There are times, in the midst of creation, when I feel as though I’m constantly standing at a threshold.
No one has drawn a line, yet I hesitate—unable to step beyond the boundaries I’ve unconsciously set for myself.

There are countless things that keep me from feeling free.
The frustration and lack that arise from such constraints become, paradoxically, the very reasons I continue to take slow, deliberate steps forward.

In my works, the figures often offer comfort—either to each other or to themselves.
They sometimes prompt viewers to reflect on the nature of relationships.
I intentionally refrain from defining a specific narrative or emotion.
By doing so, I leave space for each viewer to interpret the work freely, through the lens of their own experiences, values, and emotional state.

I gain energy from the solitude of working alone.
Through the repeated process of layering, painting, and firing—six or seven times over—I encounter outcomes that are both unexpected and new.
When I slowly build a form with clay, I approach it as if it might be the last piece I ever make.
But the moment I place it in the kiln, I let it go.
Sometimes I can’t even recall what I had created.

Silently. Unhurriedly. Unattached.
I simply place another piece of clay in my hand,
and begin again.