altair of ASTRAL MILE

My dad was never one to "fit in". And while it's easy for a visionary to live like that, I'll admit that he's the one who taught me how to be comfortable in my own skin.Before he was my dad, though... he was a scrawny kid from the Red Light District of Chuncheon, S. Korea.His life as an artist began in middle school, when his art teacher told him to see her after class. Recognizing this country kid's infinite potential for painting, she handed him a set of watercolours and paper."From now on, everyday after school, I'll lend you my paints and paper. Paint for an hour each day."In a matter of months, that same art teacher took him and a fellow classmate to Seoul for student competitions. That budding potential was now developing into mastered skill: one that would open his own shows and gallery, and allow his family to immigrate to Canada during the South Korean Financial Crisis of 1997. Upon arrival, that same mastery would connect him with a community in a small town outside of Vancouver, BC. Later, he would pivot to a solo-run private art academy, teaching young artists after-school for years, leading up to their Portfolio Day reckonings.Another financial crisis would force him back to Korea, though: the 2008 International Recession. Since many of his pupils were international students by this time, there weren't many left after the crash. With the help of some contacts, he flew back to Korea to trade in his artist brushes for a contractor's paint roller.He'd be like that for a while. And to be honest, there are gaps in this part of the story because he and I barely spoke at this time: nothing on him, it was bad timing. Can't say that I was the greatest family member during this time, either.Around 2022, though, things changed. He got diagnosed with a carcinoma in his bladder, and needed surgery. In a time when it mattered the most, though, no one was there to support him while he stayed in the hospital recovering.While not life-threatening, it was enough to put things into perspective: "Cancer is a disease of aging", he'd told me over the phone after discharge. Even if he dodged a bullet this time, his days are numbered."How do I want to spend what I have left, then? I don't even have anything of value for my children to inherit!"He could have easily gone back to a life of masking around colleagues, saying "yes" to everything, and forcing himself to drink at work socials until his liver would beg for mercy.... But, he didn't. In his weakest moment, he'd found his true strength.And from the ashes of his old life, "August Yoon" was born.Today, he continues teaching art for middle-aged ladies seeking refuge from their families, and teenage boys hoping for a future in artistry. In his free time, he's running up mountains at sunrise and painting his long-neglected heart out.
(He's had to downsize though... Had to convince him that no one can afford pieces three times his height in this economy.)He traded in performative conversations in a bar, for paintings & sculptures proudly created without an artist's intent:"If you feel something that can't be put into words, then you understand what it means."Jars of specimens in his high school bio-lab, paintings from Futurism artists of the past, landscapes burned into his memory from when he globe-trotted in the 80s, circular wheels and triangular masks... In every piece he creates, you'll find remnants of his mundane legacy: just a wallflower, his eyes always wandering.Time Traveller ran in mid-November 2024, both in Seoul and Chuncheon. He'd invited his old middle school art teacher to the Chuncheon run's opening night; she's now in her 90s. After sharing his story through his speech, he was able to hand her a beautiful bouquet and say, all these years later, "Thank you for having believed in me."And while, as his eldest, I have to hear him complain about how no one's buying his pieces (no one has $300,000 these days, Dad...), he's much more content now, after trading in the paint roller for his old watercolour brushes.January 2025

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