hello friend,

since the last time I wrote you, there was an earthquake in Istanbul, the city where I live. the ground shaking woke my dog Luna up from her nap, while my partner K lathered on shampoo and paused the water, and people around the city panic-jumped from their balconies. it was terrifying, and it wasn’t as bad as we expected — considering that we live in earthquake country. these are all second hand reports. I wasn’t there.

I was in China, in the green, ancient city of my birth — feasting everyday as a way of consuming the love of my relatives, re-absorbing my Chinese-ness as if sucking it from a tiny straw, attempting to disappear into a sea of faces, like an imposter; like a foreign object on blood soil.

when I first arrived, my brother and I were shuttled into family reunion feasts, with its small rooms and large round tables. I felt like I had become a answering machine version of myself — a child. I realized that truly inhabiting the Chinese language — when I finally do it — would be the ultimate act of sovereignty. it would be reinhabiting my child self, and helping her grow up.

in the home of my 92 year old grandmother, we sat on the couch together and smiled at each other, in silence. I went to the mountains and watched my mother, uncles, and aunts wipe clean the graves of our grandparents, arrange a spread of food, light incense. we bowed to their spirits, and asked them to watch over our work, our families, our health. if love is presence, then what I feel most, in China, is my decades of absence.

in my/our absence, China is like a rocket ship hurtling into the future, with its whole cities of electric vehicles, speed trains, and integrated apps and QR codes weaving together everything, in a single flick of the wrist. when I left China, twenty eight years ago, everyone’s dream was to go to America, where everything must be better, where even the moon must be brighter and fuller. now, at dinner, my relatives ask us to explain — wtf is going on over there, in our supposed utopia? if only we knew…

in the American news, China has become a complicated foe, but to me, China is the dark, womb cave of my childhood; a pandora’s box filled with family secrets and absence; a heavy weighted blanket where my child self goes to grieve; a wonderland where she will never go hungry, will never be alone.

in Istanbul, I love to be alone. I spend most of my days in the inter-dimensions of my imagination, my internet worlds, my work. I work in English, live my life in Turkish, and I don’t think much beyond a single day — beyond K and Luna, one or two friends, and the weather.

but in China, I feel as though I am bound, through centuries, to the fate of my ancestors, to each generation that led me here, to this moment — and to these people of the future.

last year, I realized that I had finally run so far into my future self — in pursuit of my artist-autonomy dreams — that I’d gone in a circle and run back into my past. this year, I feel more ready to look at it, to write about it, to walk into the lurking shadows, and let it become me. I thought China was in my past, but now I see that it’s in my future.

I’m not sure, yet, in what shape or form it’ll take, but I have a sense. when that happens, you’ll be the first to know.

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🌱 creative systems is open for self-paced study

out of all the courses I’ve ever taught, this one might be my favorite so far. it’s philosophically dense, poetically practical, and radically transformative for how I move through my creative work — every single day.

before I left for China, I just finished guiding an amazing group through 4 weeks together — which enlivened and inspired me so much that I’ve decided to integrate more asynchronous community elements to the course.

you can explore the course here — at your own pace, and join our seasonal group calls. I’m still bubbling with ideas and energy. there will be much more to come.

a tour of creative systems ecosystem — kening zhu

opening self-paced version of creative systems

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travel notes of a sensitive system

I often feel transculent when I travel. I’d resent how disruptive it felt to my flow, and how many days it takes me to remember who I am, before/during/afterwards. this time, I wanted to be extremely conscious with exactly what was happening. I took detailed meta notes.

travel notes of a sensitive system — kening zhu

meta-notes on what traveling does to my system — before, during, and after

airport botanical gardens

I had a brief layover in Doha, Qatar — and I was so impressed to discover this jungle garden in the middle of the airport. I write about this garden as a conceptual space, and why I anticipate that I’ll be thinking about and coming back to it, often.

airport botanical gardens — kening zhu

a place holding both stillness and movement

i made a soon page

before I left, I had a swarm of new ideas for upcoming projects. this “soon page” was my attempt to put a bookmark on them, so I can save the momentum, and pick up where I left off when I return. except — now I have a new swarm in my head.

i made a soon page — kening zhu

introducing a new portal

tax therapy t-rex microbook

after doing my taxes, I watched Jurassic Park and then I made this microbook as a documentation of my changing relationship with money / bureaucratic drudgery.

tax therapy t-rex microbook — kening zhu

the process and journey of doing my taxes

tree, butterfly, lightening tree

I wanted to draw more in analog form, so I gave myself a tiny container — draw 1 square a day, in 7 minute increments. here’s a glimpse of what was inside my head, that week.

tree, butterfly, lightening, tree — kening zhu

a case study in tiny containers & micro-practices

micro practices as portals to your art

how I think about time — working with tiny windows of time — as micro-containers for your art.

micro-practices as portals to your art — kening zhu

making your art feel more accessible to yourself

threading your art into your day

a transformative conceptual shift — it’s not about “making time” for art, but letting art be interwoven into your day

threading your art into your day — kening zhu

not making time for art, but threading art into time

first spring enchantment

a visual diary from the first spring picnic I had with my friend N, and Luna, in Yildiz Park.

first spring enchantment — kening zhu

a few sunny hours on a friday afternoon

visiting friends spoil us with treats

a portrait of when our friends K & D visited us in February for a few very cozy nights.

visiting friends spoil us with treats — kening zhu

brief winter feasts with friends

pillow talk of the afterlife

I think we had just finished re-watching LOTR. I thought about the elves sailing away to the world beyond, I thought about being mortal, and what happens when we die. K and I laid in bed talking about the afterlife.

pillow talk of the afterlife — kening zhu

talking about death before bed

digital silence as practice

a case for digital silence as the antidote — not something to overcome, or fear. I made this episode after talking to clients and students on the precipice of leaving social media.

digital silence as practice — kening zhu

on escaping the noise of platforms & constant connectivity

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the artist soul is a tree

I wrote this in 2021, but I’m struck by how many of these concepts reappear in my teachings, and integrated into my work today.

the artist soul is a tree — kening zhu

lately I’ve been under the spell of trees. I can spend hours bathed in trees, photographing trees, bearing witness to trees. the photos below are from an almost-spring week in berlin, and a sun-filled day in a forest nearby. I’ve been thinking about the form and vessel of trees — the architecture

being in china makes me feel like a jellyfish

on being translucent and adrift, in the motherland (from my visit last year, 2024)

being in china makes me feel like a jellyfish — kening zhu

on floating in a sea of complicated feelings

a chinese wisteria tree

“the kind of tree I’d plant for my mother, or my daughter, or my sisters” — from 2021

a chinese wisteria tree — kening zhu

I’m starting a collection of trees I see and love from around the world. this tree is a chinese wisteria tree growing in riverdale, the bronx — at the wave hill garden and cultural center. the trunk of the tree is flat, almost like the flat edge of a blade. then it arches up and twists itself arou

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🌱 what’s growing in my mind

recently I spent 12 hours alone waiting for my return flight at Shanghai Pudong airport — where I wrote the introduction letter to this email. I felt the emerging shape of several projects, projects which I’ve incubated inside for years — now, seemingly fully formed. these days, I mostly feel like reality (digital, or otherwise) needs to catch up with the elaborate orchestration inside my head. I’ve always felt rich in ideas — but recently, it’s like all my ideas have already happened. they greet me from my future.

🌻 what’s inspiring me lately

carousels as experience, as space — not the creepy haunted kind, but the idea of a sparkling, adventurous thing where you can hop-on / hop-off, where you ride it and feel like you’ve traveled the world, even though you’re just going in circles.

I recently devoured all of Tana French’s books from her Dublin Mystery Squad series — sometimes I’d read a single book on an airplane ride.

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🚀 the topic of my next course…

on day 13 of my travels, the idea for my next course landed in my notebook, and I immediately agreed to do it. after teaching house on the webs and creative systems — this course will be about what comes next:

the work of sharing your work, in the wilderness of outer space (aka, the internet) — independent of all social platforms.

how do you share your work in the void — when it seems like no one is looking, or listening? when you’re the only person alone on your island, the only inhabitant of your planet, how do you keep speaking into the silence? how do you do it, day in and day out, over time — and make it work? (how do you even know if it’s working?!?)

sharing your work is both extremely important — and, for me, it used to feel like the hardest thing ever. I’ll tell you one very practical reason for why it matters.

sharing your work is the bridge between “ideas in your head” — and money. and by money, what I really mean is: the byproduct that comes when you make your creative energy a shared resource that others can interact with. what happens when you turn your visions into fuel that can sustain your life, and other lives?? call this business strategy, or just magic — it feels simple, straightforward, and not at all easy.

sharing your work will utterly transform you — not because of the validation you will or won’t get, but because of who you’ll become, when you transcend all need for validation. it will require you to confront fears about yourself, and decide that your vision, your creativity, your voice — it’s worth it. it’s worth the instability, the uncertainty, and loneliness — worth all the things you burned down, all the conventional lives you threw away. (yes, I’m talking to myself. always.)

did I use the word “marketing” or “sales” here? I don’t use those words, because those words make me want to run away.

this course, like all my courses, is my alternative vision.

it’s what I know — with blinding clarity — to be possible.

I’ll share more, very soon.

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🪷 thank you for being here.

I’m signing off for today.

I tried very, very hard to write this newsletter one month ago, before leaving for China — but I’ve come to accept that these letters will come when they come.

until next time, I’m wishing you a silken soft spring…

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🍃 listen to my podcast: botanical studies of internet magic

🏔️ explore my courses: house on the webs | creative systems

🪷 inquire about advising sessions

🌔 visit otherworldly - a web alchemy studio

💧 send me a gift: water my world