Flattened Stone, Solo Exhibition in 2023
The Weight of the Heart Even after a thousand years, even after countless millennia, I have been created the substance that never disappears seemed as if it were created by a deity. However, due to small cracks, slight warping, and tiny blemishes visible only when placed under sunlight, countless pieces were shattered. Making dozens, hundreds of shapes and discarding them, eventually, the act of leaving behind rather than breaking became more prevalent. Thus, only flawless pottery survived and became more refined. As the senses became more acute, the burden on my mind, the need to create something, grew heavier. My teacher always advised me, as a potter, to observe the earth rather than the sky. I vaguely understood long ago that making pottery is an imitation of what happens beneath the earth. Rocks erupted from volcanoes turn into sand and clay, becoming earth. Crushed, meeting heat, they turn back into rocks. After millions of years, they are pushed underground and melt away. So, while the pottery I make may not disappear for millennia, after eons, like other earthly things, it will melt away below the surface. It may seem amusing for a human, who at best lives for a hundred years, to think in terms of millions of years, but it brings a sense of freedom. Although it may not disappear for millennia, eventually turning into sand after millions of years, and finally, like disappearing stones after billions of years, if as someone who makes such stones, I could make myself a bit lighter. The Wind Blowing on the Earth Seeing Iceland's unique natural environment every day during this summer was unexpectedly emotionally exhausting. Especially regarding the idea that making pottery by directly observing a volcano in Iceland simplifies geological processes (of course, it is not just about volcanic activity), I began to rethink. I walked alone beneath the volcano erupted last year and the year before . The volcano was massive, awe-inspiring, and exuded a terrifying vitality. Indeed, the ground near the lava erupted last year felt slightly soft. Stepping on it felt like stepping on the back of a sleeping giant living creature. That day, the wind blew so fiercely that I had to exert all my strength to stay upright. On the opposite side, small grasses rooted firmly in the ground swayed in the wind. "Mother Nature she can do whatever she wants," the guide who led us to the volcano said. This reminded me of a phrase I read in a novel on the returning plane, "The days, the fresh breeze always blew toward her" used in a completely different context, but there was a phrase that lingered in my mind. The earth filled with solidified lava rocks, eroded by time, and blown upon by the agonizingly fierce wind, causing small grasses to dance. If such wind continues to blow, "the days when the fresh breeze always blew toward her" will continue until this gigantic, black rock becomes black sand on the beach, riding the waves back into the sea, back into the geological ages. Compressing and Editing with Joy I always wanted to hold onto things that seem to disappear. It was as if I wanted to make something tangible, like someone who couldn't hold onto anything. So I grabbed clay again. I wanted to confine things that scatter and disappear to immutable substances. Thus, although I had been creating incessantly, suddenly the idea of being able to let go of them occurred to me. I always thought I had to create something perfect, but now I decided to start playing. Thousands of years ago, the Egyptians, while escaping the cold and darkness by building fires in the desert, discovered that sand melted into glass beads. This was the origin of ceramic glaze. I decided to fire glaze to make it to sand. I applied the fired glaze onto the clay, then covered it with glaze again, and fired it just like what the earth does . Would they melt away, swell up, or disappear? I began this experiment while contemplating these possibilities. While studying geology, I was excited to realize that my work process was closely related to the wonders of nature. However, the volcanoes I saw in the summer overwhelmed me with a sense of awe beyond wonder. Such emotions cannot be elicited by anything human-made. Finding similarities is enjoyable, but ultimately, the feeling that I can make something disappear paradoxically makes me feel lighter. What I make is a virtual piece of land or an imaginary cross-section of the ocean floor. Some processes mimic geological actions, while others imitate surface patterns using primitive methods of shaping stones. I create something that exists and yet doesn't exist, oscillating between presence and absence. Creating Stones by Shaping Stones The first time I shaped stones by hitting them on clay was my undergraduate thesis project ten years ago. After that, I spent several years studying video design in graduate school, spending time in front of cameras or monitors instead of clay. At that time, I even produced short documentaries about invited artists at craft biennales. One day, while editing an interview video of a mid-career artist, he said that for him, craft was a form of documentation. He said he documented his days on wood as if writing in a journal. At the age of 25, I didn't fully understand his words, but there was a subtle resonance, so I kept rewinding to the beginning of his statement while editing. Six years ago, when I started pottery again, I was experiencing various personal situations I had never encountered before. While in Denmark, I hastily returned home earlier than planned. Looking back, although getting a job was a rational choice, I started working on clay and striving for economic independence just because I wanted to touch clay again. I was always impatient. I had many desires and things I wanted to create, but my hands were stiff. I started casting work because I wanted to create intricate details quickly, but the success rate was so low, with nine out of ten pieces breaking or warping to the point of being unusable. I spent another year and a half learning casting from scratch from a casting artist. Then, feeling that my knowledge of materials was superficial and facing limitations, I spent three years learning materials at a glaze research institute. When casting, I struggled with timing every minute because the result changed, and when researching materials, I grappled with weights of 1g or 0.1g on a scale. Constantly thinking about what I could do best within a limited time frame and how to be most effective, I constantly paced back and forth. During this project, I let go of the desire to make things quickly, intricately, or control the results. So, after ten years, I returned to the act of shaping stones on this clay slab named "Unveiled Stones." The process of creating texture by hitting stones on the clay slab is the most time-consuming and immersive among the various processes of this work. To avoid artificial repetitive patterns, I control the strength of the force and use different types of stones. This process is not driven by a flow of thoughts but rather by intuitive judgments at the moment, so any thoughts floating in my mind settle down under the busy movement of my hands. It becomes calm, like writing a diary while organizing the day. Suddenly, I remembered his words from the video I edited before. Can craft finally become documentation for Ana? I still don't know if craft as documentation was his original intention, but the heart I placed on the starting
