in the snow No. 01 Print

Hello, I'm Jung Minhui, a painter. Sometimes, whenever the weight of life grows heavy, I retreat into the sanctuary of my imagination. Within the countless imaginary worlds I’ve created, there exists another self of mine — my dog, Rich. Rich sometimes sits with her eyes gently closed, as if dreaming, or enjoys a quiet nap. She spends her time in serene solitude, wholly immersed in herself. In reality, I adore the vibrant bloom of spring and the dazzling warmth of sunlight. Yet the words I use to define what I love hold no power before Rich — for Rich is simply happy, no matter the season or the day. Under the gaze of others — their harsh judgments and the longing for all that I lacked — I once believed I possessed nothing. Clutching an unfillable empty box, I struggled through the weary days, yesterday and today, with nothing but diligence and quiet perseverance. All the while, I turned away from the many things I truly had. Longing itself is not a fault — but within it, I lost my way. And then I pictured Rich with her eyes closed, relaxed and unhurried — free from striving, free from the weight of what must be done. The keys that appear in my paintings are devices meant to unlock my closed heart, while the unopened letters represent stimuli from a world I am reluctant to face. While my self in reality seeks meaning in all things, Rich finds joy effortlessly, needing nothing extraordinary. Rich knows well that joy is not granted by others — its mere existence is precious. I find myself admiring that kind of being. When moments arise in which life feels whole, I wonder — could I exist solely in reality, without Rich from my imagination? With the passage of time, surely the weariness and hardship of life will erode and fade. In those moments, all I can do is bring Rich onto the canvas, fill the world around her, and in doing so, reflect upon and heal myself. With the hope that one day I might live a luminous present, untouched by the sorrow of unmet yesterdays or the fear of uncertain tomorrows, I fill my canvas with fragments of imagined scenes — as if they might one day become real.