Every American-born Cantonese kid is familiar with the concept of 熱氣 (pronounced as "yeet hay"). We roll our eyes every time we hear it. In Chinese medicine, certain foods (usually fried food) will raise your body temperature and unbalance your qi. Unfortunately, these delicious "yeet hay" foods are everywhere! I can’t count how many times I heard my family say, “Don’t eat that! It’s yeet hay!” The battle between my two food cultures was difficult to understand as a kid. I felt so rebellious whenever I ate something like pizza or instant ramen. As an adult, I’ve learned the meaning of balance and how to indulge in these guilty pleasures.

My personal relationship with food has changed a lot over time. I grew up a very picky eater. I had my comfort foods and stuck to them as much as I could. Food then was a comfort to me. However, once some very wise people pushed me to try new dishes, food became so much more than a comfort. Food was exciting and new. Food meant learning about cultures and traditions. It was a way to share new discoveries with the people around me. In “Try Something New” I illustrated the meals that opened my eyes to just how exciting food can be.

Food is essential to life, yet it’s often taken for granted. In this piece, I wanted to explore the fleeting and complex relationship we have with it. The fruits and vegetables I carved into this block print wear straight, almost judgmental faces—a touch of humor that questions how we view our food and, perhaps, how it might view us. Are they silently judging us for our consumption? Are they simply "not amused" by their short cycle from growth to waste? Or are they just resigned to their role in our lives? Through this whimsical take, I invite viewers to consider their own connection to food beyond nourishment: as something that connects us, evokes memories, and even makes us laugh. This print is my way of acknowledging food’s often-overlooked role in the story of our lives and the communities we create around it.

Coffee and tea aren’t just beverages; they’re companions to moments, often paired with food, conversation, and connection. Whether it’s tacos, pastries, or simply a quick chat while walking the dog, these drinks bring people together. For me, coffee plays a central role in my daily routine and relationships. In the morning, I brew a v60 for myself and a cup of tea for my wife—this is a cherished ritual and our way of connecting before the day begins. Whether shared with friends in a local café or sipped quietly at home, coffee and tea create space for slowing down and reconnecting. That’s the inspiration behind my poster design: Coffee + Tea, a celebration of the moments these simple drinks make special.

"Book Club" is a representation of the small but meaningful ways we can build community. By sharing a meal and a book, we can nourish both our minds and our spirits.

My greatest food influence comes from my Mexican mom. I grew up in the small border town of Presidio, Texas where a quiet and modest way of life greatly influenced my personal ethos for simplicity. When I think of a staple dish from my upbringing, nothing feels more wholesome and grounding than a simple plate of frijoles. This can always be found in my mom’s kitchen, along with chile, cebolla, y tomate.

French Coffee & Flowers for Breakfast captures the quiet ritual of an early morning, blending the comforting warmth of coffee with the delicate beauty of fresh flowers. This piece reflects on the fleeting yet grounding moments, inviting the viewer to pause and savor life's simple pleasures. The work draws inspiration from the intimate, sensory experience of an early morning in a Parisian café.

In our house we have an affinity with breakfast. Most weekends, right after the cat wakes me up with a head nudge, I’ll take care of him and then start eggs for the rest of the family. If we have some vegetables I’ll try an omelet, but pulling those off is hit or miss. When it’s on the table I’ll call my wife and son, and as they sleepily pull out their chairs, I’ll greet them with “good morning sunshine”. Something my mom would say to me when I was a kid. It’s a morning ritual that shows my appreciation and love for them in a simple meal. Starting our day connected and together.

Inspired by simple things in life, my love for shapes, colors, and funny phrases influence my art. From crude concept sketches on paper, I take those ideas and illustrate them on the computer. In the process, my goal is to not take things too seriously and bring playfulness into everything I make. Growing up in the Northeast, I’m no stranger to what goes into making a delicious slice. Deconstructed in all its glory, this print is an illustrated ingredient list for the perfect pie. Who doesn’t love Za? It’s the best food for gathering around and sharing with your buds.

Food has always been about two things for me, adventure and connection. When I think about the path my life has taken as I bounced from place to place, it is the new foods I have tried and the people I have shared them with that allowed me to find a home in whatever state or country I found myself. My most memorable experiences with food have always been around a table of friends having a communal meal that introduced me to new flavors and traditions. Trying oysters for the first time in Tamales Bay in the hills of Northern California stands out as a core memory with some of my nearest and dearest. It connected me to the roots of my family, reconnected me with old friends, and expanded my taste buds to what is now one my favorite foods.

An eclectic gathering of foods and friends is the best kind of mess. You've got your carnivorous insectoids, mammalian spaghett’s, the breakfast-for-dinner types, the friend who only eats MREs, and, of course, the beverage goblins—the list goes on. We love a quirky cast of characters and cuisines. Some of my fondest memories are made from cooking and sharing meals with friends and family: sweating over a pot of Bolognese for the in-laws, baking chicky wings for Annie’s potlucks, ordering pepperoni pizza because it’s the only topping we all agree on (Jose), along with debates of guac vs. hummus at Terri and Jeff’s cookouts. It’s the kind of mess that makes me feel blessed.

With a creative motor that never seems to idle, my Polish-Texan upbringing fuels my art. I embrace and celebrate life’s whimsy and silliness through illustration and stained glass. I’m endlessly inspired by Polish folk art and culture, Rootin’ Tootin’ Texas motifs, my silliest thoughts and ideas, and all of the foods that make up the meals shared with my loved ones. This bundle of inspiration evolves into pages of pencil sketches that find their way into digital illustrations or as a million little glass pieces that come together to create a stained glass piece. Kocham Cię is a glimpse into a multigenerational love language saying “I love you” through food. The piece reminds us that the act of sharing the food we love with the people we love is one of the greatest gifts we can give.

When I thought of food and community and how those relate to each other in my life, I thought of foods that have been special to me and those I've loved. So many foods evoke memories of specific times, places, people. For this piece, I wanted to focus on the family dinners I had growing up and the warmth that was often found in that space. I chose colors and patterns that reminded me of the comfort of a home cooked meal. When artichokes were in season, my mother would get the three best looking ones and cook them up for her, my little brother, and me. We always ate them with melted butter and savored their hearts. I still consider them a delicacy.

When I leaned in for the last hug good bye, he grabbed my face, his hands feeling red hot and his eyes loving and intense, as he burned me into his memory. I joined in a time, frozen in place, of silent fury, experiencing the cosmos spiraling and embracing around him from all the life and love he had created. Weeks ago, I had lost someone to an aggressive diagnosis of cancer. His name was Sig Nicia, and the perfect example of how he lived unapologetically, was his common phrase in the end; “I’ve had a really good life, and anything that ever went wrong was from my own doing”. I got to tell him how proud I was that he was the closest thing to a father for me and he told me I was the son he never had. In the mouth of the cosmos, you are the table and the meal. This one life, like the changing cycles of the moon, taking then giving.

This is Norma Krackenberger’s handwritten recipe for her Mom’s Buttermilk Pancakes, with my own adjustments. Norma was my Grammy. I think about her when I refill my bird feeder with black oil sunflower seeds. “Remember to feed the birds!” I think of her when I smell pine needles that we raked together and spread over her vegetable garden beds. When I make a cup of black tea, I think of our tea parties at an oval dining table, in front of a bay widow flanked by floor to ceiling book shelves. I think of her when I see Texas yellow roses at the grocery store. When I make her Mom’s Buttermilk Pancakes from a yellowed index card, the recipe written in her script.

Hotdogs: simple, accessible, and with just the right combo of accoutrements, they’re the great equalizer of American cuisine. From backyard barbecues to food trucks, hotdogs bring us together over something unpretentious and reliably satisfying. In this linoleum reduction print, the way the mustard zig-zags and and loop-de-loops is a nod to those little joys—a reminder not to take life (or lunch) too seriously. It’s an invitation to pull up a chair, grab a dog, and make room at the table for everyone, because sometimes it’s the small, familiar things that make the biggest connections.

Homemade goodness has always been a source of comfort for me—freshly made strawberry jam, a dollop of butter, and warm toast on a simple breakfast table can bring so much peace. This scene speaks to the love and care poured into making and sharing food. In my family, making jam is a tradition passed down through generations, an act of preserving the sweetness of a season to share with others. This piece celebrates how homemade jam creates bonds, transforming even a quiet breakfast into a shared experience. Through the act of sharing food, we spread love and connection, inviting others to savor a taste of comfort, memory, and tradition. Food is more than nourishment—it's an invitation to sit down together and embrace life’s simplest joys.

For me, a potluck is a true reflection of the Filipino spirit of bayanihan (community care). I once heard someone say there’s no such thing as a Filipino recipe for just 1 or 2 people—and I believe it! In our culture, food is meant to be shared. "A Longer Table" immediately took me back to family gatherings, where the table is overflowing with food, relatives are cooking and serving others, and there’s always room for more—friends, neighbors, even people we bump into on the way over.

Our family is fortunate enough to have land located in Texas. And with this gift we have the additional fortune to be able to hunt our own meat and even gather wild berries. While hunting is a gift to be able to have a more sustainable source of meat, it is also an act that is 99% our family coming together on our ‘doodle-doodle’ rides to watch, discover, and sometimes even hand feed all the other animals found out on the farm. Our most precious moments on these rides are when the grass and flowers remain so tall that anything could easily hide amongst them. Which if you’re lucky, you’ll stumble across a young fawn hidden within them. And if you’re even luckier, you’ll get to watch this fawn grow year after year until she herself has her own fawns hiding in the tall grass one day as well.

As a kid, I remember spotting this can while grocery shopping with my family and wondering why the duck on the label was giving me the side-eye—and what a duck had to do with tomato sauce. My dad, ever the prankster, liked to tell me it was made from duck guts. This was the same guy who once convinced me that corn nuts were made from old horse teeth. This can has always been a staple in two of my favorite Mexican dishes, fideo and chile rellenos, both of which were regulars at my Wela and Tita’s house and a fixture at family gatherings. To me, it’s a symbol of those meals, family traditions, and, yes, a funny reminder of duck guts.

There is a park with a pond down the street from our house. I take my kids for walks over there on a regular basis. There used to be a small family of ducks that lived there. We would bring them food from time to time, when we remembered. Sliced grapes, bananas, random fruit around the house. Last spring they laid some eggs and had some baby ducklings. Each visit there seemed to be 1 less duckling, until there were none at all. Now there is only 1 duck left at the pond. We bring her food, but she seems less interested.

A Plate of Joy is a vibrant, abstract illustration that captures the energy and warmth surrounding food, from preparation and creation to savoring moments and the lively atmosphere that follows. The scene showcases an array of kitchen and dining elements, arranged in an artistic and playful manner. Bathed in warm yellow and orange tones, the composition radiates nostalgia and comfort, embodying the simple joys of cooking and community. The elements blend seamlessly, evoking the festivity and coziness of shared meals and cherished moments in the kitchen.

While food brings us together to create memories and traditions, it begins with a shared effort to cultivate it. This piece reflects on my relationships, with honey bees symbolizing my friends and the support they’ve provided throughout my life. Just as bees work and harmonize within their hive, we are there for each other. The honeycomb and raspberries—the ‘fruit of our labor’—illustrate the prosperity, nourishment, and joy we share. We can’t thrive alone; like Urban Roots, we need to grow together to bring fruit to the table.

Drawing from what I love! BBQ is my favorite thing on earth. Then I discovered Korean BBQ, and wow—I absolutely love it! Here are my top recommendations for the best places to enjoy Korean BBQ: 1. Yakiniq Based in California, this spot is solid and always worth a visit. (Best spot in NorCal) 2. BBQ Garden in Houston This is hands-down the best BBQ spot out there! (Best spot in Tejas) 3. Gen BBQ A typical but reliable choice you can find almost anywhere. It’s decent and gets the job done. (this shit is everywhere now) 4. At Home Just buy a portable grill, but make sure to cook outside—this can get greasy!

This piece draws inspiration from two significant aspects of Chinese culture: communal dining and humility. Many of my cherished memories with my extended family revolve around gathering at a large dinner table, sharing delicious meals that often featured steamed fish prepared by my grandma (po po in Cantonese). As the strong yet humble matriarch of our family, po po expressed her love through her cooking. This artwork reflects her lasting influence on me, my family, and anyone who has joined us at the dinner table.

"Village of Plenty" is a whimsical, abundant world where nature and community coexist harmoniously. Inspired by the ideals of self-sufficiency and shared resources, this piece invites viewers to imagine a place where food grows in harmony with the environment, and homes are crafted from the bounty surrounding them. It's a reminder of the joy and peace that come from connection to the land, meaningful work, and community. The piece invites us to imagine a society of abundance and harmony that we can strive to build together.

Food connects us in ways that go beyond nourishment—it’s an invitation into someone’s culture, a gesture of respect. My piece, 'Clean Your Plate, Seal Your Fate,' reflects how, over time, clearing my plate has transformed from a routine to a deliberate act of appreciation. As an 'Official Clean Plate Club Member,' I honor the stories, backgrounds, and care behind each meal shared with me. This work celebrates the acceptance and gratitude we show when we savor what’s offered, sealing a connection with those who generously share their table and lives.

This piece peeks at the gentle, tenderness of the fruit designed to be shared. Inspired by Wendy Cope’s “The Orange”, I chose to zoom in on an intimate, rather ordinary moment. I found this felt the most human, “as ordinary things often do”. The scene itself is a personal collage of fuzzy memories, capturing the feeling in that unspoken exchange. Otherwise known as the love language of immigrant parents, prepared fruit has always been an unspoken symbol of care in my life. I see it now trickled down in myself and the people closest to me. It’s in the “Have you eaten yet?” that almost feels second nature. It’s in the words not said but felt. And it’s in the single peeled orange shared with your best friend.