Jeong.

"He knows you're there. You don't know where he is. That's respect." His grandmother told him that when he was a kid, and over the years it became a way of living. He doesn't need to possess what he cares for; it's enough to know it's still there. In his work that's almost literal—he watches over an entire forest while barely setting foot in it, looks from a distance and doesn't touch—and it's the same in how he loves people: he's close without being a burden, he cares without asking for anything in return.

The T-shirt carries his front-facing portrait: crisp rosettes, the aviator helmet with the goggles on top, and light-colored eyes that don't look away. I created it serene and front-on: it's the face he lets you see, the one he holds steady while he keeps the rest to himself. He cares through actions and not words—he leaves the stove burning for whoever arrives late and slips away, no note—and that's his way. There's more about him in his biography.