The meaning of this piece highlights the constant struggle one has with getting rid of darkness from the past, present, and future. This is a healing piece for onlookers to grasp the concept that we can arrive to a peaceful existence NOW! We have the power to allow our brains to choose acceptance and love of all that exists in us, in God, and the universe.

We cannot always avoid darkness, harmful events, or negative experiences with others. But do we want to dwell in the darkness and despair for the entirety of our lives, and spoil the beauty that is NOW? There is beauty in darkness, and power in accepting the love we deserve.

“I Have Arrived” is a gift to a friend…I love you...

The inspiration for this artwork came from the muse’s story and aesthetic preferences, as well as the poem The Round by Stanley Kunitz (“Light splashed this morning on the shell-pink anemones...I can scarcely wait till tomorrow when a new life begins for me, as it does each day, as it does each day,”) and the Rumi quotation “the wound is the place where the light enters you.” When I read the muse’s letter, I approached the painting with the intention to impart a sense of light (in terms of illumination and also weight) that not only penetrates but begins to alleviate heavy darkness. The painting approaches light in two major ways: (1) the illusionistic pale yellow that filters in from the upper right and (2) the mica-based pigments that physically shift one’s sense of color perception. Depending on the quality and intensity of natural and/or artificial light that strike the painting, certain sections will appear vibrant blue-violet or even metallic gold.

The muse was generous to share a wide array of preferred visual elements: the color purple, Impressionism, Mark Rothko, and triangular shapes. In small ways, I strove to incorporate many of these features into the painting. The soft, layered brushstrokes of lemon yellow and pale violet draw from Impressionist landscapes. Rothko’s iconic color field paintings in the interfaith Rothko Chapel inspired the panel’s vertical position and deep plum hues. Moreover, the composition centers on tilted triangular shapes: (1) the yellow and violet light pouring from the upper right and (2) the translucent patches of color that form the lower left, while subtly mirroring the colors of mother-of-pearl and abalone shells.

The painting panel itself was built in 2014 and meant to be part of a thesis exhibition. However, it was rejected by my main studio advisor while it was still a work in progress. Until September 2018, it sat -- untouched -- in the corner of my studio. Originally, the unfinished panel had a scatter of violet-black brushstrokes, as well as a large piece of fractured plywood attached to the lower right register. I began stripping away as much of the wood as possible, leaving the fragments that had inextricably embedded themselves into the panel. Then, the entire surface was covered with fresh coats of gesso. The processes of removing old wood and past paint layers to give this forgotten panel a new life proved to be a highly cathartic experience, creating a sense of healing that I hope to transfer to the muse.

Chelsea’s life story inspired me to paint A Resilient Light. With her therapist present, we engaged in a rich discussion that outlined the challenges she has overcome and the path she has laid out for her journey. As Chelsea spoke, I pictured a long stairway with one end in the past and the summit in the future. In my mind, I saw Chelsea at different stages along this stairway. Maybe hesitant steps at first. Perhaps a tumble here or there. But Chelsea is a survivor and she keeps climbing. A warm, welcoming light illuminates this path forward and seems to urge Chelsea on.

Later, in my studio I began to put layers of paint down. The stairway came first and originally reached towards the top of the linen canvas. A small figure vanishing into a fog of light looked fine but did not carry the emotional weight of our conversation. Instead, I flipped the vantage point so that we were in the future looking back towards the past. In my mind, Chelsea’s resilient voice resonated, which helped me create a strong, brave character moving across the surface of the painting. This female figure appears in multiple stages of the climb. Movement and energy abound.
She follows a resilient path. In the distance, a figure in red watches over her and supports her. A parent figure perhaps or a therapist.

I painted A Resilient Light in the hope that it will inspire Chelsea and others as they courageously climb the stairs of life.

We understand ourselves through our personal history and move forward from the experiences. Even our darkest tragedies, we overcome by embracing it and making it a part of our story. My muse had to give up her dream of Olympic figure skating. A dream she sacrificed much of her childhood to pursue; a dream so big it subsumed her identity. But we are not defined by our failures nor by the hopes of what could have been. This piece is about a dark time in her life, expressed with beauty. The scratching on the wood canvas mirrors the marks the skates make on ice, and the layers of paint reflects her years of practice. I expressed her struggles and hardships as tears, gold and silver to show how valuable they are. In contrast to the darkness of the ice rink, the sparkling tears shine more brightly.

My muse is an exceptional individual. She has shown tremendous strength of character in the face of adversity and a heroic, protective love for her children. She is the blue rose, a rarity in nature and a symbol for striving for the seemingly impossible. The lines connected to the rose bind but do not crush and act as guidelines for the future.

This was a huge challenge for me. I have only ever made things from one voice, my own. I wanted to be extra careful as to not speak for someone who has gone through something that I can’t translate. Even in the literal sense – as far as race, gender – all of those things were being transcribed in vivid painful detail as their story was told. One thing stood out to me instantly: strength, growth. Perseverance of human spirit. Faith. Even love plays a role here. An important one. Here was this person explaining the most difficult aspects of their life, one that exists in the very real present, and I was taken aback. I didn’t know what to do at first. It took me weeks of planning to figure out exactly where I felt my hand could articulate what I heard. I set off to work.

Since I manipulate photographs, I started there. I wanted to highlight this overwhelming sense of another’s condition, without adhering to traditional clichés. I wanted it to be universal like it unfortunately is to so many other people. I took this photograph on a cloudy day on Broad Beach, a vintage vase I transported from my visit back home to Florida carries this subtle sand flower, the rocks, wood and ocean become a distant memory as the flora stands out. I wheat pasted the photograph to birch so that it could look more like an ephemeral and fleeting thing. The passing of time is really important to me and I think that in this instance I couldn’t have made better use in choosing this method. I sanded down the entire thing, making the flowers barely visible. Then, I wanted to draw the details back in. The idea is that we are all growing and some things fade away – when we lose part of something either good or bad there is a strength that underlines our ability to heal and move forward, however slight it can be. We are always growing, and this important aspect in the therapeutic process is what I intended to highlight. It’s progress, its subtraction but also addition is all part of how we heal, no matter how long it takes or if it doesn’t take at all. Some things come and some things go, but there is always hope. I heard this in their story. Hope for change, hope that it gets better. They never once said it was impossible. They were grateful for getting it out after years of keeping it to themselves. I couldn’t imagine how that feels, but I know that it looks like a faded photograph when I think about it. I really loved the subtle green leaves and the barely visible brown bloom; every part of this was an eye for making things “come back” with this punctuated pith, but not in an overarching and misconstrued way. It kind of tricks the eye that this photograph from far away looks simple, but when you get close (like you would with someone telling you a story) you can see where my hand had added things back in.

In the end, the distance I felt when first attempting this project subsided when I realized that there is a unique opportunity to help someone else through shared experience. I experienced their story and they experienced this process. I feel like I could relate to something in a smaller sense, one less harrowing but still present nonetheless. There was congruency in feelings, empathic ones that made an important appearance in the work. I have come out on the other side of things and feel like growth is the most important step in maintaining survival; once you are in the mindset that you are going to get through something that has brought you down, those beautiful floral symbols come back with purpose and spontaneity. Strength is important, time serving as a vehicle for healing is important. Once you hear it out loud and through another person, maybe then can we start to watch ourselves grow and heal well outside the vase.

I am sincerely grateful for the experience, and I hope that my work can be translated into something of comfort for my muse. Thank you.

Dictionary.com defines trauma as an experience that produces psychological injury or pain. That is certainly the case of my subject and muse although not very apparent to me after the first read of her story. The essence of the trauma became unobstructed after accepting that I cannot truly understand her psychological injury or pain without actually experiencing what she went through.

Since I manipulate photographs, I started there. I wanted to highlight this overwhelming sense of another’s condition, without adhering to traditional clichés. I wanted it to be universal like it unfortunately is to so many other people. I took this photograph on a cloudy day on Broad Beach, a vintage vase I transported from my visit back home to Florida carries this subtle sand flower, the rocks, wood and ocean become a distant memory as the flora stands out. I wheat pasted the photograph to birch so that it could look more like an ephemeral and fleeting thing. The passing of time is really important to me and I think that in this instance I couldn’t have made better use in choosing this method. I sanded down the entire thing, making the flowers barely visible. Then, I wanted to draw the details back in. The idea is that we are all growing and some things fade away – when we lose part of something either good or bad there is a strength that underlines our ability to heal and move forward, however slight it can be. We are always growing, and this important aspect in the therapeutic process is what I intended to highlight. It’s progress, its subtraction but also addition is all part of how we heal, no matter how long it takes or if it doesn’t take at all. Some things come and some things go, but there is always hope. I heard this in their story. Hope for change, hope that it gets better. They never once said it was impossible. They were grateful for getting it out after years of keeping it to themselves. I couldn’t imagine how that feels, but I know that it looks like a faded photograph when I think about it. I really loved the subtle green leaves and the barely visible brown bloom; every part of this was an eye for making things “come back” with this punctuated pith, but not in an overarching and misconstrued way. It kind of tricks the eye that this photograph from far away looks simple, but when you get close (like you would with someone telling you a story) you can see where my hand had added things back in.

The enforcement of traditional family beliefs like religion, disciplinary isolation, and the antiquated role of a woman took Ms. K on a journey to escape her reality. The journey included travel to a couple of other US states and Korea resulting in additional financial struggles, personal bodily injuries as well as personal growth and the path to a new purpose.

My art is 3D Mixed Media on boards and the style I chose was abstract portraiture. In my work, I explore the dualities in Ms. K’s life: Korean versus American culture, altercation versus peace of mind, incarceration versus freedom, and darkness versus light.

The Perception Project gave me the opportunity to expand my thinking and my abstract portrait body of work that explores the dualities in the lives of people.