*๋งค๊ทธ๋†€๋ฆฌ์•„(Magnoloa), 2022

๋ผ์ด์นด ์นด๋ฉ”๋ผ ์ฝ”๋ฆฌ์•„, ๊ณ ์€์‚ฌ์ง„๋ฏธ์ˆ ๊ด€ ์ง€์›
Supported from Leica Camera Korea , Goeun Museum of Photography

์ง€๋‚œ์—ฌ๋ฆ„ ์ด์‚ฌ ์˜จ ์ง‘ ์•ž์—๋Š” ์ปค๋‹ค๋ž€ ๋‚˜๋ฌด๊ฐ€ ํ•œ ๊ทธ๋ฃจ ์„œ ์žˆ๋‹ค. ์ˆ˜์‹ญ ๋…„์€ ๋˜์–ด ๋ณด์ด๋Š” ๊ทธ ๋‚˜๋ฌด๋Š”
์šธ์ฐฝํ•œ ์žŽ์„ ๋“œ๋ฆฌ์› ๋‹ค๊ฐ€ ๊ฒจ์šธ์ด ๋˜์ž ์žŽ์„ ๋‹ค ๋–จ๊ตฌ๊ณ  ์•™์ƒํ•œ ๊ฐ€์ง€๋ฅผ ๋“œ๋Ÿฌ๋ƒˆ๋‹ค. ๊ฐ€์ง€ ์‚ฌ์ด์‚ฌ์ด๋กœ ๋น›์ด
๋“ค์–ด์™€ ํ™˜ํ•ด์ง€์ž ์šฐ๋ฆฌ ์ง‘ ๊ณ ์–‘์ด๋Š” ์ฐฝ๊ฐ€ ์†ŒํŒŒ์— ์ž๋ฆฌ ์žก์•„ ํ‰์˜จํ•œ ๋‚ฎ์ž ์„ ์žค๋‹ค. ๋‹ค์‹œ ๋ด„์ด ๋๊ณ ,
๋‚˜๋ฌด๋Š” ๋น„์ถ•ํ•ด ๋‘” ์˜จ ํž˜์„ ์Ÿ์•„ ๊ฝƒ์„ ํ‹”์› ๋‹ค.

๋ชฉ๋ จ์ด์—ˆ๋‹ค. ๊ฒจ์šธ์„ ๊ฒฌ๋””๊ณ  ์›€ํŠผ ๊ฝƒ์€ ์ฐฌ๋ž€ํ–ˆ๋‹ค. ํ•˜์ง€๋งŒ ๋•Œ๋งž์ถฐ ๋‚ด๋ฆฐ ๋ด„๋น„์— ๊ทธ ์•„๋ฆ„๋‹ค์›€์€ ์˜ค๋ž˜ ๊ฐ€์ง€
๋ชปํ–ˆ๋‹ค. ๊ฝƒ์€ ๋•…์— ๋–จ์–ด์กŒ๊ณ  ์ƒ๋ช…์„ ์žƒ์–ด ๊ฐ”๋‹ค. ๋‚˜๊ณ  ์ž๋ผ ์‚ฌ๋ผ์ง€๋Š” ๊ฒŒ ๋ชจ๋“  ์‚ด์•„ ์žˆ๋Š” ์กด์žฌ์˜
์ˆ™๋ช…์ด๋ผ์ง€๋งŒ, ํ™˜ํ•˜๊ณ  ์•„๋ฆ„๋‹ค์šด ์ˆœ๊ฐ„์ด ์งง์•„ ์•„์‰ฌ์› ๋‹ค. ๊ทธ ์งง์€ ์•„๋ฆ„๋‹ค์›€์„ ์‚ฌ์ง„์œผ๋กœ ์ฐ์–ด ๋ถ™๋“ค๊ณ 
์‹ถ์—ˆ๋‹ค.

๋–จ์–ด์ง„ ๊ฝƒ์„ ์ฃผ์› ๋‹ค. ๊ฐ€์ง€์—์„œ ๋–จ์–ด์ ธ ๋‚˜์˜จ ๊ทธ ์ˆœ๊ฐ„๋ถ€ํ„ฐ ๊ฝƒ์€ ์‹œ๋“ค์–ด ๊ฐ„๋‹ค. ๋งค๋ˆํ•˜๋˜ ๊ฝƒ์žŽ์ด ๋‚˜์ด ๋“ 
์ธ๊ฐ„์˜ ์‚ด๊ฐ—์ฒ˜๋Ÿผ ์ฃผ๋ฆ„์ง€๊ณ , ๋ฝ€์–—๋˜ ์ƒ‰์ด ํƒํ•ด์ง„๋‹ค. ๋งˆ์น˜ ํ•œ ์‚ฌ๋žŒ์˜ ์ฃฝ์Œ์„ ๋ชฉ๋„ํ•˜๋Š” ๊ฒƒ์ฒ˜๋Ÿผ ๋งˆ์Œ์ด
๋ฌด๊ฒ๊ณ  ์ˆ™์—ฐํ•ด์กŒ๋‹ค.

๋ช‡ ๊ฐœ์›”์ด ์ง€๋‚œ ๋’ค ๋‹ค์‹œ ๊ทธ ๋‚˜๋ฌด๋ฅผ ๋ณด์•˜์„ ๋•Œ ๊ท€์—ฌ์šด ์—ด๋งค๊ฐ€ ๋งบํ˜€ ์žˆ์—ˆ๋‹ค. ๋‹ค์‹œ ์ƒ๋ช…์„ ํ’ˆ๊ณ .


There is a giant tree in front of the house I moved into last summer. This tree that seems
dozens of years old displays luxuriant foliage in summer, but shows its bare branches after
shedding all its leaves in winter. As it has become bright with the light that comes in through
the branches, my cat takes a nap on the couch by the window. Spring has come round again,
and the tree blooms with all its might.

This was a magnolia. Its blossoming flowers that endured winter were brilliant. Their beauty,
however, was short-lived due to spring rain. The flowers fell to the ground. Although all living
things are destined to come into being, grow and disappear, their moment of brightness and life was so regrettably short. Iโ€™d like to capture this brief, beautiful moment in a picture.

I picked up a flower fallen to the ground. The flower begins to wither from the moment it
separates from a branch. Its sleek petals wrinkle like an old manโ€™s skin and its milky white turns murky. I feel heavy-hearted and solemn as if witnessing someoneโ€™s death.

When I again saw this tree several months later, it came into bearing, embracing life again.