The Japanese Spirit

In this my brand, do I lean full “wabi-sabi.”

Not “wasabi,” the unbearably spicy, straight-up-your-nose-like-horseradish, accompaniment to sushi, delicious sliced perfection, thick flaky fish resting reposed upon a bed of rice…

No, “wabi-sabi,” a few words I saw on a billboard somewhere, evidently meaning “to find, within imperfection, perfection.” Those are my words, because billboards do not know how to write prose, and I do.

Oh, the human spirit!—how flawed, how arrogant, how erroneous is man! Yet in him, is a piece of Divine flesh—one of these bones, somewhere, let me see…

And can man not be beautiful?—for, he is surely imperfect. Or, must we throw out all aesthetic value and principle?

The Japanese spirit takes no prisoners, and if you cannot beat them, then join them…

So—on the home page, do I have my clothes shot upon my black marble-quartz dining table. Yes, I folded them myself!—as much should be obvious, and in this flaw, not-even-deliberate, is a higher perfection, for I am the larger man, who knows not how to fold clothes.

My product page—a single mirror shot, which, by the way, I toiled over for a week. For each day, I spent two hours in front of the mirror, shooting, and checking, and re-shooting, and I made a list of all my technical notes—how to balance posture, open the body, square the jaw, cast down the eyes.

Oh, it is a nightmare to even consider!

What black spirit lurks inside the human body, ready to reveal itself at the first sign of a camera, like an “unagi,” or eel, that man must cut and serve upon a dish of rice. But, I beheaded that serpent—and the model is just as important as the clothes.

But, better yet, why create a separation?—and it is better to let them blend together, sushi and rice down the gullet in one remorseless swallow.

Just that one shot—and in it, a world of feeling, struggle, pain-overcome-turned-victory. It is deliberately homely, and arrogant in its simplicity—ego met and fed, and satisfied.

And for my dinner!—a bowl of ramen…