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Since ancient times, people have tried to let their inner voice surface not through declarations, but through small gestures a hand covering an eye, a thumb pressing a cheek, holding a cat too tightly, hiding behind a mask. These gestures feel like quiet prayers invitations to the world and confirmations of the self.

I’m drawn to the instinctive intelligence children hold before language fully forms raw, clumsy, unguarded, and truer than speech. That honesty is fading in a world of noise and speed. I want to preserve it.

The children I paint are not symbols or saints. They are the stubborn parts of myself that resist being smoothed out fragile like porcelain, yet solid and human. They imitate, mock, and experiment, blending absurdity and tenderness like a modern kind of folk tale.

In my work, memory, culture, and imagination overlap. The figures move freely across boundaries of language, identity, and expectation, redefining what it means to see and be seen.
What I’m building is a quiet, unsentimental theatre a place where children and adults reflect each other.

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自古以來，人們總想讓內心的聲音被看見，不是靠宣告，而是藏在那些細小的動作裡：遮住眼睛、按著臉頰、抱緊一隻貓、躲在面具後面。這些動作像低聲的祈禱，是對世界的試探，也是對自己的確認。

我關注的是孩子在語言成熟之前就擁有的直覺——笨拙、誠實、毫無防備，但比任何語言都真實。這份真實正在被速度與噪音吞掉，而我希望把它留下。

我畫的孩子不是象徵，也不是神。他們是我心裡不肯被磨平的那部分，帶著瓷的脆弱與身體的重量。他們模仿、嘲諷、試探，把荒誕與溫柔混在一起，像當代版的民間故事。

在作品裡，記憶、文化和自我交疊，人物自由穿越語言、性別與身份的邊界，重新定義「看」與「被看」。
我想呈現的是一個安靜卻不天真的小劇場，一面孩子與大人互相映照的鏡子。