It is silence that I seek in the end somewhere between light and form, a strand of light in a tangled
chaos that sets apart the mind of an artist. As it takes form, I become a witness to the event while embodying the experience. For me, it is about making a gesture, a secret sign on the surface of the canvas, opening up the possibilities while containing it in a specific vessel.

A So-Nyu (a young maiden) wears a chima-jogurie. The bulge of her dress is a pregnant torso full of blood and fertile soil. I dig and dig. I discover heads, buried deep within, wrapped by the chima-joguri.
I line them up then I push them back into the distant haze. They become faint memories, a palimpsest
of gathered time.

I invoke a colossal head as a bold stroke of the brush. Octavio Paz speaks of a "God who comes forth from a ceramic orchid." He writes, "Among clay petals is born, smiling, the human flower." Shim-Chung emerges from the surface of the river encased in a lotus flower. Like ancient stoneware, this colossal head withholds a stately solidity.

I hold a Placenta Jar in my hands, a relic from a distant past. The placenta is in the inner jar. The inner
jar is in the outer jar. The outer jar is in the earth. The container contains a container. Flesh is a
container. Flesh is the contained. Now within my grip, I am the vessel.

The shattering of the vessel is the mystery of tzimtzum – the world, the broken form. I wrap and wrap
with rice-paper sealing in the cracks while letting through the light. Molten rocks and minerals erupt.
Fire is overcome by ice. The Wrapped Shards fall.

Seeking ground. Seeking solid ground, a bedrock – a new order, a new space. Stacking up shards–
a precarious balance. Stacking up forms, totem poles of body parts – an absurdity, an Amphigory. A fragile woman balances an enormous basket of eggs on her head. There is strength in vulnerability.
I construct her body from the bottom up. The Egg Woman stands upright.

Who is she who takes on the humble gesture of a bow? One bow, two bows, three bows, four.
A Woman of Josun Dynasty.
The frontal head leans forward to reveal the part -- the parting of the sea.
The part becomes a vessel– a wine bottle from which pour liquid libation. An Offering. The supplicant surrenders herself to a higher will in the act of serene wastefulness. Six Vestal Virgins offer their
wombs. Five Foolish Virgins toss up their heads in the air and speak of love. Do Not Arouse Love,
they say, Before It Pleases.
I listen. Solitude, Quietude, Beatitude.

The Korean traditional dress.
Weinberger, Eliot, Selected Poems: Octavio Paz, p.5
Shim-Chung is the daughter of a blind man who offers herself as the sacrificial virgin to the river god insuring the
protection of her village and the livelihood of her father. As she is thrown into the water, the river god is captivated by
her beauty and takes her as his wife. She does not stop yearning for her father however, and the river god consents to
her return visit. She rises up to the surface encased in a lotus flower.
A Josun Dynasty ceramic vessel (pun'chong) used to store the placenta of a newborn child. In this Korean tradition that dates back to the Kaya Dynasty (5-6th c. AD), the placenta was placed in an inner jar which then was placed in the
center of an outer jar with soil and mesh. Finally, the entire placenta jar was buried into the ground. Scholars can only speculate as to the purpose of this ritual. They all seem to acknowledge, however, the importance, possibly the
sacredness of this first nourishing ground made of flesh.
As the light from the highest plunged into the lower spheres and shattered them, what the Kabbala calls, "the Mystery of the breaking of the Vessels" (tzimtzum) took place. From this point on, God's Shekkhinah descends from sphere to
sphere, wanders from world to world and banishes Herself in shell after shell. Buber, Martin, The Origin and Meaning of Hasidism, p. 121

The Josun Dynasty refers to nearly five centuries of Korean history (1392-1911) whereupon Neo-Confucian beliefs and customs prevailed and individual Korean women were seldom depicted in art.
Song of Solomon 8:4