Whisper

Art classes in elementary school were a kind of torment.
I often spent the entire class wondering what to draw, only to rush something out as the lesson came to an end.
While working on this photo series, which began in summer, I found myself trapped in the same dilemma.

This time, however, I knew the answer: when you are unsure of what to do or where to go, you must return to the beginning.
In my photography studies, the one thing I wanted to gain was a way of seeing.
I followed that way to the place where I could meet and express things most true to my own gaze.
That place was the alley—where I was born and where I have spent so many years.

Narrow though it may be, an alley holds a vast world.
There are old yet lovingly decorated gates and homes, chairs set out for rest and shared moments with neighbors,
and the strange beauty of clustered red brick houses.
There are plants too—growing alongside people, each shaping its own small world.

Among so many sights, my eyes were first drawn to green.
I began pressing the shutter on potted plants perched neatly by doorsteps and stairs,
on trees left untended yet revealing their full selves,
on bushes sprawling freely in empty lots untouched by people.
In each plant I met—each one different despite their similarities—
I found myself smiling as I released the shutter.
Stepping into the alley, my heart would quicken, and I would take another step forward.

Now, the winds of development are reaching even the entrance of the alley.
I record these beautiful scenes, knowing they will soon be gone.
I want to share with the wider world the existence of those who live only with the earth’s soil, the rain of clouds, and the sunlight of the sky.

From a distance, you cannot see them.
You must go in deep and walk slowly to notice them.
Their beauty lies in how they neither flaunt themselves nor wear any ornament.
From them, I gain courage for life and joy in the small beauty of daily existence.
They whisper that there are countless ways to live, that there is no fixed answer—
that the untamed, unmanaged way that is yours may well be the answer.