Alienation
This collection explores alienation and the experience of living a constantly changing, fragmented life. The figures in these works serve as allegories for the social pressures and psychological traumas caused by the endless drudgery of work and the constraints of socio-political systems. Alienation is often an inevitable consequence of these bureaucratic structures, leading to the distortion and deformation of human personality and existence. I address this condition by compressing and homogenizing my subjects, placing them within an apocalyptic world where place, time, and even the appearance of humanity undergo drastic transformation. As people become increasingly alienated from others and from themselves, they are drawn deeper into isolation and loneliness.
Through these works, I explore the irreversible psychological damage caused by fear, isolation, anger, despair, and ultimately obedience. I express these forces by twisting and deforming my subjects, reflecting the emotional and psychological burdens they carry. In some pieces, the figures seek refuge in stark architectural spaces that offer neither comfort nor shelter—only vast emptiness and the remnants of a decaying surveillance state. Within these environments, time loses its credibility and meaning, while the only suggestion of hope appears as faint rays of light emerging from the shadows.
The origins of this collection can be traced back to my immigration to the United States in 2015. During that period, I experienced a profound sense of separation from my homeland and found an unexpected kinship with the crushed plastic water bottles that accumulated on my desk each day. Easily compressed and deformed, the bottles became a metaphor for the human condition under pressure. This observation marked the beginning of an ongoing exploration across various media, through which I investigate the potential of this symbolic form to represent the vulnerability, resilience, and fragility of human existence.
Glasses (Gaze)
My interest to draw spectacled people was started some years ago, when I went to an optician's for changing my glasses. I understood that how much effective the glasses are on our perceptions apart from their form attraction, and I remembered one of my childhood memories. Wearing glasses is one of the mysterious curiosities of people in childhood and I wasn't exception. I can remember that I pretended to low vision in school's per capita optometry. Glasses were a personable sign for me. Gradually this childlike personable feeling was exchanged with man's thought, and I recognized that man can see as much as they know. (Our perceive border is our vision border) Now it's me and routine wearing on and out glasses. Sometimes my eyes blink restless and sometimes gaze at an eccentric lethargy and then stare. As if this insanity habit has been afflicted with a contagious illness: frequent eyesight.
Searching for the Lost Space
Whenever the mind begins to drift, I become weightless—light and exposed. In a quiet state of stillness, I observe myself: a body suspended within a strange fluidity, oscillating between presence and absence. The lighter I become, the more my surroundings begin to dissolve. A profound silence takes hold, and gradually I become immersed in the sound of my own interiority.
I resemble a form drifting through the frozen expanse of space, a figure wandering within an infinite realm of abstraction. I am a volume slowly emptying itself from within, a dream slipping further from memory with each passing day. And what a struggle it is to reconstruct a dream that is continually being forgotten.
This body of work explores that fragile state of disappearance. The figures gradually empty themselves of their surroundings until not only external objects, but parts of the figures themselves begin to fade away, dissolving into vast fields of space. Their presence becomes uncertain, as though they never existed at all, or perhaps as though their existence depends entirely upon the silence that surrounds them.
Fluid lines and soft gray surfaces emerge through expansive layers of white, revealing forms that are both present and absent. Within these compositions, the boundary between figure and space becomes increasingly ambiguous. Space may be perceived as form, and form as space. Something has been lost within this encounter—perhaps a fragment of space, perhaps a fragment of human presence, or perhaps both.
To recover what has been lost, there is no choice but to pause, to remain still, and to surrender oneself to the layers of silence and emptiness. Only through this act of dissolution can one begin to search for what remains hidden beneath the surface.
My Birth 2
Existence unfolds through an endless cycle of birth and death, a process that simultaneously erodes and regenerates all things. Within this continuous circulation, life sustains itself through constant transformation, while whatever falls outside its movement gradually drifts toward stillness, becoming overgrown from within. Perhaps creation is the only true act of resistance against such erosion—a gesture that binds us to life in the midst of inevitable decay and allows meaning to emerge from impermanence.
Femininity embodies this cycle more intimately than perhaps any other human experience. It is a body that carries and remembers a silent birth and death each month, where life is encountered not as a singular event but as a continuous process of becoming. For this reason, femininity is inseparable from a repetitive and often painful rhythm, one in which suffering and creation coexist. Here, pain is not a sign of absence or loss, but of transformation—a wound that opens and heals simultaneously, marking the body's capacity to renew itself again and again.
Yet the cycle does not end with reproduction. Perhaps the fullest maturation of femininity emerges in menopause, at the moment when the biological repetition of birth and death comes to a close. However, cessation is not an ending. What fades is only the physical cycle itself, while another form of fertility remains. The body, no longer occupied with the possibility of creating life, turns toward the creation of meaning. Memory, awareness, experience, and presence become new forms of generative power. At this threshold, femininity reveals itself not through biological productivity but through wisdom, reflection, and transformation.
In this sense, menopause becomes not a conclusion but a passage—a transition from one form of creation to another. It is a state in which the body, having endured countless cycles of loss and renewal, arrives at a deeper understanding of existence itself. What remains is not emptiness, but a profound fertility of consciousness: the ability to create meaning, preserve memory, and bear witness to the continuous unfolding of life.
My Birth 1
As a child, like many children, I constantly wondered what the world looked like in the very beginning. Whenever I asked others, I found myself having to clarify: “No, I mean the very beginning.”
I would then look at my own body and imagine that the first bodies must have been nothing more than fragments of bone, bones that slowly clothed themselves with flesh and skin, growing little by little until they eventually assumed a human form.
Those early imaginings never fully disappeared. They remained dormant somewhere beneath memory, unresolved yet persistent.
Now, after more than two decades of living, those childhood fantasies and unanswered questions have returned to me. It is as though an invisible hypnosis draws me back to that same place. I imagine myself within a territory of bone and flesh, and just as I become immersed in those unresolved questions, everything suddenly collapses.
Limbs are suspended in space with a strange and unfamiliar presence, as if no predetermined order had ever existed. I can no longer recall a coherent being. I see only unfamiliar bodily fragments that refuse containment within any fixed form, slowly moving toward disintegration.
I do not know whether this moment marks a beginning or an ending. Yet I am certain that every collapse is also the sign of another birth.
