I have always seen sculpture as a physical language. My earlier works often focused on tools and found objects—through dismantling, de-functioning, and rearranging, I tried to build a   Logic of my own. In previous work, I removed the handles from hammers and arranged them like broken bodies or failed tools. Maybe it wasn’t about expressing anything. It felt more like a reaction—a sensitivity to the blurred boundary between object and human.

 

In current research, I continued my interest in repetition. At first, it was just a formal idea—rhythm, time, movement, sound. But studying repetition by repeating, soon it became exhausting even torturing. It was too abstract, too neutral—something anyone could use, yet pointing to nothing. So I shifted to a more specific kind of repetition: bodies that are trained, shaped, supporting each other, and pressing against each other. These postures happen again and again in my reality—familiar, but hard to explain.

 

In my current project, I cast 9 simplified human figures in concrete. They are used as structural units bricks. Each body is reforged to a supporting shape, all in the same pose, faceless, dependent, suppressing and dissolving each other. The individual fades out. Only structure remains.

 

I grew up in a culture that values the collective over the individual, and places high importance on efficiency and discipline. That background shaped a kind of bodily muscle memory. Even now, as I try to speak through the body, the marks of that training remain everywhere.

I ask myself:

If the body’s language has already been trained, can I still use it to say something new?