I love the idea that you’re a constant student of life: you learn from who you surround yourself with, from experiences in different environments, from specific circumstances.
My travels the last 3 years for work with my friend Ralph let me learn more about myself, unearthing symmetries between who we crossed paths with, leaving us energized as we returned “home” to Seattle.
Even with my asymmetric eyesight, the joy I found in these experienced symmetries taught me life was still worth living. This joy materialized into my appreciation for the concepts of
Symbolism, Personalization, and Evolution.
As such, this trio of concepts are the framework for the following portraits, bringing to life the gratitude I have to surround myself with people I can be my true self around, my “homes” away from home in their literal homes.
New York
Featuring Raph, Nick, Sy, Keeza, Tahsin, Tiff, Daisuke, and Derreck + Trine
February, May 2024
Symbolism: Portraiture of people I can call “home”, in their homes.
Personalization: Digital alteration to portray how I see the image with keratoconus, a corneal eye disease I’ve lived with since a teenager.
Evolution: Transcending mediums, from digital (what you see here now) to physical (print shows held in these specific cities).
“I’m starting my first portrait series and, if you’d allow me, I’d love to catch up and shoot you in your home”
”Man come thru, you’re more than welcome”
Letting someone into your home is a scared act. It’s letting someone see the dirty dishes in your sink, it’s asking if they want water and ice? Or no ice? It’s allowing someone into a part of your life willingly, for the sake of conversation or company. So when Raph allowed me access into his Brooklyn bunker, containing my excitement was no easy task.
For Raph, the sacred act of letting someone into his home meant they would see the brace stuck on his left leg, a means of healing following reconstructive knee surgery. When he told me this, I knew, almost poetically, I would have to enter his home to shoot his portrait.
For me, capturing a raw moment in an intimate environment (a space I don’t necessarily belong in) scratched my artistic itch. How lucky am I, to be trusted and loved enough to peer into a private space? And how can I show my appreciation and gratitude for the trust this interaction is rooted in, and share it with the world? The answer: portraiture that has unspoken meaning, something that made me happy when looking at it while also understanding the depth and meaning of the photo (that not everyone would understand at first glance).
Before I left, Raph I and shot the breeze about what book he’s reading (Kafka by the Shore) and shared the mutual passion we have for photography over cheesecake from Martha’s Country Bakery. Leaving his Brooklyn bunker for Sammy Virji’s first Brooklyn show, I felt satisfied knowing I met my own expectations of remembering this moment of realness I shared with Raph. it gave me a framework for how I would approach shooting portraits of 3 more special people in my life in Brooklyn, my ‘home”s away from “home” in their literal home.
“Oh my god dude it’s a $120 Uber back to Jersey City”
“It’s either that or a 2 hour train ride….fuck it, call it”
Even in the freezing Ridgewood morning, my brain still had enough power to realize I should charge this Uber cost to the game. Unfortunately, my phone had no power to call the Uber, so I had to ask Nick to call it. We had just gotten out of a b2b set headlined by Jacques Greene and Nosaj Thing at Holo, and I’d spent the last of my phone battery shamelessly Shazaming tracks I’d never heard before. Before I hopped into the most expensive ride-share of my life, I told Nick: “I’ll text you tomorrow when I’m on the way to shoot your portrait!” Then we rode off into the distance, him on his budget-friendly bike and me in my poorly planned, very pricey Pontiac Solstice.
When I wake up, the first thing I do is put on music in my living room, and Nick’s home reminded me of myself and my living situation. Anything that gets me moving, makes my body shake, something to wake me up since caffeine doesn’t cut it anymore and my tolerance is shot to high heaven. Nick’s Bushwick apartment features a living room with that same intentionality, records of different genres neatly stuffed in a KALLAX bookshelf with a record player on its Swedish noggin. I knew we were on the same wavelength after we shared Four Tet tracks with one another, months prior to this night, so I knew I wanted to capture him sorting music that he loved. I love how tangible that passion we have for music, and how it makes us feel, is in this photo.
Growing up, music was there for me when no one else could be, and it still is to this day; I know it’s the same for Nick. I’m elated I could continue my portrait series featuring a friend who was gracious enough to let me into his home, where he can trade the noise of the outside world, for the comforting noise of what he loves, in a raw, intimate, and vulnerable space. I’m grateful I got to experience a one-man listening party in Bushwick, with Nick as the DJ.
“Losing a sense like hearing or seeing means living in fear that one day, you won’t recognize yourself...putting all these gross bugs on my arms, forcing myself to see them...it’s kinda the same thing, facing my fears...”
Sy and I had never met before he put his needle to my skin on this brisk Saturday morning, yet we spoke like it was our 17th time hanging out. We have this digital age of communication to thank for us being as candid as we could in his Fort Greene apartment, our physical connection being our close friend Shu, who once worked alongside Sy as a footwear designer. Common interests aligned as we’d geek out about shoes in IG DMs and being raised in mega-religious households; this alignment furthered as I shared how my fear of going blind one day influenced the work I want to put out in the world. In a moment of vulnerability, he shared how his partner was going through something similar, yet different.
Crossing that threshold of intimacy, letting your guard down, letting people in; it doesn’t come naturally for me, nor do I expect that from anyone else. And yet, despite us never meeting, Sy was letting me into his life by sharing something personal and raw about the person he loves, how he’d been learning sign language to better navigate the loss of hearing his partner was suddenly experiencing. In that digital instance, I saw a reflection of myself in Sy’s physical life, so I knew capturing a portrait of him as he prepped to draw a roly-poly on my forearm, in his home, would do the connection I felt between us justice.
Talking with Sy for 2.5 hours about everything, from where we see ourselves in the future (he wants to settle on a ranch one day) to why I put all these bugs on my body (see quote at top), all had the throughline of understanding the depth life has to offer, in spite of the struggles it may throw our way. Growing up, I saw my disease as a roadblock, the fear preventing me from living the life I felt I deserved. As I get older, I‘m able to use that fear as an engine to express myself, and the love I have for those who choose to let me into their life, just like Sy did. He didn’t have to, but he did. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
“Ok, I love these two of you the most, so I’m torn...like this one’s amazing but this one... makes me feel a certain way”
I was happy to make the hard decision of my favorite photo of Keeza. It was through this decision-making I realized: these portraits - and this project- were how I wanted to remember my time with that person. Despite the overwhelming topics I could choose from to remember my time with Keeza, instinct helped me decide which portrait to choose. It wasn’t based on technical details, but on a feeling. Looking at it and knowing that’s the story I wanted to share. Like the work of Vuillard and Hopper, I chose this one because it told a story if I looked at it long enough.
Keeza’s portrait involved a new chapter in the story of her life in a new city, leaving her comfort zone of Florida. We talked about how she missed her family, then Viet coffee, then how she still hadn’t finished unpacking. Instinct kicked in as she sat in front of the plastic bins on her bedroom floor, her closet sprawling out of them; I knew witnessing her here, now, in her new “home” was about as real of a moment as I could capture. I pressed the pill-shaped shutter on my GR III and tucked it back in my pocket as we contemplated whether to go to Muji or Snowpeak first.
I didn’t know how much I wanted to tell her story of growth, and bravery, and realness, until looking through my camera on the train back to Jersey City. Like Keeza, I’ve been trying to leave my own comfort zone by letting people in, helping them visually understand how being nearly blind changed my outlook on life.
I began this portrait series to thank the people that have allowed me to experience life outside of “home”, by highlighting them in their own literal homes; the hospitality of the next 4 people has allowed me to loosely refer to New York as my “second home”, sometimes with the wish for a change of scenery, when I felt life was stagnant and monotonous.
For two years I worked front-desk at a clinic, and rarely did my schedule change. I knew I needed something to challenge me, so I booked a red-eye to New York to help with a one-day coffee popup. I’d never even met the guy running the popup before, but I didn’t care. I just needed out. It was Tahsin who allowed me to embrace that need, lending me his living room for one night for a fresh experience in the midst of the monotony.
Tahsin’s been the root of quite a few new experiences outside of “home” --bouldering on the VITAL rooftop for the first time, eating Michellin star takeout in Bushwick-- and in May, Tahsin gave me a new experience with my first ikebana lesson.
I always try to cram my NY schedule when I visit. So even if I was running late to the next part of my day, the love and excitement Tahsin had showing me the basics of stem and flower arrangement left me wanting to learn more. I delayed my departure, listening to him critique my work-in-progress and wanting to achieve something worthy of his expertise. “It’s pretty good!” he remarked as I finished, bandaging my bleeding thumb from pressing a stubborn stem too carelessly into the kenzan.
I still look back fondly on that last minute red-eye trip to New York. I was so sure I needed to leave “home”, even if only for a weekend. I knew it was what my body and brain wanted. Tahsin is a great reminder of that trip, of self-growth, of being sure of what you want (and don’t want) in life, of acting on instinct. Grateful to continue this portrait series on “home” with someone who’s always given me something new to look back on.
The more I leave “home”, the more certain of who I am when I come back.
With my last portrait I mentioned how new experiences fulfilled me; as someone raised on the West Coast, New York has been synonymous with new experiences. On my first day visiting, 3 Halloweens ago, we played in the Noguchi Museum in Queens, bought a last minute ticket to Yves Tumor at Webster Hall, and posed for a picture with Ecco2k -- after which I crashed on Tiff’s couch, just off the fabled Myrtle/Broadway junction.
I didn’t know it then, but 2021 marked the beginning of my frequent returns to NY.
That trip to NY ended with a Halloween house party, where Tiff now lives and where we shot this portrait of her. I told her I wanted to involve my subjects in the creative process after reading “The Photographic Portrait” by Robin Gillanders, which aligned with her own desire: “That’s funny, because I’ve been trying to get better at asking for my picture to be taken!”
I asked Tiff to face me while she sat at her workstation, foregoing my usual preference of shooting with the subject unaware of me. I showed her my camera screen and she responded, saying “I don’t like how my arm looks actually, let me put my jacket on”. I resumed my squat on her bed after she passed her arms through sleeves, and I pressed the shutter. “Yeah, that’s the one”.
I sensed a level of satisfaction in her voice, something we wouldn’t have achieved had I not shown her what her arm looked like. I silently thanked Robin Gillanders for this Evolution in my work as Tiff weighed her GRII against my GRIII before we left for Charli XCX’s surprise DJ set.
Crashing on Tiff’s couch 3 years ago cemented my comfort in new experiences. Her hospitality allowed me to experience a new world, connecting with others during every visit following that Halloween. By extension, she’s helped me understand others and more of myself in the process. She may not see it this way, but she’s been integral to my journey of self-discovery, and how I can call the people I surround myself with my “homes” away from “home”.
“A portrait of someone is just as much a portrait of you” - Robin Gillanders, The Photographic Portrait
When I see Daisuke, I see parallels in our lives despite our difference in age and geographic upbringing. I see the way Catholicism left its crude mark on us, how we’ve shouldered the weight of shitty roommates, how we’ve understood the love our immigrant parents showed us growing up, our love of books, and the black cats we have as companions. Like everyone else in this series, Daisuke is yet another shining example of how home can be found in the people you choose to let in, just as Daisuke let me into their home in May of 2024.
Tumblr was my home away from home in highschool as my family bounced from hotel to hotel, virtually homeless in the wake of reasons I’m still unsure of. In the midst of Wavves .mp3s, vertical landscape photos, and movie .gifs, Daisuke and I forged our friendship. It’s unclear exactly when, yet that ambiguity mirrors our current conversations when we’re together in New York: a cloudy fog of topics rolls off our tongues onto the hills of noodles in front of us, wrapping us in a mist of mutual comfort that only more than 10 years of friendship can bring. This mist held steadfast as we took the train to Daisuke’s apartment, and I could feel the metaphorical and literal threshold of intimacy being crossed as they unlocked their front door.
Even if the laundry list of what we’ve lamented over before would go well past the Instagram character limit, capturing Daisuke in their reading room, in front of their bookshelf, with Salem listening to our conversation in the hallway, felt comfortable and invigorating all at once, like the uncertainty of deja vu coupled with the certainty of a hangover following a summer night of heavy drinking.
Everyone featured in this portrait series has shaped me into who I am today, including Daisuke. In a way, Robin Gillanders is right: a picture you take of someone is just as much a picture of you, a reflection of your collective journey, the conversation that led to that moment, encompassing the years of love and friendship between us in one serving.
When you see these portraits, you’re seeing a tiny fragment of me. I hope you can see me looking back at you, in hopes of understanding you better, just as you understand a little more about me after reading this.
When I think of New York, I think of Derreck and Trine.
Everytime Ralph and I would visit the East Coast for work, we’d make it a point to see them; it was during our last visit for a shoot in Hell’s Kitchen that Derreck offered to let me crash on their couch the next time I was in town, which is when I shot this portrait of them. Can’t contain the excitement I have for closing out my New York portrait series with two people I met for mere minutes outside the Brooklyn Museum two summers ago.
Édouard Vuillard inspired this portrait series due to his paintings being set in a space of vulnerability, which couldn’t be achieved without a sense of intimacy between him and his subjects, something I feel whenever I talk to Derreck and Trine.
Trine told me they had been watching a lot of K-dramas recently and she’d recall how Derreck would dip in and out of their bedroom, overhearing dialogue -- centered on a love triangle -- on their TV. By the end of the episode, Derrick was on the edge of the bed waiting to see what happened next.
I wanted Derreck to pose next to Trine while she was napping to capture a typical Sunday morning nap between the two of them; while he did his best to keep her asleep, she covered her face immediately after realizing we were shooting their portrait.
Seconds later after I said “Wait wait that’s perfect!” she removed the blanket from her face, pretending to be asleep for a few seconds before laughing along with us. Shooter and subject aligned as I captured this moment between them, and I’m very happy to share it with you here, now.
Looking at this photo of D + T reminds me of the comfort they provide me; how I don’t mind discussing outlandish topics with Derreck (he once asked me what gives myself the ick), or how Trine and I can talk about TV shows that take up our current brainspace (Ex Pats), or how we’ll leave the club early just to eat Mexican food in their Jersey City apartment at 3 AM. Like everyone featured in this city series, Derreck and Trine have helped me call New York another home away from home, and I’ve got nothing but gratitude for allowing me to shoot them in theirs.
Los Angeles
Featuring Bobby, Quincy, Mom, and Olivia
March - April 2024
Symbolism: Portraiture of people I can call “home”, in their homes.
Personalization: Digital alteration to portray how I see the image with keratoconus, a corneal eye disease I’ve lived with since a teenager.
Evolution: Transcending mediums, from digital (what you see here now) to physical (print shows held in these specific cities).
“I’ve never known another heart to love as much as yours...you’re so sensitive to [the emotion of] love in such a beautiful way, romantic or otherwise”
Bobby’s texts tumbled into my phone screen as I felt the cold Tacoma air on my skin two nights ago. He was responding to my next tattoo idea I wanted to execute with him, a wheel bug molting its exoskeleton to symbolize the feeling of shedding things in life I once held dear to me, and accepting that I’m outgrowing them. Talking about love is as much of an intimate act as letting someone into your home; Bobby let me into his home 3 years ago, when we met for the first time in LA.
We clicked nearly instantly, so much that I crashed on his couch that night to save time on my commute back “home” to Seattle the next day.
Since then, Bobby and I have shared an incredible amount of our lives with each other: we sporadically text about the hamfisted plot of JJK, send each other post-punk tracks, spend hours playing Smash Ultimate in his living room, then stew over the meaning of life and love with beer and billiards before crashing again on his couch or my next tattoo appointment with him.
Bobby’s home has been another “home” for me since 2021, and my love towards that level of friendship and intimacy is what led me to have him be part of this portrait series.
When I crash at Bobby’s, I rarely go into his actual bedroom; this setting made the most sense to capture him in, naturally intimate and real to his daily life. Even in a space I’d never been in before (his bedroom), I felt just at “home” as I did on his couch.
“Whatever room you walk into, whatever space you’re in...I want you to be undeniable.”
Quincy and I met in 2018 on the women’s sales floor of 600 Pine St, where the specter of Barneys New York still resides. We introduced ourselves to each other like nurses in a cohort, since we joined the company in the same hiring batch. From our collective day 1, he emanated an energy that was undeniably his, and his alone.
Quincy’s black uniform always greeted me before his white teeth reflected the stockroom light onto my work desk. “You wear Rick all the time?” I asked as he pulled a Balenciaga sock runner. “All the time, this the only shit I been rockin.” is probably what he said, although I can’t pull the exact quote from 6 years ago.
Quincy’s uniform represented decisiveness to me, inspiring me to find what clothes suit my lifestyle, body, and personality. Even after Barneys’ bankruptcy in 2019, Quincy provided inspiration and guidance over many invaluable FaceTime calls (from which the opening quote comes from) and overpriced food in his new home state of California. Becoming (and staying) undeniable stuck with me at times of uncertainty in my skill set when working with big-name clients like Footlocker, Crocs, and ASICS.
To this day I take any chance I get to break bread with him whenever I visit “home”; including him in this portrait series was a no-brainer.
This portrait marks the first time I’d stepped foot in his new home, a hybrid studio/living space in the heart of the Jewelry District just a stone’s throw away from what he needs as he designs, prints, and casts his own silver jewelry. A few attempts of his portrait (before this one was birthed from my camera) had him at his Wacom workstation, ones I decided were just “okay”.
As we prepared to leave, the light from his living room window cast itself against us, and his silhouette was shrouded in the same black he wore when I first met him. I knew once I clicked the shutter release on my Ricoh, the lens captured the elegance and energy of who he is at his core: a jet-black beacon against a blinding white sea of uncertainty, guiding me through my evolution towards undeniability.
“You can always come home”
“You can always come home” were the first 5 words my mom said to me when I broke up with my girlfriend of 6 years in 2021. Rash and full of emotion, I dismissed her offer: I came to Seattle to find a new home for myself, away from the rigid Catholicism and unbridled chaos of her household. How was I supposed to go back, with my heart broken and my tail between my legs? The shame and embarrassment melted over me like candle wax.
I didn’t even know which “home” she referred to, since the fluidity of the term was always changing growing up: my mom, dad, brother and I moved from house to apartment, to hotel rooms, to my lola’s living room, all across the Bay Area to Southern California. I had just started calling Seattle home, and I didn’t want to throw that away just because I wasn’t in love anymore.
That breakup was 3 years ago. Since then, I took up on my mom’s offer of coming back home, just for the holidays between the Bay and OC.
I used to think a fragmented family meant instability. But the more I go back “home” (whether that means the Bay Area, or SoCal, or Seattle), the more I understand what it takes to raise a family and keep one together, even miles apart, and the chaos that can come with it. This portrait of Mom captures one of her more peaceful moments during a visit “home” to OC while catching up on my journeys away from home in Seattle, as a video producer, illustrator, model, stylist, designer, and photographer.
Understanding your family is a never-ending process, as is understanding oneself, and visiting home always helps me learn more with each visit. It’s on those planes back “home” you’re most aware of how you’ve changed as a person since your last visit, and who’s changed you for the better. I can say everyone in this series, including Mom, has done exactly that.
I never fail to feel at home when I’m around Olivia. The last time I was in her home was in the Tenderloin district, where, as a group of 7 following KBBQ, we exceeded the elevator weight limit and almost died going up to her apartment.
Her new home in Elysian Heights lacked the death-defying thrill of dated machinery but was nonetheless as tall as her 4th floor San Francisco abode, causing my Lyft driver to comment on the hills Waze led him down as we approached. After knocking, Olivia made me feel at home almost immediately, offering me slippers and a Peroni.
Living alone combined with my eye disease instilled an independence I embraced as I started to understand what I wanted to make as an artist. With portraits, I’d always thought my input was all that mattered; that is, until early May, when I picked up “The Photographic Portrait” by Robin Gillanders for $8 in SoHo.
“A portrait is a photo of someone who knows their picture is being taken” was new territory to me, given how I selfishly thought my vision was the only thing that mattered. I realized: my artistic vision aligning with my subject’s ideal self-image made me a better photographer than just me deciding for myself.
The quote reminded me of how I understood myself through others, why I’m even shooting these in the first place: connecting with someone leads to understanding them, and by extension, understanding yourself. The people featured in this series have helped me embrace my own flaws, fears, and favorite songs; if not for them, I don’t know where I would be. This is my way of saying thank you to them.
For an hour I showed Olivia angles I was capturing of her, with an energy only a Peroni at 4:30 PM could provide, showing first her serious, then silly, then serious again face in between sips of her own Peroni. I understood how she wanted to be seen, as she understood how I was capturing a brief moment in time with her, and how I wanted to remember our time together. “This was one of the first ones we took!” she exclaimed, finishing her Peroni. I felt a sense of accomplishment as I called my Lyft for dinner, thinking about how she said “we took” and not “you”.
SF Bay Area
Featuring Jude, Dad, Brian, and Nhu + Jonathan
February, June 2024
Symbolism: Portraiture of people I can call “home”, in their homes.
Personalization: Digital alteration to portray how I see the image with keratoconus, a corneal eye disease I’ve lived with since a teenager.
Evolution: Transcending mediums, from digital (what you see here now) to physical (print shows held in these specific cities).
Something always brings you back to where you came from, right?
Our late cousin brought my brother and I back to the Bay Area this year, celebrating his life a month after laying him to rest in Half Moon Bay.
We’ve always felt at home at hotels. Capturing him here brought me back to when we lived in them as kids, when we experienced homelessness first hand.
I remember clutching handfuls of free Golfdish in the lobby, closing my eyes in the car as our dad drove us to school, cursing God for putting us through this. I had to fish for more memories from Jude a few nights ago.
“How long did we even live in those hotels?” I asked him over FaceTime. “Two fuckin’ years! Shit was messed up!” Laughing about our shared experience of a family that could barely hold itself together is something no one else will fully understand. I realize now how much of “home” we were to each other, even in the midst of homelessness.
Even when Seattle’s been home for 10 years, I answer with “I’m originally from the Bay” when someone asks me where I’m from. The next 3 portraits are 3 more reasons I can continue to return there and still think of it as “home”.
There are scattered memories that surface when I look at this photo, fragments of time surrounding our Suite Life of Zack and Cody era. I remember the humiliation of stalling driving my uncle’s ‘94 Integra and the mouth-watering smell of fried tilapia we’d pick up from the Marina fish market off Norfolk. When I stay in hotel rooms, I’m reminded of our temporary homes and the “home” we managed to find in each other, helping each other weather the storm of our life.
Most of my memories with my dad are in his car.
Cars play such a big role in his life, you’d think he slept in the driver’s seat more than an actual bed. His two jobs meant I rarely saw him at home growing up, and when I did, it was always in transit to or from somewhere throughout the Bay Area peninsula. Even when I transitioned to Seattle, the car was still “home” for my dad, as were the two jobs.
He lives and breathes driving. He taught me what different car models were as we’d spend our time in his Honda Civic, filling my brain with differences in design language and detail across BMWs, Acuras, Mitsubishis, and Volvos, from taillight structure to body construction to side mirror placement to fender shape. His dream car is a Ferrari Spyder 488; mine is a ‘93 NSX.
In the car my dad is the biggest The Carpenters fan, belting along to their cover of “Close to You” as he drives down the 101, his sunglasses barely below his brow-line in the rear-view mirror. In the car, we catch up about how life in Seattle is (I love it) how’s work (work’s great) merong girlfriend ka na ba? (lol no) ah so boyfriend! (lol no!!) kumain ka na? (I ate a little on the plane but I could go for In n Out) and when are you moving back to the Bay? (Idk..maybe never?)
As I’ve shot portraits this year, I’ll sometimes ask to capture my subjects in the environment they spend the most time in. To me, I’ve felt my dad was the most comfortable behind the wheel. On Father’s Day a few months ago, I shot this portrait of him in Rincon Hill.
I never got around to asking my dad if I could shoot him at home in the Bay due to the lack of intimacy in his current house. I know nothing about that house, what it looks like on the inside, what his roommates’ schedules are like. But in the car, I know who my dad is. I know how vulnerable a space it can be for us as he takes us to our next destination. As his son, I’ve discovered the most about my dad in the car with him, what I feel is his “home” away from home.
Brian and I love laughing at ourselves. That’s why it was easy to find a “home” in him.
The premise of my comfort with him was put in place years ago over the internet, when I altered a picture of myself to have an extremely tiny head while everything below the neck was massive, reminiscent of a background character from season 1 of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure; he followed me after this caricature crossed onto his Twitter timeline and we’ve been best friends ever since.
My favorite part about Brian is how his brain works in tandem with mine. We’ll snowball off the smallest “what if ___?” and nearly hack up a lung from laughing, our brains trailing off into the distance thinking about what could be; after wiping the tears from our eyes, we’ll bring each other back down to Earth, often ending with “wait that would actually go crazy (?)”.
Once, we joked about visiting LA just to see the interior of a luxury retail boutique, whose inner courtyard had a gigantic tree growing in its center (haha what if we went just for that); the punchline became reality as we drove around LA a few months later, crashing in a cheap K-town hotel and sharing meals with other friends we’d met over the internet.
I don’t remember the exact punchline that resulted in capturing this portrait of Brian laughing earlier this year. It was the last night I was in town and we’d just spent the day walking on Valencia St in SF, catching up with each other before we settled down in his Berkeley apartment over tonkatsu curry and IPAs. Like most of my memories with Brian, this portrait captures the essence of our interactions: full of laughter, good food and drinks, in the comfort of one another.
Nhu and Jonathan taught me how much I value hospitality.
Living alone helps me value my freedom in my own space. It reinforces balance and discipline in my life and allows me to live through my surroundings, something I can call my own (at times very selfishly!) But when Nhu and Jonathan crashed in my place last October, I discovered the importance of sharing that freedom with those close to me.
Learning how my parents sacrificed their freedom in the Philippines for the sake of their children to have new experiences living in America helped me understand how that could translate to love, so I had no problem sacrificing my usual freedom momentarily for the sake of my friends. It fulfilled me enough to know they were having new life experiences on my behalf.
Love comes in all shapes and forms; with Nhu and Jonathan, love comes through our memories of trekking through the Hoh Rainforest, having a Kona at Lake Crescent, and their hospitality in hosting me earlier this year in their new home of San Francisco, where I shot this portrait of them. Throughout this stay we listened to a live set curated by Devon OJAS at SFMOMA, walked through the San Francisco Botanical Garden, and went vinyl shopping at Amoeba.
Life -- and its components -- teaches you so much, as long as you’re open to its lessons. From the week they spent in my living room and the weekend we spent in Olympic National Park, Nhu and Jonathan taught me the beauty in providing a space for people to feel safe and welcomed.
Knowing I’m able to continue this portrait series -- on finding “home” in 30 people as I approach 30 -- on behalf of their hospitality allows me to fully embrace my identity as a visual artist, grounding me in this decision making to tell my story through others I hold near and dear.
Coming soon...
Coming soon...
Seattle
Featuring Alex + Rawan, Teena + Simon, Alec + MJ, Paul + Mia, Maddi, Sam, Mavin, Ralph, Aminta, Cienna, Mo, AD, Ben, and Lindsey.
2024
Symbolism: Portraiture of people I can call “home”, in their homes.
Personalization: Digital alteration to portray how I see the image with keratoconus, a corneal eye disease I’ve lived with since a teenager.
Evolution: Transcending mediums, from digital (what you see here now) to physical (print shows held in these specific cities).