Etching, 9.75 x 12 inches
Edition of 25
Still shiver
My husband and I lived in Soho for three years but rent was on the rise so we decided to move to Brooklyn. We crossed the Williamsburg Bridge to look for a new living and working space when we came across a huge empty factory building in Greenpoint, at the very end of Manhattan Ave, situated right next to the water. The landlord simply drew a line on the wooden floor with a piece of chalk to divide the huge lofts for different tenants. We built an improvised wall for some privacy. There were only shared bathrooms for every floor. We loved the cheap rent and the beautiful views of New York City. The owner warned us that there was no heating available but since we moved induring the middle of summer, we didn’t mind much. Then, winter came.
Even on a hot day, when I think back to those bitter cold winters, I still shiver. We didn’t realize then that no heating meant absolutely zero heat. Mind numbingly cold winds chilled our bones through the infinite cracks in the windows and walls. I cannot believe I survived through several winters of freezing nights without losing any toes. Yet, we managed to survive and I am still an artist to this day in Greenpoint, Brooklyn with my husband and two sons.
Uptown, 2006
Monoprint, 11 x 9 inches
Memories of Grand Street
When the cold wind blows, reminds me of the past.
A long time ago, I lived on the second floor of a seven-story building on Grand Street in Chinatown, Manhattan. In the morning, I waked up to the louder chatter of Chinese women in the old cramped elevator that went up to the sewing factory upstairs. The sound that went through the second floor is louder and as it goes upstairs, disappeared as if are submerged in the water.
In the evening, the chatter of Chinese women was getting louder again, and when the elevator passed our floors, it's as if a storm was passing by. Then I went out to Chinatown to buy some food for dinner.
Before I moved to Chinatown, my husband and I lived apart from each other even if we had the wedding oath in the city hall. My husband lived with his roommate in Manhattan, and I lived with my roommate in Queens. With no decent job and no place to live together, our artist couple had no choice but to live apart as we had previously lived.
About six months later, my husband's roommate suggested that the three live together at the Grand Street. My roommate used one side of a large space and our couple used the other. Each had a bedroom above their space. In the corner of our bedroom there were drum and percussion instruments left by the people who lived before. Lying next to the instruments was like an acrobat resting in the tent.
There was no heating system in winter. It was as cold as a Siberian field. The building was old, so there were lots of rats and bugs. I used to go to sleep scratching all over my body. My husband used to lay white paper and knock on the ceiling to catch them by dropping bugs.
It was hard for us to live on. By the way, there were many friends who came to our studio. They slept and played on a big gray sofa that was in the middle of the studio, They came on Friday and didn't go back their home until Sunday evening. Our studio was called "Grand Street church." My husband was called 'Pastor Lee' and my roommate was called 'Elder Hwang.'
At the end of the year, they lived in my house for a few days and commuted to work. Elder Hwang brought on to lots of bulgogi left over from the year-end party of the alumni association. We were all happy with bulgogi and kimchi. I didn't know it was hard for my friends to come in and out frequently.
The owner of the building had a bean sprout factory in the dark basement. When I go to the basement to pay rent once a month, I cannot see him because the place was dark. "Is not it dark?" "Bean sprouts grow up quickly in the dark," he said. When I gave him rent, he wrapped a handful of bean sprouts for me.
After paying the rent, there is no money. We ate the bean sprouts soup, the seasoned bean sprouts, and the bean sprouts rice for several days. Then it was difficult to pay the rent that goes up every year, so we had to leave Grand Street. Our couple crossed the Williamsburg Bridge to the Green Point, Brooklyn and our roommate left for Seoul Korea.
The room landscape, 1994
Etching, 8 x 10 inches
Edition of 25
The reason why my husband is mature
Should I say shock therapy?
A wife needs to surprise her husband. Whenever a man is surprised, he seems to grow up little by little.
It was a long time ago, I was a manager at a clothing store in Brooklyn. The young man was looking into the store; with the woman's stocking was top his head. The figure was so ridiculous that I laughed inside, saying, 'There's all the crazy ones!'
"Give me the money!" The man, standing outside looking inside, covered a stocking his face and pointed a gun that was wrapped in a brown bag at me. It was so strange and funny to actually see the distorted face with stockings that I had only seen in the movie. He pointed the brown bag near at my face and shouted, "If you don't give me, I'll kill you!"
I couldn't believe there was a gun in a brown bag because of the sudden attack. "Don't be ridiculous, are you playing?" I snapped at the brown bag. Rather, the robber was so surprised that he pushed me and threw the register on the floor. Then he ran away with as much money as he could collect.
I ran out of the store after the thief who had run away. But the clerks and shoppers are lying flat on the floor. One of the clerks was shivering and crying. My legs finally began to tremble at the sight.
"Why did you do it without fear, are you crazy?" people went wild. I never imagined that this would happen to me. I didn't even know how dangerous it was because it was the first time.
The owner of the clothing store came running in surprise. "When a robber asks for money, why don't you give it? Why did you do that? I'm glad you didn't die," he said. A week ago, a burglar broke into the pizza store next door and was shot dead. After hearing one thing or another, I began to tremble and I felt sick. I realized that it was a terrible incident.
I dragged my tired body home and lay down. My stomach began to ache. I was getting very sick and had a hemorrhage. I was eventually taken to the hospital. A three-month-old child was miscarried.
The next day, my husband filled the locks outside the studio door and went out to get a job. I brought the store key, but I couldn't get to work. The storeowner came and took a key I thrown out of the window. In the end I became a full-time housewife. My husband pretty surprised at that time. The artist's husband almost made his wife dead for his painting. Painting is doing also without dying.
Monoprint, 6 x 9 inches
A scarket backpack
People will forget what you said and did, but they will never forget how you made them feel.
This is what Maya Angelou said. As if to prove this quote, I often think of a woman I briefly passed on election day. The grim mass of her scarlet backpack, which was weighing her down on her back, sticks in my mind, like poppy blood, and I wonder if she still carries that heavy scarlet backpack these days.
Long ago, I worked as a primary and general election day clerk for many years, surviving an anxious life. Although it was a long day of work that required working from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m., I did not miss the two days that allowed me to receive a decent amount of pay. It was early November one year, Tuesday, the day of the general election. I remember it as a polling place at a high school in Queens. That day, I met her as an election worker. Perhaps because we were similar ages, we already became close during the morning of the election. And we went out to eat together at lunchtime. A rock-like scarlet bag was hanging on her back, pressing down on her body and pulling it down behind her. She hunched her shoulders and pulled on her backpack to keep herself from collapsing and took long strides.
We went into a nearby Chinese restaurant. She placed her bag carefully on the chair next to her. The two of us, who had been exposed to the cold air since dawn, shouted Jjamppong at the same time as the waitress approached us, as if trying to warm up. There was so much food that I couldn't even eat half of it. As if she had starved for several days, she ate it up in one go, as if the vacuum cleaner was inhaling it, without leaving a single drop of her soup. Her eyes were glued to the red jjamppong I left for a while with an expression of regret. She looked at me with a look that was hard to tell if it was a pity for me who couldn't eat well or if it was a waste of the jjamppong left behind.
Her hand, which had finished eating the jjambbong in an instant, was holding the bag strap tightly. I was curious and couldn't help but ask.
“Why are you carrying such a heavy bag?”
“This bag contains everything important to me.”
“If it’s an important item, you should keep it at home. What if you lose it while carrying it? “Isn’t it heavy?”
"I live with my roommate and I feel like she's going through my stuff and touching it. It's heavy, but I feel relieved to carry it around like this."
I wanted to say, 'That heavy scarlet backpack will dominate and crush your mental world and transform your body,' but I held it back. I can't forget her skinny body and dark expression, which have been cemented by the firm determination to carry the scarlet backpack.
This is what Maya Angelou said. As if to prove this quote, I often think of a woman I briefly passed on election day. The grim mass of her scarlet backpack, which was weighing her down on her back, sticks in my mind, like poppy blood, and I wonder if she still carries that heavy scarlet backpack these days.
Long ago, I worked as a primary and general election day clerk for many years, surviving an anxious life. Although it was a long day of work that required working from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m., I did not miss the two days that allowed me to receive a decent amount of pay. It was early November one year, Tuesday, the day of the general election. I remember it as a polling place at a high school in Queens. That day, I met her as an election worker. Perhaps because we were similar ages, we already became close during the morning of the election. And we went out to eat together at lunchtime. A rock-like scarlet bag was hanging on her back, pressing down on her body and pulling it down behind her. She hunched her shoulders and pulled on her backpack to keep herself from collapsing and took long strides.
We went into a nearby Chinese restaurant. She placed her bag carefully on the chair next to her. The two of us, who had been exposed to the cold air since dawn, shouted Jjamppong at the same time as the waitress approached us, as if trying to warm up. There was so much food that I couldn't even eat half of it. As if she had starved for several days, she ate it up in one go, as if the vacuum cleaner was inhaling it, without leaving a single drop of her soup. Her eyes were glued to the red jjamppong I left for a while with an expression of regret. She looked at me with a look that was hard to tell if it was a pity for me who couldn't eat well or if it was a waste of the jjamppong left behind.
Her hand, which had finished eating the jjambbong in an instant, was holding the bag strap tightly. I was curious and couldn't help but ask.
“Why are you carrying such a heavy bag?”
“This bag contains everything important to me.”
“If it’s an important item, you should keep it at home. What if you lose it while carrying it? “Isn’t it heavy?”
"I live with my roommate and I feel like she's going through my stuff and touching it. It's heavy, but I feel relieved to carry it around like this."
I wanted to say, 'That heavy scarlet backpack will dominate and crush your mental world and transform your body,' but I held it back. I can't forget her skinny body and dark expression, which have been cemented by the firm determination to carry the scarlet backpack.