Dear Ji-hye,
Thank you.
For your patience. For the quiet way you were present.
You said very little, and yet the room shifted when you entered it.
As you sat there — between two thoughts, it seemed — I tried to capture you.
Not just your face. That would have been too easy.
I wanted to paint your listening.
The way you hear what this city hides.
The way you see what hasn't yet taken shape.
In the portrait, I placed a crown of flowers on your head.
Not from gardens — but from language.
Each bloom stands for a moment when you found the right words
for something the rest of us only sensed.
You are not merely an observer.
You are the quiet chronist of Pyongyang.
You give form to the unspoken.
And sometimes — not always, but unmistakably —
it becomes hope.
Perhaps the portrait doesn't do you justice.
Perhaps no portrait can.
But the crown on your head,
it grew from what you leave behind in others.
With gratitude and quiet admiration,
– Hwan
Hwan
Ji-hye
