[EN] Thoughts on My Overall Work

 1. Aged Sashimi

Some creators release their work the moment it is born—like fresh sashimi, immediate and raw. But I don’t think I work that way. My creations always feel ahead of me, in terms of beauty and maturity. So when I release something, it’s more like asking: “Have I finally reached the emotional place this music exists in?”

That’s why the bright, clear vocal + orchestral pieces I once envisioned for my second album were never released. (Instead, an excessive and desperate work—Angel’s Share—became my second album… Emotionally, I still feel very embarrassed about it, but I poured everything I had at the time into it, so it turned out with intense sound and structure. It was honestly who I was then.)

Those clear vocal pieces from that time still exist within me, in fragments. I want to rearrange them more lightly and release them someday. It feels like that time would be summer…

And actually, one of those pieces did get released this time—“Already Seen” I held onto it for so long, and only when something finally aligned did it come out into the world—two years later.

Ah… I guess I’m someone who has to wait until the timing feels right before I can release anything with certainty. I’ve realized I’m very slow and careful when it comes to releasing music.

My music is not fresh sashimi—it’s aged sashimi.

2. Letting Go of Compulsion

Because of that, I’ve finally been able to let go of the pressure to release something every year. I’m no longer afraid of how long it takes to meet the music.

Because when that moment comes, I know how certain I feel—how joyful and immersed I become.

3. Confidence in My Creative Process
I’ve also gained some confidence in how I create:

1. A signal comes first: “It’s time to release.” I feel it physically.
2. For the first 1–2 months, I research. I read, take photos, write notes—gather as much input as possible.
3. When it overflows, I get a headache. That’s when I know to stop.
4. I organize everything into structures—charts, systems—planning album order, direction, ethics, compositional rules, arrangements.
5. Then something very important happens: while working, I don’t try to follow those rules. I erase and revise them. I rely on feeling, not data. I allow mistakes and disorder. I stay flexible. I only return to the material when I lose direction.
6. I carefully shape my environment: space, food, objects, temperature, light, scent, sound… everything. Even when I think I’ve reached the music, it often isn’t enough—so I build an environment that brings me closer to it.

4. Subtraction
After experiencing pregnancy and childbirth (though I haven’t yet), I feel like I could make music with just a cello and a subharmonicon.

Or perhaps go in the opposite direction—using a full orchestral session explosively.

5. Fourth Album
I think the ultimate “glitch” might be an album about pregnancy and childbirth—what I imagine as my fourth album.

I have a sense that pregnancy would bring both physical discomfort and emotional evolution. Even before I knew whether I would marry or not, I always wanted to make work about it. Watching artists like Björk and Grimes and Agnès Varda made these ideas more detailed and vivid.

Thoughts on Work Connected to the Third Album

1. Small-scale, handmade
2. A book centered on traces—if it’s nature, not nature itself, but its traces. Directness like photography feels overwhelming. I want it to arrive slightly veiled, like music—less explicit, but more sensorially vivid.
3. Considering presenting it as an exhibition
4. In a non-face-to-face world… when bodies can’t meet… is there a way to reach people more deeply beyond online communication? I often feel online interaction isn’t truly reciprocal. I want to leave gaps—spaces where people can form their own interpretations from the hints I offer. (Not rejecting online entirely—it’s an essential meeting place now—but I want it to be secondary, a bridge rather than the core.)
5. Why a book? Actually, it’s more like a hybrid form where text, data, and textile coexist.
6. Why do this? Because connecting with people is my task… I want to practice that.

Thoughts on Performance

1. I want to remove hierarchy in performance. I imagine creating an environment where people can casually and lightly experience it. I was inspired by Lullatone—the way audiences participate and just play. Also Tino Sehgal… I heard about him from a friend, and he recently exhibited at the Leeum Museum in Korea. I looked him up—he’s incredible. The audience reactions were amazing. I wish I had seen it. Maybe someday in New York… Please come to MoMA again.
2. At the same time, I now want to use my body in performance. But not in a self-focused way—rather, moving in response to others’ energy. I’ve never formally learned it, but it feels like my way of moving is shifting toward contact improvisation, like in contemporary dance or somatic movement.

To do that, I need to stay open. I’m trying to become that kind of person. I want to meet and connect with people more.

So… embarrassingly, I’ve been studying humor a lot. (It requires ease and sensitivity—it’s very difficult…) It’s what I need most when I meet people.

A creator whose music’s heart moves ahead of their own heart…
inevitably needs time to move toward that place—through effort and discipline.

It becomes quiet,
yet somehow, unavoidably busy.