There was a group exhibition in July 2017.
It was really hot on the last day of the exhibition, and there were a lot of people on Line 2, who were returning home after leaving their work.
Anyway, on my way back home, one of my colleagues who had exhibited with me suddenly received a KakaoTalk message criticizing me, and I was told that my photos were really bad. Although I was angry, I didn't want to waste my energy and emotions on something useless, so I swallowed it down with a glass of delicious wine and let it out. Some time later, while searching the house for a real estate contract, I happened to see the photos used in the group exhibition and felt ashamed and disgusted. I felt it. I thought my photo was really not that good and agreed with her. I was amazed at my guts and didn't want to look at the pictures. So I used all the tools I had and punished her again and again, and I ended up getting compliments that it was even better.
I liked it so much that I turned it into a book.
In the beginning, I worked with my hands and heart, but as I received more and more compliments, my shoulders lifted again. So, I worked only thinking about how I could make people like it. Then I felt disgusted again. I think I thought about myself often during this time. The path I have to take in the future, the path I want to take. Choice and focus.
After that, I really devoted myself to the work, regardless of the outcome. And I remember finishing it with a light heart.
/I made a book and posted this on Instagram.
My second book / I'm so curious about what people who know me will say when they introduce me to people who don't yet know me that my armpits get wet every time that moment comes. It's embarrassing if you package it well, it's disappointing if you put it too concisely, and the format of the introduction, which doesn't really have any examples, is so itchy that it takes your breath away. I know better than anyone else how this book was made. So I can introduce it with confidence, but that's why I'm not confident. I deleted the first text I wrote after conceiving the book because it was too detailed, and the text I wrote when the framework of the book was created was too flashy and concise, so I deleted it. Now that the book is out in the world, I feel excited.
Actually, I don't know. Why did I create this book and why did I have to do it? What kind of heart and mind did I have while working? Is it foolishness or expensive guts? Why do you keep holding on anyway? Now that I am suffering from a fever, everything seems unclear. Viktor Frankl says, “To live is to be asked questions” and “to take responsibility for one’s life and answer them,” but it seems like my answer is a bit in your hands. I can't tell you a big story that will make you cry, but you can fill my stomach. Whether it was money, recognition, or insults. I don't care where I go, heaven or hell, but I don't want to be a person who died without any connection.
