For a period of time, I enjoyed observing trees. I noticed that around the trunks, there were always some oddly shaped branches growing—both vigorous and wild, as if trying to suck the trunk dry of its nutrients. However, when I saw them again some time later, they had already been cut off. It was only later that I learned those branches are called “water sprouts,” and their presence affects the growth of the trunk.
In my creative process, I am constantly torn and hesitant. I have a solid “trunk”—my education is traditional, and I am obsessed with the method of constructing my paintings stroke by stroke, honestly and steadily, which seems to be classic. I also have sprawling “futile sprout”—a desire to explore contemporary image logic and relationships, to deconstruct contemporary image dynamics, and to attempt to build my own understanding of contemporary imagery. These pursuits, in turn, seem to be modern. The constant tug-of-war between this “trunk” and these “futile sprout” appears to be the cause of my exhaustion. It often makes it difficult for me to determine the position of my own creative work, and I repeatedly question the relationship between the two, leaving me entangled in a continuous cycle of reflection.