Sometimes, you reach a point in your life where you feel stuck, as though you regret every decision you’ve ever made, and every step you’ve taken feels like another wrong move towards a future you cannot imagine.

But sometimes, somebody pulls you back. Somebody gives you hope, and shows you how beautiful life can be. Yes, life is fragile and full of empty promises, but life and love are equally – if not more so – abundant.

It’s fairly easy to say to someone, you don’t know what I’m going through. But knowing is one thing. Being patient, understanding, and loving is another. And that’s the important part of a relationship. That’s the important part of love.

That’s the important part of life.

Rich, spontaneous boys surprise pretty girls with nice things.

I know it’s somewhere around here, I just need to look harder.

It’s right in front of me, I just know it.

How come I can’t see it? Maybe I’m not looking hard enough.

Or maybe, I’m looking too hard.

I’m trying too hard.

I’ve got to let go.

If I just follow my instincts, and go with the flow, I’m sure it will reveal itself, eventually.

I just hope there’s enough time.

But even if there isn’t much time left, it’s still more than enough to make it count.

Here we go.

It’s especially frustrating to keep still after such a fruitful trip to Guangzhou for the bronze-casting workshop. It was a real eye-opener. Bronze is such a beautiful medium to work with. It’s mind-blowing to see such a strong, solid material melt into a searing hot pool of red slush, and then transform into a solid again. There are so many things that bronze can be a metaphor for, and I feel a need to use it for a future body of work.

But looking at so much art and being surrounded by artists makes me wonder: What kind of artist am I? I know it is a question that only I can answer, but what if I can’t?

All it takes is to throw myself off the edge, so it can begin.

10 weeks.
And so it begins.

I say no.

I don’t really have a ‘my work is about ______” sentence for my artistic concept, but a few keywords are: childhood, parenthood, concept of home, reinforced sense of control through role-playing games, importance of child’s play, and most importantly,

the idea of parents and a home does not become an issue until it is no longer present, and only when that part of our lives is missing can we truly discern it.

I believe that every human being has experienced some kind of trauma or loss, and every parent has made some kind of sacrifice, or mistake.

I know, some people are hardened. But you know what? My work is not for people like that. The same way I now have little interest for ‘First Gradism’ paintings, talking about light and shadow and colour and that sort of thing.

But seriously, am I going backwards here? How do we know when we’re moving forward, and if we’re in the right direction?

Because emotional baggage is a difficult thing to let go off,
It will be something you will never hear the end of.

I will cry,
I will weep,
I will speak of my brokenness and my hurt.
I will tell of my pain and my sorrow.
I will not say nice things.

I will curse and swear and scorn the face of the men who have hurt me.
I will be insecure and vulnerable.
I will be difficult to fix.
I will be impossible to save.

I will be bitter.
I will be jealous.
I will be forever in search of a perfect life.
I will not rest until I have full control of my surroundings.
And worst of all,
I will never forget what it feels like when a person breaks you, hurts you, and leaves you,
wants nothing to do with you,
wishes not to know you,
walks away from you,
hides away from you,
and chooses not to contact you,
because it is the closest thing possible
to a life,
a perfect life,
in which you do not exist.

To put it plainly, you disgust me, on every level.