This exhibition, "Daughter of the Great Mountain,"
tells a story of longing, care, and affectionate sorrow I have for our daughter, our little dog Su-Su-Pe
My wife found her at a military camp on a Japanese war film set in Sattahip Naval Base when she was just a month old. We bonded as a family—a father, a mother, and a daughter—and those were the most beautiful days of our lives.
But time in our lives passes as quickly as the blink of an eye, or the fleeting moment a tiny insect flutters its wings. No one ever warns you that everything will pass like a gust of wind, catching you off guard, without a chance to hold on to anything.
Four years ago, on January 10th, I lost my father to cancer. My whole family was unprepared, or perhaps it was just me who refused to understand the situation.
On January 10, 2024, our 14-year-old daughter—an old dog with wobbly hind legs—wandered away from home, and we never saw her again.
Since that day, besides crying, we’ve done everything imaginable, everything we possibly could to find her. But it was all in vain.
I couldn't paint, couldn't live normally. Sometimes, even breathing felt painful—not physically, but in my soul. I shattered into a thousand tiny pieces of glass, scattered and blown away by the wind.
Today, time has helped a little. We no longer cry so often.
"Daughter of the Great Mountain" is like a story of the last five years we shared together in our little home by the Nan River. We would huddle together under thick blankets on cold days, climb mountains, play in the river, run through rice fields, and simply love and care for her in her final years.
Thank you for coming to love me, and for teaching a father how to love