Oil on Canvas Cloth Statement: I use a sketchpad to write down the shapes and objects in my memory that impress me on a daily basis. I also have small maquettes as well as two-dimensional sketches. I call them "three-dimensional sketches," and I keep a rough sketch of the subject matter. When I start to work on a canvas, I do not prepare a sketchbook and do not look at it as much as possible, and I begin to apply paint without deciding where I want to land. While painting, I rotate the canvas 90 degrees, turn the top and bottom upside down, and almost erase what I have painted, consciously interrupting the process of "breaking the canvas" several times. In my work, "breaking the screen once" is necessary to prevent the image from becoming rigid and to bring in accidental effects. I also think that one of the most exciting aspects of painting is to think of the next move on the spot, in response to the accidental state of the painting. (This has a lot to do with the fact that I am not good at planning, but...) The reason why I have followed such a roundabout process is that I have felt very suffocated by the stoicism of "the artist can control and manage everything on the canvas. Since all choices on the screen are made by the artist's own judgment, it can be said that the artist controls everything that takes place, or is depicted on the screen, and this is true. However, there are many things that are done "by accident" or "without deep thought. What I am trying to say is that if I try to control everything on the screen, I make a lot of mistakes and lose the energy to create, so rather than saying, "I painted this recently," I try to think of the painting as a trace left by me or someone else. Therefore, I try to view paintings with the lightness of "the screen is a trace left by me or someone else" rather than "I painted it. The same applies to three-dimensional work. For example, I start working to create a cylinder, and the cylinder is completed. The goal from the beginning was to make a cylinder, so the finished product is not impressive or noticeable at all. So I cut it into two pieces and stuff something inside, or turn it inside out like you do when making a drawstring, or crush it and attach it to something else, and so on, again interspersing the "breaking" process. Even after repeating these processes and once I think the work is complete, I try to find a form that I find interesting, deviating as much as possible from my original intention and intention of making the work, for example, by turning a vertical object on its side.
