A Single Point – ADORE GALLERY

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

Blog

A Single Point

I look
at a single, small point.

She is,
to the point of sorrow,
too complete.

Perched upon the wall,
I saw her eyes
searching every furrow of the field
where the man once came.

No trace,
no scent of living flesh
returns.

As she stands
on the verge
of becoming an unmoving statue
guarding a temple,
she finally draws in
the indifferent air
and enters the room.

When I put out my cigarette
and stepped in—
a cough leading the way—
Nuna
had become a point.

What life
could be more perfect than this?

Already,
she gathers herself
into another world.

Leaving what is vain
etched upon the wall,
she must defend herself
from the cruel poison of the world
with tears
kneaded deep within.

She rolls
body and mind together,
pressing herself
into a hollow—

for she fears
anything
left outside.

It is time
to clean the room,
yet I cannot
lift the vacuum.

It would be unthinkable
beside this fallen child.

With you—
worn and torn—
what could I clean
that would make anything
truly clean?

You are complete,
yet my careless desire
has harmed you.

Even the smallest point
carries, intact,
the nature of the divine—
I come to know this again.

You—
a single point,
the sound of existence,
frail,
yet immense—

I pray to the Virgin
that this may be nothing more
than the pain
of a season
condensed into growth.

No matter how great a point,
it is not greater
than the greatest point.

No matter how short a line,
it is a complete fragment
of the longest line.

POST A COMMENT