While others majored in Finance, I earned a PhD in Resilience...

Writing a resume for me is one of the most difficult things to do.  To be honest, I feel like it's such an inaccurate representation of who I am professionally, and it sure as hell doesn't capture my personality.

Sure, I have skills that can be developed, I'm intelligent enough to comprehend pretty much any "how-to" PDF or video that's out there to get the job done - but just because I can, it doesn't necessarily mean I want to.  Perhaps I'm selfish, stubborn, or even lazy.  Bottom line is, after living most of my life working my ass off to make ends meet or to somehow lessen a heavy burden on a single mother I adore (most of the time), if I'm given a choice as to how or where or with whom I exert my effort and talent, I make sure it's meaningful.

I may not have time for everything or everyone, but what I would do for my friends, family, and a great idea, can't really be calculated or accurately conveyed on a resume.

I recently read an article from hbr.org that described how invaluable it is to have resilience.  My life has been a never-ending roller coaster ride.  Why do I love Hawaii so much?  From the moment I was born in Honolulu, I was loved and cared for by my family unconditionally and blissfully unaware of conflict for a total of 4 straight years!  Then, we moved across oceans, from apartment to apartment, from one state to another, finally settling down in Atlanta, Georgia.  Since Hawaii, I've never lived in one home for more than 2 years.

And.. I just spent 10 minutes recalling each home I've lived in, and I'm surprised to say that I am living in my 22nd home.  Should I dare count how many jobs I've had since I started working as an 11-year-old cashier on weekends at the retail stores my mom managed?  Omg, my brain hurts.

What does this do to a person?  It makes him or her resilient.

These last few months are a perfect example of the kind of "luck" I've had my entire life.  It's always something upsetting and terrible that happens followed by a suspiciously positive outcome.  Last Thursday, the apartment building located literally on the other side of my bedroom wall (not attached) went up in flames and is now a pile of rubble.  I watched it burn, and was ready to accept that my apartment would be next.  But not even a week later, I'm comfortably sitting on my couch, in my first apartment on my own (with no roommates), listening to my music, writing up this blog post.

Another example?  Sure!

After getting rear-ended almost 2 months ago, I've struggled with neck/back pain, car repairs taking a month, but the settlement paid for the very nice MacBook Pro I'm using right now, which was luckily about 33% off the normal retail price.  Then, just last Saturday, I backed up into a pole in an apartment parking deck, total damage costing about 2 G's.  What may seem like a typical careless accident was actually different due to the unique context.  The passenger in my car when all this went down was a certain someone who successfully kept me interested longer than most... We had just met and were trying to coordinate late night chow time, and ended up in his parking deck to guide his carpool of friends to their cars.

He told me to sit tight, and he'd be right back.  I was ready to bail... I wanted to crawl under my covers, fall asleep, and never wake up to face this level of embarrassment.  That didn't happen.  Instead, this lovely individual came back and consoled me with stories of his own mistakes... the kind of accidents that resulted from a split second of misjudgment.  Over tea, hummus, and pita I resolved to move on and be thankful that no one was hurt, I didn't get a DUI, and I didn't hit another parked car (Not to mention the nice warm feelings associated with this certain someone... ).

Having been through much worse than what I just described, I'm slightly indifferent.  I shrug my shoulders, smile, and move on.  I remember when I took these things personally, and I was miserable because I kept wanting to find some relief and escape from chaos, misfortune, and tiresome work.  Now, I wouldn't dare escape from what I have going on in my life because there's meaning in my relationships, my endeavors, as well as my struggles.

To close, a quote...

"As we see, the priority stays with creatively changing the situation that causes us to suffer. But the superiority goes to the 'know-how to suffer,' if need be. . ."  -Victor Frankl

Jiha Moon / Nate Moore

Nate Moore, Eight Jet Star 211

Jiha Moon, The Official Visit

Visiting Robert C. Williams Paper Museum at Ga Tech was altogether a "home-sweet-home" moment for me. Although the visit was brief, a light bulb in my darkness of uncertainty exploded with electrifying intensity and clarity. Not only do I connect with the work of artist Jiha Moon because of our similar heritage, I think her use of traditional elements are accessible to the modern viewer. Talking with Brian from Saltworks Gallery was interesting as well. He noted that Moon's work brings the viewer in through various recognizable elements. For someone like me, who shares her cultural background (not really, but somewhat... I'll explain later) the color scheme and variation in line quality allows me to make the connection with traditional Korean art, but one piece had traffic cones within the composition. As Brian pointed out, they act as a play on tradition and her current residency in Atlanta, Georgia.

Nate Moore's work consists of found paper, folded into "jets" and then carefully placed on a structured grid system. There were four large frames filled with these jets that covered one whole wall of the gallery. The repetitive shapes of the jets in such a rigid structure were complemented by the variety of patterns, shapes, and colors of the found paper.

In high school, I used origami for a number of my pieces. The one piece that got selected in the group show for College Board's AP Studio Art, was a design piece that explored the visual elements of instructions for origami. The importance of effective visual references intrigued me, because most people oversee the aesthetic value in these illustrations. They both effectively communicate a set of instructions and possess some visual character.

Exploring the root/source/meaning/drive of my art making has caused me to question my identity, my personal history, the issues that concern me the most, and the way it all influences the formal qualities of my work. I realize the duality of structure vs. freedom interests me the most. There is a play between structured geometric shapes and lines that are attempting to break free in the gestural repetitive marks. I'll post some of my work eventually.... sigh.

I am Korean, but with so little exposure to Korea. During a recent critique, a friend who grew up in Korea commented that my work is very "Korean." But how this influence has reached me all the way here in Atlanta, Georgia, I do not know. I'm starting to realize that a cultural identity can be formed in a contrasting cultural context. It's not like I can really say that the four years of early childhood education in an American school in Korea really contributed to the development of a Korean identity. I only spoke English for the first half of my life, and now I am fluent in both Korean and English. The intentionality of seeking out my mother's culture did not start until I was surrounded by other Asian Americans in school. Yet, I am not American either because I was unaware of common American tradition for most of my life as well. The more-Americanized father that I barely know grew up in Hawaii, a place where the Caucasian is a minority nicknamed "howlie."

It's no wonder why my mother often gets frustrated to the core with me; we have such different worldviews. I look like I should know where she's coming from, because we look the same. I resemble those of her culture, but the illusion diminishes as our core values clash and our misinterpretations, unspoken expectations, and narrow-minded assumptions collide with irreparable hurt as a result.

If my art is a manifestation of who I am, then currently it accurately represents me: timid, headstrong, passionate, fleeting, finicky, frustrated, persistent, impulsive/spontaneous, and somewhat neglected.

My art shows me parts of myself that I'd prefer not to face.

Haha, AA should stand for "Artists Anonymous."

What Makes Me Hawaiian? pt 2

My grandmother is on the far right. I think I look more like her than anyone else in the family... and here are my great-grandparents who were the first generation in our family.

Being a 4th generation Korean-American from Hawaii, my relatives are generally English-speaking. My family endured a lot as one of the first families to immigrate to Hawaii from Korea. I'm sure it would make for a great K-drama plot.

I am still unaware of the specific details of what life was like for my great grandparents more than 100 years ago. When I see my great aunts, I'm amazed at how lively they are, with such joy in seeing their children and grandchildren grow up. All of them outlived their spouses. They're so active and strong, at ages nearing the mid 90s.

This reminds me of my recent research into Japanese contemporary art that explores the gender role of females in their society. From being referred to as "child-making devices" by a government official, and the twisted obsession with young adolescent girls, Japanese women have to endure and grieve over the loss of their identity in a society that takes them for granted... for as long as an average of 84 years of their lives. Japanese women live longer than either gender in any other country. Japan is full of old grandmothers, yet the obsession for underdeveloped youth girls is still a cultural norm. Photographer Miwa Yanagi does a series called "My Grandmothers" where she uses digitally altered photography and special-effects make-up to depict young women 50 years from now.

http://www.yanagimiwa.net/My/e/index.html
Check out the site, it has the stories and other details of the project.

I regret not asking my grandmother what it was like to be a Korean-American woman in Hawaii, and how it encouraged or discouraged her to thrive as an individual. Defining my unique identity through my own life experiences is difficult as it is, and learning my own family history seems so necessary in completing the idea. At times, as I visited Hawaii, I did not feel like I fit in. I've lived in Atlanta, Georgia for more than 17 years now, yet I would not consider this my hometown. The last time I went to Korea was when I lived there as a child, and even then, I attended an American school at the U.S. Military base. South Korea is not my home either.

In the age of globalization, various cultures are represented in major metropolitan cities, where anyone can have a taste of another country's unique lifestyles. Unfortunately, what happens is that locals take on the false projection of a particular culture, which in reality is so much more rich at core. And with its misinterpretations and over-generalizations, the pursuit of authenticity is becoming more and more vain in America. Americanized Japanese food, Americanized Chinese Food, and so on... I wonder if cultural authenticity is even an issue with the majority of people in the U.S. anymore... What globalization should encourage is more opportunities for travel in the public education system to prepare the next generation in global affairs. Exposure to people who are different than your typical neighbor will surely extinguish any roots of ignorance or narrow-mindedness.

When thinking about what my art is about, I must take all these things into consideration.

sigh......... whew, it's one tough research assignment. "What the hell is my art about?" I know that I should know what I don't know, but in not knowing what I know nor what I don't know, I'm just doing art for the sake of doing art, and what's wrong with that!? BUT!! I think I may know a bit about what I absolutely don't know, therefore my art can not be about that, right!? It rules out SOMETHING, so yes, I am on the right track. Thanks, Paul.

I am a Korean - Hawaiian - American Southerner, female, and fairly young...


I am who I am.

What makes me Hawaiian?

Although I was born in Honolulu, Hawaii, there are many things I have not yet experienced as a local. I have so many memories of Hawaii... and as I described a few to my mom her eyes widened with shock because supposedly I was only 2 years old when many of these events took place. At any rate, aside from my childhood memories of blissful walks in the neighborhood and visits to the beach and the pool, the most vivid memories are of summers spent at my grandparents' house.

I remember how the mangoes tasted from the mango tree in their backyard. I was always so fascinated by it, with its leaves and branches so lush and expressive. The breakfast table was just an extension of the kitchen, sort of like a breakfast bar but level with normal tables. The dinky stools we used to sit on were never very comfortable but it was perfect for plopping down to eat mangoes, fresh papaya with squeezed lemon juice, or meals consisting of rice and Portuguese sausage (which I have to admit is the best sausage ever!!). There was always organized mail, an array of post-it notes, and lots of vitamins against the wall on the breakfast table.

I can just see my Grandma sitting there with her bifocals tilting her head up to look down at a to-do list she just finished writing. "Give me some sugar, sweetheart," she would say, as she puckered up her thin lips to welcome a peck from me. Haha, she was so cute when she would make her smile appear and disappear in a flutter... so silly, yet slightly disturbing. I could never figure out how she did that.

Grandpa would be sitting in his recliner, remote in hand, quiet and content with watching TV for hours on in. I don't remember much else about my Grandpa from earlier visits but during my last visit before he passed away, he and I shared several cups of coffee over the course of a couple weeks, sitting together at the breakfast table. Awkward, but somewhat peaceful... He's not much of a talker. He tried to ask me how school was and how things were going in general. But that was the end of that. Wait... Ha! How could I forget what he said the first time I saw him in 8 years! I arrived in Honolulu, then was promptly taken to the hospital to see him. I walked in with a big smile, hoping he would be happy to see me after so many years, then... looking at me, then at my brother, and after a glance at me again, he says to my brother, "Eh, she fatta den you..." sigh... Lovely, just lovely...

If you've been to Hawaii, I'm sure you noticed the dialect is very colorful. It's called Hawaii Pidgin. I actually own a copy of the New Testament in Hawaii Pidgin called "Da Jesus Book," written all funky... Here is the most famous Bible verse, John 3:16 in the local people's talk:

"God wen get so plenny love an aloha fo da peopo inside da world, dat he wen send me, his one an ony Boy, so dat everybody dat trus me no get cut off from God, but get da real kine life dat stay to da max foeva."

I learned to talk while I was in Hawaii. Not everyone there has a strong accent, just how not everyone in Atlanta has a strong Southern accent. But, one of my cousins from Florida told me I used to have the Pidgin accent as a kid. Every time I visited Hawaii, I'd call my friends and they'd tell me I spoke differently... The thing is, if I TRY to speak Pidgin, I sound retarded, but I think it rubs off on me a bit when I'm there. Haha, languages, dialects, accents, slang... it's all so fascinating to compare and pick apart.

I wish I had pictures of my grandparents' house. I may need to ask my brother if he has any. When I remember things, it's usually set within the parameters of the spatial arrangement (maybe I should dip my toes into interior design... haha). I remember the setting more than I remember specific conversations. It's how I'm wired. My earliest memories are just visions of rooms, pathways, and the various details that make-up the space.

To Be Continued...