Sound words can't be understood through formal study of the language alone. They're felt when you immerse yourself in the culture or lifestyle that becomes a part of you. The Japanese language is abundant with onomatopoeia. Even though I've lived in Japan a long time, sound words are still an uncertain territory. And I think new words are being created every day. Even when I don't know a word I can sometimes connect it to a meaning using the sensations produced by the sounds, which feels like I'm playing with words.

Art-making is an extension of the kind of spiritual process that shamans unfold in order to demonstrate the connectedness of the world beyond reality.

The subjects in my work appear as unidentified ghosts that can't be said to be of this world. I've decided to call them incarnations. In various religions, myths, and legends, the word "incarnation" refers to the birth or emergence of transcendent beings in the form of humans or other bodies. If "incarnation" denotes the appearance of an abstract being in some concrete form, in a gut ceremony, a shaman could be considered an incarnation of our desires, hopes, and sorrows. The incarnations that appear in my work are always new and I meet them for the first time by drawing them.

For a shaman, all things considered taboo get ripped apart, and one feels the satisfaction of being freed from agony through vituperation and laughter. Hence, shamanism could be said to have developed a means to tackle and override the barriers, oppression, and despair that tend to obstruct life.

Not only is hair a part of the body, but because it continues to grow for a time after death, it was considered a symbol of life and spiritual power. Likewise, hair to me is an element of mystery and an intriguing subject that rouses my imagination.

The female experience throughout the history of Korea has been accompanied by physical and mental anguish. This negative aspect of Korean history is one of the driving forces behind my work. To imagine transcending time and space to live in the body of another person is not only one of the key elements that shape my work, but also, it is an opportunity to revisit and understand the ways women have long been viewed and treated in Korea.

The fabrics I've used in my work are satin and sateen. Sateen is very glossy and far from luxurious. Bright solid colors with too much sheen seem gaudy, pathetic and nostalgia-inducing. Such fabrics are reminiscent of the power of chaos in a shaman's space: overabundant offerings of food on alters, kitschy decorations, provocative shades, vigorous dancing, plaintive singing, absurd fits of crying and laughing, and self-abandonment.