A bleak low hill, a place or trace where a structure containing people's wishes placed, a hermit's small cabin, and an old temple site… those are weathered by the air, wind and rain, and sunshine, disappeared, or melted into the light. 
As saying 'now, here, this', not 'somewhere in the distance in the future', I lay eyes on a simple beauty which I can meet nearby at this moment, rather than plausible or high-sounding one. 
I repeat to paint until that beauty is revealed, or I feel like 'it's done'. I feel at ease. Every moment I leave that traces with experiencing to meet myself, with a name of 'Old path - Garden of light'. 
By Jae-Ik Cho