There was some sort of romance when I think about my paintings…….
My paintings are the reflections of my very soul…..
They are the manifestation of my ideas, experiences, thoughts, emotions, feelings and my own being, happiness, frustrations, peacefulness and so forth…..
There was no beginning and no ending…..
There was no reason nor explanation.
I’m not sure if I was right…..
Wasn’t it romantic?….
They (art works) were there because they have to exist (out there) in order to be non-exist (from me)…..
Each of them was like giving a birth…..
The thoughts that summed up to create them – were none…..
I have never planned any paintings – I let it painted itself…..
I am just a tool, there were unseen hands painted through me…..
Symphonies and rhapsodies lingered on those brush strokes.
They could be the pieces of music that I heard from the past lives – this life or just now.

They were the music I heard in a dream…
They emerged from thin air, the rustling trees, drifting clouds, chirping birds, claps of butterfly wings, ants parade, etc.

While observing and embracing a lady bug passing by.
Or a night filled with fireflies… 
The beauty of a small green flowery bud.
A spider weaving its nest.
Trails of colors that tried but failed to imitate the divinity….
Were there such a thing!….
I never knew – it was the unknown…..
I don’t think that it was God or anything like that…..
I just believe that – from a blank state of mind – became those art.
Could it be the energy that already exited in the universe?
It often occurred from anguish and unsettlement.
So I have to do something to release them.
Actually I let myself go blank…  As if I was a blank canvas.
Then the fun begins!!….
Then it settling me down, pulling me down to earth again and again…..
No origination, no inspiration…..
Just the power of disturbance and eerie feeling to let go of the restlessness in the guts that could have killed me if I didn’t let it out…….

It was so romantic though – the uncertainty, the unknown, the moments that didn’t really exist.

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