consultant
x
artist
sage
con artist
about
the roots of this art project originate in toronto, ontario. the 6ix. a home away from home where i first encountered a murder of crows. the others. it started as an outlet for creativity during the covid-19 pandemic: a simple t-shirt design with my name on it, written in calligraphy that i could neither read nor write. i commissioned the project via an artist in mainland china – the motherland – in an attempt to find a familiar sense of comfort when i was the farthest i had ever been away from my home. just below my name sits a barbell; empty, yet beaming with potential, representative of a silent and humble work ethic.
加油
carved into the adjacent red seal in ancient script is a chinese idiom – 拔山盖世 (ba shan gai shi) – which presents the idea of possessing so much power that you could pull mountains from the earth. together, the calligraphy, barbell and seal are meant to represent a balance of serenity, grace, and strength. like olympic weightlifting. a violent eruption of force executed with an equally impressive level of grace, and a sport dominated by the chinese that rewards consistency and hard work. a metaphor for life. a sport that i love, excel at, and had been forced to retire from at the peak of my strength due to government imposed lockdowns, swiftly ending a shimmering dream i had to compete on an international stage. in quick succession, i simultaneously lost my identity, my health, my sanity, my favourite means of exercise, my meditative ritual, and my spiritual practice. using this experience as a catalyst, the project evolved into a philanthropic initiative that promoted mental health, strength, and resilience at a time when the world was in dire need of something positive that would contribute to a sense of hope. the apparel project ultimately raised a modest $1000 for a local fundraiser that provided grants for youth whose mental health had been cratered by the absence of physical activity during quarantine. the following year in 2021, i watched helplessly from across the country as flooding caused by an atmospheric river ravaged communities in my home province of british columbia. in response, a pop-up campaign raised an additional $500 in support of helicopters without borders, a non-profit organization that provides disaster relief to remote areas of the pacific northwest.
be water, my friend.

crucifixion
the parallel driving force behind this project was to create a collection of art that honours my chinese heritage and allows me to celebrate and learn about my culture through a time when anti-asian sentiment is at its zenith. #stopasianhate. #blacklivesmatter. #everychildmatters. same same, but different. racism is very real for all of us. and, as i’m continuously reminded, it is relentless.
it. does. not. stop.
sometimes it’s subtle. sometimes it’s overt. sometimes it’s violent. very often, it’s gift wrapped as a poorly-veiled, tone-deaf comment that amounts to the objectivization, exotification, and fetishization of our minds, bodies, and heaven-sent talents. micro-aggression on one end of the spectrum juxtaposed with manipulation, harassment, abuse, and sexual assault on the other. #metoo. the feeling conjured by this intrinsic hatred towards us is arduous to describe, other than it strikes deep in the depths of the cerebellum; primal and darwinistic. however, the one painfully amusing feeling that seems consistent across each and every lived experience of hate is that i’m always left incredulous and humoured by the irony; the embarrassing frequency in which racism is experienced in a country that prides itself in its diversity. the predatory veneer is vibrant. affirmative action? reverse racism. prejudice so blatant that it is codified into our laws. there is no cultural mosaic, at least not one that is bonded by any tensile strength.
diversity. inclusion. equality.
masq off.

the zhou dynasty
the zhou dynasty (1046 BC – 256 BC) is the longest ruling dynasty in chinese history, governing the ancient kingdom for 789 years. and still. during their reign, the zhous conceptualized a moral and sociopolitical ideology called tianming (天命). literally, the words translate to heaven’s light. however, when applied within a political context, it can take the meaning of heaven’s mandate. the philosophy has been intimately woven into the cultural fabric of chinese people ever since, and is instantly recognizable to this day by those familiar with the principle. the ideology states that the divine right to govern comes not from status quo, political prowess, or royal bloodline. rather, the privilege to lead and influence others comes from actions that personify righteousness, honour, and benevolence. when those in governance deviate from these virtues and act selfishly against the best interests of their kingdom, heaven responds by revoking its blessing upon them. it is believed that this consequent shift in divine power results in disaster, revolution, war, and death.
the words tianming serve as an ethereal reminder to lead with benevolence through actions guided only by love and servitude for the greater good of the community.

resurrection
- 周 zhou family name of the longest ruling dynasty in ancient chinese history.
- 勇 yong a masculine name that translates to courage or bravery.
- 精 jing essence. one of the three treasures of traditional chinese medicine.
- 神 shen spirit. one of the three treasures of traditional chinese medicine.

zhou (周) the family name from the longest ruling dynasty in ancient china.
yong (勇) a masculine given name that translates to courage or bravery.
jing shen (精神) together means consciousness, essence, or spirit.
tianming (天命) translates to ‘heaven’s light.’
revelations
i’ve always been an old soul. but lately it feels i’ve experienced enough trauma and tragedy to have lived an inequitable number of lifetimes. strangely, all of the lives seem to be congruent in that they are all dedicated to servitude through leadership and the dissemination of wisdom. odd. loyal and honourable, but often to a detriment and a threat to existence. despite being programmed to please in order to conform and survive, thriving in every sphere worth discipline despite the obstacles placed deviously along the path to the pinnacle. a decade of dedication towards a dream achieved, destroyed by devilish deceit. damn. ten years? that’s a lot of patience; looking at my idols, feeling adjacent. make no mistake, my success is not due to your support; it was never present. the pre-existing trauma you potentiated with the addition of your own brought me to the sobering realization that i neither recognize the man i’m sometimes reluctant to look at in the mirror, nor have i had security to care for the malnourished child encased within. the person i once was is fragmented and fading. no wonder why i hesitate now when the barista asks for my name before misspelling it. i don’t know which name to utter…
YOU KILLED HIM.
pour one out, but shed no tears. you didn’t know his value or endless breadth and depth. you don’t have half the knowledge you profess to posses. willfully blind of the slave labour imposed, resulting in sleepless nights that abusers attempt to take credit for. misguided attempt at self-elevation. the agony endured infiltrated and seized function of a mind, body, and soul once thought to be impervious and indestructible. the great wall. no empathy, though; his personal health and the health of his family is evidently not your concern. hypocrisy and nepotism. while he no longer wears blue or green – his clairvoyance can see that you do albeit in much different shades – the calling has never ceased its reverberation inside his skull despite every effort to silence it’s hauntingly curious echo. in one’s weakest moments, the noxious heat and moisture emanating from lucifer’s orifice become palpable.
wouldst thou like to live deliciously?
stay silent, then. blend into the wallpaper. trust me, i know this game of thrones; you’re on the wall. i love you. so, take my hand, follow my lead, and turn beige. beige? i’m yellow, bitch. mad in pursuit. born to lead. i can feel it in my marrow. instincts from years of tactical training remain razor sharp like the guillotine hovering ominously above your chicken head weighed down by your heavy conscience: follow the chain of command. prepare sitrep. who what when where how why. players. variables. threats. cover. concealment. one plus one. use of force. as much as required to neutralize the threat; lethal, if necessary. disseminate. deploy. execute. and, if a soldier were to disobey?
THAT’S INSUBORDINATION!
soldiers are taught early that leaders are the tip of the spear. here’s another one, private: leaders eat last. your superiors would like to inform you of the imminent danger you encounter if you proceed. grievous bodily harm, disfigurement, or death. avoid engagement at all costs. when in doubt, trust your instincts. your enemy is heavily armed and full of resolve. their kingdom is fortified and alarmingly allied. move along silently and do not dare provoke the dragons sleeping soundly within. close quarter combat is their specialty forged by centuries of tradition and warfare. these hands work, with bladed precision. yours do not. and you know what is said of idle hands. the enemy consists of sages, warriors, and generals who authored the book on armed conflict. your kind could not comprehend the art of war. you have been rendered short-sighted and illiterate by the misshapen and misaligned holes in your makeshift disguise. a poor understanding of the basics. black and white.
yin & yang.
compare and contrast. until your crevice-free cortex can comprehend the calculated chaos that cascades from this canvas, this collective of corsairs could not care to conjure the comical capacity required to create a current of cold crimson blood that crescendos from your criminal corpse. unsheathed spirits. cutting, cleaving, and coercing. carving, carefully. if in your quest to be cubed the curiosity of confinement to a casket is too compelling, catch us outside – how ’bout dat? – wandering with purpose. moving amongst the shadows.
mythical. masterless. mercenaries.
crows. ghosts. ronins.
black. white.
red.

someday, i’ll be read all over, too.
好快的剑
ascension
we different.
this much has been evident since childhood. but, distilling whether others hate us due to our actions or ancestry is an exhausting task. typically, people hate us because of the colour of our skin, the shape of our eyes, the smell of our food, or the sound of our ancient language. but maybe, those who hate are also scared. after all, it’s only natural to become anxious and afraid when encountered by a threat. the compass of occam’s razor is seldom repelled by xenophobia. fearful of the power of our minds and intimidated by the strength of our bodies. their false confidence visibly agitated by our abundance of talent and ambition. jealous and resentful of the potency of our intellect when combined with our imagination and spirit. comically abhorred by how efficient, effortless, and easy we make it look.
so. simple.
when the arms of hatred reach forth with malice and manipulative intent, what is your instinct? do you extend your hands in return to give thanks and receive? shield yourself, cower in fear, and freeze? i’d rather we coordinate to assemble bows, arrows, and blades; an arsenal imbued with fire and enchanted with jade. crimson and olive to match the blood on your hands and your envious shade. racism, prejudice, and hate slither in the shadows, equal parts evil and cowardly in their most sinister forms:
institutional.
intentional.
insidious.
however, a different demon energy emanates from our shadows; the darkness and solitude in which we are routinely cast induce power, not fear. we are not the same ignorant souls you incentivize and exploit, or the slaves who imagine and engineer your infrastructure. we are not alike. we are not the same family, genus, or species. we are not your subordinates, servants, or scapegoats. we are an army of artists, athletes, academics, activists, anarchists, and alchemists who anticipate and abolish the atrocities of the abusers.
we are not your model minority.
we are not averse to war.
we different, fam.
we come from
dragons.
we soar and scorch our own paths.
armoured and allegiant.
swords and shields.
bows and arrows.
fire and jade.
ascend.
rise.


dedication
this art project is dedicated to my mother and father, my sisters and brother, my niece and nephew, my cousins, aunties, and uncles, my extended family and ancestors, the hakka chinese and greater asian and BIPOC communities, my coaches, teammates, and athletes, my professors, teachers, and students, victims of racism, abuse, sexual assault, domestic violence and impaired driving, the soldiers and first responders who risk their lives to protect us, and the health care professionals who provide the tools, time, and space for us to heal our traumas, all the others who provide kinship and limitless inspiration, and those not like us who supply the overwhelming abundance of ammunition.