AdamRang63729eibe

As I was composing “I Remember”, it was never just a tune—it was a return to the people and places that shaped me. The lines and rhythm transported me to the forest-farm of my childhood, and to the weight of those years.

“I Remember” is a musical act of remembering. Not just laughter and light, but all of it: the pain, the silence, the resilience. It remembers the the sound of trees creaking at dusk.

This piece is a sacred echo that ties me to my roots. And in singing it, I give breath to those who shaped me.

That's how I became an artist. Not through some career ambition, but because my hands needed to speak. I needed something stronger than words. And that's what sculpture became: a way to remember when memory itself hurts.

Sculpture taught me patience. Unlike a song, stone and wood don't lie. I learned to carve memory, to take what was fractured and give it breath. Each sculpture is a way of saying: I survived this, and I remember.

My creative journey isn't about perfection. It's about connection. Different mediums, same truth. When I can't carve, I sing. When I can't sing, I write. And when all I can do is breathe and be still—I listen. That, too, is art.

There's a phrase that anchors me through it all: “Because of you, I am; and because of me, you are.” That's what “I Remember” means to me. It's not only mine—it's a bridge forward.

When I sing it, I think of the way my people carried me. I think of my daughter, my friends, the land.

I remember. And in doing so, I live.

When the chords rise and fall, you're not just hearing me—you're hearing my journey. It's not performance—it's a return. A healing. A remembering.

And that's what my art is always trying to do. Peace