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When I was a university student, I had an opportunity to go to a country in Europe for a summer research trip. I stayed in a small town that is not even known to many people in that country. Unable to discern what was charming about the place, I felt really bored every day.

Looking at the unchanging landscape, meeting the same people, eating the same food, and repeating the same routines day after day, I was so bored with myself that I wanted to go back home immediately.


One day, a boy from the neighborhood visited the small courtyard of the hotel where I was staying. I was selfishly depressed about his future, thinking how he might end up living his entire life in this rural town in an era where one can go anywhere. Nonetheless, he seemed to have a lot of fun and knew the names of all the flowers and trees (even the weeds) in the courtyard, about which he politely taught the completely ignorant me. He also told me about his dog and secret paths that adults cannot use. From that point on, it seemed as if I suddenly became able to see many things. This boy, who knew this town very well, or me, who knew the world beyond this town—which can we say truly “knows” things better?


When I make art, I often think about this incident. And each time, I wonder how much I overlook or discard because of my unconscious judgment or my assumption that I can see and know already. I think I continue to make art in order to touch different times that I cannot possess by myself. Through creating my work, I want to know and extract the rich and complex forms that exist beneath homogeneous surfaces, which appear due to our unconscious simplification of things.













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