The Art of Running My Own Race

I believe my greatest strength is consistency. I do not dream of striking it rich overnight or chasing after something that sparkles only for a moment. Instead, I run steadily, like Forrest Gump, who simply kept running. Once I set a goal, I embrace the process itself.

Running is not only about reaching the finish line—it is about the wind hitting your face, the sights passing by, the joyful pounding of your heart, the sweat dripping down your skin, and the warm sunlight on your shoulders. It is about all the feelings that arise: It’s hot. It’s tiring. It’s exciting. I wish I could arrive faster. These moments are not distractions; they are the essence of the journey.

When I look too much at how others are running, I lose sight of my own pace. I know this from experience. Those times, when I turned my attention outward instead of inward, now feel wasted. The joy of the process is uniquely mine—it is my privilege, my value, my delight. Yet too often we clap and praise others’ journeys while forgetting to notice our own steps.

Enjoying the process is a blessing. When I keep running, I always discover that I am better today than I was yesterday. There was a time when I couldn’t capture the brilliance of light in my paintings. But one day, I realized I could—and the joy of that moment was far greater than any thrill of making fast money on a stock trade.

This is why, when I paint, I focus on the joy of the process. Before I know it, my day becomes truly mine. Art shapes my posture for life’s race. By concentrating on my work and valuing my pace, I discover unexpected treasures of meaning and fulfillment.

That is why I tell my students, and especially my children, to honor the process. You don’t need to shine, and you don’t need to be the best. If shortcuts or luck make someone the best, that victory may be fragile and hard to sustain. But if you fully embrace the process, the results matter less and less—they become almost irrelevant.
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Every day, creating and shaping my own process is the true art. And that is how I keep walking forward.

Image by Daniel Chen

​A reflection on the power of persistence, the joy of process, and how art teaches us to embrace life as a journey rather than a race for quick victories.

The Art of Running My Own Race

It has been more than fifteen years since my debut. During that time, I have run alongside many fellow artists. We shared countless conversations about goals, struggles, and dreams. In the beginning, I often felt lost. Many people spoke as if there were shortcuts. They said politics seemed more important than painting itself. They said visible degrees or certificates mattered more than steady work. Others believed that being picked up by galleries, if their art matched popular taste, was the key to success. Everyone seemed confident and dazzling.

In the middle of all that noise, I couldn’t decide which path or style I should take. Yet deep inside, I already knew my style. So, I simply kept painting. And the truth is, I had no choice but to keep painting because of my circumstances. Once, someone even offered me an atelier almost for free, but it was too far from home, and I had to decline. Looking back, that chance never came again. I was always pressed by limited time and resources. Still, within those limits, I kept moving forward, little by little.

While others sprinted past me, I often felt like the last one, walking at the back. It required a constant mental battle. To endure it, I imagined a snail. A snail moves slowly, but it always moves forward. It never stops, never falls, and never goes backward—it doesn’t even know how. It only knows how to leave its trail step by step. I imagined a snail crossing the finish line—not quickly, but surely. And so, the snail became my personal symbol.

Ten years passed like that. A lot happened, but because I never stopped, my skills grew. Unlike artists who painted technically perfect works based on photographs, I developed the ability to paint freely from imagination. This became my strength. Gradually, exhibition opportunities increased, and I was selected more and more—eventually almost always. Awards came too. But none of that shook the pace of my snail’s journey. Recognition or prizes were never the point.

Now it has become a habit. I walk this path even without a reward. Looking back, I see those once dazzling artists turning in different directions—some sprinting ahead, only to double back and chase another road, some stumbling and leaving the path entirely, some running in place on a treadmill, and some ridiculing others for slowing down. I have witnessed many different kinds of runners.
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And so, I grew more certain: in art, there is no single answer. The only truth is to keep drawing, again and again. The process itself is the art. Without consistency and persistence, I could not truly call myself an artist. That is why I continue to devote myself to discovering joy in the process, and I design my students’ curriculum with that same principle at its heart.

​In the end, I have learned that art is not about speed, recognition, or even the applause of others. It is about the steady trace left behind each day, no matter how small. Like the snail, I carry my own pace, my own rhythm, and my own journey. And in that slow, persistent movement lies a strength greater than any shortcut.
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If I can share one truth, it is this: the process itself is the reward. Every brushstroke, every struggle, every quiet step forward is what makes the life of an artist whole. The finish line will come in its own time, but the path—the winding, imperfect, and beautiful path—is where the real art is lived.