I’m fascinated by the way I try to understand what other artists have done in art history. From that, I actually step back from all the thoughts, to sense what it really means to me.

I might want to know the secret of this magic, so I try to create a certain presence with the paint on the canvas.

Why did they move from abstraction to figuration? Why did they dare to make paintings in ways people didn't really understand at the time? How did they catch that moment when it felt so extremely real?

I have questions like this in my mind. Then I think there aren’t really any strict categories for me. No matter what kind of painting it is, there’s a certain truth of sensation delivered by the arrangement of a good painting.

And then I’m curious about the unseen force that makes paintings work.

I personally prefer dark-toned colours. Sometimes it gets so muddy that I will think, “Well, it won’t be a beautiful painting in the usual sense.” But that’s what feels real and right for me while making it. That mysterious sense can’t really be explained by understanding specific factors of painting, I think. It’s already a force revealing itself through its unrecognisable nature. Then I stick with it.

I have a personality that makes me easily immersed in a certain field, atmosphere, or scenario, no matter whether it’s in life, films, paintings, or anything else. And I love poems. I love the way they work.

They transfer something new through things we’re already familiar with. And I see an absolute connection between that and the way paintings work. The things we’re familiar with become a way to convey what we didn’t know. So then we meet the unknown.

Fascinating. Then I find myself starting a few paintings, normally like three, with the same title, without really knowing why. It reflects how they develop from the same first mark. Sometimes, they’re just very different, even coming from the same perception.