I have always been an artist whose hands move before words form in the mind. Whether I am shaping clay, painting, or building the poetic universe of Hwapy World, my process always begins with feeling. My body moves instinctively, silently. Only later do thoughts catch up, and finally, language follows. This way of working makes it difficult to place my practice within clear boundaries—between craft and painting, object and image, intuition and thought.

This project begins precisely at that threshold, where I step deeper into the slow, living practice of ottchil, traditional Korean lacquer. It is a medium that demands patience, humility, and time. Through it, I reflect on the relationships between nature, time, and the human inner world. In a time when speed is praised as a virtue, I want to reclaim “waiting” as a space of care and clarity. I want to pause, to listen inwardly, and to dwell in the space where a philosophical dialogue between nature and human can quietly take place.

Ottchil is the slowest material I have ever encountered. After applying a single coat, I must wait for day sometimes even longer depending on the wind, the humidity, and the subtle atmosphere of the air. This waiting is not a gap in productivity. It is a kind of internal stillness that seeps into my body. As I wait, I come face to face with my breath, my restlessness, my desire to control time and ultimately, the deep rhythm of nature that quiets it all. This is not about conquering the material. It is a collaboration with it. I do not force form I follow it.

This project begins with building a lacquered wood panel. I select the wood, refine its surface, apply the lacquer, and wait. I dry and polish it slowly, layer by layer. Throughout the process, I keep a journal not only to document technical steps but to trace the emotional atmosphere that arises. Sometimes these take the form of short poems; other times, fragmented thoughts or silent observations. They are not confessions or dramatic monologues. Rather, they are the light residue of thought subtle emotional shifts that surface when the mind opens quietly. I believe the slow practice of ottchil opens the door to the mind. It invites inner images to rise and settle. Through repetition, I begin to absorb them, to make them my own. That is, for me, the true value of artistic discipline not mastery, but transformation.

I hope this project will transcend categories like craft, painting, or installation. I do not see ottchil merely as a technique it is a breathing surface, a threshold where the body meets nature. Through this encounter, I hope to share my sensory awareness with others. And ultimately, this work carries the questions I want to offer to the world:

“How long can we truly wait?”
“What remains in us during that waiting?”
“What if slowness is not an obstacle, but a gateway to depth?”

I hope this process resonates with people who feel worn out by urgency, or disconnected from their own rhythms. For some, the layered surface of ottchil may bring comfort. For others, it may act as a mirror. I am open to being both.

This project is also deeply connected to Hwapy World, my ongoing practice of world-building through emotional language and soft imagery. Hwapy World is a space that holds displaced feelings those that are overlooked or pushed aside in daily life. Within this lacquer project, I hope to create small symbolic dwellings for the beings that inhabit Hwapy World—spaces for healing, stillness, and quiet. The meeting of lacquer and clay, two materials that are intimately bound to time and touch, becomes a way of giving form to sensitivity itself.

Ultimately, I do not aim to produce a polished object or a singular final work. I want the process itself to become the message. I want the act of making to be a quiet philosophy. Art, for me, is not a product. It is a form of survival. It is the way I translate the invisible layers of my own life. It is how I remain open to the world, even when it feels overwhelming. Through this slow and contemplative practice, I hope to create a space in which others might pause, breathe, and listen not only to my work, but to themselves.