In a Cold World, We Build a Warm Treehouse

In a Cold World, We Build a Warm Treehouse

The world feels unbearably cold sometimes. But can’t we choose to live warmly, even if it means losing a little? We get hurt and disappointed by people, but can we learn again to understand and love them? Why must we call art “unprofitable” or measure everything in money? Can’t we simply try to be warm again? If we could, wouldn’t the world become a little different?

In the past few days, as the temperature suddenly dropped, my heart felt just as cold. The world keeps telling us that life is a competition—that if you’re not elite, you’re a loser. People build their own cartels and make others feel like outsiders. It’s such a harsh world for the weak and powerless, with nowhere to turn for comfort. And yet, the world God created is dazzling, beautiful, and warm. Art is the same. Every day, artists create the most beautiful and gentle things in this world. But the world we live in feels so cold, so devoid of warmth, that at times it feels suffocating.

I understand. I feel the same. After facing betrayal, hardship, or the storms of life, the heart closes like an automatic door, refusing to open easily again. Even when we wish to live kindly, to love, to comfort, to help—it becomes hard. Sometimes I feel more pitiful than anyone else. And when we pity ourselves, it’s hard to see others warmly. And yes, there are people who seem to have hearts like demons. If we hold on to goodness, the world can start to feel like a jungle where it’s eat or be eaten. We’re forced to stay alert, always watching over our shoulders.

Next to my home studio, there is a small pond. I often open the window to look at it. A small bird often lands on the juniper branches reflected over the water. That pond is the safest place in the world. Yet the little bird is always on guard—so watchful that it cannot even drink a sip of water before flying away. Sometimes our lives feel just like that small bird’s.

​In a world that often feels cold and competitive, four artist mothers find warmth and hope through art, storytelling, and friendship. This reflection shares how the Moms’ Playground book club’s first project, Our Treehouse, became a quiet act of love and resilience—a reminder that even in a harsh world, we can still choose warmth, kindness, and beauty.

Today, I finished preparing for the exhibition of Our Treehouse, the first book of Moms’ Playground, a book club of four artist mothers. Before I framed the artwork, I still carried the gloom of last week’s heaviness, but once the preparation was complete, my heart began to shine with hope. Maybe I just wanted to breathe and play a little, even in this dry and cold world.

I have deep affection for Moms’ Playground, the group we formed last year. Because in this cold world, we wanted to become warm again. Even when we are hurt, excluded, or abandoned, we will remain—kind and steadfast. Together, we will build our dream treehouse. And inside it, we will celebrate together.

Isn’t life like that, too? Even when things are unbearably hard, there are still small moments of celebration. Those moments let us quench our dry throats and find joy again. I have been sad lately—and the heavy rain today made it even harder—but then my students came, bright and cheerful. They were sunlight itself. Their light comforted my heart. It reminded me that the world still holds many small acts of kindness. That thought gives me hope again.
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And so, I want to build our own treehouse even more. On Saturday, Emilia, who completed her first book, invited all of us to her home. I am truly grateful for her passion and love for storytelling, and for her deep interest in art. Together, we will find small joys in this difficult world. I will soon share a reflection about this experience.