"Who hasn’t felt their heart ache in silence, watching silver appear in their parents’ hair or the lines on their faces deepen with time? Seeing the shoulders that once carried my world begin to narrow is a tender kind of sorrow. Trees remind me of my parents. Their upright trunks and wide, sheltering leaves feel like an embrace. Though they appear still, trees are always adapting to their surroundings, quietly resilient, much like my parents have always been.
From a Pair, In Their Arms, shifts focus from the trunk to the branches, the reaching parts where lives meet and intertwine. While earlier works explored trees as singular, grounded forms, this piece reflects on how connection shapes growth. Inspired by the lovevined tree, the branches stretch across the canvas not only as botanical forms but as gestures — arms crossing, twisting, holding. Though rooted in the natural world, the forms also abstractly evoke the human body.
The movement of these branches reminds me of my parents, of the way they have grown into
each other over time. In the gentle bends and crossings, I see a relationship that is strong, tender, and enduring. In some quiet way, I see myself nestled between them, shaped by the life they have built together.
As with much of my work, the surface was built slowly and patiently, layer by layer, using hanji, paint, and sand. Each layer holds time. Some settle deeply while others shift, revealing what came before. The process feels like memory, always softening, transforming, and returning. Not all my memories are sharp, but beneath them lies the steady presence of love and trust. Through this painting, I try to express that presence, the care that continues to shape me.
In In Their Arms, We Bloom, two root-like forms emerge from the base of the canvas, rising and folding gently into one another like torsos in an intimate embrace. The layered surface holds a soft, textured weight, tender like skin, bark, or memory worn smooth. As the forms ascend, they merge into a continuous gesture. Near the top, their lines begin to branch outward, gently and almost imperceptibly, like the slow opening of a flower. It suggests a love not only held between two people but extended outward, offering space for others to grow within it. For the series Aging, I photographed the grain of a tree trunk and transferred it onto hanji, layering it with sand and paint. The rough surface evokes the rawness of bark, shaped by years of weather and time. That texture, like my parents’ aging, speaks not of loss, but of presence. Where I once saw only strength, I now notice tenderness in the lines and age spots on their faces, in the narrowing of their shoulders, in the quiet spread of white hair. These details carry the story of a life fully lived. The sand that settles on the canvas becomes a quiet metaphor for their enduring beauty and resilience. Through this work, I try to hold their presence and honor the quiet strength with which they have carried us.
While painting, I think about my parents, how they’ve stayed beside each other through so many seasons, quietly growing together. This work holds the life they’ve built, the one I was born into and still return to. Their closeness shaped the ground we all grew from. And in the way these forms rise and open, I see how love, when it’s steady and deeply rooted, naturally reaches outward, creating space for us to take root and bloom."
Bo Kim