I like images that are melancholy yet dream-like, and beautiful.
Things that are melancholy…not simply feelings of gloom and depression, but things felt deep inside, like loss and questions about your existence over the course of time, lost time, a sort of incoherence, and lost memories of a childhood you yourself don’t know of…these are the deepest, most honest emotions that arise from self-reflection.
Questions about existence extend to our lives, continuing even further to all the suffering, passion, relationships, and love that occur within it. Within such reflection, thoughts naturally turn to the sacred and a sort of religious domain. So, existence cannot be defined in terms of “if A, then B.” Rather,
it has certain mystical aspects which awaken inspiration.
But I don’t always just search for such things.
I have found the colors and undertones of my mind, but if I kept that up at every moment,
I would quickly become completely burned out, mentally.
When I try to make a drawing, I look to see what forms and lines are being drawn by my emotions at any given moment.
While doing so, I find myself pulled towards certain accidental images that appear in sculptural form, getting a flutter of feeling along with the impulse to create them in three- dimensional form. At other times, conversely,
an image arises which I try to render as a drawing.
When I create things this way, most of the time they don’t turn out like the drawing.
That’s exactly when I really have to concentrate on making my hands and heart keep holding onto the line being drawn without letting go, consistently following the improvisational impulse in expressing the inspiration.
That moment is the most exciting, and requires intensive concentration.
 Even now, I constantly exert myself to allow my hands to be free, and with clay as the medium, making my heart and my hands one to create a language of my own.