Ever since that day in Nagasaki, this painting hanging at the entrance of our home serves as a reminder to show this type of open hospitality. Nothing I have is my own to hoard, it's all given to share. The hospitality I can offer may be a cup of tea and a seat like I was given at the garden. It's simple, but that may be exactly what's needed. Though it's nice to do more like plan out special food and have a perfectly decorated space, that doesn't necessarily provide rest.

The process of painting this is how I view hospitality - imperfect but personal. There's no underdrawing sketch. The perspective is skewed, but I don't need to fix it. I added too much water and the paint dripped where I hadn't intended it to. I left some parts messy, and focused on some key details that stood out like wood grain and certain colors that I'm naturally drawn to. Hospitality isn't perfect - you offer what you have, however imperfect and unplanned it may be. When I glance at this piece, each "imperfection" reminds me of keeping an open door, both in painting and in our home.