There’s nothing that starts a “welcome home” better than walking on to an airplane, hearing Hawaiian music and sitting in the purple throne that is going to actually take you home. As you sit and wait, people are talking and it’s pidgin. A broken up English that is a foreign language to some that you actually understand, that’s home. Seeing people you don’t even know but just look familiar because you know where they are from, that’s home too.  I took this picture today and I have taken it many many times in the past. It’s like seeing your best friend again after a long trip away.

Even after a long sleepless night, nothing warms my heart more than going to the one place that is my home, Hawaii. On my 10+ hour journey there’s a lot of time for sleep, sitting, and thinking. After a few weeks of being extremely busy doing who knows what, getting on the plane and heading home seemed so easy. I could instantly connect back to where I am from by taking myself there, something that isn’t so easy while I am away.

What is important to me between the actual trips home is the constant connection to home. Whether that means waking up and listening to local jams, keeping all of my desktop wallpapers on my computers different photos of Hawaii, or never changing my wrist watch to be in the right east coast time zone, I make an effort to be connected to home. This conscious effort is intentional because while being so far away I never want to lose that part of me. At times, living in New York could turn me into a completely different person. I can see how I can easily forget my roots, plant new ones, and probably never go home. But that’s not what I want.

For now I am away and my daily habits, communicating with my friends and family, and this plane are my connection to home. They are my lifeline. They keep me in the loop while I’m away. Today made me realize how easy it is to go home but it also made me realize why I am away. I’m gone to feel  that feeling. The one that made me so happy to see this plane, hear the Hawaiian music and see people I don’t even know speaking a language i actually understood. Being away makes everything that is ordinary, extraordinary and that is the best “welcome home” I could have ever imagined.

People, they all look the same but on the inside they are different.

Only nine with a refined mind.

Every Monday at Matsumoto Studio is #matsumotomonday. A day that we take time on the blog to share a family story, something about ourselves or anything behind the scenes. When we started blogging daily, we had to figure out what we were going to talk about then if anyone was actually going to care. We realized it didn’t matter if we had 100 hits or zero. What did matter is that we used the blog to tell our story and remind ourselves where our ideas for Matsumoto Studio are rooted and that’s our family. Looking at what inspires us and how our designs have evolved we see a lot of Hawaii and a lot of history. We take what we know best, our culture and our heritage, and turn them into something we can share with everyone else. We hope that people are not getting tired of seeing these old family photos, because they are really what make up what we are today.

Today’s post is a photo from I’m guessing, 1991. Boy’s Day, when we actually all looked like boys. Jes had a bowl cut and I was in an army uniform—like what. I love these old photos  because a lot these memories, I don’t remember. These were the years that we lived in our first house upcountry. A lot of times, this also seems like a big blur. Pictures like this help to solidify the memory. They make it real again and make it fact that my siblings did indeed put me in that army uniform and wished my name was Justin.

I started realizing the impact of my family upbringing and how it affected my work as an artist and design while I was in college–away from home. Since then it has been fueling my ideas and dreams for what I create. Everything I thought didn’t really matter is starting to matter most. I imagine the rest of my career as an artist and designer will be driven by the appreciation and celebration of my home and culture. One day it will go full circle,  I will return back home to my roots and we’ll have Matsumoto everydays. Until then look forward to more throwbacks of three happy fat kids with bad hair cuts.

We whine whine whine about winter for months (well, we totally had the right to do that this year) and then it’s finally spring. The flowers are blooming, allergies are emerging, and it’s like the city just got a fresh coat and a new attitude. We waited a long time for this, so of course we need to enjoy it. Sunday walks are back and this time, they are filled with cherry blossoms in the trees and bright blue skies. Let’s hope this weather is here to stay because if it’s one thing I learned this season, it’s that the weather can just be a big fat tease.

From a Sunday two years ago because Sundays are not Sundays if they are not also beach days.

Let’s do it again.

Before New York, there was San Diego. My first “home” away from home that I struggled to come to terms with as a place I lived.  Graduating from high school I knew I wanted to go away for college. After watching my sister fight to stay, but then leave anyway, my fate was already decided and I was going. I was lucky to move to a new city where my family, my sister, already lived for five years. My sister even went to the same college and I followed in her footsteps and even studied the same major. Since I watched her struggle, I knew I might struggle too.

My first year of college was difficult. In the first semester, nothing major went wrong, but I was learning about what it was like to live alone away from my family. All my friends were learning. That plus focusing on school (remember, that’s what I was there for) but also making new friends and enjoying a new city. That Fall semester was a rush and a whirlwind. Returning back for my second semester in the Spring things were different. I started to miss home. Finally people were finding their place in school and social groups and I was starting to really see how different life on “the mainland” was from Hawaii. School was more difficult and I put in many more hours of studio time, often not making enough friend time.

Towards the end of that Spring semester I felt very distant from my school and community. Always being from a place where everyone knew each other, I was surrounded by strangers daily. USD was not even that big of a school, yet I felt so small.  I took advice of my advisors and friends and started looking for more things to get involved in. After all, I came from such a busy and scheduled life in high school (school, tennis, clubs, art), it was time for me to make one in my new home.

This struggle and overcoming my first face-to-face match up with “the real world” influenced my art practice for my remaining years at USD.  During my second year, I was more involved in school activities, was able to create the art I wanted to create and of course, got to know San Diego a little better too. A pattern emerged and when it became time of my senior thesis I explored how my present life  brought meaning towards my past and as a senior, my thesis, Please Remove Your Shoes, was born.

For the first time everything started to make sense. I understand that I would not have made it to where I stood as a graduating senior if I didn’t struggle and fight as a freshman four years before. As I continued through my art major, I also kept looking back to my Japanese heritage and Hawaii upbringing as inspiration for my work. That seemed like the most natural thing to do because I knew it best.

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I can’t even begin to tell you what it was about this set up that made it picture worthy. First, I think it was the placement of letters. The deliberate choice to break up the iPad and IPhone. Second, it was the nice array of phone case choices. Plain colors? Got it. Bumpers? got that too. Marilyn Monroe fan? Don’t fret there’s one with your name on it. Or maybe you just want a big rubber bear-shaped case to carry in your pocket. Yup, that’s also an option. Third, this pop up shop was strategically placed outside of the Apple Store on West 14th Street but I bet the cost of the cases were half the price of what you would find in the store. Well played vendor man, well played.

This Easter weekend I walked 13.1 miles in one day (according to my Apple Health App). WOW. While many of my days are spent looking down or forward, just trying to get to where I am going, the weekends are times when I can stop and look around. I take the long way home, even if it means walking 40 blocks south, or meander through streets and ignore my map discovering new parts of the city I never knew.

I can also look up. Looking up to the buildings and sky to see a different perspective than the daily commute. A lot of New York looks down and I’m guilty of that too. We try not to make eye contact, especially to avoid those people who want you to sign petitions and just want “a little of your time to save ______.”  We just want to get where we’re going in the fastest way possible. This weekend, I found  new perspectives on things as I looked up on the city and not down to my feet. My phone helps me to remember these moments and also prove that I finished my first “half-marathon” this weekend. Here’s what I looked up to: 

Looking up to the Highline

Looking up to Rockefeller Center

Looking up to Saint Patrick’s Cathedral

Looking up 5th Avenue toward the Empire State Building from Washington Square Park

..the best excuse to stop working because everyone needs to eat. Copy catting a salad that I bought to take me through many long days in grad school by throwing together frozen grilled chicken strips, avocado, dried cranberries, goat cheese and tomatoes over spring mix with balsamic vinaigrette! Honey wheat pretzel sticks because why not and reading the New York Times because it’s good for your health to know what’s going on in the world.

Not complicated.

KISS. Keep. It. Simple. Stupid. Far too often I catch myself overthinking, overexerting and over-doing things. Trying to mesh lots of things into one design or do too many things at once. This only makes for a lot of “less good” things done at one time, or not enough great things being done. Less is more and quality over quantity. I’ve learned this in New York, more than anywhere else I’ve lived so far in my life. Here in New York, you can get almost ANYTHING you want to eat. It’s a blessing and a curse. We can get that $1 pizza slice, or you can get that $5 pizza slice that has the tag line “Organic” or “Farm fresh” in front of it. While the cheap price point might be on point, you get what you pay for most of the time and it’s not always pretty. Definitely not as pretty as the meal above or even the one be low.

Okonomi is the cutest little restaurant tucked away in the BK. That’s Brooklyn, Williamsburg to be exact. Thanks to friends who live in the neighborhood, I have only heard good things about their traditional Japanese set breakfast. Over a year later, I finally got to try it myself and it did not disappoint. The colors, the flavors, the presentation, the ambiance. Everything so simple, yet tasty and made from local, fresh ingredients. Every time you go it’s different, and this time I selected to have the sake-marinated Big Eye Tuna. Combined with picked veggies, egg and swiss chard, it was divine. Living up to it’s hype and then some. Not to mention the company. This was my second time at Okonomi, the first was for a ramen birthday dinner, and I would go back again and again. With only 12 seats and 1/3 of them being at the bar, it’s not great for big parties so keep it simple, stupid. Bring A friend, not 10.

And then there’s Umami Burger. Straying away from the small quaint vibe, to the borderline loud boisterous bro-bar. This California implant holds a special place in my heart because of the times I had Umami in LA. The burger isn’t big, the choices are also changing and not of a wide variety, but the burger is done right. I am a burger girl. I love to eat a good one cooked just right with a little pink. Not really a fan of the Whopper Jr. anymore and will pay for quality over that White Castle quantity. Umami hits the spot, and when you get your plate and think “that’s it” trust me–that’s all you need.

New York, as complicated as you are, thanks for the reminder to KISS. That’s right–keep it simple, stupid.

We have to appreciate these pixelated, slow-moving photos FaceTime has to offer. One person who appreciates it more has to be G-Flo. Gramma Flo is 88 today and if it’s anyone who has seen technology change, it’s her. With only a radio, to the black and white tv, then color tv to using a cordless phone, then using a phone outside of your house, she’s come a long way in history. Let’s not forget about that thing called “the internet” that she doesn’t quite know how to use, but she can go  on YouTube using her fingers to select vids on the iPad easy breezy. Now she can even see me. In real time, over 5,000 miles away, not just on a computer, but a phone that fits in a pocket! Amazing.

Thanks to technology I was able to wish G-Flo a Happy Birthday and see her face when she saw me say it. I sent her mail, which she got on the day it was expected to arrive.  I was there last year for her big day, but this year I wasn’t as lucky. As G-Flo gets older, every year is a milestone. While I didn’t care much that I was gone for her birthdays while I was in college, now that I am out of college, working, and actually able to make the choice to be at home, I feel guilty when I am not. When I am at home, she complains I am not home enough to spend time with her, but she’s the one with the busy schedule. She’s gone during the weekdays going to “preschool” to keep that mind sharp and out getting her hair done or singing karaoke on the weekends.

I talk about my gramma a lot. She’s a big part of my life and probably the reason why I act like a grandma sometimes. G-Flo has taught me why I should be sophisticated and poised and not “blllllahhhh” and crazy. I can hear her little life tidbits in the back of my head even when I am not around her. It’s scary, trust.  I used to think “stop talking I’ve heard this like ten times already,” now I just let her repeat whatever she wants. She’s 88, the Queen, and can do whatever the F she wants. Happy Birthday G-Flo!