A crock

A crock is a little cosmos holding several different figures. It is a place where our ancestors' various customs are still alive.

Though it is unplanned, the place becomes a piece by constructions your mom arranged.

As changing seasons makes wonderful different sceneries, it creates amiable pieces.

Like a little child, an old man, and sometimes a fatty, a crock is always standing right there getting rained on and looking up the sky with a red heart.
 Once five three crucial colors out of five symbolizing a balance of the universe are harmonized as different forms of seasonings in our lives.

Crocks' breathing is same as communication between I and you. Cooking some food is my and our love.

Covering the crocks with a lid means that I and you can hug warmly and forgive each other.
Inside of the crocks, reflection shows stars in the dark night sky, the round moon, and my face.

Without the crocks, are we able to discuss our traditions and ethnicity? Without the crocks, can we feel a sense of nostalgia?

Isn't feeling lives of yesterday more dominant than knowing beauty and worth of crocks' shapes?
 A crock is a place representing our lives in implicative and symbolical ways.

Van Gogh tried to find his life and expression about his works through Jean François Millet. Like what he did, Mr.Ann wished to identify his works with his life. That is why I look for crocks.
Many people express something through the crocks until now, but a crock in the piece I am looking at gives me different feeling.

The traditional and ethnical feelings emerged from the crocks are covering the whole piece.

When remembering many memories happened in childhood slowly and when drawing changing sceneries on a paper as seasons come and go, I get wet with infinite happiness.

He already draw with colorful paints on a canvas in a spring day filled with smiling dandelions, in a summer day

when I can hear mom's voice saying 'Hey, close the crocks with the lid.', in a fall day fallen leaves are here and there over crocks and red peppers are scattered,

and in a winter day when too much snowfalls make towns even warm.
 A crock stands on a same place facing against rains keeping its great figure, snows and storms, unlike a fancy Koryo celadon.

I finally find my and our lives from that crock.