Facing life in an artificial world with stress without end I work with soil as material for my creations. Every time I pour mud over my head, I try to regain my consciousness and to return to the place of my real designation.

I get to work, as if I were to perform a ceremony for myself. The doll from my childhood that has become absolutely muddy has disengaged herself from her relationship to me and has entered a stage where she cannot even breathe.

To be afraid. To be unable to believe in anything in the confrontation with life, death, and the present moment. In the bathroom I pour mud water over me and listen to the breathing of my body in an age in which I have to acquire this earth by purchase. (Chiharu Shiota, 1999)