An Unexpected View

LND_0A434123-DE2C-4EAD-9E36-E2A725321AC5

The city center of Cambridge is usually busy with tourists and shoppers during weekends, so if I have to shop, I usually scramble to get out of the center as soon as possible. But this time I decided to take my time and check out a cafe my friend recommended. The inside was full and steamy, so I had to take a seat outside, and funny enough, only then I noticed the view ofย The Round Church, the 800-year-old church that Iย have long wanted to visit.

The air was hazy and cool, and as I drew, someone knocked on the cafe window behind me. An elderly couple smiled and raised their thumbs. It was a sweet unexpected excursion in the middle of the busy city.

“Home” Art Exhibition Open!

I’m glad to tell you that I had two of my pieces accepted at “Home” Art Exhibition. It’s held to support refugees and homeless people, and today we had a reception. It was inspiring and humbling to see works and performances of refugees themselves, as well as other artists.

As of my works, first, thanks for your support while I was submitting them. The gibbons didn’t make it, but my earlier works on experiences of moving home did. Here are the pieces, and the accompanying labels:

img_5230

Lawful Evacuation

This is about the too-common experience of having to move home involuntarily without a particular wrongdoing. The objects can be found in any living room, where they would sit peaceful and harmonious, but one may feel they are thrown into a sea of uncertainties when they have to move.


 

img_5451

Grandma Comfy Ready to Move

Moving can feel like starting a new life, and ending the old one. Here, a welcoming recliner, โ€œGrandma Comfyโ€, is disassembled for move. She is sitting there as if she is fine. She looks ready for her next life, to greet the family again, in a new place.

Reading: Thaw Out Your Lonely Heart

thaw-out-your-lonely-heart-24-x-18-1-194.jpg

There’s something puzzling about this painting (by Claudia) with otherwise ordinary-looking composition. There’s a moon and a pond, in which there’s a reflection of… Wait. It can’t be the moon! The direction is wrong, and it’s too warm.

So the moon should have been a source of warmth, but it’s turned cold, rimmed with ailing green. That seems why the trees are wavering and in need of thawing. They are standing together but they are lonelyโ€”their common ground is painted cold. But warmth is coming from outside the view. It’s so overwhelming it drenches the whole meadow and the sky. Lots of stories in the rich palette.

(painting by Claudia McGill, reposted with permission)

Boxer at Rest / ์‰ฌ๊ณ  ์žˆ๋Š” ๋ณต์‹ฑ ์„ ์ˆ˜

The weary boxer in bronze was excavated in Rome. His photo when he was found looked as if he was taking a short rest after a bout of work.


Continue reading Boxer at Rest / ์‰ฌ๊ณ  ์žˆ๋Š” ๋ณต์‹ฑ ์„ ์ˆ˜

Sunday Morning at Pool Cafe / ์ผ์š”์ผ ์•„์นจ ์ˆ˜์˜์žฅ ๊นŒํŽ˜์—์„œ

A public space can be quietly inspiring when it has seats enough to be half empty. If I were an urban architect, I would add seats just so that they can be empty most of the times. Just like desks need more wood than fits a book and beds more than fits a body.

๊ณต๊ณต์žฅ์†Œ์— ์ž๋ฆฌ๊ฐ€ ๋ฐ˜์ฏค ๋น„์–ด ์žˆ์œผ๋ฉด ์กฐ์šฉํ•œ ์˜๊ฐ์„ ์–ป๋Š”๋‹ค. ๋‚ด๊ฐ€ ๋„์‹œ๋ฅผ ์„ค๊ณ„ํ•œ๋‹ค๋ฉด, ๋Œ€๊ฐœ๋Š” ๋น„์–ด์žˆ์„ ์ˆ˜ ์žˆ๋„๋ก ์ž๋ฆฌ๋ฅผ ๋” ๋†“๊ฒ ๋‹ค. ์ฑ…์ƒ์ด ์ฑ…๋ณด๋‹ค๋Š” ์ปค์•ผ ํ•˜๊ณ  ์นจ๋Œ€๊ฐ€ ๋ชธ๋ณด๋‹ค๋Š” ์ปค์•ผ ํ•˜๋“ฏ์ด.

Me and my spirit / ๋‚˜์™€ ๋‚ด ์˜ํ˜ผ

Encouraged afterย our first collaboration, my daughter and I worked on another story. Again she wrote the story, and I illustrated it:


One fall evening couldnโ€™t be more peculiar. The sky was grey with weird bits of bobs that looked like hard bits of rock.

My spirit tugged my sleeve. I sensed she was scared. Since I was scared, too, I broke into a run. But as I did, something most extraordinary happened. My body slowly rose off the ground. It was so silent you could even hear a feather drop off a birdโ€™s wing. A second later, I was in a different world.

The sky wasnโ€™t grey any more. It was the most creamy type of yellow you could ever see. As I describe this, the smell was unbreathable. Even though the smell was disgusting, I decided to find something or someone to entertain me. As I lifted my head up, I was shocked to see a funky looking eye staring at me. It was big and floating. Something about it made me scared. At least I had my spirit inside me to keep me going. I finally made up my mind to ask:

โ€œWhatโ€™s your name, and what are you doing here?โ€

After a short silence, it said:

โ€œWhy should I tell you?โ€

The voice reminded me of a robot that was almost rusted.

โ€œI donโ€™t see why not. Iโ€™ll start first. My name is Roberta Smith Jenkins. But of course youโ€™ll say your own name.

โ€œI donโ€™t know what Iโ€™m doing here with my spirit. You see Iโ€™m new to this country. Canโ€™t you show me around?โ€

All this talking was making my throat dry.

โ€œMy nam i 1BZA47. Im hee fo a inaorโ€

I guessed he said โ€œI am here for an invader.โ€ But who would it be?

My legs had pins and needles in them, so I decided to stand up. Just then, I heard a siren and to my surprise, I was stuck in a red blob!

– Written by EK, illustrated by YK

์ฒซ๋ฒˆ์งธ ํ˜‘๋™์ž‘ํ’ˆ ๋’ค์— ํž˜์„ ์–ป์–ด, ๋”ธ์ด ์“ฐ๊ณ  ๋‚ด๊ฐ€ ๊ทธ๋ฆผ์„ ๊ทธ๋ฆฐ ๋˜๋‹ค๋ฅธ ์ด์•ผ๊ธฐ์ด๋‹ค:


์–ด๋Š ๊ฐ€์„ ์ €๋…์€ ๋”ํ•  ๋‚˜์œ„ ์—†์ด ์ด์ƒํ–ˆ๋‹ค. ํ•˜๋Š˜์€ ๋Œ์กฐ๊ฐ์„ ํฉ์–ด๋†“์€ ๋“ฏ ์žฟ๋น›์ด์—ˆ๋‹ค.

๋‚ด ์˜ํ˜ผ์ด ์†Œ๋งค๋ฅผ ๋Œ์—ˆ๋‹ค. ์˜ํ˜ผ์ด ๊ฒ๋จน์€ ๊ฒƒ์„ ์•Œ์•˜๋‹ค. ๋‚˜๋„ ๋ฌด์„œ์› ๊ธฐ ๋•Œ๋ฌธ์— ๋‹ฌ๋ฆฌ๊ธฐ ์‹œ์ž‘ํ–ˆ๋‹ค. ๊ทธ๋Ÿฌ๋Š” ๋™์•ˆ, ์ด์ƒํ•œ ์ผ์ด ์ผ์–ด๋‚ฌ๋‹ค. ๋ชธ์ด ๋•…์—์„œ ์ ์  ๋– ์˜ค๋ฅด๊ธฐ ์‹œ์ž‘ํ•œ ๊ฒƒ์ด๋‹ค. ๋„ˆ๋ฌด ์กฐ์šฉํ•ด์„œ, ์ƒˆ ๋‚ ๊ฐœ์—์„œ ๊นƒํ„ธ์ด ๋–จ์–ด์ง€๋Š” ๊ฒƒ๋„ ๋“ค๋ ธ์„ ๊ฒƒ์ด๋‹ค. ๊ธˆ์„ธ, ๋‚˜๋Š” ๋‹ค๋ฅธ ์„ธ์ƒ์— ์™€ ์žˆ์—ˆ๋‹ค.

ํ•˜๋Š˜์€ ๋”์ด์ƒ ์žฟ๋น›์ด ์•„๋‹ˆ์—ˆ๋‹ค. ๊ฐ€์žฅ ํฌ๋ฆผ์ƒ‰๊ฐ™์€ ๋…ธ๋ž‘์ด๋ผ๊ณ  ํ•ด์•ผ ํ•  ๊ฒƒ์ด๋‹ค. ๋ƒ„์ƒˆ๊ฐ€ ๋งก์„ ์ˆ˜ ์—†์ด ์ง€๋…ํ–ˆ๋‹ค. ๋ƒ„์ƒˆ๋Š” ๊ณ ์•ฝํ–ˆ์ง€๋งŒ, ๊ฐ™์ด ๋†€ ์‚ฌ๋žŒ์ด๋‚˜ ๋ฌผ๊ฑด์„ ์ฐพ๊ธฐ๋กœ ํ–ˆ๋‹ค. ๊ณ ๊ฐœ๋ฅผ ๋“ค์ž, ํฌํ•œํ•˜๊ฒŒ ์ƒ๊ธด ๋ˆˆ์ด ๋‚˜๋ฅผ ์ณ๋‹ค๋ณด๊ณ  ์žˆ์–ด ๊นœ์ง ๋†€๋ž๋‹ค. ํฌ๊ณ  ๋– ๋‹ค๋‹ˆ๋Š” ๋ˆˆ์ด์—ˆ๋‹ค. ์–ด์ฉ์ง€ ๋ฌด์„œ์› ๋‹ค. ๊ทธ๋ž˜๋„ ๋‚ด ์†์— ์˜ํ˜ผ์ด ์žˆ์–ด ์šฉ๊ธฐ๋ฅผ ๋‚ผ ์ˆ˜ ์žˆ์—ˆ๋‹ค. ํฐ ๋ง˜์„ ๋จน๊ณ  ๋ฌผ์—ˆ๋‹ค:

“์ด๋ฆ„์ด ๋ญ๋‹ˆ? ๋ญ ํ•˜๊ณ  ์žˆ๋‹ˆ?”

์ž ์‹œ ํ›„, ๋ˆˆ์ด ๋Œ€๋‹ตํ–ˆ๋‹ค:

“๋‚ด๊ฐ€ ์™œ ๋Œ€๋‹ตํ•ด์•ผ ํ•˜์ง€?”

๋…น์Šจ ๋กœ๋ด‡ ๊ฐ™์€ ๋ชฉ์†Œ๋ฆฌ์˜€๋‹ค.

“๋Œ€๋‹ต ์•ˆ ํ•  ์ด์œ ๋Š” ์—†๋Š” ๊ฒƒ ๊ฐ™์•„. ๋‚˜๋ถ€ํ„ฐ ์‹œ์ž‘ํ• ๊ฒŒ. ๋‚˜๋Š” ๋กœ๋ฒ„ํƒ€ ์Šค๋ฏธ์Šค ์  ํ‚จ์Šค์•ผ. ๋ฌผ๋ก  ๋„ˆ๋„ ๋„ค ์ด๋ฆ„์„ ๋งํ•ด์ฃผ๊ฒ ์ง€. ๋‚œ ์—ฌ๊ธฐ์„œ ๋‚ด ์˜ํ˜ผ๊ณผ ํ•จ๊ป˜ ๋ญ˜ ํ•˜๊ณ  ์žˆ๋Š”์ง€ ๋ชจ๋ฅด๊ฒ ์–ด. ์ด ๋‚˜๋ผ์— ์ฒ˜์Œ์ธ๋ฐ ์•ˆ๋‚ด๋ฅผ ๋ถ€ํƒํ•ด๋„ ๋ ๊นŒ?”

๋งํ•˜๋Š๋ผ ๋ชฉ์ด ๊ฑด์กฐํ•ด์ง€๊ณ  ์žˆ์—ˆ๋‹ค.

“๋‚ด ์ด๋ฅด์€ 1BZA47 ์•ผ. ๋‚˜๋Š ์น˜์ž…์ž ๋•Œ๋ฌด์— ์™€์–ด”

์•„๋งˆ “๋‚˜๋Š” ์นจ์ž…์ž ๋•Œ๋ฌธ์— ์™”์–ด”๋ผ๊ณ  ํ•œ ๊ฒƒ ๊ฐ™์•˜๋‹ค. ํ•˜์ง€๋งŒ ์นจ์ž…์ž๊ฐ€ ๋ˆ„๊ตฌ์ผ๊นŒ?

๋‹ค๋ฆฌ๊ฐ€ ์‘ค์…”์„œ ์ผ์–ด๋‚˜๊ธฐ๋กœ ํ–ˆ๋‹ค. ๊ทธ๋•Œ, ์‚ฌ์ด๋ Œ์ด ์šธ๋ฆฌ๊ณ , ๋ˆˆ ๊นœ์งํ•  ์‚ฌ์ด์— ๋‚˜๋Š” ๋ถ‰์€ ๋ฐฉ์šธ ์•ˆ์— ๊ฐ‡ํ˜€ ๋ฒ„๋ ธ๋‹ค!

My horrible birthday / ๋น„์ฐธํ•œ ์ƒ์ผ

My daughter wants to write multi-volume stories, which turned out to be a daunting task, for anyone including an eight-year-old. So I suggested she start with a short one that fits within a page or two. She was not entirely happy with the restriction, but we made a deal that I would illustrate her story every time she finishes one. So here’s the first one (fiction, that is):

Me and my dad went out to buy some ice-cream becauseโ€ฆ it was my birthday! Dad didnโ€™t look that happy to buy me an ice-cream. I guess thatโ€™s because he thinks itโ€™s unhealthy.

I got a triple scoop of chocolate ice-cream on my mega sprinkle cone. After I said โ€œThank youโ€, we headed home.

But then, something terrible happened. I tripped over a rock, and went flying with my ice-cream onto another street. Luckily, I wasnโ€™t hurt badly, but my poor ice-cream became a sticky brown puddle with a lump. Dad was smiling when he came over to me. It seemed like he was so happy I dropped the ice-cream. I cried even more, I cried until we got home.

– Written by EK / Illustrated by YK

๋”ธ์ด ์—ฌ๋Ÿฌ ๊ถŒ์งœ๋ฆฌ ์ด์•ผ๊ธฐ๋ฅผ ์“ฐ๊ณ  ์‹ถ์–ดํ•˜๋Š”๋ฐ, ๊ณง 8์‚ด ์–ด๋ฆฐ์ด๋ฅผ ํฌํ•จํ•ด ๋ˆ„๊ตฌ์—๊ฒŒ๋‚˜ ์–ด๋ ค์šด ์ผ์ธ ๊ฒƒ์œผ๋กœ ๋“œ๋Ÿฌ๋‚ฌ๋‹ค. ๊ทธ๋ž˜์„œ ํ•œ๋‘ ํŽ˜์ด์ง€ ์•ˆ์— ๋๋‚˜๋Š” ์งง์€ ์ด์•ผ๊ธฐ๋กœ ์‹œ์ž‘ํ•ด ๋ณด๋ผ๊ณ  ํ–ˆ๋‹ค. ๋”ธ์€ ๊ธธ์ด ์ œํ•œ์„ ์ข‹์•„ํ•˜์ง€๋Š” ์•Š์•˜์ง€๋งŒ, ์ด์•ผ๊ธฐ๋ฅผ ํ•˜๋‚˜ ๋งˆ์น  ๋•Œ๋งˆ๋‹ค ๋‚ด๊ฐ€ ๊ทธ๋ฆผ์„ ๊ทธ๋ ค ์ฃผ๊ธฐ๋กœ ํ•˜์ž ์Šน๋‚™ํ–ˆ๋‹ค. ๊ทธ ์ฒซ๋ฒˆ์งธ ์ด์•ผ๊ธฐ์ด๋‹ค (ํ”ฝ์…˜์ด๋‹ค):

๋‚˜์™€ ์•„๋น ๊ฐ€ ์•„์ด์Šคํฌ๋ฆผ์„ ์‚ฌ๋Ÿฌ๊ฐ”๋‹ค. ์™œ๋ƒํ•˜๋ฉด… ๋‚ด ์ƒ์ผ์ด์—ˆ๊ธฐ ๋•Œ๋ฌธ์ด๋‹ค! ์•„๋น ๋Š” ์•„์ด์Šคํฌ๋ฆผ ์‚ฌ ์ฃผ๋Š” ๊ฒŒ ๊ทธ๋ฆฌ ์ข‹์ง€ ์•Š์€๊ฐ€ ๋ณด์•˜๋‹ค. ๊ฑด๊ฐ•์— ๋‚˜์˜๋‹ค๊ณ  ์ƒ๊ฐํ•ด์„œ์ผ ๊ฒƒ์ด๋‹ค.

๋‚˜๋Š” ์Šคํ”„๋งํด ์ฝ˜์— ์ดˆ์ฝ” ์•„์ด์Šคํฌ๋ฆผ์„ ์„ธ ๋ฉ์ด๋‚˜ ๋ฐ›์•˜๋‹ค. “๊ฐ์‚ฌํ•ฉ๋‹ˆ๋‹ค!”ํ•˜๊ณ  ๋งํ•œ ๋’ค ์ง‘์œผ๋กœ ํ–ฅํ–ˆ๋‹ค.

๊ทธ๋Ÿฐ๋ฐ ๊ทธ ๋•Œ, ๋„ˆ๋ฌดํ•œ ์ผ์ด ์ผ์–ด๋‚ฌ๋‹ค. ๋‚ด๊ฐ€ ๋Œ์— ๊ฑธ๋ ค ๋„˜์–ด์ ธ์„œ, ์•„์ด์Šคํฌ๋ฆผ๊ณผ ํ•จ๊ป˜ ๊ฑฐ๋ฆฌ ์œ„๋กœ ๋‚ ์•„๊ฐ„ ๊ฒƒ์ด๋‹ค. ๋‹คํ–‰ํžˆ ํฌ๊ฒŒ ๋‹ค์น˜์ง€๋Š” ์•Š์•˜์ง€๋งŒ, ๋‚ด ๋ถˆ์Œํ•œ ์•„์ด์Šคํฌ๋ฆผ์€ ๋ด‰์šฐ๋ฆฌ๊ฐ€ ์žˆ๋Š” ๋ˆ์ ํ•œ ๊ฐˆ์ƒ‰ ์›…๋ฉ์ด๊ฐ€ ๋˜์–ด๋ฒ„๋ ธ๋‹ค. ์•„๋น ๋Š” ๋‚ด๊ฒŒ ์™”์„ ๋•Œ ์›ƒ์Œ์ง“๊ณ  ์žˆ์—ˆ๋‹ค. ๋‚ด๊ฐ€ ์•„์ด์Šคํฌ๋ฆผ์„ ๋–จ์–ด๋œจ๋ ค์„œ ๋„ˆ๋ฌด ํ–‰๋ณตํ•œ ๊ฒƒ ๊ฐ™์•˜๋‹ค. ๋‚˜๋Š” ๋” ์šธ์—ˆ๋‹ค. ์ง‘์— ๊ฐˆ ๋•Œ๊นŒ์ง€ ์šธ์—ˆ๋‹ค.

– ์ด์•ผ๊ธฐ EK / ๋ฒˆ์—ญ, ๊ทธ๋ฆผ YK

Drawing โ€œTranquilโ€ / ‘๊ณ ์š”ํ•œ’ ๊ทธ๋ฆฌ๊ธฐ

Tranquil is drawn after a tree in Coe Fen. On fine afternoons, the tree stands with a glow of sunshine on its back. In the photo, you can see it is growing new twigs, that almost look like saplings, from its limb lying on the left. Surrounded with lush vegetation, it looks as though it symbolizes resilience.

In the drawing, I omitted all leaves and abstracted out the background, to focus on the form of the tree’s body. While I followed what was compelled by visual composition, I wonder how that changed the substance. To me, compared to the real-life model, the tree’s situation seems more desolateโ€”as some of you suggestedโ€”, as if the whole tree and its surroundings are burned down. Its ultimate victory, which in fact happened, is suggested only in spirit. I wonder how you feel.

I want to try another version of the tree. My challenge is to keep the spirit of hope (and perhaps the leaves) without ruining the composition. I may modify the form, but I’d like to keep the original tree’s intuitive appeal and subtlety. That’s a lot to wish for, so I would appreciate any recommendation for works to model after.


๊ณ ์š”ํ•œ‘์€ ์ฝ”ํŽœ์— ์žˆ๋Š” ๋‚˜๋ฌด๋ฅผ ๊ทธ๋ฆฐ ๊ฒƒ์ด๋‹ค. ๋ง‘์€ ์˜คํ›„๋ฉด ๋‚˜๋ฌด๋Š” ํ–‡๋ณ•์„ ํ›„๊ด‘์œผ๋กœ ์ด๊ณ  ๋น›๋‚œ๋‹ค. ์‚ฌ์ง„์„ ๋ณด๋ฉด, ์™ผ์ชฝ์— ์žˆ๋Š” ์ค„๊ธฐ์—์„œ ์ž”๊ฐ€์ง€๊ฐ€ ๋งˆ์น˜ ์–ด๋ฆฐ ๋‚˜๋ฌด์ฒ˜๋Ÿผ ์ž๋ผ๊ณ  ์žˆ๋Š” ๊ฒƒ์„ ๋ณผ ์ˆ˜ ์žˆ๋‹ค. ๋ฌด์„ฑํ•œ ์ˆ˜ํ’€์— ๋‘˜๋Ÿฌ์‹ธ์—ฌ, ๋‚˜๋ฌด๋Š” ๋ˆ๊ธฐ์™€ ์ƒ๋ช…๋ ฅ์˜ ์ƒ์ง•๊ฐ™์•„ ๋ณด์ธ๋‹ค.

๊ทธ๋ฆผ์—์„œ๋Š” ์ค„๊ธฐ์˜ ํ˜•ํƒœ์— ์ดˆ์ ์„ ๋งž์ถ”๊ธฐ ์œ„ํ•ด ์žŽ๊ณผ ์ฃผ๋ณ€์„ ๋ชจ๋‘ ์ƒ๋žตํ•˜๊ณ  ๊ฐ„์†Œํ™”ํ–ˆ๋‹ค. ๊ตฌ๋„๋ฅผ ์œ„ํ•œ ์„ ํƒ์ด์—ˆ์ง€๋งŒ, ๋‚ด์šฉ์—๋„ ์˜ํ–ฅ์„ ๋ผ์นœ ๊ฒƒ ๊ฐ™๋‹ค. ์›๋ž˜ ๋‚˜๋ฌด์— ๋น„ํ•ด ๊ทธ๋ฆผ์˜ ๋‚˜๋ฌด๋Š” – ๋…์ž๋“ค ์ค‘์—์„œ๋„ ์ง€์ ํ–ˆ๋“ฏ์ด – ๋” ์“ธ์“ธํ•ด ๋ณด์ธ๋‹ค. ๋‚˜๋ฌด์™€ ์ฃผ๋ณ€์ด ๋ชจ๋‘ ํƒ€๋ฒ„๋ฆฐ ๊ฒƒ ๊ฐ™์•„ ๋ณด์ธ๋‹ค. ๋‚˜๋ฌด๊ฐ€ ๊ฒฐ๊ตญ ์Šน๋ฆฌํ–ˆ๋‹ค๋Š” ์‚ฌ์‹ค์€ ํฌ๋ฏธํ•˜๊ฒŒ ์‹œ์‚ฌ๋  ๋ฟ์ด๋‹ค. ๋…์ž๋“ค์€ ์–ด๋–ป๊ฒŒ ๋Š๋ผ์‹œ๋Š”์ง€ ๊ถ๊ธˆํ•˜๋‹ค.

๋‚˜๋ฌด๋ฅผ ๋‹ค์‹œ ํ•œ ๋ฒˆ ๊ทธ๋ ค๋ณด๊ณ  ์‹ถ๋‹ค. ํฌ๋ง์˜ ๊ธฐ์šด(๊ณผ ์ดํŒŒ๋ฆฌ๋“ค)์„ ์‚ด๋ฆฌ๋ฉด์„œ ๊ตฌ๋„๋ฅผ ์–ด์ง€๋Ÿฝํžˆ์ง€ ์•Š๋Š” ๊ฒƒ์ด ๊ณผ์ œ๋‹ค. ํ˜•ํƒœ๋ฅผ ๋ณ€ํ˜•ํ•  ์ˆ˜๋„ ์žˆ์ง€๋งŒ, ์›๋ž˜ ๋‚˜๋ฌด์˜ ์ง๊ด€์ ์ด๊ณ  ๋ฏธ๋ฌ˜ํ•œ ๋Š๋‚Œ๋„ ๋‚จ๊ธฐ๊ณ  ์‹ถ๋‹ค. ์–ด๋ ค์šด ๊ณผ์ œ์ด๋‹ˆ๋งŒํผ ์ฐธ๊ณ ํ•  ๋งŒํ•œ ์ž‘ํ’ˆ์ด ์žˆ์œผ๋ฉด ์ถ”์ฒœ ๋ถ€ํƒ๋“œ๋ฆฐ๋‹ค.

Painting & photo by YK, 2018