People sometimes ask me,

"Why do you make your work so difficult?"

It is a question I hear often.

My answer is always the same.

Not every artwork needs to be difficult to make. Complexity alone does not create meaning, and technical difficulty is never a goal in itself. There are many powerful works that are simple, direct, and immediate.

But this is who I am.

This is how my work comes into existence.

As an artist, I cannot separate the final object from the process that created it. Every experiment, every failure, every decision, every hour spent observing the behavior of a material becomes part of the work itself. The object that remains after firing is only the visible result of a much longer conversation between myself and the material.

Today, contemporary art offers unprecedented freedom. Traditional boundaries between disciplines have dissolved, and artists are no longer limited by established definitions of painting, sculpture, or ceramics. I value this freedom deeply because it allows new ideas and new forms of expression to emerge.

At the same time, I believe that freedom should not replace depth.

In a world where speed is often valued more than patience, and immediate results more than long-term research, I choose to work slowly. I choose to spend years studying a material until it begins to reveal possibilities that cannot be discovered through shortcuts.

My research focuses on glaze as an autonomous sculptural material. Rather than treating glaze as a decorative surface applied to ceramic objects, I investigate its ability to generate form, structure, spatial relationships, and tension through the firing process itself.

This way of working demands time. It requires repeated testing, uncertainty, careful observation, and the willingness to accept failure as an essential part of research. Many experiments never become artworks. Yet they remain necessary because they build the knowledge that makes future discoveries possible.

For me, craftsmanship is not simply about technical skill. It is a way of thinking.

Research is not separate from making.

Making is not separate from thinking.

Thinking is not separate from living.

When these elements become inseparable, the work begins to carry something beyond its physical presence.

I believe viewers can sense this, even if they cannot immediately explain it.

Two works may appear equally refined on the surface, yet one may contain years of accumulated experience, persistence, questions, and quiet observation. That difference cannot always be measured, but it can often be felt.

Every artwork contains invisible layers.

It carries the time invested in it, the questions that shaped it, the failures that redirected it, the emotions that accompanied it, and the artist's way of understanding the world.

This is why I continue to choose the more demanding path.

Not because difficulty has value in itself, but because it is the only path through which I can make work that is genuinely my own.

In the end, I hope that what remains is not simply an object made of glaze, but a work that embodies time, research, patience, and a sincere relationship between the artist, the material, and the viewer.

Beyond Simplicity: On Time and Emotion Embedded in the Work

My work often appears minimal and simple in form. Because of this, some viewers may be inclined to interpret it through the lens of conceptual art. However, my work does not begin with an idea or a theoretical proposition that is later translated into a visual form.

Rather, the simplicity of the form allows the material itself to become more visible. For me, making is not primarily about producing an object, but about accumulating time through a sustained engagement with material. The repeated processes of preparing glaze, assembling fragments, firing, observing, and waiting involve countless decisions, uncertainties, and transformations. 

Through these processes, time and experience become embedded within the work. The finished pieces may appear quiet and restrained, yet they contain traces of prolonged experimentation, failure, patience, and persistence. What interests me is not the communication of a fixed concept, but the presence of time as it becomes condensed within material. The work serves as evidence of a process rather than an illustration of an idea.

In this sense, my practice is less concerned with representing concepts than with revealing the traces left by an ongoing encounter between material, time, and lived experience. The work is not a visualization of thought, but a state in which time, emotion, and material transformation have accumulated and become inseparable.

I do not see technique as mere function or technical skill.

For me, technique is something accumulated through long periods of repetition and experience — a process that gradually becomes embedded in the body and the senses.

The ability to understand and work with materials cannot be achieved instantly. It develops through countless experiments, failures, and repeated periods of making, eventually becoming one’s own language and sensibility. When this accumulated sense of time and technique comes together with personal perception and thought, it moves beyond mere production and becomes art.

For me, art is not simply the explanation of concepts, but the act of bringing something previously unseen into presence through the meeting of embodied experience, material, and process.

  My practice engages with material-based sculpture through porcelain and glaze, questioning the persistent distinctions that separate “art” from “craft.” Rather than directly opposing these categories, I work through them, exposing how such hierarchies are constructed and maintained.

During my studies in Freie Kunst in Germany, I became aware of a recurring bias against clay as a medium. Its association with technical skill and bodily labor often places it outside the framework of conceptual art. This division, however, is not neutral; it reflects a broader system that privileges idea over matter, and discourse over process.

In my work, material is not secondary to concept. Porcelain and glaze operate as autonomous agents that construct form, structure, and meaning. Through processes shaped by time, control, and transformation, the work emerges from the interaction between intention and material behavior. Each piece carries traces of resistance, fragility, and instability, rather than illustrating a fixed idea.

I do not treat the exhibition space as a neutral site. Instead, I understand it as a condition that frames how work is perceived and valued. My practice therefore extends across different contexts—exhibitions, biennials, and public presentations—where meaning is not fixed, but continuously negotiated.

The work is structured through a sustained engagement with three interrelated conditions:

Material Accountability
The work foregrounds the physical presence of material, where thought and matter are inseparable.

Contextual Expansion
The work operates across shifting contexts, challenging fixed modes of display and interpretation.

Self-Constructed Practice
The process of sustaining an artistic position within social and economic conditions becomes part of the work itself.

What is often categorized as “craft” is not the boundary of my practice, but its point of departure. I remain within the tension between precision and resistance, control and contingency, allowing the work to exist as an ongoing process rather than a resolved object.  My work does not aim to resolve these distinctions, but to inhabit and reconfigure them—continuously reconstructing the conditions under which art can exist.