The ground is covered with blooming flowers, and the time when a hundred birds are singing has come. The sound of the spotted dove can also be heard within our surroundings. I am going to Dongyao Mountain and Frankincense Hill, and I will return only when the cool breeze of dawn and the flying shadows of the sun have passed.

The sudden flashes of inspiration are like blossoming flowers, gradually opening from the depths of consciousness. In the blink of an eye, they interweave with the past, forming scenes as if in a dream. Under the moonlight, looking at different versions of oneself, urging me to keep watering and fertilizing diligently, to manage properly. Walking through wild ginger flowers and pausing to look back, the lilies say, “What is precious is precious; the past is already over, and now is the time to live.” I take my heart and turn it into a gift, continuing to move forward.

Artist’s Self-narrative