I don’t usually talk much about my background or education. I tend to just make things quietly and let them speak for themselves. But today feels like a good day to share a little piece of that story — and risk sounding slightly more official than I actually am.
I studied craft design in Korea. That meant everything from book covers to textiles, tapestry, and even pottery. Yes, pottery. I made actual bowls. Real ones. They held things. I wasn’t particularly passionate about clay at the time, but I did learn that if you stare at a spinning lump of mud long enough, it eventually becomes a cup. Life lesson included.
What I truly loved was illustration and painting, even though I had no idea where that love would lead me.
Later, in the United States, I earned a Bachelor of Fine Arts and found myself standing between two very different worlds: the structured, precise side of design, and the loose, emotional world of painting. One side said, “measure carefully.” The other said, “throw paint and see what happens.” I respected both. I obeyed neither completely.
For years I kept wondering how art could become something people could actually use in daily life — not just hang on a wall and politely nod at.
That question stayed with me.
One day I went looking for a traditional Korean 색동 color palette — the kind you see in hanbok fabric. I searched and searched and found… nothing. So I looked at the fabric itself and built the palette by hand. Then I thought,
I wish there were brushes like this.
And immediately after that:
Well… why don’t I make them?
That was the whole turning point. No dramatic music. No lightning bolt. Just one small thought crossing my mind while I was minding my own business.
In that moment I realized something almost funny: a skill I once questioned the value of had quietly stayed with me all these years. I remembered sitting in a studio classroom in Korea in 1991, staying up all night making color charts by hand and wondering,
What am I doing with my life?
As it turns out: preparing for this.
That practice made color feel natural to me. It made building palettes feel almost instinctive. Something I once thought was useless turned out to be waiting patiently for the right time to be useful.
So now I make tools — palettes, brushes, small creative things people can actually use.
You’ll find some of them in the link below. Many are free or pay-what-you-wish. If you’d like to support my work, you can. If life is heavy right now, you’re still completely welcome to take what you need. No test. No explanation required.
In the future I’ll also share some of my illustration books as complimentary downloads, because I know what it feels like when everything feels heavy at once — when it seems like you’re standing alone at the edge of something steep.
You’re not alone. Truly.
Maybe I’ve been there too.
Welcome to my LALATOWN Studio — where old homework assignments from 1991 finally found their purpose.
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