In my meditation, when my thoughts are subdued, voices come together and they speak as one. In this clarity, beauty can take shape in my mind. It is with this inner coherence that I draw myself. With only a pencil and paper, my hand speaks without words. A line starts from a point, and with patience, finds another point. It is one of the simplest forms of art, creating a vibrating array of lights. Color adds an elusive magic that binds lines, shapes, and the space. When flatness and depth coincide, I am confronted by the mass of interacting visual stimuli. My eyes quickly survey the mingling lines; the illusion of dancing is created on the stillness of the paper. This interaction is my complicated journey. As the sixth patriarch Huineng expressed, when I look at my works: lines are not moving, shapes are not moving, my mind is moving.

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