Breakfast with Mr. Snail

     Hot humid days obviously, easily depress us, and the best hope one can have is dwelling on the cool rain that calms the heat. The sudden pulse of the strong showers are effective in immediately getting rid of the source of the unwelcome visitor. Thankfully, a few days later the sky grew gray and the air gained moist, releasing drizzles of rain a few hours later. I saw a snail crossing by and took a picture of it. As I shared it with my friends, one of them told me about their encounter with a snail a few days ago.

     Her story was that she saw a snail at the cafeteria. Being a student at a boarding school, our cafeteria is located at the top of the dorm, where we can see most kinds of living things. Spending our third year here, we were so accustomed to seeing different types of moths at night and greetings from wasps. But then one day, they saw a snail while having breakfast. It was not the big snails like the ones they use for escargots but the small ones we could easily see nearby. They concluded that if such slow snails could climb up to the twelfth floor, nothing was impossible.

     Honestly, I could not believe the story. Not that I could not trust my friends, but the story seemed too unrealistic and it seemed more likely that there was a snail inside some vegetables delivered and the snail escaped the box unnoticed, making its journey outside the window. Or else, having seen a 'remnant' of an illusion of the snail sounded rather plausible. Full of doubt, I started googling. 

     Few clicks on Google told me that snails were capable of climbing which resulted from excessive heat or accumulated experiences of escaping from a predator. There was no exact measure on how high it climbs but in most cases, their hike lasted near three stories. There were some unfortunate cases though. Some snails are attacked by a protein that manipulates their brain and are forced to climb up to nowhere, eventually starving to death. This sounded way un-romantic than the previous conjecture but more realistic. 

     The encounter of the snail - at least the tale - made me have mixed feelings. I had absolutely no idea about its reason to climb but what could have they done up on the roof of the building - where no biotopes existed? The most probable result was it dying of dehydration, which I commonly worry might happen to snails at ground level. I am not trying to sound nihilistic here, but what was the snail intending to do when climbing the concrete architecture? I would never know, but would the snail also not know where he was sailing to? 

The Dead Wing

     I saw a dead bird on the stairs yesterday. Or maybe the day before; I can't be sure. The body laid was already unrecognizable when I first saw it. Which leaves the matter doubtful; it could have been anywhen.

     Dead bodies do not speak. The yellowish string-like figure seemed to be the only thing to indicate that the fragments once belonged to a winged creature. The feathers that lay beneath swarms of ants seemed unused but simultaneously, seemed wet. To my surprise, there was no external flow of liquid; and if it were not for the still-vivid color of its heart, it was probable that I would not have succeeded in identifying the object as a bird body. 

     I tried to imagine - what life this creature had lived. Unfortunately, this was a rather difficult task, considering that what lay in front of me mostly resembled hay and portions of autumn leaves and the rest of the world was so peaceful, under the calm rays of the sun. I came to a nihilistic conclusion - that it - like any organism - succumb to become part of nature itself. I could not attribute more.

     Death is indeed powerful - it consumes all, leaving nothing behind. They say it is what makes life valued, but if all are to be forgotten, is there meaning in creation? Certainly, procedures are important but if its destiny is already chosen, what is the purpose of all the metabolism?

     I was curiouser and curiouser, but could not give a logical answer to persuade all.

     Doubtful, I watch the ants carrying away the remnants of what once was free, that has been subdued to rich carbon nutrient, leaving an unexplained chronicle.

Inefficient, yet sufficient.

     Calligraphy, the art of letters, is one of my hobbies. To be specific, Eastern letter calligraphy, also known as seoye (서예) has been the hobby of most Korean scholars, also known as sunbi(선비). Seoye was thought to be artwork and study at the same time, and it was said that through this one could gain wisdom and clarity in the academics. As it spread to the majority of the society the genre expanded and became what we know as 'Korean art' nowadays.

     A few months ago, I came across a thought - about the necessity of calligraphy. Yes, indeed handwritings are beautiful and they are known to reflect your traits - but were 'anachronic' in many ways. Most recent design activities are conducted on digital platforms via tablets, and moreover, most people used fonts as they were well-organized and neatly made. I began to think - if there were already-made fonts, free to use, why not just manipulate them? Is there a need to newly write every work - unless you are making a new font? I was mesmerized by Tolstoy's idea of what is art and opinions against art - arguments made against its inefficiency.

     While discouragement against creation lasted longer than the expected, unidentified Youtube algorithm led me to the 'unknown' world of creation, and I was recommended to watch a clip of a random 3D pen artist making BMO from The Adventure Times. The narration indicated boredom of the process of creation, yet the scenery of the product seemed glorious and tempted me to engage in the activity of what seemed more like labor.

Youtuber Sanago's creation of Sonic the hedgehog via 3D pen

     After finding out that the videos were results of 50 to 5,000 times forward of the original work, I was interested in finding more about the man.

TED Talk of WonJin Gwon, a 3D pen Youtuber

<Art of inefficiency, 3D pen>

     "Sanago" is a man named WonJin Gwon, who started his Youtube channel as a fan of another Youtuber. He had also spoken at TED Talk at Hongik University, under the title of "Art of inefficiency", and these are some of his words that impressed me.

저는 아까도 말했듯이 예술 혹은 창작활동의 효율, 그리고 노력의 정도는 중요하지 않다고 생각해요. 남들이 보기에는 되게 지루하게 보일 수도 있어요, 아까 그 악플 다신 분들처럼. 근데 적어도 저는, 이 창작활동을 하면서 전혀 지루하게 보내지 않습니다[지루하게 느껴지지 않습니다]. 오히려 이렇게 천천히 만들어내는 이런 활동들이, 천천히 노력해서 만드는 이 활동 자체가 어떤 저의 작업의 원동력이라고 할 수가 있는데 3D펜이 되게 천천히 하는 작업에서 오는 특징이 있습니다. 3D펜으로 작업을 하게 되면요 그 대상을 굉장히 오랫동안 관찰할 수가 있어요. 작업에는 효율이 없다고 했잖아요. 저도 마찬가지로 이런 피규어를 하나 만드는데 보통 3, 40시간 정도가 걸려요. 3, 40시간동안 짱구 얼굴을, 짱구 아빠 얼굴을 보고 있으면 굉장히 지루하겠다, 라고 생각하겠죠. 하지만 저는 그런 게 오랫동안 작업을 하는게 대상을 굉장히 심도 있게 바라보고 또 내면에 있는 저의 짱구에 대한, 어떤 생각들. 내면의 저와 소통을 하고 있다고 저는 생각을 합니다.

Like I previously said, I don't think efficiency in art or artwork and degree of effort matters. To others, this may seem boresome. Like those hate comments. But at least I don't think these are boring. Rather, slow-paced activities, those that require slow effort, are the driving force of my work and 3D pen art is one of these traits. If you create with a 3D pen, you can observe an object for a long time. I've told you the work is not efficient. Likewise, it takes me 30~40 hours to create a figure. Looking at Shin Chan's, and his father's face for 30~40 hours - sounds boring, doesn't it? But to me such long works let me examine the subject with detail and communicate with my inner ideas about it.

내면의 나와 소통한다는 것은 되게 어려운 생각일수도 있는데 쉽게 말하자면 단순히 내가 그것에 대해 생각을 하는 것을 넘어가지고 어떤, 나도 모르게 무의식적으로 사물이나 대상에 대해서 억압된 생각을 가지고 있다던가, 아니면은 어떤 콤플렉스를 가지고 있는 것들을 마주하게 된다는 것을 말해요. 그런 생각들을 내 '내면의 욕구'라고 한다면은 그것들을 저는 3D 펜을 통해서 표출시키는, 예술로 승화한다는 말 많이 쓰잖아요, 그런 것처럼 어떤 내재되있는 그것에 대한 생각들 그리고 콤플렉스 이런것들을 작품을 담는, 어떤 하나의 그릇을 만든다고 생각을 하면은 편하실 것 같아요. 

Communicating with inner-self may sound complex but simply put, this means thinking beyond the prior invisible repressed thoughts within self or complexes that one has. If we call them "the inner greed" I express them via 3D pen, the inner thoughts and defects, and make a bowl that overwhelms all, like the saying 'turning into sublimity'.

 

     His words reminded me of Michelangelo's words.

If people knew how hard I had to work to gain my mastery, it would not seem so wonderful at all.

- Michelangelo

     And I realized that calligraphy had the same beauty.

     The instant-ness of our lives probably contributed to the incapability in enjoying the display of steady mastery. Yet the beauty lies in its procedural nutrition, and when the flower blooms, that is hence the moment for admiration.

Calligraphy of Korean letter '꽃(flower)'
May 07, 2020

Pink Petals

     It's already April, and cherry blossoms are everywhere. Usually, when cherry blossoms bloom, it meant starting to prepare for my mid-term. Fortunately, the impoverished virus breakout had let me enjoy the spring ambiance first time in a few years. It was truly impressive to see white snowflakes firmly decorating the delicate twigs.

Cherry blossom flower landed on my hands during my walk this morning.

     There is an old Korean myth that if you catch a cherry blossom flower or its petal falling from the tree, your first love will become true. There are many variations - some say it is the autumn leaf or the first snow of that winter that grants the wish. There also is a version where your unrecognized and unrequited love is achieved or that you fall in love with the person next to you.

     The first time my friend heard this myth, she made me stay with her for an hour after school to catch falling petals with her. She did not have any crush but said she wished for a dramatic and romantic love to one day sweeten her life, like the one the petal promises. I was busy enough then too but the scenery of the falling petals made it difficult for me to leave. I did have to put more effort to catch up with an hour I spent idly watching the flowers, but it was aesthetic enough to make the experience worth it.

     As I was taking a morning walk a few days ago, a full flower suddenly fell into my hand. With a sudden flashback of the memory, I realized it has been a few years since I last enjoyed the scene of falling flowers. True, I have been 'locked' in a place without cherry blossom trees. But even if there was a single cherry blossom tree, I would have been unable to admire its beauty - I could not appreciate subtle beauty inside nearby things. Glad for the luck of enjoying the spring ambiance, I tried to think of my desperate wish but my mind went blank. It was an irony - I was busier and working harder to achieve, but nothing came to my mind.

     Later that day someone proposed a hypothesis why she thought cherry blossoms got to have such a myth. Her theory was that if you were so desperate to recall the goal at that spot, it was something that you would have achieved, nevertheless how hopeless it seems. I realized luck was something given to support something that was meant to be, despite anything. I may have been imperfect timewise that I could not enjoy the beauty of sight, but it was also my immature blueprint of life that I realized - it was too naive and weak for a lifelong goal.

     Learning a new lesson, I thought to myself - the pandemic is the chaos that broke not only my routine but left numerous broken and shattered hearts. Yet it came to me if it is something to be falling apart because of one single event, it was meant to be ruined. The best way of overcoming such a disaster is not falling in despair but realizing and mending what was imperfect previously. Now the cherry blossom flowers have all fell and what stands in the place is the sole tree, green from the new leaves. After I have learned a lesson, I am having my second thoughts about the tree - not only a tree mystic but also firm, producing the scent of secretive ambiance.

Writer's block

     Opening the laptop, there is a meadow of icons. Files organized in its category, documents and downloaded pictures everywhere. In the background is a picture of Hilary Hahn, my role model. Blankly staring at the nothingness, it is difficult to start focusing and finishing tasks.

     The planner for today shows three essays due today, seven items to be checked off the list. It is clear that the first move after the laptop turns on is to open Microsoft Word, the most frequently used program for the past week. Yet the mouse seems to prefer where it has been - and does not move, unwilling to be displaced. Time passes, and about the time the laptop falls asleep, the mouse directs to another icon - of the Internet. The sites you have left yesterday - mail and essay - indicate the tasks awaiting to be completed. Still the keyboards remain silent, the laptop still not having Word turned on, touchpad being the only thing under pressure.

     Procrastination is so tempting because it is designed to be so. Watching Cinderella meet the prince all the sudden and her life - changing 180 degrees - at once - shows how effort can be meaningless sometimes. The overwhelming fear that it is impossible to beat the clock and soon you are to be imperfect makes the clock ring - the tick-tocks sounding larger than ever.

     However, deadlines are deadlines. Right before the clock strikes 12 the keyboard presses Ctrl + Enter, the keys to send the email. Thankfully, the delivery is made without error, though the content may be a bit imperfect.

Playing cards

     You are under extreme stress. You have a few hours after the exam and a few hours before the next. You know no letters would make any sense to you, and that you'd prefer sleeping or doing anything else but study. You turn your laptop on, wondering if there is something new that you can do. Your obvious choice is the Internet. The place you can read, write, play games, or watch movies. A place nothing restricts whatever you were to do.

A scene from Solitaire 1 suit

     That is the prologue - how I got to know this game. Solitaire 1 suit. The sole goal of this game is to stack the cards in the right order. K-Q-J-10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-A. Eight stacks. The cards were shuffled, and like The Tower of Hanoi, they could not be moved to be stalked against the order.

     The winning strategy of the game is seemingly simple - create all the piles of cards to be in order so that every card set would be in order always, ready to be put into combinations. Yet this method does not work in all cases. In fact, it is the easiest way for you to lose in this game. The ironic thing is that the best tactic is to put all possible cards in order but make the stacks if possible. And in this way, it is necessary to destroy the previously organized order of cards.

     Of course, if lucky, the player has no need to make extra movements to make the stacks be in order. Yet the tendency is that in order to get a higher score, it is better to break what was previously accomplished. Nothing is ever guaranteed to come in order. Not only the sequence of random cards, but life events are also randomly given out. But if they are all put behind so that they could be handled later, it is more likely that they are lost before they can be seized.

A chance is like a flying bird.

Spinoza 

Reminiscence

     I remember that cold winter evening. I remember I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, or was about to do. I remember, inside my mind played the usual Mozart Violin Concerto No. 3, played by Hilary Hahn, the one I have been listening for the whole past semester. I remember that I remembered Hahn played the piece for the pope's birthday, live-broadcasted around the globe. I remember the memory discomforting me even more in my unusual black dress, holding my instrument with hands wet from sweat, staring at rows of portable seats that were empty a few hours before. I remember catching some familiar glances filled with excitement - and instinctively turning away from them. I remember the stage was bright - so bright that everyone had to squint to see - but the air was freezing cold, while my back felt so hot from the self-heating pads which my mom attached while I dressed in my new clothes. I remember, my heart raced.

     Have you ever felt as if you were born again, completely new to your life? You are as you were, but suddenly the world is silenced - leaving your heartbeat - that 'lub dub' - sound louder than ever. You know you have not passed out, that the world still has colors besides white, and that you are still the same 'you', but everything seems so new. The school gym you used to know even before you got to school, the members of the orchestra that you have been playing music with for at least two years, the conductor whom you have definitely fought with the most for the past couple months, and yourself reflected in the looking-glass. You are so new - but that is not because your mind is so blank, it is just that everything changed to be made suitable for the day. Is this so important, you wonder, for all these people to be busied, just for the event? But soon some important-looking figures arrive, wearing their suits so black that you wonder if they were absorbing all the colors existing. You glance at your friend, who mouths you "the mayor". You roll your eyes - since when were classical music concerts so interesting for so many people to come? Since when was the government so interested in our school that they decide to come, dedicate on the night of the brink of the year? Unwillingly accepting the reality, you go back to the stage, playing that video of Hahn displaying the delicate memory again and again inside your mind. You know nothing really happened, but feel the temperature dropping as the night approaches.

     I find the percussion team waiting for their stage. Their giggles irritated me - maybe it derived from their confidence in performing. Maybe it was because it was their first time receiving so much attention. Maybe it was because they had no solos, but were sharing the spotlight. I could not guess which was the answer, but felt my heart racing harder every second. Perhaps a last-minute practice might help, I thought to myself, and started fingering the notes on my violin. But time flew, soon I was on stage, and discovered everything ended as I was playing the last note. Oh no, I'm totally screwed was my first thought. Maybe no one heard me play. Hopefully no one will remember. Maybe it all was a dream. Maybe when I wake up, everything will be fine, and I would have another chance to play it better.

     If one could feel the time stop, that was when I felt it stop. Everything was so still for a moment. My face was red and hot, more than anything for a moment. Then slowly the clap began. The audience clapped for a moment. I caught a few smiles from some familiar faces. For a while.

     I have no remembering how I played that night. I was unwilling to find out, though I did have a video clip, and probably never will. But I can say this for sure - that the experience was so strong, and that I will remember the night.