Welcome, and thank you for visiting my modest gallery tucked away in a quiet corner.

Here you will find a variety of my works—large and small, diverse in character and spirit. I arranged them in this way because, seen together, they may give you a clearer sense of who I am.

To be honest, I often feel my lack of formal training and the limited time I have been able to devote to art. Yet I continue without pause—feeling, learning, and growing in the process.

I am not a master of any single field, nor do I belong wholly to any place. Take what you see as it is, and carry with you whatever impressions remain. Though I began in earnest later in life, I have always sought to keep faith with my first intent—to let neither results nor criticism define me, but to follow the quiet integrity of my own path in art.

At times, a sudden impulse led me to submit small works to competitions, and a few were recognized. In Korea, I once taught art at a high school for about ten years. In 2009, after twenty years of living in Australia, I returned to Korea, where I now work as a sculptor. That, in essence, is the whole of my artistic journey.

I have no interest in heavy philosophy. What moves me are the kinds of impressions that feel like music, and the vivid realities that the world tirelessly brings forth.

I love travel and every kind of documentary, and hold special respect for the creators of BBC Earth, whose programs I watch with admiration. And one thing is certain: without music, I imagine my veins would carry nothing but plain water.

Perhaps artists are simply those who live in the busy square between the entrance of expectation and the exit of fulfillment.

Even if you arrived here by chance, I am grateful.

Yoonki Hong
Born 1952

ADORE-GALLERY
85 Cheongun-ro, Mungyeong-eup, Mungyeong-si Gyeongsangbuk-do, Republic of Korea

Blog

Cats & Kittens

Well… really? Yes, without a doubt

Driving belongs to another time in my life now. But back then, there was always piano music in the car. Nothing elaborate, nothing that demanded attention—just simple piano pieces, light enough to drift, gentle enough to stay.

Among all the instruments in the world, there are a few I love without question: the piano, the cello, and the trumpet. Each speaks to me in its own language. But if I were asked which one I could never live without, the answer would come quietly and firmly—the piano.

Once, while working as a cleaner for a company in Australia, I drove a manager who lived nearby home late at night. As we arrived, he remarked on how smooth the ride had been. I laughed and said, “I’m a good driver.” Then, after a brief pause, I added, “But truly—it’s the piano music.”

Even when another car slips suddenly into my lane without warning, I feel no irritation. My senses have already noticed. And by then, the piano has done its work—opening my heart, softening the edges of the moment, leaving no space for anger to settle.

The piano’s touch—soft or forceful, high or low, long or brief—has an almost mysterious way of tuning my heartbeat. For this reason, I hold a quiet reverence for those who first imagined it into being, and for those who patiently shaped it into what it is today.

Yesterday and today, two small kittens kept edging their way into my warm workspace. I named them Nuna and Latte. As piano music filled the room, I tapped the floor lightly with my fingers, keeping time. They watched me for a moment, then—one after the other—their eyes slowly closed, and sleep claimed them.

What chance did they have?
This is the piano’s magic. “You felt it too, didn’t you?”

Watching them sleep, so completely surrendered, a smile finds me without asking.

Soft piano music is, after all, the most gentle of medicines.

 

 

 

 

POST A COMMENT