while i was living in korea during 2007-2009, i visited my parents’ house in anaheim once, to gather some old stuff to bring back to seoul with me.  during my hunt through old boxes containing my kitchenware and overpriced decor that i impulsively purchased from the MOMA store while i was in art school, i came across even older boxes–remains of my childhood.  slightly eerie and touching at the same time, i must admit.  don’t worry, i’m not going to drench this post in gooey words of nostalgia and all-too-early sentiments about time and memories… not yet, anyway.

no, these boxes were like a cemetery of experiences.  i tend to like cemeteries.  they’re places of openness and honesty.  they offer closure and commencement.

anyway, in one of my cemetery boxes, i found an old book i had written when i was 6.  it was a comic book about a king–a funny king who made all of his subjects laugh.  i had created a small library card type of system for the front cover so that people can borrow it.  however i never finished it and, alas, nobody was to ever behold the delightful antics of this stout monarch.

as an artist, i find it easy to do this: begin an inspired project and then never finish it.  i’ve tried to start small projects so that i don’t grow weary of working on it.  i’ve tried to keep myself accountable by telling everyone about a project (btw, don’t do that).  i’ve also tried to take on projects whose subjects are so grand and lofty that it should force me to finish it… otherwise it’d be a disservice to society, right?  oh, ignorance, how i seem to love thee.

yet it seems there is no pattern to which kind of project i will eventually quit on.  it seems that it’s not the project that is the issue, but it is myself.  it’s been said to death, so i need not add another word to the discussion of fear and accomplishments.  all i know is that there’s a box in my parents’ house with an unfinished book written by a once courageous little girl, who now often sits before a computer screen or sketchbook, imagining all of the ways the present piece could end.

not ready