Hmm… I think my research is really about stories—especially the ones that live in the body. I’m fascinated by how movement, gesture, and small rituals hold memory, even the ones we don’t always realize are there. I keep returning to folklore and everyday acts of care—things passed down quietly, mostly by women. I work with painting, performance, collage, and storytelling, trying to bring these layers together like a kind of living palimpsest.
Lately, I’ve been thinking more about the role of community in all this. I recently came across the work of Suzanne Lacy and Wu Mali, and something shifted for me. Lacy’s deep listening and her way of turning care into art really resonates with what I’ve been circling around in my own practice. And Wu Mali’s slow, place-rooted approach—especially her work around ecology and community—made me want to slow down too, to dig deeper into where I already am.
Their work also made me reflect on my own experiences creating art in public space. One of the most meaningful moments was a performance I did in a Japanese cemetery. It wasn’t planned as a big event—just a quiet intervention, where movement, memory, and the presence of the place all came together. It taught me that public art doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful. It can whisper, it can listen, it can hold space for reflection.
So now I’m wondering: if I were to initiate a larger public art project, what would it look like? I imagine a series of small, intimate gatherings—around stitching, dancing, or storytelling. Something that invites people to return to their own bodies, their own inherited gestures. Maybe it would unfold in kitchens, under trees, along walking trails, or in community halls—places already rich with memory. The focus would be on care, connection, and the quiet knowledge passed between people.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m a feminist artist. I’ve never really used that label, but my work often centers women’s voices, invisible labor, and the gestures of care. So maybe the answer is yes—just spoken in my own language.
In the end, I think my research is about connection. Between past and present. Between people. Between the visible and invisible threads that hold our stories together.
Some interesting videos: