By repeatedly crumpling, unfolding, soaking and twisting hanji, I record the moment when the paper absorbs water and pigment and begins to spread on its own.
I do not define a form in advance.
Instead, I follow the surface instinctively, allowing the flow to take shape spontaneously.
Color seeps, gathers, wrinkles and disperses.
Folds turn into shadows. Clotted pigment becomes light.
As I continue feeding water into the same sheet — over and over again — the surface gradually transforms into a damp, musty marshland.
Its texture is no longer just a material reaction, but a stratum of accumulated experience, thought and quiet anxiety.