In February 2025, I let go of my home in California to embark on a spiritual pilgrimage to India with my Thích Nhất Hạnh sangha, retracing the steps of the Buddha. I deepened my connection to his teachings by visiting the sacred sites of his life—his birthplace, the preserved relics of his path, the mango groves where he taught, the caves where he practiced austerities, and the stupa where he passed into final nirvana.

Knowing I would be in Southeast Asia, I took this transition as the right moment to finally move to Việt Nam. After two months in India and a brief stop in Thailand, I arrived in Đà Nẵng at the end of April. On my very first day, I visited a vibrant community art space, and the next day, I found myself in the mountains at an intimate artist festival—an experience made possible by an invitation from one of the space’s co-founders.

I am currently preparing for a group exhibition opening June 1, 2025, in Đà Nẵng—my first show in Việt Nam. Though I had to work quickly, I thrive in site-specific processes, and this project has brought me focused joy. I am creating an altar piece honoring my ancestors, titled Nebari—a Japanese term referring to the exposed root of the banyan tree, which grows into branches, roots again, and evolves into its own tree. Vietnamese bonsai, which I encountered here for the first time, seem to echo this cycle—spiraling roots emerging from blue-and-white hand-painted porcelain pots.

The piece includes a photo I took of another artist (pictured right) leaning back over a stone wall during our visit to the Lady Buddha statue in Đà Nẵng. In this gesture, she reminded me of the nebari root, malleable, adaptable and gently nurtured. The Lady Buddha stands 67 meters tall and is believed to be the guardian of Đà Nẵng, calming her waters and protecting our local fishermen. The image is printed on bánh mì bags, a nod to Việt Nam’s world famous food culture. I seek to reclaim the disposable bags by making them the actual art and placing them on an altar—an invitation to slow down, cultivate gratitude, and offer reverence to humble nourishment. Printed on the side of the bag is a meditation from Thích Nhất Hạnh: “Breathing out release all tension in your body. This is an act of love directed at your body.”

In my past four exhibitions and most recent artist residency, I’ve integrated altar works and meditation rituals into the public experience. This work was inspired by a visit to the ancient temple ruins of Mỹ Sơn deeply inspired this work. There, the nuns invited me to stay for dinner, and we shared the food from their blessed ancestral offering. In the same spirit, the sandwiches will be shared with the public at the opening—alongside a blessing and an invitation to honor your own ancestors at the altar. The edition is numbered at fifty marking the 50th anniversary of the Fall of Saigon, or the “Reunification of Vietnam” depending on your perspective.

As the May heat intensifies, I find myself dreaming of swimming in the Calanques in the South of France. I've been spending time with a French friend from Mende, practicing my French, and taking days to rest—wandering riversides, lantern festivals, the Cham museum, historic ruins of temples, lotus fields blossoming and remote beaches. This week, I am customizing the altar’s foundational elements in the art space with paper machiér and sourcing local ingredients for the sandwiches. As my friend asks me what I’ve been up to, I lean in and answer, “To create takes a little time. I have to learn the country first, before conjuring my artworks.”