a prisoner of the eyes of others 

the consumption of emotion toward others  

disdainful of slander and other people's stories   

Where did the birth of a man without a backbone start?  

the story of an old oarsman 

who refuses to take convenience and means.  

With a hard time making ends meet, joy, satisfaction 

and my own company, too, too. Everyone is a man of the oars.      

櫓 

paddle rod - Shield ‘노’     

There stands a strange old man.     

There stands a strange old man. He has a personality that looks like an ending when he starts and believes in himself who he doesn't associate with anyone. I've never talked to anyone. You never ask anyone if you get lost on the road. At last we arrive at our destination. a story of an old man who has grown old, refusing to use convenience and means There is no right or wrong in this. With a hard time making ends meet, my own company, too, and life satisfaction and joy, all of this man. No one can tell or judge what the old man was thinking in his life. This is especially true because there is no comparison between a crawling animal and a flying bird and one another cannot be evaluated on a single basis. 

Someone's life on an abandoned piece of paper on the back streets of Jongno street, where it rained. Are you already lonely? That's the illusion you're missing. Where did the birth of a spineless human being with too much wasted emotion and waste begin? a sportsman whose goals and goals presented are at the zenith of his life The name of the human race of this time is huge Olympics. a dreary period in which one has struggled with empty numbers the eroded active feeling of childish pleasures that are on the head of others to fade away for a while only by comparison Only when food is presented and competition lights are lit, people who become blind and blind bloodthirsty and run to extremes of sports are deluded slaves who pursue empty happiness that feels alive with the pleasure of dying themselves and others. 

An old man who has passed through a mountain path and an endless winding road to find his way through a blocked road. If his life had nothing to do with an abandoned story written on the back alleys, who was written? Misjudgment is a record of the consumed emotion and the whole of life. record, god, chase and dash, autumn and victory the arrival of illusions fixated on the words of success and happiness That old man's life, if he lives without a record, is embellished in the path behind the pine tree. When you look at a road other than my own, your gaze diverts and all your consumption is generated. Feelings are broken, emptying, and tilting when filled. Do you think emotions are a useful tool to contain and populate materials and phenomena? Feelings are nothing more than a jar that easily breaks when used as a tool. Emotion is a strange road. The path of emotion that does not consume the silent walk of the earth where there is no road. The path of creation. The inconvenient path for the eccentric old man was intended to bend, perceive, and bend. A determined step to cross the obstacle with a non-rational cane, instead of the reasoning or logical union of rationality.   

The eyes of adventure with a choice that will not be relied on for will.    

Through division of interest, he clearly opens and closes his eyes to block his eyes from the space that is not visible from the moment. It is a mirage that has disappeared from a mysterious old man who makes a map of himself. His touch, slowly and calmly across the surface of matter, to the depth of the egg, is a very slow speedboat. The reason why young people are so old is because they are not old enough to pass the time of life. The wrinkles he created in his life and the nature that made him solidly hardened. On top of that, the old man becomes his own old man, who has pierced canyons and streams of water on the plains and is familiar with the sea. He sits on his rock and exhale. The short but long movement of space and the change of seasons are lost in the snow. It's just a landscape, but it's a picture of nature condensed into its body and soul. The white sun, the red sea, and the blue earth look at the old man. He stands in another direction, throwing out the cane he has been holding and heading for a new road. go down a mountain. Every step down the mountain makes him young, with thick veins in his back and ankles. The tiger's thick feet are heavy as if they hit all over the place. 

Stretch your shoulders and your heart toward the sky. The wings of an eagle that flies vertically and horizontally from the height of its gaze open a new door. Close the door that was open. The missing door opened and the closed door opened and became the missing door. The young man, who heard people calling him an eccentric old man, looked at them from behind the door and disappeared out of the door.