Residual

A continuation of an ongoing series of my grandparents motel. As Chinese immigrants in a very white town in the 60s opening a Asian themed restaurant was their version of appealing to western culture.

I’m very thankful to this site for allowing my family to survive but the connection I have with it is much like the leftover residue from unwashed rice. It’s a delicate hallow connection. Held together by string and stories passed down to me. It’s been told and retold to a form an image that I can appreciate but never truly know.