to my friends who shelter me
a tiny shed in the japanese countryside
to my friends who shelter me:
as you know, I have chosen a current lifestyle that is without fixed home, city, nor country. I am so grateful to receive your hospitality for the weeks and months in which I share your home with you. if I can contribute back to you with money (what they call rent), simply tell me. name a number. I am happy to oblige. if you insist that I should stay as your guest, and protest that you want nothing return — I am, of course, deeply grateful for your generosity.
please understand that it is far from my intention to insult your generosity with this letter. I simply wish to state my innate, deep desire to give back to you; to share my resources with you — just as you will share your resources with me. it is not an “exchange” or “barter” per se, but a mutual gift giving. this philosophy — of life as gift, and art as gift — encapsulates the way in which I want to live.
so, I offer all of my gifts to you, the intentional and unintentional; the articulated and unarticulated.
in doing so, I am proposing a different way of approaching this basic human need for shelter. as in: “should shelter always have a cost? should shelter always be exchanged for money?” if it is money that you most need — then please don’t hesitate to ask. but if it is not — then let us consider whether rent — the default arrangement in this capitalist society — is necessarily the best arrangement. the simplest, perhaps. but are there other, more impactful, more meaningful ways of giving to each other?
this is not to say that money is evil, nor that money spoils relationships. far from it. money has symbolism in that it represents a resource.
(and certainly, I will admit I am writing this letter, in part, to assuage my own embedded guilt for possibly not paying you rent. maybe, also to reflect my innate discomfort with being on the receiving side of a gift. perhaps also to be clear with myself — and with you — that I never intend to be taking advantage of your generosity. I was born into the culture of extreme hospitality; of being hyperconscious of the other’s resources — and this idea of me as a parasite feels deeply offensive to me.)
so, I want to take this as an opportunity to expand my own thinking on the subject of resources — material and non-material, tangible and intangible — and the ways in which we share them with each other.
you have offered me your space, your home, your physical resources, your attention and presence — and all that comes with the gift of hospitality.
let me share what I will bring into your home — only the things which I can articulate here, on the page. (there are many more which we will create and discover together.)
an articulated list of gifts I’d like to give you:
I will cook Chinese food for you. including but not limited to: steamed buns, tea eggs, dumplings, noodles.
I will probably immortalize your home, your city, you, and your world — though the writing and art I create. if you don’t want that, you should probably not offer to host me.
I can give you very good massages. not to mention hugs.
I can build a website for you, design a logo, help you create and market whatever it is you’re trying to birth into the world, and hold you accountable for it.
I can teach you how to paint, to draw, to write, to read music, to play piano and flute, to begin and maintain any consistent creative or contemplative practice.
I can read to you. I am told I have a good laying down voice.
I can edit your writing (in English).
I can teach you Chinese.
I can push you to live a more deliberate digital life (something I feel extremely passionate about)
I can paint a mural on your wall, illustrated maps, or a three-dimensional installation.
I can make art for you or your home — in fact, I would like to do this. from the functional (a lamp, room dividers, a clock, linen things, journals, a bird house) to the purely aesthetic (sculptures, paintings, etc)
all of these things are extensions of me — and extensions of all the work that you see on this site. there are many more things I cannot remember or articulate now. you will tell me if you think of them, won’t you? perhaps, they don’t need to be articulated. not everything needs to be put into words.
you will tell me if there is something that would make you feel happy to receive from me, won’t you? in the end, that is what I want. to give you more beauty, more love, more truth. and to savor it together.