In our life and time, there is an outer world that can be seen with the eye and expressed in words, but I believe that inside it is another world that can't be seen or expressed verbally. It is an odd thing that can be found in the uneven areas of our mind, our memories, our sensations, or behind these things; it is something that we are perhaps aware of but don't really understand. It's not clear whether or not it contains anything or what result it might produce, yet its existence is certain. I can't help but feel that there is something very important hidden there and wonder if this is what secretly drives our actions and history. To me, drawing is an act of wandering around and depicting the boundary between the inner and the outer world.













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