If an individual cannot exist solely as an individual, what then is the dynamic relationship with their environment? Beginning from this simple question, the Folk series can be understood as an attempt to visualize individuals and collectivities entangled within their surroundings. What each form signifies is not of primary importance. Rather, what I wish to emphasize is the character inferred by the viewer—constructed through fragmented clues embedded in the work. These fragments include images, titles, adjectives, animals or human body parts used metaphorically, and traces of dialogue. There is no correct answer in this process. Only the observer, the observed object, and the act of observation remain.

The works may take the form of animals, vegetables, fruits, crops, or composites of all these, sometimes imitating plant roots or the simplified movements seen in the map works. Some emphasize a specific body part; others incorporate pests previously encountered in the maps. Actions and forms, components, traces of records and conversations—this is an enjoyable inquiry into traits. Having long been interested in the multidimensional environments I inhabit and the relationships that arise from them—indeed, my previous Diplom examination focused more explicitly on relationships between people and between people and their environments—it feels natural that my attention now turns toward individuals shaped by those environments.

Associations inevitably differ from one viewer to another. For example, about three years ago, I spoke with a visitor about an artwork depicting an angry tomato. The guest associated tomatoes with positivity and happiness and could not understand why this tomato appeared furious and greedily aggressive. I explained the American horror film series Attack of the Killer Tomatoes—so widely parodied that no single reference can be isolated. Only then did the guest understand why this particular crop was assigned such attributes. Although tomatoes in everyday life do not suddenly become enraged and attack passersby, once objectified, my tomato—red in color—became defined as a violent entity. Separately, I often eat potatoes despite finding them dull, while carrots, unless exceptionally well prepared, provoke resistance through taste alone. I have rarely purchased or eaten beets. I cut away long-neglected sprouts and rotten roots, peel the skin, and consume only the flesh. I shape it as beautifully as possible, arranging the plate to suit my appetite, visual pleasure, and taste. It is clearly separate from me, yet soon becomes part of my body.