Dreams & Fables: Korean Artist JeeYoung Lee

Childhood // Source Opion Gallery

Treasure Hunt 

Resurrection

The Little Matchgirl

Nightmare

Maiden Voyage

Treasure Hunt

Nightmare

Once in awhile I come across an artist whose dreams, imagination and fears parallel my own that I'm immediately drawn to it like magnet.

South Korean artist, JeeYoung Lee's recent collection of dreamlike and transcendental images is a perfect example of this and I'm awed at her ability to create such breathtaking scenes that are dark and beautiful at the same time.

She used her own dream scenes and traditional Korean folktales as inspiration for these images. 

The objects, props and backdrops used in each scene were created by hand and no digital manipulation was utilized. More strikingly, she used her tiny studio in Seoul (11.8'X13.5'X7.8') as blank canvas to depict her boundless imagination.  

Lee opens her first European exhibition at Opiom Gallery in Opio, France, aptly titled Stage of Mind starting February 7, 2014. 

You can view more of her work here. 

11.12.13- The Beginning of Tiny Stories

Life continues to present itself as unpredictable and non-linear contrary to a childlike dream--- and the only way I can make any sense out of present ordeals seem to be the need for tiny stories; for raw, painful and raging stories that permeate everyone's lives but few talk about.

As soon as my life begins to feel ordinary, another extraordinary event follows without my consent- and life is rolling out its red carpet awaiting for me to take my first step as a story-teller.

This red carpet is not glamourous like Hollywood nor perfect like a Taoist's zen...it is tattered, abused and abandoned yet gleaming its beauty under the array of stars that shine without a grid, lost but perfectly orchestrated into a Godly pattern.

Like a shaman who can't shake off an unknown illness until she becomes fully ritualized into her destined role, I must gather my scattered energy and begin to write.

Do I write for the listener or do I write for myself. How do I rationalize the hours spent away from my family by accepting this role. Where do I begin.

Knowing how much story telling can dig up painful memories, knowing the tragic end of many writers consumed by their passions that double as self-deprecating demons, this is a dilemma my head continues to fight.

I keep running away and life keeps bringing me back. I want to run but can't hide. Why do you keep me from living my normal life as a housewife. Why am I putting up a fight.

My muse is my biggest fear and she won't let go until I abide.

One Morning of an Imperfect Mother

Mother and Child, Gustav Klimt c. 1905

This morning I heard a tragic news: a close friend has cervical cancer and had to abort her second child to prevent the cancer from spreading. Luckily she found out early enough--thanks to a routine check up necessitated by her pregnancy-- and is now recovering from a hysterectomy.

As a mother and friend, the news hit me pretty hard and as I was sending positive thoughts and prayers her way, my heart began to ache. I could only imagine how hard it must've been for her to go through such immense stress and worry while carrying a new life in her womb. I wonder how much grief she felt knowing she may not be able to keep her child. I wonder if she blamed herself for not taking better care of herself or for not being attuned to her body like 'good' mothers are expected to.

I hope she didn't. I hope she is stronger than the mother I am.

Such self-deprecating thoughts began to haunt my mind as soon as my first daughter started showing signs of developmental delays. She didn't wave, babble or crawl like other babies and I knew pretty early on that she was different. As a young 25-year old mother I didn't know how to handle the weight placed in my life and I resorted to isolation, self-contempt and unhealthy patterns of thoughts that included many angry "why me?" rants into the air as if someone up there can do something to help me.

Miracles occurred in the bible all the time. Why couldn't God let that miracle happen to me? Just once, is all I ask. If you can somehow heal my child and make my life right again, I'll do anything you ask. I'll even start going back to sunday mass like I used to. Please Lord, just once! Just once is all I ask!!

Fast forward eight years- I now realize how empty and vain my prayers were. This wasn't the first time I tried to bargain with God with my manipulative prayers. I once prayed like this when I lost my dog in high school. I told God I'll start going to Sunday mass every week if He lets us find him.

We found the dog after a few days and sure enough, I forgot all about my prayers. I followed my parents to Sunday mass many more times thereafter but not because I was grateful that God found our, but because I had no choice but to obey my parents until I leave home for college.

How convenient.

So this morning, I crawled back into bed after sending off the girls to school and began to pray for my friend. My heart began to ache for her, her lost child and for all the pain and grief she may be going through.

Just then my husband walked through the bedroom door and told me Elise had a horrible morning at school. She didn't like the blue jeans she was wearing and screamed all the way to her class while kicking and trying to take off her pants. We're lucky that the school staff and teachers are so understanding of her needs and always try to be warm and kind to her in spite of her explosive tantrums, no matter how loud and piercing her cries travel down the hallway.

And as always, guilt creeps in. 

I should've been there to drop off the kids. I should've never put those blue jeans on her. I shouldn't be in bed right now. I wonder if those teachers think I'm a bad mom for not being there, for giving my husband the morning drop-off duty. I should've never taken that melatonin last night. I should be able to handle my child better. I wonder if T feels embarrassed by her older sister who lacks self control at times. I hope she doesn't get teased at school. What is wrong with me? What is wrong with her? Is this ever going to get better? Will this ever end?

Then I remember I still have an entire afternoon and evening to make up for the bad morning. I still have a lifetime to try harder, to become a better mom, to learn more, to criticize less. I still have a chance to hold my children and tell them I love them. I still have not one, but two beautiful children to hug and kiss.

Despite my daughter's different needs, she has the sweetest smile and the biggest belly laugh in the world. She can tell me she loves me. She can walk, she can talk and she can scream when something upsets her.

I've been wrestling with the possibility of having a third child. Suddenly this so-called-mommy-dilemma feels like luxury. Suddenly I feel like a spoiled brat who cries over not getting that ice cream for dessert when her belly is full.

Perhaps I'm at exactly where I'm supposed to be, learning through other's stories and my own imperfections.

Perhaps this is all, that really matters.

Happy birthday Angela, you've come a long way.

Another year came and left swiftly; I celebrated another birthday. This year's birthday was low key and hangover free as my humble celebration consisted of a relaxing lunch date with my mother and dinner at my favorite sushi restaurant with family.

I realized this may be the year when I stop counting publicly, no more "happy xx-th birthday!" from family and friends. I prefer it this way as the number of my age is slowly becoming cumbersome, a source of unwarranted regret and trepidation about remaining years.

Instead of planning a lavish birthday party with friends and buying myself a new birthday outfit, this year consisted of a consultation-gone-wrong (maybe I will share one day) and a series of desperate questions aimed toward God, the Universe and self.

I have so much to be thankful for- a supportive husband, two beautifully imperfect children and loving parents and siblings who appear proud of how I turned out at this age. I too, am proud of my achievements as a mother and wife and hold myself a little tighter for all the trials I've managed to overcome.

As always though, I remain hungry and thirsty. I'm blessed yet unfulfilled; I'm thankful yet still not whole. I've been searching for answers and realize God still wants me to wait. He wants to teach me patience, a virtue I lack since birth.

This birthday I agreed I'll wait a little longer. I told Him I'm sorry I'm so impatient and temperamental. I told Him I love him regardless and thanked Him for loving me regardless of my greatest flaw- my perfectionist ideals that drive everyone, including myself crazy at times.

And finally I asked that the fruit of my labor is great enough to satisfy my internal yearnings. If the fruit turns out to be trivial and mediocre (by my standards, not the world's) I would have a series of lifelong disappointments to face. I would endure it of course, but I want to remain womanly and graceful in my later years and not become that bitter-faced middle aged woman I come across so often at churches and school functions nowadays.

Happy birthday Angela, you've come a long way. I'm proud of you and love you... now go back to your roots and start doing what you do best. Now, go.

DOING is the hardest part, especially considering my inactive & contemplative personality where spending time and energy on preformed ideals feel like a cardinal sin.

God gave me a gift, and the opposite side of that leaf is the monstrous gape of my greatest fear.