McKinley Square Park

October 6, 2026

Last weekend I had my first Open Studios event, hosted by ArtSpan. I had been preparing for over a month - applying archival varnish to all of my paintings, inventorying every item, framing works that I wanted to hang on the walls. I had practiced the story for each painting so that I could speak clearly and concisely about every work, and I had bought a fall scented candle so that when visitors came to my studio, they would feel welcomed and comfortable. 

Many people came. More than I would have guessed. Many mentioned that they had seen my work online, and were visiting the studio because of my posts on social media. When the weekend was over I was very tired, with a sore throat from so much talking.

I had collected a long list of recommendations from SF natives who had favorite places in the city, that they thought I might enjoy. One of the suggestions was visit to McKinley Square Park. 

Over the bridge between the Mission and Potrero, a woody area sits alongside Vermont St, one of the steepest streets in the city. I was out of breath on my climb to the park, but the switchbacks inside the park were generous, and as I caught my breath, I was soothed by the shade, the smell of fresh coniferous needles, and the frequent chirping of birds. 

I found a bench with a view between the trees, overlooking the city and Bernal Heights Park. One of my patrons had mentioned loving a bench here, and I wondered if this was the same one. I sat there for a while, full of gratitude. 

Sitting there, thinking back to the weekend, I started feeling nervous. I had started this project as a way to get to know a new city where I hardly knew anyone. I had charted it like a ship captain, as a pattern of exploration, an enticing continuation of my botanical art practice. Yet, now, people are starting to know about it. They are starting to know who I am. 

While this is certainly welcome, it is also conflicting. I moved to San Francisco, and decided to pursue art full time as a step towards my true north. It was also another step away from my identity as an architect. Now, I am starting to feel less like a novice starting over, and more like a professional deepening a craft. 

I have held it as a longstanding belief that safety and freedom lay at either ends of the same spectrum. If you are fully safe, there is a containment in that way of being. Safety renders freedom much less accessible. Freedom entails risk, uncertainty, and uncharted waters. Safety is professionalism. Freedom is novice. 

Some days, I still feel like a novice. Yet, as I keep taking steps towards art, I feel a strange mix of freedom and safety inside of me. I feel safe in the alignment of the path with my true inner self, my way of seeing the world, and my aspirations for the future. I feel freedom in the precarity of the practice, the hedonism of it, and in the indulgence of a life dedicated to art. 

Sitting on this bench, looking over the city, the hilly grassland in the distance, I feel that I am sitting inside a fold in time. This infinite moment - this year, perhaps this decade of my life - feels to be moving in slow motion and at light speed. I hope I am making the right decisions, as I am simultaneously certain that I am.