Between opposites

For instance, immediately after placing a strong color, I sometimes fear its intensity. I worry the painting might break apart. Yet simultaneously, I'm drawn to that precarious tension. Stability and instability. Order and chaos. I always stand between them.

When I was young, I tried to settle on one or the other. I thought that in order to achieve a high level of perfection, I had to eliminate ambiguity. But now, I want to leave both states existing simultaneously. I don't tidy things up too neatly. I don't explain everything. I leave contradictions on the canvas without resolving them.

I feel something similar when listening to music. For example, even in the solemnity of J.S. Bach's Mass in B minor, there is a certain human fluctuation lurking somewhere. Or, in the sound of Miles Davis' trumpet, coldness and heat coexist. I think it is these conflicting elements that give the music its depth. It is neither simply bright nor simply dark. That is why it stays in my heart.

The same may be true of paintings. Strength alone becomes monotonous, and tranquility alone puts you to sleep. It is a state of tension and balance, where contradictory elements collide. I want to stay in that precarious place for as long as possible.

The choice not to resolve

Contradictions are often seen as something that should be resolved. Philosophy and literature have continually confronted contradictions, questioning how to overcome them. But in creation, resolution isn't always the goal. Sometimes, the courage to embrace unresolved conflict is more important.

I often pause before the canvas. Is this color right? Is this line necessary? Should I scrape it away or leave it? There are no clear answers to these questions. Only the fact remains that whichever I choose, something will be lost. Creation teaches me that choice always means embracing contradiction.

People, too, are contradictory beings. We speak of ideals while compromising with reality. We seek solitude yet yearn to be understood. We cherish quiet moments while craving stimulation. I am no exception. Perhaps that is why I find a certain comfort in a canvas that embraces contradiction. It feels like proof of our humanity.

Abstract paintings carry no concrete narrative. Yet I believe they can become a mirror, gently reflecting the contradictions within the viewer. I want them to be a presence that conveys, "It's okay to waver," rather than presenting a definitive answer.

If you find yourself bewildered by contradictions in your daily life, perhaps you don't need to force them into order. Holding conflicting feelings simultaneously is not a sign of weakness, but of richness. Today, too, I place colors on the canvas, as if to confirm this truth.

I paint while embracing contradiction. I want to continue cherishing the unique tension and stillness that can only be born there.