Justin
Enter Mari

The first thing I heard was her cry on the other side of the sky blue hospital curtain. 

To be honest, I was scared.

A baby dinosaur-like shriek that was at once primal and endearing.

Along with the smell of my wife’s burning flesh.  

Enter Mari

Family Rituals

Family Rituals

I grew up in asian grocery stores.

More specifically, I spent many a weekend as a child on family trips in search of an asian grocery store, ideally with a restaurant nearby or even better a food court built in. The goal: to dine and shop. To revel in ethnic food products unavailable in your everyday Trader Joe's or Whole Foods. Aisles of colorful instant noodle packages boasting flavors like spicy kimchi and red miso. Shelves of sweet snacks from crunchy Pocky to glutinous Botan candy and semi sweet crunchy biscuits.

Thinking back, it was more than simply dining and shopping. It was the creation of a collective experience.

Embracing Imperfection

Embracing Imperfection

I used to create things.

Drawing. Assembling buildings from wooden blocks. Creating worlds in my mind. Flying around in dreams. Talking to trees. Building toy robots. Sculpting rock. Welding metal. Sketching nudes. Writing blog posts. Recording songs. Filming videos. I loved it all. Different forms of expression. Ideas flowing through me. It was therapeutic. It was cathartic. It was human. It was nourishing.

Somewhere along the way though I became self conscious. As if everything I created had to be perfect. As if everything I produced held dire consequence if it fell below an entirely self-created, impossible to reach standard. As a result, I became afraid of creating.

Enter Mari

Enter Mari

The first thing I heard was her cry on the other side of the sky blue hospital curtain. 

To be honest, I was scared.

A baby dinosaur-like shriek that was at once primal and endearing.

Along with the smell of my wife’s burning flesh.