Once, when my son was in high school,
he came home from school and said this.
“The teacher said that competition is bad… He said that we should share instead of competing.”

I nodded and thought that was really true.

But what my son added resonated deeply in my heart.

“But… flowers also compete fiercely to attract bees and butterflies.

But to our eyes, they just look beautiful.”

I truly sympathized with those words.

Those words were not just a metaphor,
but a profound truth that any adult who has lived can understand.

The world is fierce.
We all live in competition, whether we want it or not. But even within that,
it is important not to lose yourself and to grow in your own way.

And I think that is the role that art should play in life.

Art is an inner language that keeps us warm even in the midst of fierce reality,
and sometimes an invisible compass that keeps us centered so that we do not waver.
And we are relearning that language of art every day.