I like stories.
Stories a friend told me yesterday, fragments I left in my journal, short fiction, the sentimental narratives of TV dramas, phrases from advertisements, long comments left on the web, fake news that spreads as if it were true, and even rumors that begin with “Did you know that in the Paleolithic era they used to...” I read, listen to, and collect such stories every day.
The world is not a single, unified reality perceived identically by everyone. Rather, it is a fragmented space made up of overlapping perspectives, timelines, and emotions. If histories are entangled and time is non-linear, then historical forms—and the sense of inevitability they carry—are ultimately structures that border on illusion. Creation shapes reality. Facts do not speak for themselves. Granting a fact the right to speak, choosing what to say first and what to leave unsaid—these are always decisions made by the storyteller. What I can do is gather evidence of what is happening in the world and document it as faithfully as possible. Not according to my desires, but as it actually unfolds.
What I’m most interested in right now is the time we live in—our present.
Transnational phenomena like migration, new professions such as AI trainers and platform workers, the reconfiguration of identity and embodiment through technology, and the emotional structures shaped by algorithms—these are all reflections of our time. I try to weave the multilayered phenomena shaped by cultural, social, economic, and technological changes into narrative form, rather than treating them as mere social data. Within them, I trace changing forms of labor, new expressions of emotion, shifting senses of distance between people, and transformations in how we perceive time—always through an anthropological lens.
In particular, I try to adopt what I call an “archaeology of the present”—a way of looking at today from a future perspective, treating the present as if it were a strange past. Just as archaeologists reconstruct past lives and beliefs through worn fields and broken artifacts, I treat the language, images, emotions, and social structures of this moment as contemporary relics, documenting them for the future. Through this process, I try to defamiliarize the time and reality we take for granted—to see it again, with new eyes.
"Human visual experience is not a gateway to a single truth, but a composite of countless layered realities. What we see, and how we interpret what we see, is closely tied to structures of knowledge, power, and systems of desire long embedded in our society. There is no natural link between sight and truth—only social ones."
Storytelling can be a way of loving the world. The materials I collect, appropriate, and reassemble no longer need the cover of fiction—they begin to operate as structures of reality that reflect my perspective and position.
I like stories.
Stories a friend told me yesterday, fragments I left in my journal, short fiction, the sentimental narratives of TV dramas, phrases from advertisements, long comments left on the web, fake news that spreads as if it were true, and even rumors that begin with “Did you know that in the Paleolithic era they used to...” I read, listen to, and collect such stories every day.
The world is not a single, unified reality perceived identically by everyone. Rather, it is a fragmented space made up of overlapping perspectives, timelines, and emotions. If histories are entangled and time is non-linear, then historical forms—and the sense of inevitability they carry—are ultimately structures that border on illusion. Creation shapes reality. Facts do not speak for themselves. Granting a fact the right to speak, choosing what to say first and what to leave unsaid—these are always decisions made by the storyteller. What I can do is gather evidence of what is happening in the world and document it as faithfully as possible. Not according to my desires, but as it actually unfolds.
What I’m most interested in right now is the time we live in—our present.
Transnational phenomena like migration, new professions such as AI trainers and platform workers, the reconfiguration of identity and embodiment through technology, and the emotional structures shaped by algorithms—these are all reflections of our time. I try to weave the multilayered phenomena shaped by cultural, social, economic, and technological changes into narrative form, rather than treating them as mere social data. Within them, I trace changing forms of labor, new expressions of emotion, shifting senses of distance between people, and transformations in how we perceive time—always through an anthropological lens.
In particular, I try to adopt what I call an “archaeology of the present”—a way of looking at today from a future perspective, treating the present as if it were a strange past. Just as archaeologists reconstruct past lives and beliefs through worn fields and broken artifacts, I treat the language, images, emotions, and social structures of this moment as contemporary relics, documenting them for the future. Through this process, I try to defamiliarize the time and reality we take for granted—to see it again, with new eyes.
"Human visual experience is not a gateway to a single truth, but a composite of countless layered realities. What we see, and how we interpret what we see, is closely tied to structures of knowledge, power, and systems of desire long embedded in our society. There is no natural link between sight and truth—only social ones."
Storytelling can be a way of loving the world. The materials I collect, appropriate, and reassemble no longer need the cover of fiction—they begin to operate as structures of reality that reflect my perspective and position.