Some people say that my art works are contemporary frightening, and sometimes shocking.
“What the hell is this thing?” as some people would react.
Ink on Chinese Rice Paper
In the summer of ‘76, I was an artist. But I was an artist contemplating about committing suicide rather than an artist capable of creating. At the time my work was merely conforming to bureaucracy and the authoritarians of traditional art. In the true artist sense, I was not at all contributing to a progressive society.Years of depression eventually influenced my physical health. Strange sicknesses that could not be accurately diagnosed had begun to manifest. There was a period that my body ached daily with overwhelming pain. Painkillers filled my cabinets and as did acupuncture sessions to my daily schedules.
Feeling trapped and without hope, I was both mentally and physically tired. I was a working artist but was one without meaning or purpose.
Tai Chi and Daoism became the eventual liberation to the darkness that was my near demise.
Though Tai Chi was originally a commitment to regain my health, as I trained further, my realizations of its deep philosophies began to coincide with what I was starting to comprehend in the concepts of Daoism. Both disciplines emphasized on the understanding of the universe.
Tai Chi may have saved me from deteriorating health, but together with Daoism, the two saved my soul. What I had discovered for myself enticed me not only to live but also to explore the universe further in the name of art.
Since then, I live and breathe by the philosophies of Tai Chi and Daoism has become my main driving force and the two lives in all my art in infinite forms.