Minus Ita II: The Echo of My Own Soul

50x50cm)

The canvas, before me, was a quiet hum, a silent invitation to unravel something within. I titled this piece *Minus ita II*, a phrase that whispers of subtraction, of things unsaid or taken away, yet here, in this vibrant cacophony, it feels like a declaration of what remains. It’s not about absence for me, but about the irreducible core, the pure energy that persists even when layers are stripped away. It is the raw, unadorned self, present and accounted for, in a world that constantly demands simplification. *Minus ita II* is my visual diary of finding richness in what is often deemed 'less.'

When I laid down that muted teal-gray base, I wasn't thinking of a finished work, but of a vast, tranquil expanse, a silent ocean of thought where everything begins. It felt like the hushed moment before a storm, or perhaps the calm after one – a space ready to receive the echoes of my inner world. Over this foundation, I found myself drawn to intricate lines, thin red threads that crisscrossed and tangled. Each stroke was a momentary thought, a fleeting connection, a nervous energy that pulsed beneath the surface. I remembered the frenetic pace of life, the constant interplay of information, and these lines became the visual representation of that internal chatter, sometimes chaotic, sometimes harmonious.

Then came the bursts of color, like unexpected epiphanies. The vivid blue arc, cradling a sliver of black, emerged as a serene, almost cosmic eye, watching over the canvas. I placed it there, a beacon of concentrated thought, a moment of profound clarity amidst the swirling lines. The bold orange arcs and dashes were bursts of pure joy, uninhibited and bright, like sudden laughter echoing in an empty room. I recall the feeling of pure, unadulterated pleasure as I splattered the white paint, allowing it to drip and dance across the surface. These weren't planned gestures; they were moments of surrender to instinct, allowing the medium to express its own freedom, mirroring my own desire to break free from rigid structures.

I found myself repeating certain forms, almost unconsciously. The small, neat red and green dashes in the upper left felt like counting, like measuring the passage of time or the steady beat of a heart. And the Korean characters, "ㅋ" and "ㅎ"—symbols of laughter and breath—they just flowed from my brush, a playful whisper of my own voice, my own culture, finding its way into the abstract. They are personal touches, intimate thoughts woven into the fabric of the painting. The scattered 'X's and 'O's, reminiscent of games, suggested the choices we make, the wins and losses, the endless possibilities in every moment.

The bold orange block on the right, slashed through with vibrant yellow lines, was a different kind of energy—intense, fiery, almost confrontational. I was exploring the power of raw emotion here, the kind that flares up and demands attention. It's a contrast to the quieter teal, a necessary explosion within the calm. And the patch of green with polka dots? It was a moment of lightness, a playful diversion, a little pocket of whimsy. Similarly, the deep green at the bottom, bordering on a vibrant orange strip, felt like grounding, like the earth itself, holding all these disparate energies together.

As I stepped back from *Minus ita II*, I saw not a subtraction, but an accumulation of my very being. Every line, every color, every drip and dash is a piece of my experience, my philosophy, my raw self laid bare. It's a celebration of the chaotic beauty of life, the quiet wisdom found in simplicity, and the irrepressible spirit that, despite everything, continues to create, to feel, and to shine. It is the echo of my own soul, rendered visible.