"Growing Up Without Knowing Kitchen Waste"

When I was young, my parents told me, "You were born from the field," so vegetables have always been precious to me as "treasures of the field." (Just between you and me, I used to think that someday I would be put on a cart and sold to some household.)

At home, we separate our waste into three categories: burnable, non-burnable, and compost. Vegetable stems and roots are placed in the compost bucket, and when it's full, we bury the contents in a large hole dug in the field. This eventually becomes fertilizer to grow vegetables and flowers.

Ingredients used in cooking include materials that are easily overlooked in everyday life, such as peelings, stems, fins, and shells. These are generally treated as "inedible parts" or "kitchen waste" and are often distinguished by the criteria of edible and inedible parts. This way of thinking is based on a human-centered perspective and does not exist in the natural world.

When animals or insects eat fruits, the leftovers dissolve into the soil and return to the earth. Plant leaves and branches also fall to the ground with the wind, eventually decomposing and becoming nourishment for new life. In this way, everything circulates and fulfills its role by supporting each other.

Learning from this natural cycle, I redefine the by-products removed during the cooking process as "lingering materials of cooking." By incorporating these into paintings and sculptures, I embark on a journey to rediscover the value and stories of "beauty beyond the realm of food" in these materials.

The journey began in 2020, during the time when the novel coronavirus struck the world. With more opportunities to cook at home, I was given the chance to rethink the meaning of "living" and "eating."

I learned from a news report that much of the kitchen waste from households is vegetable and fruit scraps, and over 80-90% of their weight is water. It turns out that burning this water into steam requires more than twice the usual amount of fossil fuels, resulting in the emission of a large amount of greenhouse gases. Additionally, kitchen waste contains trace elements, posing the issue of fiber tissues not being returned to the soil.

The moment I realized the reality that "we are burning water as we live," my journey quietly began.

"What can I do?" Such a question began to sprout in my heart.

At home, we composted, but to be honest, I was very uncomfortable with bugs and wiggly creatures. So, I tried drying the by-products before disposing of them. However, when I turned my attention to the dried vegetable peelings and stems, I was struck by the beautiful textures of the changing leaf veins and stem traces.

One evening, as I gazed intently at an onion skin, its multilayered structure seemed to hold the mysteries of the universe. Throwing it away felt wasteful. I wanted to linger in this feeling more. With that thought, I began to position the by-products as "lingering materials of cooking" and started the practice of displaying them in my living space.

Then, I bought a canvas that caught my eye and attached the onion skin to it. At first, I struggled to understand what I was doing. I didn't think I had gone crazy, but I felt something close to it. However, when I completed my first SAIGA（菜画）, I found an answer.

"Love the whole vegetable."

Perhaps the onion skin taught me this. Vegetables grown with love are born from the desire for the health of people, society, and this planet. And with wholehearted gratitude for these blessings, an unforgettable journey of co-creation with nature began...

Today, I continue to face the ingredients sincerely, aiming to create things that connect to the future of our dining tables.