I have a habit of collecting old objects—
gears, pressure gauges, screws, shuttles…
worn things bearing the traces of human touch.
I assemble them into objects.
If I can create something unadorned, with a natural presence—where rust and worm-eaten textures feel quietly beautiful—then I feel I have succeeded.
My works consistently revolve around two motifs.
One is the Harlequin.
For many years, I worked as a company employee.
At the time, working harder than others was considered a virtue,
and my days passed in a mix of ostentation and exhaustion.
In the mirror of the powder room, our faces looked just like clowns.
Much later, almost absentmindedly, I carved my first small figure by hand.
I remember how it felt like a self-portrait.
Even now, as I continue to create these human forms,
I keep asking myself: who am I?
The other motif is the boat.
At times it moves forward steadily; at others, it wanders in circles.
Both the self and the world continue onward in this way.
Resisting the current, yet also yielding to it,
the cycle of life goes on.
So as not to be swallowed by the whirlpool,
I want to create supple, cradle-like boats—
drawing strength from these old objects.