From a heap of scrap fabrics I’ve saved, thinking I’ll use these someday, I pick out a few pieces that my hands are drawn to first. Then, I arrange other pieces around them that might get along. Guided purely by intuition, using a needle and thread as my glue, I just let my hands move.
Small fragments connect to form a larger piece, growing bigger and bigger. If a joined seam doesn’t feel right, I cut and reattach. Repeat and repeat. And then—pause, and just look.
Through this process, the current size and shape have finally been decided. Now, only the final finishing remains, but even for this part, I find myself wavering between this way and that. I tried one way, didn't like it, and tore the stitches out again. Right now, I am waiting —letting the fabric fragments and the threads that connect them gently simmer, giving them time to adjust and grow comfortable with one another.
When making Jogakbo, the time spent pausing and just looking is what truly matters to me. It’s about putting down the urgency to quickly finish a piece and turn it into something useful, and instead, choosing to simply stop—and gaze.
