Based on the history of my maternal ancestors suffering from dementia, I constantly harbour the fear of eventually becoming like my mother or grandmother, losing precious memories that have shaped who I am while I am still alive.

Believing in art’s transformative power to turn the negative into the positive, I have been working to immortalise fleeting memories by encapsulating them in ceramic, drawing on the historical function of ceramics as a "container" for objects and beliefs, and on the inherent "permanence" of fired minerals.

Stones and ceramic raw materials, both composed of minerals, inherently embody hundreds of millions of years of history. Pebbles from the park I visited as a child may have witnessed joyful moments with my late father.

This idea has transformed stones into tangible proof, symbols of places of memory, and anchors that preserve those moments. Consequently, I collect stones from meaningful locations, wrap them in layers of ceramic materials representing my memories’ stories and scenes, and fire them at 1250 Celsius. This approach merges the objective sense of place with the subjective experience of memory, creating a container that eternally holds a story within.

The making begins by assembling stones in three dimensions. As multiple slips made with clay, various ceramic materials, and found objects from the site are layered several dozen times, the original shape of the stones gradually transforms, with each piece connecting and evolving into a new form. This process evokes the natural, centuries-long formation of stones, embodying a slow, natural metamorphosis.

During firing, cracks form in the ceramic layers as a result of the differing shrinkage rates between the core stones and the ceramic material, while the weight and heat accelerate deformation that unveils the hidden story within.

This process not only creates an innovative expression that emphasizes the intrinsic qualities of ceramic materials but also serves as a metaphor for the nature of memory—reminding us that memories cannot be perfectly preserved, but instead exist within us as beautiful, imperfect relics.