I started to draw when I was in kindergarten. For almost ten years, I only sketched still lives. I thought that painting was my hobby at the time and my goal was to make the objects as real as possible. Choosing this major and studying painting is not only because of my love for it but also because of my own salvation.
I paint myself. Reading in bed, bathing in tub or just a backside view of myself watching a tablet. I delineated the details as explicitly as possible with my use of pigments and brushes. Sometimes dedicated, sometimes empty-minded and other times vigilant – I would find different aspects of myself appear in the canvas. The person in the painting is me and not me. They are quiet, comfortable, and free, and their eyes are clear. When I saw this person, I felt happy, but I was also scared. I am afraid that the person in the painting is not like me, and I am also fearful that it is me. My culture has a taboo against women not wearing clothes, but when I stripped the figure’s clothes in the painting, I felt happier. What artistic creation means to me is a mirror of self- reflection with which I can find my true ego. An artist as well as a spectator, I have been switching myself back and forth to figure out what I desire, where my ego is and how to break the tether of reality.