Colorless and primary colors are separated from the discrimination of colors through the wavelength of light, whose origin is color.
Though in relative and opposite positions, this, a sense of finding its source as a space that can be integrated into one, is the architectural subject that I constantly crave, and it is the vernacular.
Where the worn nail is studded is not important, especially if it is an empty wall. But the sensitivity of light that exposes the nail, and the value of the margin that creates the contour of the shadow are the architectural infinite qualities I am dealing with now, and the unlimited value that I must continually abandon myself to.
In the every life where rays of light keep coming alive and disappearing, awakening the value of existence of the worn nail, what is my true inherence within the paradigm of architecture? I am still asking myself