CONVERSATION WITH FAM LEE: SILAS & SUZETTE

Silas Ming Lee was born in Kobe, Japan but came to San Francisco with his parents around the age of four. The eldest of 9 children and the only one born outside the United States, he was the only one to receive a Chinese name until an English teacher gave him the name Silas after “silence.” The eldest of nine children, he has lived in Chinatown for most if not all of his life. His passion for photography is shared with his children Suzette, Stephan, and Sean.

What was life like for grandpa and great grandpa?

Silas Lee

My father’s parents ran a sewing factory in Ross Alley. After they retired and passed away, my uncle moved out of there and that became Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory.

When you walk inside today, you see the office area upstairs at the back. My uncle built that, and my grandmother and my grandfather slept there. My mom used to do the sewing there, but after she moved to Ping Yuen, people would still bring stuff to her and she would sew at home. My father used to work as a dishwasher at a famous French restaurant called Place Pigalle in Marina. Everyone knew him and I used to walk with him and go to the restaurant with him once in a while.

But the original sewing factory was across the street from the Bank of America at Kearny and California where the Bank of America building is. Before that building was built, it was all Filipino stores on those three blocks. I used to go out there all the time to walk around and explore the stores or eat Filipino food. Then I’d go back across the street to the sewing factory.

What else can you tell me about your childhood?

I was born in Japan, in Kobe...1947. And we came here when I was about three or four. We lived at the Lafayette Hotel until we eventually moved into Ping Yuen, which was low-income housing. Baba used to walk me to kindergarten at Commodore Stockton in Chinatown.

All the stores in Chinatown used to be on Grant Avenue, but now everything’s on Stockton Street. Grant Avenue is mostly just souvenir places for tourists now. There’s no meat shops like the Italian meat market that was on Jackson and Grant.

I used to walk around the whole block by myself even when I was five. Just roaming around and everyone knew me too. I’d just play on the street or buy some pickles from the big barrels outside the stores.

What was it like fitting in at that time?

I do remember I used to get my ass kicked a lot by the ABCs because they thought I was a Japanese spy. In high school, I started hanging out with Black people more. There was one that used to come to the house all the time. He would back me up. I said, “my own people are picking on me” and he protected me. Later on, I started hanging out with the fresh off boat Hong Kong Chinese and I got along with them because I knew the Hong Kong slang and everything.

Where did you learn to speak Chinese so well?

I was just always speaking it. Dad spoke both Hoisanese and Hong Kong Cantonese, so I learned that way. I went to Chinese class and always spoke Chinese with your grandparents and your mom too.

At Chinese school? Is that how you met mom?

No. I met Mom when I went back to John Adams to get my GED, ‘cause I quit high school. I dropped out. I was a bad boy who didn’t like school. So I spent my time hanging out on the street, standing on a corner, walking around, you know, acting bad. But then I went to John Adams and they put me in an English class for foreign students.

Mom was sitting next to me but I didn’t know her that well. We never talked and I always spoke really good English with the teachers. Then one day, she heard me in the hallway talking Chinese and she said, “Oh, you speak Chinese? Your Chinese is so good! Are you from Hong Kong?”

So we got to talking and I offered to drive her home. And that was the beginning. I started taking her out all the time. We used to go to those Chinese romance movies, you know, where the parents don’t like the guy or they don’t like the girl.

I feel like after you met Mom, a lot of your photography was focused on taking photos of her.

I took a lot of pictures of her. She liked taking pictures. And I always had my camera with me. We’d go for a walk, and all of a sudden I’d say, “oh, stop a minute. I want to take a picture of the background with you in it.” Do you remember that tan raincoat?

The trench coat? Yeah. It’s in my closet now.

That’s the one. I bought that for her because I told her, “You look good in it.” And I took a picture of her, right? I wonder if Mommy still fits in it.

Probably not, because it barely fits me! But going back to photography. What struck up that passion and how did you learn?

I just liked taking pictures of everything when I was a kid. I bought a Kodak Instamatic when I was a teenager. In those days, there weren’t so many films to choose from, so I was shooting on Kodak like everyone else, probably the 126 cartridges you’d put in the Instamatic.

I was the only one in my friend group into photography. I learned everything myself by reading books. I never went

CHRISTINA CHOI Photographer

Los Angeles photographer Christina Choi has palpable courage. Her camera is never far from her hand, at every moment she’s in creative mode. From the day she set her sights on being a key player in the world of commercial photography, an industry fundamentally built on collaboration, she knew that asking is much quicker than waiting around.

Christina started out as a teenager pursuing the opportunities she wanted, unafraid of rejection, and embracing a straightforward attitude, “The worst they can say is no, at least I tried.” Since then, her love for photography has only grown. She sees it as endlessly rewarding, from shooting to collaborating, from the potentially lengthy editing process to reflecting on her work many years later. Photography is her time machine and her calling.

The kind of courage Christina has is the sort of gumption that carries young Asian Americans through all kinds of boundaries to reach incredible opportunities.

Eugene Kan

When you were growing up, what was the initial spark of interest in being creative?

Christina Choi

At a young age, my parents instilled this sense of being well-rounded. It meant going to Kumon but also playing sports and attending art classes that my mom put me in. I’m so grateful that she pushed me to unlock that side of me so young. I feel like that wasn’t like a lot of Asian parents, but I was very lucky.

Between the sports, the Kumon, and the art, why did art stick out?

I remember my mom put me in art classes when I was five-years-old. Us six kids had the same art teacher from age 5 until 12. One week we would do it in this kid’s garage, another week in my garage. So I grew up with the same art teacher. She’s a Korean American artist named Young Shin. She really believed in us and she encouraged us to interpret prompts ourselves and create something unique. We all had the same materials but we always had different outcomes.

How important was mentorship to you?

So I have a brother that’s 12 years older than me, and I always wanted to hang out with him. But I was that annoying little sister that, you know, he didn’t want to hang out with. I looked up to him so much and I remember when I was 10, he was 22, just about to finish college, he had a lot of cameras, point-and-shoots, DSLRs, and he inspired me to pick up a camera. As I got a little older, at age 14 or 15, he had a Canon D60 that was released in 2002. The LCD screen is literally half an inch by half an inch. I took it from him and through trial-and-error and YouTube Academy, I kind of taught myself photography.

You’re from the YouTube generation that has all these tools at your disposal. Does it overcome the need for a mentor when you have all these online resources?

Early on I was super into gear and learning about the best lenses, the best cameras, how-to videos, and unboxings. But the internet was less about helping me in a stylistic way. YouTube really showed me how to use the camera. So apertures, shutter speeds, ISOs, all those scientific things. On YouTube at that time, there were really no female photographers doing any of those unboxings or gear reviews. Or Asian women for that matter. I feel like there are a lot more Asian men, but definitely no girls that look like me who are really into tech. In that aspect, I really felt alone. I was like, why isn’t there anybody that looks like me doing these reviews or unboxings?

How did you get going in photography after borrowing your brother’s camera?

Fast forward to when I was 18 or 19, I really wanted to do something with what I’d been learning. I started cold emailing a bunch of people that I admired who I wanted to shoot for. I just told myself the worst they can say is no. I had that mentality at a very young age. I asked without any expectations and I try to keep that mindset with me to this day. Don’t be afraid to ask because the worst they can say is no. I was slowly building. I’m so proud of where I am today. I just turned 28 so I guess I truly started to believe in myself 10 years ago.

If you look at your portfolio there are some heavy hitters in there. How did you get the opportunity to shoot people such as Pharrell, Sosupersam, Aimee Song, and more?

It started with me cold emailing those people I respected on the internet who I wanted to shoot. I remember hitting up Kelia Moniz, this world champion surfer, because she lived nearby and we ended up shooting. I also emailed Aimee Song, the fashion blogger, and was her first-ever intern and helped her grow her following to a few million followers. Then, I met the MISSBISH team at COMPLEXCON and, while shooting that, met a lot of people there. That’s when I met Rachel Muscat and Pharrell. I started shooting for MISSBISH regularly. I’d go to class, take an Uber to a shoot, go back to class and edit. I think it was just consistency and having a can-do attitude.

How would you describe your approach to photography?

I try to capture nostalgic moments and make you feel like you were there, but you weren’t. Or it might be like a deja vu kind of thing. I always try to capture a relatable moment. In photography, you’re interacting with people more than anything and I feel like you just have to be approachable and open-minded and then the photos will follow.

When did you realize the power of photography as a medium?

I take photos for my niece and nephew’s birthday every year. ‘ve been reflecting a lot recently after my dad’s passing, looking through his old photos, looking through my childhood photos, and I’m so grateful I have them. And I’m grateful for the people that took them at that time because I can reflect on them now and appreciate it. Cause, at the time, it’s just something that’s there, but you don’t really appreciate it until the future after that moment has passed or that person’s gone. I was thinking about this recently when I started looking through my niece and nephew’s photos that I’ve taken.

I’m doing that for them so that when they’re my age they’ll appreciate it.

Does being Korean American inform your work?

In my last zine project I really dug deep into my Korean heritage and my parents. I used their Korean passports that they used to immigrate to America. I’ve never really talked about my “Koreanness” through my art before. I feel like I’ve just become comfortable with myself in the last few years and I’ve started really owning who I am and where I come from.

Where do you think your discomfort in the past might have come from?

I never really grew up with a ton of Korean friends. The only Korean I spoke was at home. I always wanted to assimilate growing up and be “whitewashed”. It’s not until recently in my twenties where it’s been a transformative time for me to really get to know myself and be proud of my heritage. I have no doubt that I will continue using my parents’ influence and my home country’s influence in my future works because of the confidence instilled in me from this recent project. This is just the beginning.

Also, the art teacher I mentioned, Young Shin, was the first person who showed me what art was and she’s a Korean American woman. I was really grateful for that. I was very lucky to be surrounded by people who trusted my creativity.

We’ve seen an increase in Asian American artists and people of color getting visibility in pop culture. Has that changed the creative landscape for you at all?

In recent times, I’ve definitely seen people wanting an all minority production or seeking women of color to shoot specific campaigns. I say take the opportunity — we’re in the spotlight now. Just own it. It’s an amazing thing to see the increased representation and to recognize that we’re living through history.

What did you think it’d be like to be a professional photographer and what has been the reality?

I love taking photos, so I feel like even though I’ve made photography a career, it’s still my favorite hobby. I’m excited to go home and dump my photos in a hard drive and edit them the same day because I took those photos for myself. And I think that’s how I’m able to shoot photos as a career and still enjoy doing it. I feel like a lot of people, when their hobbies become their career, they lose passion for it. I keep good boundaries between my career and my hobby.

Do you think it was harder for you to come up as an Asian American woman?

I never try to put any pressure on it, but I do feel like when I’m on production sets in LA I am usually the only woman with a camera on set, period. You have other women who are makeup artists, hair stylists, but I’m usually the only girl on set that has a camera. But that’s never deterred me. I know I belong there, but I definitely wish there were more of us.

There’s a stereotype of Asian Americans being quiet and shy. Where did you find your confidence to step up for yourself?

I wasn’t the photographer at first, you know. I was the assistant, I was the PA, I was the digitech. I feel like I had to do all those things to know everything about production and then that instilled in me the confidence to be a photographer on set.

Lastly, what do you think has been the biggest challenge for you in your career as an artist and creative? What would you say to a younger version of yourself?

Oh my god, I have imposter syndrome every day. In hindsight, I think it does stem from not growing up with representation. I’ve always thought that maybe I’m not someone’s first choice. So instead of waiting for people to approach me, I have to be the one to ask and have that zero expectations mentality. I’d tell my 15-yearold self that rejection is ok and you move on from that. You’re going to think, “How am I going to manage this?” and then learn to balance that with thinking, “They must think I can do it and I have to do it.” And then you surprise yourself.

Producer

For film and TV multitalent, Kelvin Yu, his career might be traced back to a tap on the shoulder at 13 and a few encouraging words from a teacher. After trying out for that first school play, the burgeoning drama geek from Southern California locked in his path towards a career as a working actor.

Taking on every opportunity he was afforded, from single lines and single scenes to being typecast as the vengeful spouse/sibling on crime serials, the entertainment industry veteran endured the rigors of the gauntlet many working actors in America face. The side jobs, the auditions, and the anxiety around the phone that rings far less often than one would hope.

Part time-filler, part act of salvation, writing would eventually light the actor’s way towards more peers, more opportunities and of course,more roles. He would go on to work on shows that would help redefine the landscape of American television such as long-running animated television series “Bob’s Burgers.” Master of None, and most recently, American Born Chinese – all while continuing to work extensively as an actor.

A “new-ish” father of two, he continues to find inspiration in necessarily stolen moments of boredom and the (potentially patent-pending) “squishy place,” a pure and emotional if nonsensical space residing inside everyone.

How did you get started acting?

KELVIN YU

I grew up in Southern California, but not in LA proper. I wasn’t a Hollywood kid, but I was a drama geek. I got tapped on the shoulder, literally, when I was 13, by a teacher who suggested I audition for the school play. It’s a really powerful thing for somebody older to tell you that they see something in you. For me, especially as an Asian American growing up in a fairly white area, for Mrs. McIntyre to say, “Hey, I think you should audition for the school play,” is validating or, as I guess the kids are saying, I felt “seen.” And then from that moment on, I never seriously considered anything else.

So acting was largely the only career path you considered?

I always knew I was gonna audition for theater departments at the end of high school. I always knew I was gonna become a professional actor. And I did. That said, it wasn’t easy. Over 20 years ago, it’s hard to remember because the movement towards diversity has taken effect to some extent now and the internet has changed the entire game, but there was just nothing for me then. If you stacked a hundred scripts on a table, there might be five to ten roles in those hundred scripts for me, right? And so I was not playing a good numbers game, so I did everything that everybody else does — I waited tables for seven years. Auditioned. I did everything I could. I did one-liners. I had one line on Frasier. I had one scene in ER. And then there came a point where I realized that the business model that I was engaged in was not sustainable.

They were never gonna give me the role that you lived through as a viewer and I’m not just talking about leading man roles. They were just never going to give me a role where people were actually experiencing my experience. I was always gonna be sort of peripheral or ancillary to whatever story was being told. And that was just a gross feeling.

What sort of roles were you doing at the time?

What I was doing around that time, which makes me laugh a lot now, was being hired to kill my spouse or my sister on these cop procedurals. Whether it’s CSI, Without A Trace, or The Closer, they do like, one Mexican episode a year, one Chinese episode, or one Middle Eastern episode. So whenever they did the Chinese episode or the Korean episode, it was always some jilted husband whose wife got an email address and he was so ashamed of her – because they didn’t really know what they were writing. I came from drama school and grew up in the theater and so I could blubber my way through a confession in those auditions. And so I got that role like, six times. So I was working a lot, but you get to a place where you think, “I have more to offer.” And I think in general, the actor’s life can be more fulfilling because the act of acting is to embody the experience.

What is it about being an actor that’s rewarding or challenging?

Whether you’re a producer, writer, director, or crew member, you don’t get down on the playing field and throw the touchdown pass. The actor gets to do that. Even though an offensive coordinator and a bunch of assistant coaches and a head coach designed that play for you, you get that ball into the end zone or you take that three-pointer at the buzzer and that can be incredibly meaningful in life.

The problem is it only happens once in a blue moon and you have no control over when it happens, and so you wake up every day waiting for the phone to ring and wondering if someone out there likes you or thinks you’re interesting. So you do that calculation, “Is that touchdown pass worth it if you are just gonna sit around and wait for somebody to call your number for your whole life?”

While you were continuing to act, how did you transition into writing?

I started writing poor, terrible, unreadable scripts around 2005, 2006. While I waited for somebody to like my acting, writing gave me the gift of waking up in the morning with some agency. I got to wake up, start writing, and think, “Maybe today’s the day I come up with that great idea or I fix that broken idea into something slightly better.” It gave me empowerment, agency, and mental health. It was like a therapeutic device to get through the waiting in an acting career.

Could you talk about how that led to Bob’s Burgers?

It was a couple years of writing along with another guy named Steven Davis. I had told him at the time to take my name off our scripts because I was ashamed of them and I didn’t think they were any good. And then he calls me and he says, “Look, I have a meeting with Family Guy and I just feel like you should take the meeting with me.” We took the meeting with Family Guy and right away they told us that it was for another show. So we’re like, “Great. We got bait-and-switched here.” They said, “It’s for this new show called Bob’s Burgers.” We watched the presentation for it and it seemed like something genuinely special.

We got that job and we thought it was going to be a fun three or six months max, and it’s been 14 years and the show’s still on the air. So somehow my writing career just got on the expressway. You just can’t plan these things.

What is it about the writing for Bob’s Burgers that sets it apart from other sitcoms?

Comedy is contextual, and generally things are funny because of the exact moment they’re funny in and most of the time they’re not funny over the test of time. A lot of times they become problematic. Bob’s Burgers was created by Loren Bouchard in 2008, and I started writing for it in 2010. The notes we received were like, “Can this stinkers. I’ve seen kind of medium to lukewarm ideas turn into some of our best episodes. So I think that’s sort of my experience of Malcolm Gladwell’s “10,000 hour rule,” just watching people come up with something.

The other part of this is the staff, which is lightning in a bottle. In short, I think the recipe is that we made each other laugh. It’s always being true to what makes you laugh in the moment and then just having the faith that even if it fails in the marketplace, you’ll be able to sleep at night because you made the thing that you liked. Versus pandering and having that fail and feeling, “I didn’t make the thing I liked and it failed. What would’ve happened if I made the thing I liked?” be more like South Park? Can this be more like Family Guy?” That’s what people were enjoying about “adult animation,” like, “Oh, they made fun of this celebrity. They said something snarky about this woman’s body.”

Loren Bouchard was coming from his own sensibility and worldview, and he was challenging us to be funny without punching down. Bob’s Burgers is an anomaly because the family loves each other. They go towards compassion and greater empathy. I think the world and comedy in general were turning that way, so we were lucky to be part of that.

We got tweets and emails from people saying they would leave it on at night, because it was soothing and helpful during whatever they were going through, whether it was their adolescence or anxiety. And I’ve taken that with me as a writer, the ability to be funny and kind at the same time.

How do you accomplish something like that where you need to balance being funny and kind, cover different relevant issues, and all without being too heavy-handed or feeling like you’re pandering?

We made 250 episodes of Bob’s so far, and we’re not done at all. 250 times I’ve watched somebody come up with an idea, generate some pitches, put that on a board, turn that into a pdf, read that in front of ad people, have artists come and draw that idea, and then we put that on tv. I’ve seen it all happen. I’ve seen great ideas turn into

You’re currently an Executive Producer on projects such as American Born Chinese. What’s the journey like getting into leadership positions like that?

There’s almost a militaristic structure to TV writing where you come in as a Staff Writer and then you move up to Story Editor – this is how your representation negotiates for you – then Executive Story Editor, and then I think it’s Producer, Supervising Producer or Coproducer, Co-executive Producer, Executive Producer, and then Showrunner.

So I started to work on other projects like Master of None with Aziz Ansari and Alan Yang, which was also really illuminating for me because they’re sort of my cohort demographically. They look like me, they talk like me, they grew up like me. And so to watch them make their own show and be specific about who they are and the things they want to say was really informative for me. You can go and tell that story and if you tell it well, people will watch. It was a really successful show and kudos to them for changing the American view of people that look like us — that you can be a bon vivant living in New York having martinis and eating at the best restaurants and dating whoever you want. Aziz shifted the perception.

Granted the road ahead is still a long one, how do you think representation has changed since you started out?

I was on a plane recently on a nine hour flight and I have a one-year-old so I’m the guy walking up and down the aisle with the baby so she doesn’t bother anybody. I got to see what everybody’s watching and I saw a lot of Wakanda Forever, because that’s the big movie right now, but like everybody else was watching Friends. It was so mind boggling to me. It’s such a cultural force and it has wired our brains to see the world in a certain way.

Yes, diversity is happening. Yes, Crazy Rich Asians did well in the box office. But Friends and Seinfeld and The Office and sitcoms of the 80’s and 90’s are in our DNA. Yes, we’re starting to chip away, and I don’t want to diminish Shang Chi or Master of None or Fresh Off the Boat, but it’s drops in an ocean. I used to be hunting for crumbs at the bottom of a table and I dare say that most of us still are. If you take a quick snapshot of the whole field, things have not shifted in a grander sense. I’ve had a really wonderful experience over my now 25 year career but it’s definitely been in the context of limited opportunities.

Do you think anything could possibly accelerate Asian American representation in popular culture?

I think we’re in this phase where Asian Americans are perceived as trendsetters, DJs, or elite chefs or something like that. We’re almost fetishized for our sense of culture and trends, but I think you have to accept the process to some extent. Italian Americans in the ‘70s probably rolled their eyes when there was “yet another mafia story”. But those stories helped to imbue American society with Italian American culture. In the same way, you and I might roll our eyes at another martial arts movies, but that’s the process of the American canon — normalizing you and then you can have your seat at the table.

Once people have seen your face in an interesting narrative, they might become interested in something that’s five degrees off that — a little less martial arts or mafia each time — until we get to a completely different story. It’s not so linear, but that’s how it might be happening. We’ll get to a place where an Asian American story is just an American story. I think we’re moving exponentially faster. It’s a balancing act because you want to stay true to your community, but you’re trying to sell your product to a wider market.

What do you keep in mind as you’re maintaining this balancing act?

It all really starts with what I call “the squishy place”. It’s that place inside you that is warm, fuzzy, squishy, and almost cringey. I think everybody has it and everything you’re making has to come from there. It can’t come from a market analysis. It has to come from your, like, rat brain, like five-year-old Nate or five-year old Kelvin that’s just living in pure presence.

And it can be painful. I’m not saying it’s all happy – it can be from somewhere painful like your parent’s divorce or political strife – but when you build something out from there it might become a movie, it might become a rap album, it might become a pot of clay. But it has to come from there because you work too fucking hard and it’s too stressful to not be devoting your time and energy to that thing.

That’s definitely a strong message for not just this generation but the next. What would you say to a younger version of yourself?

I think a lot of people, especially for this younger generation, the daily to-do is to crack the algorithm and beat the system somehow. I think that’s the wrong way to go about making art in general, because eventually technology will – like it always does – fill that space because that’s what we build it for. But the one place it will never infringe upon, I think, is that human squishy place. By definition, technology can’t go to that nonsensical, purely God space or whatever you want to call it. And so I think this algorithmic generation could be an enlightened renaissance of the squishy place for humans because we are now so free to just live in that space and use the machinery we’ve built to help us create art with it. So I think that’s the fuel we should keep mining rather than trying to crack a code. I think that it’s about embracing where we’re at in the moment and to some extent embracing boredom.

FOOTNOTE

CARMEN CHAN Photographer

Carmen Chan’s career in photography didn’t start with inheriting an heirloom camera, attending a class, or meeting a professional. Instead, it was coming across an admittedly mundane photo of cups that sparked the thought that perhaps there was something else she’d rather be doing. As the child of Chinese immigrants from Hong Kong, she spent much of her early life inside her parents’ restaurant, Cathay House, as well as many other Asian restaurants in their tight-knit Las Vegas community.

Throughout the chapters of her life spent in Hong Kong, Los Angeles, New York, and Boulder, Colorado, where she’s now based, her determination in perfecting her technical craft has gone hand-in-hand with her increasing desire to uplift the underrepresented and to support her community. Carmen has been volunteer Program Manager at Diversify Photo and is also co-founder of F*ck Gatekeeping, an online knowledge base for emerging BIPOC photographers.

Her desire to share the stories and work of female artists resulted in publishing her first book EXPOSURE, while the memories of her family’s restaurant inspired her second book Chinese Food, which documents small Chinese restaurants throughout California. Now, more than ever before, Carmen is confident in her eye and her value, fully embracing her perspective and trusting that her honesty will resonate with the right people.

EUGENE KAN

How did you get into photography?

CARMEN CHAN

I didn’t get into photography when I was really young, although I do recall when I was maybe 10 my mom gave me an Olympus View point and shoot that I still have, and it’s now made a comeback as a film camera trend. I did take photos for social purposes like documenting friends and family with digital cameras, but never from an artistic angle, like trying to make art.

So for me, photography as a career began when I was tired of my job in production, scripted film and television production, and I saw a photo that my friend who I went to high school with posted on Facebook or Flickr. It’s a photo of cups hanging in a kitchen. It’s so mundane, but for some reason I thought it was an amazing photo. I hit him up and was like, “Hey, wanna meet up and catch up?” The next time we met, he had extra camera bodies and taught me how to use the camera in manual mode. From there, I became obsessed and would bring the camera to work, take pictures of my coworkers and random shit like flowers.

What do you think accelerated your trajectory into being a professional photographer?

I think I was around 24. I was looking for an escape route from my production career. So I think it was the timing of picking up the camera, being really dissatisfied with where I was and realizing that I didn’t want to continue to pursue that career path because it would lead to a lifestyle that I didn’t want for myself. I think it was just the drive to be like, “Okay, I really like this. More than what I’m doing now. So what would a career in photography look like?”

I started following a few photography blogs. A fashion photographer based in LA whose blog I followed posted that she was hiring an intern. My portfolio was my Flickr account. I had all this administrative experience so I was hired to intern half the time for her and half the time for her agent. And then her agent went into rehab so I ended up basically being her studio manager and helping her with estimates and stuff. Then I moved to Hong Kong and started shooting. And that was it.

You published your photobook Chinese Food in 2021, which was inspired by your upbringing. Could you tell me about that?

My dad’s restaurant was a zau lau with dim sum and my dad was in the kitchen cooking. My most vivid memory is the fish tank. When you enter the front door, there’s a fish tank and you can see through the fish tank into the dining room. To the right, there’s this ramp that gives you access to a small bar to the side and, because it was in Vegas, there were video poker machines. I would always go behind the bar and eat maraschino cherries. That’s a good memory.

I remember we knew everyone. We would go to all the Asian restaurants and everyone knew everyone else. We knew the owners, they knew our family, and our relatives also worked at those restaurants. We didn’t ever go to Applebee’s or Arby’s, we would go to an Asian restaurant if we were going to eat out. My book was about how ubiquitous Chinese food restaurants are across America and how when I visit those restaurants and I hear them speaking Chinese it immediately feels familiar. I think that’s what Chinese restaurants provide for immigrants and for second and third generation Asian Americans.

How do you think Americans who aren’t Asian American view Chinese restaurants?

In some parts of America, Chinese food is Asian food. That’s the only Asian food they know. The ironic thing is that at a lot of these Chinese restaurants the menus are General Tso’s chicken and moo shu pork and stuff that they don’t serve in Hong Kong. I don’t think it’s authentic, but it’s authentic to America. It’s authentic to what Americans expect when they order Chinese food. It’s interesting that immigrants who can cook all these things probably don’t even eat off their own menu. They have a menu that serves Americans.

Chinese restaurants in the past were a way for immigrants to build a future. Do you think there are different options available to immigrants now?

If you’re not fluent in English, you end up in a labor job. A lot of these types of restaurants are family businesses. If you’re an immigrant, you’re likely working a job that doesn’t require language skills, so you end up in a friend or family’s Chinese restaurant. It’s familiar. When my dad first moved to the United States from Hong Kong, the first job he got was at a Chinese restaurant, until he gained more skills and had a network so that he could open his own restaurant. I think our generation has way more options, but for immigrants without higher education it’s the same as before. Restaurants and nail salons. It’s almost a necessary space of transition for immigrants.

Was there a particular moment that motivated you to start this project?

We don’t really have documentation of our restaurant. The restaurant still stands, but it’s gone through many rounds of ownership. For me, it’s about relating to the immigrant story and wanting to tell the stories of people who moved to the US, started a restaurant, and what their children experienced. With the limitations of budget and location, I searched for restaurants that felt like they had been around for a while and had a familiar aesthetic to me: the vinyl booths, the colors, the menu, the table cloths. I was searching on Google Maps looking for restaurants all over California that felt familiar to me, but that I had never been to before. Initially, I wanted to be able to interview people, but I couldn’t get the access, so I just ended up visiting these restaurants, ordering food, and taking photos while I was there.

I feel like because I didn’t get the opportunity to do it with my dad’s restaurant, I wanted to do it with these restaurants for these people and for other people who had also grown up in restaurants. The images evoke memories for people.

What reactions did you get to Chinese Food?

I was surprised by how it resonated with people. The timing coincided with COVID and the rise of Asian hate. I initially ordered around one hundred copies and it sold out in 24 hours. I then had to do a second run of another two or three hundred, which also sold out in just a few days. I honestly didn’t think anyone would buy it. People were asking if I would do another run. I feel like none of my work prior to this project has had that effect on people.

Has it shifted how you will create work in the future?

For sure. It sounds really cheesy, but during the pandemic, right before this project was published, I was doing coaching. I had a mantra or a mind shift change, “The art of my heart brings value to the world.” It’s super cheesy, but I had that on a post-it, because the phrase that existed prior to that was, “My opinions have no value.” Moving forward, I know that what I’m drawn to, the things that I notice, can have an effect on people in ways that I can’t predict. I just have to believe that. This project has been affirming for me as an artist, not just as a photographer running a business.

What is your perspective now on your commercial work compared to your passion projects?

I’ve seen photography that is provoking and emotional, and this project proved to me that I’m capable of that.

What I’m creating means more to me than just creating a pretty photo. There needs to be some vulnerability in the approach or in the intention, and somehow that translates and connects with people. It’s like the more personal you get, the deeper that you’re able to connect with people, the few people that have had those similar experiences. I’d rather create stuff that is meaningful to me and to other people. That stuff is proven to be a powerful experience for everyone involved, compared to most of the client work that I do.

When I first started photography, I purely saw it as a career endeavor. How do I start a business? How do I improve my skills? How do I need to shoot in order to get work? While some of that came naturally, for a long time I didn’t think that I had anything personal to say or that my opinion mattered or that anyone cared to see or hear anything personal. I don’t know how that was conditioned in me. I just went into the industry like, “How do I blend in? How do I get work?” I was just trying to create a brand and a portfolio that was marketable. This project was the first thing I made that felt purposeful, meaningful, and personal. It proved to me that my experiences and point of view resonate with a lot of people, even though I had doubts about it.

Could you dig deeper into the reasons behind why you felt the need to blend in?

I think being an Asian American woman, because you look at the industry in the United States and it’s dominated by white men. So I didn’t think it would be advantageous to stand out. I just saw it very much as a problem that I needed to solve, “How do I get my portfolio to a level that I see other people’s at in order to succeed?”

What did you think it’d be like to be a photographer and artist and what has been the reality of it?

I didn’t have any expectations. I didn’t even expect to still be doing it at this point. When people ask me what my greatest achievement is in my career, I say it’s the fact that I’ve survived this long, and that I’ve been able to make a living off of it thus far. Maybe I should be more confident, but just the fact that people still pay me to go places and take photos, I don’t take that for granted. I’m just starting to think about what being an artist could look like and pursuing fine art.

Do you think things have changed in terms of opportunities available for people like yourself?

When I started, people weren’t being as stylistic and people didn’t have really strong voices that set them apart. I feel like, before, the commercial world was pretty homogenous and now I think it’s important that everyone has a very unique style and point of view so that you are the only person that can get hired for that thing. Before, you had the skill and you showed the work and then you got hired. Whereas now it’s, “Show me your personal work. I want to be inspired by it and I want to hire you because this story in some way connects to your personal work.”

With this project, I took photos of what I thought looked cool, however I wanted to. If I could get commissioned by a client to use that exact approach, that would be the dream. Now, I know the value of my personal work. Ideally, it’s a cycle: you keep creating personal work, and that personal work gets you commercial work. Sometimes a client sees your personal work and hires you to shoot something that’s not like your personal work, but at least they know you can add value and they like your eye and point of view.

What would you say to a younger version of yourself?

If I could go back or if I could give someone advice, “Start with your personal work.” Just start building a portfolio, not based on what you think Nike wants or what you see people creating, but create from whatever compels you. Your point of view, your perspective, what you’re attracted to, all of that is unique to you. And a client’s not going to be able to find that anywhere else.

But if you’re mimicking other stuff, plenty of people can do that, and someone’s already doing it better than you are. Nowadays, what gets people hired is the personal work they show. People want to see a client list and need to see that you can perform on set and manage your crew, but your personal work is really the only thing that sets you apart.

The classic Asian American immigrant story often starts out the same: an older generation saw the possibility of greater opportunities beyond the borders of their Asian home and decided to risk uncertainty to make a better life for the next generation. Sometimes though, trying to do what’s best for your kids leads to totally unimaginable outcomes.

Bay Area rapper P-Lo was born into a first-generation Filipino-American family. His parents didn’t initially approve of his music career, not seeing the same potential in it that he did. However, the same vein of determination in P-Lo’s parents that brought them to America runs in him — the belief that you control your own destiny and you create your own opportunities. His parents’ grit and hard work gave P-Lo both the foundation and the fearlessness necessary to pursue his passion.

Now, P-Lo and his peers are creating an attractive new roadmap for the next generation, one that doesn’t just lead to financial stability, but has routes to anywhere that can be dreamed up. These paths forward are for everyone to freely express themselves creatively. This movement made up of outsized desires to take big risks and unconventional careers is only possible because of the great stability built on the sacrifices of past generations. For that, P-Lo is constantly giving recognition where it’s due. While offering gratitude for the work done before him, he’s putting in the work himself so that the opportunities only multiply and the kinds of outcomes that are possible will never be unimaginable again.

EUGENE KAN

I know that you were inspired to get into music production because of your older brother. What was it like having somebody guide you through that world? In the days when MTV had no Asian representation, what did it mean to have a strong role model in your brother?

P-LO

My older brother was my fucking hero. He was the person that I really looked up to and he was doing it, and I was like, “Oh wait… he’s like doing it!” His generation was the one that broke down the door for me to even have the opportunity to do it. My dad didn’t create music, but he always had a love for music. And I think that’s probably where it started for both of us. My dad had a big ass sound system in the living room and he’d just be playing all different types of music. In the Bay we have such a love for music. We’re exposed to all different types of music growing up. The environment we grew up in forced us to be into something, you know what I’m saying? Also, I think my brother was, and still is, a selfless, fearless guy. He’s always the one to bite the bullet for everyone, and he’s always been that for me and continues to be that for me.

Imagine you go across the ocean and figure your whole shit out. And then your son is like, “I just want to be a rapper.” You’d be like, “Hey, you motherfucker, I did not do all this shit for you just to become a rapper.” It’s actually a little funny. As much as they were scared for me, they came here exactly to give me these opportunities.

What was the transition for you from production to rapping like?

Even when I was doing production, I had my own mixtapes. Then I was guest featured on some stuff by IamSu! so that was a start. Personally, I really wanted to create something intentional, so that’s where the separation between being a producer and an artist came. It was around 2015, 2016, when I had enough production under my belt and I could use that money to fund my own stuff. I took all that money to jumpstart what P-Lo is now.

It was a huge gamble for me because at that time there was so much production work coming in. There was some stuff I really had to bite the bullet on because they were money opportunities for me, but I truly believed in what I wanted to do and what I wanted to pursue with

Were your parents supportive of your journey?

Of course not! I was in the middle of college when I decided to do music full time. I was playing basketball in college. I had to figure out whether I was going to transfer schools or pursue music, right after the basketball season ended. I was getting all my transfer stuff ready and I was like, “You know what? I think I just want to make music. I’m just gonna figure it out.” And obviously, that was something that was pretty frowned upon by my parents, especially since my older brother and sister both graduated college. I was the one that didn’t finish school.

They weren’t happy about it because they would see me have my friends come over and we’re just making music and kicking it. My dad would be like, “Hey, what are you guys doing? Is this a hobby for you?” Once things started really picking up, my mom would go to work and her coworkers would be like, “Your son’s doing so well! I heard him on the radio last night.” My dad’s younger interns would say, “Oh, we just went to your son’s show.” Once they got that outside validation, they were like, “I think he’s alright…I think he’s alright.”

P-Lo. I thought, “If I don’t take this risk right now, I’m gonna be boxed into production and I never want to be boxed into anything.” That’s something I still take with me to this day, I never wanna be boxed into one thing.

From what I gather, there’s a strong and tight-knit community in the Bay. Some of your early work with the Bay-area crew The HBK Gang certainly seemed to represent that.

I always like to say that in the Bay we’re living in the future with all the different ideologies and backgrounds. With HBK, there were so many people that came together and created something that was unique, multicultural, and progressive. Where else would there be a Filipino rapper? If any place is going to do something with people of all different types of backgrounds, the Bay will be the first. The HBK collective was an inside look at the Bay Area as a whole. To have been a part of it is still an honor to me. Some people have come up to me and said, “Yo, I’ve been listening to you since I was in middle school,” and now they’re fully outta college. It’s cool to be able to show people that it can be done and you can really follow your dreams.

Do you think this whole community and experience is specific to music?

Music’s a gateway for people in the world. People come together for music no matter where you’re at, you feel me? In the Bay, you see groups of friends just making music and that was the dopest part. We just happened to all be making music and because there were so many different backgrounds and different cultures, people had to really be aware of each other’s backgrounds. All my friends have come over to my house and ate everything my mom cooked. And when they’re out, they’re wellversed in ordering Filipino food. It’s dope to be able to share my culture with my friends and it goes both ways.

How did all this upbringing impact your sound?

There’s a rich music scene in the Bay and a lot of it stemmed from funk music. I still go back to those roots to this day. But I’ve always had to figure out ways to stand out as a Filipino rapper. I want to put my spin on things, but also pay homage to the ones that came before me. I didn’t just get here — people before me took the lumps and bruises for me to get to this position.

As a Filipino Asian-American, you have all these different lenses. The Filipino lens, the Asian lens, and the American lens. How does this influence your work?

Having those things helps me understand people. Growing up where I grew up meant understanding nuances. Most importantly, having my friends coming from so many different cultures and different backgrounds. I love these people with all my heart and when you love someone you wanna be able to empathize with whatever they go through and what they came from. You wanna have that understanding of their culture and who they are. It definitely changes how you make music and how you express yourself, like knowing different bounces and rhythms or different ways people dance. Growing up in the Bay, part of it is even observing how people react to certain beats. It’s seeing how everyone could get down to a beat and understanding what can get people up instantly.

It’s interesting that you played Junior College basketball at a high level and went on to succeed in music because I see a similarity in music and sports where if you can “perform,” then it doesn’t really matter what you look like.

It’s truly liberating. As humans, our number one thing is that we just want to express ourselves. We want to tell people how we feel, show people how we feel. Through music and basketball, I’ve always been able to do that. I’ve been blessed to be able to do those things. Music and sports, those are two things that no matter where the hell you come from or what the hell you do, people will come together for that.

After being an artist for 7 to 8 years, what change has there been in the opportunities available to you?

AAPI month, that wasn’t a thing until recently. All the content being created during the month is dope, people getting recognized for who they are and what they do. They’re able to embrace who they are and not hide their culture. Growing up Asian American, we’ve had to just fall in line with things going on. My parents came here for an opportunity. They were gonna do what they needed to do to assimilate. That’s what my parents had to do for me to do what I’m doing now. I’m not here to assimilate. I’m here to take it on and I’m trying to inspire the next people to take it on.

How do you see yourself inspiring the next generation?

We’re supposed to inspire each other. I feel that’s what everyone’s supposed to do on this earth. Even if it’s like someone working in a store, seeing someone get up and do what they gotta do, that’s inspiring in itself. I know for me, being Asian American, my generation is just breaking ground. There are so many more people that have watched all the Asian American artists that are doing it right now and they’re going to do it better. And that’s truly the point of it. Everyone that’s doing it right now, we’re here to lay the groundwork for the next generation to inspire them and give them the roadmap.

What do you think could accelerate the AAPI movement?

It takes time for people to understand what’s happening and to know there’s a group of individuals doing something. My parents came here in the ‘80s. So we’re really the first generation of people doing something different.

We did something with the San Jose Earthquakes recently and my nephew’s there too. And he’s just having a grand old time, just turning it up without any worries. That’s what I’m doing and who I’m doing it for, so he can just be him and be able to express how he feels. And no matter what, he doesn’t have to conform or assimilate to anything. Just do him. That’s what our generation is supposed to do for the next generation.

What would you tell a younger version of yourself?

Just keep going. Just keep pushing. Understand that your path is not anyone else’s path. Understand that your journey is your own journey and never compare yourself to anyone else. Everyone has their own plan. Stay consistent and persistent.

What did you think it’d be like to be a rapper and what has been the reality?

There’s this stigma to the music industry that people always get fucked over and it’s a crazy place. Yeah, there is that, but, man, I love what I do so much. I really couldn’t see myself doing anything else. I really love what I do. I love the people that I’m around. I love being able to inspire people and, most importantly, pave the way for the next Asian Americans. That’s something I truly take pride in. For Asian Americans, for the Bay, just paving the way for fucking everyone to express themselves in any form or fashion.

There’s this stereotype that Asians are quiet and don’t speak up. Where did your confidence come from?

It comes from hard work, whatever you’re doing, repeatedly doing it, and gaining confidence from the practice and the repetition. In sports, you need to have confidence from within first and then you gain a new level of confidence from practice, putting up all those jump shots, doing all the drills, and then when you perform you get another level of confidence. On top of that, I always think about it from my parent’s perspective. If I was 20-years-old and I moved across the ocean, I wouldn’t even know what to fucking do. And my parents did that for me to have this opportunity. That’s what gives me the fearlessness to keep going.

MY PARENTS CAME HERE FOR AN OPPORTUNITY. THEY WERE GONNA DO WHAT THEY NEEDED TO DO TO ASSIMILATE.

I’M NOT HERE TO ASSIMILATE. I’M HERE TO TAKE IT ON AND I’M TRYING TO INSPIRE THE NEXT PEOPLE TO TAKE IT ON.