Why prove anything?

One of the last things I did before moving out of New York four years and a few months ago, after almost four years of living there, was take a walk over the Brooklyn Bridge for the first time with a friend of mine, Mike. It was one of those experiences that quiets you down because the city feels less like a machine, ready to grind your bones to dust, and more like an organism, heavy with the weight of having so many children running its streets. All you see are lights: in motion, flickering, still. And all you hear is the hum.

I was twenty years old and I thought I was an adult. I remember wearing tights all summer and at least three layers of black, at all times, as if it would protect me. I wore a lot of Ann Demeulemeester bought secondhand. I think the thought of someone asking me what I was doing with my life would cause me to be defensive and angry. I think it was important to me that I could eventually be able to answer that question with pride. I was tired of being tired. I was tired of being on guard, all the time, for no purpose other than to push this image I had of myself as an independent person who did whatever they wanted.

When I moved back to Hawaii, I thought I'd never take an art class again. I took classes in feminist theory and film and philosophy and political science and anthropology instead. It felt like academia was a muscle atrophied in my brain. Every semester that passed it grew stronger, and stronger, and as it flexed it became this awful heavy weight of the entire history of knowledge, oppression, theory, and disciplinary studies that I definitely didn't have enough hours in the day to actually account for. At a certain point, I simply had to take a few lighter classes. I couldn't bear another semester of feeling like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. I enrolled in Intaglio Printmaking and Metal Casting. Every single studio day that semester was magical for me. There was joy, and terror, melting bronze in the furnace and pouring shot for the first time. I remember the very first print I pulled off a zinc plate and just how different it was than any other 2d medium. I felt like a kid again, proud and giddy.

The printmaking studio was the first place in a very long that I could spend countless hours in and actually gain, rather than lose, energy. It was important to me that I didn't overthink my process, imagery, or technique because I did that in every other aspect of my life. This was (and still is) my space of meditation and play. My printmaking is what gets left in the strainer of my mind after I pour my day through it and only the heavy, gritty, misshapen granules of life remain. It's closer to therapy than a professional art practice, and I hope it always stays that way. I'm still learning to balance being a community organizer and activist with being a person who needs practices like printmaking and how to explain my work and myself in one sentence, but every day I learn at least one extra thing that makes me reconsider even doing that.




These are some photos taken in the UH printmaking studio by Mark Kushimi. He's not a printmaker, but over a handful of studio visits I've taken him through the printmaking process and as a result he's produced some really great images that capture the spirit of the studio. We're about to install a show together called Proof at the In4mation space in downtown Honolulu, also known as the Human Imagination.

Proof is an installation of prints and printmaking ephemera and a collaboration between myself and Mark.

Proof explores printmaking as a generative creative process. The show highlights various printmaking techniques--trace monoprinting, etching, relief printing, and chine colle--as venues of experimentation that allow for meaning and ideas to develop. In other words, Proof is about how printmaking can break its own rules by expanding off the matrix, shunning repetition, and inviting mistakes. The show will feature a body of monoprints completed this summer at Anderson Ranch Arts Center in Colorado alongside selection of photographs, plates, and framed prints from the University of Hawai'i studios.


A Husk of What Ash Once Was

Copper, zinc, charcoal, found wood, canvas, acrylic, polyurethane, aerosol paint, oilstick, ash, dirt, hair, newsprint, found frames, ferric chloride.

My installation in the University of Hawaii Art Gallery as part of SHIFT.



This semester I am president of the BFA class at the University of Hawaii. There are 27 of us this year--a large but incredibly talented group of artists. Our concentrations include painting, sculpture, glass, fiber, performance, photography, installation, and printmaking. The thesis exhibition, Shift, opens in less than two weeks. Here are some process shots from a blog I created.

Photos by Dustin Miyakawa, Trevor Sakanashi, Mark Kushimi.



My dad's family is from Ojai, California. I found some film that expired in the 90's, loaded up my camera, and took these while walking around the valley on Christmas Day.



Morenci - oil, acrylic, and spray paint on plywood

Study of the Morenci mine in Arizona--one of the largest open pit copper mines in the world.



As the semester draws to a close and the Wonder Action Network & Garrison grows in size and breadth, here's a little retrospective of our actions in and around the University of Hawaii campus.

Postings around campus bulletin boards.

A cancelled mural.

Shirt and poster printing + tie dye.

The Wonder booth at the Ka Leo Arts Festival: live screenprinting and fundraising.

The W.A.N.G. zine, screenprinted with hand embossed braille.