Memories

The smell of my father’s research laboratory, the smell of the chemicals and books, the softness of the brown wounded leather sofa, and the memory of my fathers posture when getting the green tea out for me from his pale green cabinet. The memory of drawing coral reefs at my father's boring laboratory. Inside of my mother’s studio which always tickled my nose due to the fluff from the wool of her textiles. Listening to the Beatles and music by Yang Hee Eun whilst travelling through the snow covered Misiryeong and Hangyeryeong Pass. Baby Uki’s damp and talc-like smell as he was held by my Grandma.

The fresh air when Uki and I jumped around near the river in front of a cabin in Oslo as the sun dazzled on the water. The memory of skipping rope in front of my father as he was cutting the grass in a house in Newcastle.

The smell of trees that wrapped me around as I came out of Laurie Grove Bath studio on my way home at sunset. The sounds and the colours that surrounded me on New Cross Street. The noisy pub where I first met Warren and the loud chattering of people inside. The winter was viciously cold in London that year.



The scenery of early morning at Hayang Station after the blue dawn when I left the house in Apgujeong to catch the train to cross the country. The smell of the taxi to Daegu University. Watching the Muncheonji reservoir in a taxi with a fellow lecturer and the sight of the air shimmering above the water. The bench near the music department of Kyungbook National University reminded me of the steep path on the way to Ewha University’s art building that smelled of fallen magnolias that carpeted the floor. The smell of the grass and the gentle cool breeze that flowed through my hair at Champ de mars in Paris when we listened to our song Eric Clapton’s Layla.

The chattering sound of children at Dogok Elementary School when I opened the window after working through the night until the next morning in the Daechi studio. The foggy cool morning air.

Although several decades have passed, the experiences and places that I remember with my senses are clear to me; but they become transcendent entities without a clear trace, and even if I want to grab them, it’s not possible to. The justification for their existence is solely for the longing memories, and the fact that I am alive and breathing.