About

For more than thirty years, I have worked as a graphic designer, primarily in packaging design and branding. I have always regarded these disciplines as an invisible engine oil within society—connecting people, companies, and products while allowing information to function clearly and effectively. To me, design is not simply about creating beautiful forms. It is a system that organizes information, reveals value, and quietly guides perception and behavior so that society can function more smoothly. In my commercial practice, I prioritize revealing the inherent character of a product or brand rather than expressing myself. My ideal has always been to make the designer as invisible as possible, allowing design itself to dissolve naturally into everyday life and perform its role without drawing attention to its author.

Today, however, anyone can access an overwhelming amount of information almost instantly. No matter how carefully designed a message may be, once it enters this endless stream of information, it can easily lose its original purpose and become indistinguishable from everything else around it. It is this condition that interests me.

For this reason, my artistic practice moves in the opposite direction from my commercial work. Instead of adding meaning, I remove it. Instead of making information more understandable, I deliberately suspend its function. Rather than creating useful information, I create information that appears to serve no practical purpose. Yet if something remains—if a subtle sense of unease lingers in the viewer's perception—then that small disturbance becomes the work itself.

This is also why I work with AI and stock photography. Long before AI emerged, I had already been creating works using publicly available photographs and existing visual materials. For me, AI did not change my artistic philosophy; it simply replaced one medium with another. My interest has never been AI itself, but the structure of anonymous information—how countless fragments accumulate, dissolve, and generate new forms of meaning. Themes such as loneliness in social media, anonymity, biological forms, and typography are not separate subjects in my work. They are different entry points into the same fundamental question.

I have no desire to assert my own identity through my artworks. Instead, I try to erase my presence as much as possible, creating works that could seemingly exist without me. Complete anonymity, however, is impossible. Every act of editing, repetition, omission, and the removal of meaning inevitably leaves behind subtle traces of its maker. Those traces are the only places where I remain.

Just as an excess of information eventually causes information itself to lose its function, I believe communication can also become dysfunctional through excess. We have never been more connected than we are today, yet many of us continue to carry a quiet sense of loneliness. I believe the same may also be true of design.

My work is not intended as a criticism of society, nor as a rejection of design. Rather, I feel that many of us continue to live as though information, communication, and design are functioning exactly as they should, while quietly sensing that something no longer feels quite right. I am one of those people. My artworks do not attempt to provide answers. They simply place that unease into the world without concealing it. If that unease resonates with something another person has silently felt, then, for a brief moment, the work may cease to function merely as information and instead become a small act of shared recognition.

For me, commercial practice and artistic practice are not separate activities. In my professional work, I think about how design can function effectively within society. In my artworks, I intentionally remove that function in order to question the roles of information, communication, and design itself. Rather than opposing one another, these two practices continually reflect each other, allowing me to explore what design is and what expression can be. If design is the invisible engine oil that keeps society running smoothly, then I hope my artworks can exist as a small bug within that system. Not to break it, but to make visible the subtle discomfort that many of us quietly sense yet rarely articulate. If that small bug encourages someone to pause and reconsider the nature of information, communication, and design, then I feel the work has fulfilled its role.