2025 Art Gallery
2025 Art Exhibition
"The Ancestors are Watching"
This cozy living room scene echoes Korea’s jesa (제사) rituals, where families honor ancestors through food, photos, and respectful silence. Traditionally, disabled children were excluded from these ceremonies — deemed too disruptive or impure for ancestral spaces. But here, everyone watches together, with portraits and presence blending generations. It reclaims the belief that disability breaks family legacy — instead showing that it strengthens it.
"Feathered Voice"
Inspired by the Dangun myth, where the tiger was shamed for not enduring isolation, this bird soars with feathers of many colors — rejecting conformity. In ancient Korea, obedience was seen as strength, and those who strayed (like the tiger or the disabled) were cast out. This bird doesn't fly to please — it flies to be free. It reclaims the tiger’s legacy as one of beauty, not failure.
"Harvest Friends"
Inspired by rural Korean customs tied to chuseok and dano festivals, this work reframes labor and legacy. Disabled individuals were historically barred from harvesting or ancestor rites — seen as incapable or impure. But these girls, dressed in hanbok-like colors, gather boldly from field and forest. They plant a new truth: we have always contributed.
"Ice Cream Shop"
In ancient Korea, Confucian decorum silenced those who didn’t speak or act “properly,” often excluding disabled youth from public joy. This piece, set in a cheerful café, places disabled characters at the center of delight. Inspired by han (한) — the Korean concept of suppressed sorrow — this scene says joy is radical. Here, sweetness is not a reward for being good, but a right.
"Fruit Glass Dream"
Echoing the whimsical world of Korean folktales like The Magpie and the Watermelon, this piece creates a floating universe of color, sweetness, and play. In contrast to historical superstitions that linked disability with impurity or bad fortune, this artwork makes imagination sacred. The children don’t need to be cured — they’re already magical. Dreams become survival, and dessert becomes a declaration.
"The Diver"
Drawing on the legacy of haenyeo (female Korean divers), this piece shows a child with a disability underwater — brave, joyful, and in motion. Historically, those who didn’t fit into labor roles like farming or diving were dismissed. But this diver reaches not for perfection, but for presence. The ocean, once feared, becomes her freedom.
"We Hold the World”
Rooted in cheonjiin (천지인) — Korea’s triad of heaven, earth, and human harmony — this drawing flips traditional hierarchies. Disabled people were once seen as disruptors of balance, excluded from rituals and nature. But here, disabled children don’t just belong — they carry the planet. The Earth turns because of them.
“The Star-Keeper”
Inspired by Byeolshin-gut (별신굿), a Korean shamanic ritual that called on star spirits to cure misfortune, this work reclaims the myth that stars determined one’s fate. In the past, being born disabled was seen as a cosmic punishment. But this figure, surrounded by stars and hearts, doesn’t seek healing — they own the stars. Disability becomes not something to fix, but something bright and guiding.
“Where Rainbows Grow”
This drawing references Dano (단오), a traditional Korean holiday tied to seasonal fertility and labor, where only the “able-bodied” participated in ancestral and harvest rites. Disabled people were excluded from these spaces, deemed unfit to contribute. Here, a pot once overlooked blooms with flowers under a protective rainbow. It’s a reclamation of space — saying disabled lives grow, nourish, and bless the community too.
"The Ones Hiding Under the Blanket"
This piece reimagines gwishin (귀신) — Korean female ghosts believed to haunt due to an “unfinished” life. In the past, disabled children were often hidden like ghosts, believed to bring bad luck or shame to their families. The pink figure below the blanket symbolizes those silenced by stigma, echoing the fear and invisibility associated with gwishin. Here, they are not scary or tragic — they’re simply waiting to be seen.
Clothes for Everyone
Destiny’s collage of outfits looks like a paper-doll closet waiting to come alive. From magical cloaks in Norse tales to shape-shifting garments in Japanese folklore, clothing has long symbolized transformation. But for many disabled children, clothes are also about comfort, identity, and choice — often denied. Sensory-friendly fabrics, adaptive fastenings, and expression through fashion matter. Here, every outfit is a possibility. This isn't just a collection of clothes. It's a dream of visibility — a reminder that everyone deserves to be seen, dressed with dignity.
"Shapes and Stars"
Scattered across yellow paper, these stars, rectangles, circles, and diamonds resemble ancient sky maps. In myths from the Inuit to the Greeks, shapes in the sky told stories of gods, monsters, and directions home. Brigette's use of tally marks and hand-drawn shapes speaks a different kind of truth — one where children count, sort, and create their own constellations of meaning. For learners with cognitive disabilities, abstraction often needs to be grounded in shape and form. This artwork doesn’t just teach geometry — it reclaims it.
"Animal and Fruit Count"
The author draws from a long tradition of teaching through animals — from Anansi the spider in Ghanaian tales to Br’er Rabbit in African American folklore. But instead of trickery or moral lessons, these animals teach something just as important: how to count. For many disabled children, especially those who are nonverbal or neurodivergent, learning through visuals isn’t a backup — it’s a bridge. This piece quietly challenges the idea that there's only one way to learn by showing that understanding can bloom through joy, color, and rhythm.
"Happy Blue Bunny"
With its rounded wheels and long ears, this blue creature pulses with personality and movement. In stories across cultures — from the Korean moon rabbit to Native American trickster hares — bunnies bring cleverness and care. But here, the bunny has wheels, not legs, and holds a bright yellow flame like a torch. It’s not a sidekick. It’s the leader. For children who use mobility aids, this drawing becomes a declaration: assistive devices aren’t signs of limitation. They’re signs of power, direction, and joy.
"Our Name"
Letters are cut, traced, and written by hand — not just to spell names, but to claim space. In Yoruba, Celtic, and even Biblical traditions, names are more than labels. They carry ancestors, meaning, and protection. When Destiny and Charles build their names piece by piece, it’s a quiet act of self-respect. For many children with disabilities, especially those navigating literacy differently, learning to write a name isn’t just a goal — it’s a victory. This piece reminds us that identity isn’t given. It’s made.