Living as an Artist, and the Cosmos Flower That Stayed With Me

Living as an Artist, and the Cosmos Flower That Stayed With Me

This space is where I share moments from my daily life as an artist. I want to thank everyone who visits my site and returns again. My posts do not offer stock tips that multiply wealth, breaking celebrity news, sharp political commentary, or secrets to getting into elite schools. Yet people continue to come back. For this, I am sincerely grateful.

What I write about is simply the texture of our everyday lives. Even so, many of you walk with me in this ongoing search for what art truly is. Thank you for being part of that journey.
These past few days, my heart has been very tired, though it is beginning to recover.

There was a time, years ago, when I felt deeply discouraged. One afternoon, I noticed a single cosmos flower blooming by the roadside. It did not speak, and it did not solve any of my problems. It simply shone for a moment in the sunlight, and somehow that one image eased my mind.

It felt as if the mere existence of such beauty somewhere in the world meant that hope could return to my own life as well. The flower looked effortless, but perhaps it had been fighting with everything it had just to survive. Even now, I cannot fully paint the comfort and the unearthly beauty that the cosmos gave me. That is why I keep trying—to show, through my work, even a fraction of that quiet radiance.
A few days ago, I received news that my mother in Korea is gravely ill. For those of us living far from home, such news falls heavily. The ability to visit, to hold a parent’s hand, to sit beside them—these are blessings that people who live near their families may never fully recognize.

Now, I must begin to prepare myself for the remaining time with my mother.
Despite the hardships of her life, she stayed long enough for her children to call someone “mother,” and I am grateful for that. I hope she can stay with us longer. But we also know we must prepare our hearts.

While quietly sorting through these emotions, I looked at a recently completed horse painting. Life can feel harsh, dark, and muddy, yet the painting shone with such beauty. In that moment, I realized that art can be more beautiful than jewels. Faced with the reality of life and death, the glitter of precious stones means very little. The things money cannot buy—love and time—are the ones that matter.
Those fleeting moments when we looked at each other and truly smiled… If I had to choose between those moments and a jewel, I would choose the moments without hesitation.

Art is very much like the cosmos flower—delicate, seemingly useless, far less valuable than a gemstone in the eyes of the world. Just a few petals of color. And yet it offers comfort strong enough to withstand the fear of loss.
My ultimate goal has always been to create paintings more beautiful than jewels. But today, it was my own painting that comforted me. Life can be painful, but art is so achingly beautiful. The stark contrast between the two brings a strange kind of peace and helps me keep moving forward.
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My next work will be a portrait of my mother.
As I paint her, I will try to gently bring our earthly connection to its rightful close.