We can say we live in a violent era, but people have succumbed to destructive tendencies as long as we have existed. We hunt, we hurt, and we destroy. That is part of our nature as humans. The other side of the coin is that we feed, we love, and we create. That also makes us human.

This dichotomy in it’s contradiction can be frustrating, and seemingly antithetical to the creative life that many desire. How can two things that are so different exist simultaneously, if not harmoniously? I myself have marveled at these two raging waters, very much present in my own life.

Besides the struggle to grasp these stark contrasts, obtaining daily access to our innate creativity can feel impossible. The world we live in also disrupts our passage to our creative nature. Companies would probably have us pay a subscription to access this part of our brains if they could. Fortunately, our minds belong to us.

Back when I was home in Japan, I came face to face with many things within my own mind.

I felt the depths of burnout, which lead to a stark reset. My brain, heart, body, ceased to understand how to function. This period was, in many ways, a spiritual death. But the kind of spiritual death that is equivalent to dying by getting run over by an ambulance. There was irony and humor in there somewhere.

This type of burnout is unique to this age. There was never an observable period in time where our creativity has been so grossly monetized, and individuals left stripped of their own devices. I’ve had a staggering amount of conversations with artists whose sentiments towards their own work were “What’s the use?”.

So many wonderful perspectives and aesthetics, with very little motivation to put any of that energy in action, or to be made to feel that everything has to go into the social media and content bucket—a container with many holes drilled into the bottom. But also an incredible vessel that uplifts many.

In this way of thinking, killing inspiration becomes as easy as taking bug spray to flies. So the question is how can we not become the fly? Or, how can we avoid the spray?

As I am slowly coming out the other end, a type of thaw is finally underway. But in many senses my own creative immune system is vulnerable, but I am finally waking up after a long sleep.

I have a few notes for myself, a list of things to do to avoid hating art, or making it. This advice is simple but empirical; oftentimes that type of advice is difficult to apply because there are many types of lives, many ways to think, feel, and behave.

In this day and age, we are swayed in multiple directions, and are lead to believe in everything except ourselves. Henry James in his book “A Portrait of a Lady” has echoed a similar sentiment: “He’s the victim of a critical age. He has ceased to believe in himself and he doesn’t know what to believe in.”

By no means is the list below complete. It also isn’t necessarily a guideline for figuring out what to believe in (I often fail to apply them myself) but I know that they are important, and I strongly believe that if I were more loyal to them, I would only be better off.

It is the with the utmost importance that you go to nature.

We are heavily persuaded by modern society of our God-like dominion over nature, with our modern buildings, telephone lines and gritty asphalt. But it is a distraction. We are nothing without nature, even as we attempt to deny the tapestry of our evolution.

The body is ancient, and with it comes ancient longings, tendencies, and physical necessities. You may not be aware of it on a conscious level.

In your anguish, visit the true sovereign and holy places on earth: Places with soft black soil, where leaves are not swept away but allowed to turn into mulch. Where the only sounds present are the rustling of trees from frightened birds, or the gurgling sound of water from a brook. See it in every state, in the mornings as the mist rises from sleeping earth, to the evening when the sun kisses the horizon, and disappears from view. Your body will recognize itself again.

Be by yourself.

I spent the majority of my life fairly isolated on a mountain in Japan. I didn’t know how much of a social person I was because I couldn’t exercise my extroversion. The people who are new in my life may not entirely believe me when I vocalize how important it is to be by ones lonesome— I am so often not alone now— but I know it to be a crucial ingredient in creativity.

Sometimes we spend so much time with other people, borrowing behaviors and ideologies. I didn’t have that for a large portion of my upbringing—at least not in the way that most people have. For most of my life, I have been relatively solitary, and upon reflection it is those times that I was able to be most myself, and when I was able to come up with my better ideas. The only echo in the cave was my own.

Do not compromise your writing.

The internet bombards everyone with writing rules on how to get people to read in the modern age. Everyone has developed shamefully short attention spans so we have developed a wide range of gimmicks to trick ourselves into reading. [Short sentences.] Bold text. A 5-step solution.

Writing that panders to our weaknesses helps no one.

When I think about my relationship with literature, my mind brings me back to many years ago when I read The Scarlet Letter. I was so touched by the writing that I remember clutching the book through several chapters, as my tears wet the pages. Nathaniel Hawthorne was able to beautifully bring the pain of the shunned Hester Prynne into my own heart, a woman who was like many women in history, ostracized for a sin of the times. That type of literature changes the psyche on a fundamental level, and can bring us to empathy. Little bridges from our minds, into the hearts of others.

Make something with your hands.

Draw with pencil. Sculpt things from sand. Grow a plant. Make a voodoo doll. Brake a plate. Literally do anything in the physical world. Keep yourself active in the present. Use every sense you have.

When I was back home in Nara, and has access to much more space, I was always building something. That is the part of my past that I am always silently mourning. I wish I knew fully how wonderful that time was. While I didn’t take it for granted, I want to shake my past self just a little bit: What you are living through is special! Do not squander it! It’s been a while since I had access to that life after traveling so much.

The use of our senses is the only thing that connects us to this world, it is how we make sense of what is around us. But each year that passes, physical things are being taken away from daily use. Why have a menu when you can scan a QR code? Rebelling against this as much as you is the lubricant for a creative mind.

Rest, rest, rest, rest.

Everything needs time to repair. While I am referring to the body in particular, this applies to almost anything. Rest is tantamount to productivity. This is why I believe the New York subway system is in such disarray. It runs 24/7, and has no proper time when it can be repaired. It just shuts down randomly, sometimes without warning. (Especially the G line. God) It is disruptive and inconvenient, and has spoiled many of my plans.

While I cannot change how the New York subway functions, I do not have to follow in their footsteps: I can allow myself to rest.

Breathe.

I have a twin sister, and people have a hard time telling us apart. Some come up with their own tricks in order to make the distinction: Reylia wears lipstick, Johnna always has her hair up, Reylia has the beauty marks on her face, and Johnna always goes running. I hear a lot of the same things.

Years ago when Johnna and I were visiting Tokyo at Trunk Hotel together, we began talking to two men at the bar. Lovely conversationalists, who promptly invited us to have dinner with them.
As we ate, one of the men shifted his eyes between Johnna and I, then gasped happily. “I got it!” He said. “I figured out how to tell you two apart.” He pointed at first to Johnna, and then to me. “She breathes….you don’t.”

These days I’m doing my best to remember to breathe.

To the best of your abilities, figure out what you want.

When you leave food in the fridge for days on end, only for it to spoil, that is evidence of wasted food. But the evidence of wasted time is harder to see, it does not come about right away, perhaps not even years, and it is a bit hard to pinpoint exactly “the waste” was, and where it started. Overthinking it can leave us tossing and turning in our beds, consumed by circuitous ways of thinking.

So, boil down your deep desires and aspirations. Where you strive to live, how your want your daily life to look like, and what skills you would like to add to your belt. And think about them, with big, beautiful emotions.

Keep them in the corner of your mind, as if you were carrying a lantern through a forest. The only rule is not to catch fire from the lantern itself.

This is the part of the dichotomy that leaves one uneasy: Life is as beautiful as it is ugly, as simple as it is complicated.

I tend to convolute my own life, as many of us do. But during periods of lucid mind and heart, I cut through the fat, and see things for how they are in the present. And while I may not always like to admit it, it can be as simple as breathing, walking, and eating well.

So, I’m leaving this here as evidence that I tried. A small, meek attempt, to make it simple.

More writing:

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This month’s final days for the challenge are coming a bit later, apologies for that!
In lieu of the Monday updates, I will give a brief rundown of everything that has been going on this month. I’ve moved out of my apartment in Tokyo, and unfortunately the move-out date coincided with most of the plans I had toward the end of the month, including the pu…

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There are few things more disruptive to the artist more than our own personal battles with presence. I have struggled with this immensely over the years, and it is something I want to address here during the middle of our sketch challenge. It is something we are all collectively going through.

Being present. Being here. And taking it one step further: wa…

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There are a plethora of places to pull photo concepts from. From moments of frustration and pain, to the times when you were ridiculously, euphorically happy. There may be a concept from a story that confuses you, or maybe something about your childhood you are still trying to understand.

Thinking of concepts can be easy, as …

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I often find myself resisting art.

I attribute this strange inner sensation to the pressure I give myself to create. There is an imaginary clock that is lodged in my gut, and when I sense the passage of time too strongly, I am wrought with the weight of all the things I have yet to do. All the art I have yet to ma…

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Hi friends, Reylia here, and the biggest hello from Tokyo.

For this year, I’ve been slowly developing a project here on Substack. I’ve been teaching art and photography for over 10 years, and slowly migrating a lot of my workshops and teaching plans to my Substack.

I have a few (imperfect) habits to hold myself accountable to an artist practice, and to keep a trickling stream of creativity. I believe these minute habits are like “good hygiene” for artists. Doing something a little every day goes a long way.

I will be hosting 5-Day workshops every month for the remainder of the year. Each month will be different. The emails for each of the 5-days will also come with a section of inspiration, a recommended book, article, or movie, etc. Something that I believe can help a person in their pursuit of a more creative life.

Join the Challenge here

For the friends who are subscribed to the monthly 10 USD tier, you will be able to join this 5-day challenge. I recommend joining early on in the month before the challenge starts. There will be a monthly WhatsApp group for everyone to have a little nudge daily to stick to the challenge. Also, you will be able to make new connections and friends. Big group, small group, there will be a new chat created every month. For 5 days only.

The March theme challenge of 2026 is: 5 Days of Sketching: The Photographer who Draws

This month I’m announcing and sharing this month’s theme for the mini workshops. This month we will be focusing on sketching for photographers, and how they can help with the concepts and shoots we’re itching to make.

I have also been trying to deeply consider how to present these 5-Day Workshops in ways that is not too overbearing, or give too much pressure to the artist. There is a lot going on these days for everyone, and the art we make needs to be part of the remedy, not an added thing on the to-do list.

So, that being said, I’m going to be experimenting with the format of these challenges. Initially I thought a punchier, check box list style would be suitable, but as artists we don’t really follow check-boxes. More than anything, we follow ideas, and then dive head first into those ideas.

So I will be experimenting with a more gentler format for this month. Something a bit less overbearing and school-like, but aiding the artist in a change in their thought process. A bit more honest, removing anything that is too flashy, and just trying to aim to get to the meat of it all.

For this month, I wanted to introduce sketching as a photographer.

Sketching is a valuable, untapped tool a photographer has at their disposal. It is a visual aid, a way to test how developed the idea truly is in our own heads. Developing a habit of sketching and drawing out ideas can only make your photography better. And it doesn’t take a lot of time during the day to do. And requires next to 0 planning.

You must learn to know yourself. When you begin this process of understanding your thoughts, interacting with them, and questioning yourself, then wonderful changes begin to happen.

The Workshops officially starts on March 27rd, and go until March 31st, so join the “5 Days of Sketching: The Photographer who Draws” workshop in February by subscribing below. It would be a joy to have you.

Notes:
*You don’t have to share the images with the group, but select “Prompt finished” in the WhatsApp group that you completed the challenge.
*There will be a set of rules for etiquette in the WhatsApp, if you violate it you will be promptly escorted out of the group

Join the monthly challenges

More writing:

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Hi everyone!

We are here for Day 4 of the Self Portrait Challenge! This part of the challenge is special for me, because this is part of self portraiture that doesn’t necessarily focus on your face, but using different parts of your body as a type of self portraiture, and even documentation.

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Welcome everyone!

We are here for Day 3 of the Self Portrait Challenge! Today we will be using images that you shot yesterday. We will be bringing them out of the screen, to a more tangible space. This is the day where you can let your imaginations flow more, and experiment on a small scale.

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Welcome everyone!

We are here for Day 2 of the Self Portrait Challenge! And before we get into it, I just want to say how proud of you I am of everyone for the first day. It’s not an easy thing to photograph yourself, and everyone did so well.

But, we’re not finished! We still have more to go. So let’s dive in.

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Welcome everyone,

It’s Reylia here. Thank you so much for hopping onto the 5-Day Mini Workshop here at the Photo Club. I’m so happy to have you here.

For these sessions I have an extra audio bonus for you. So for those that want to listen to the prompts, that is available to you. With the audio version, you can follow…

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Hi friends! Welcome to The Photo Club.

We’re two days away from the very first 5-Day Artist Workshops.

The starting date is February 23rd (Monday) GMT-5, and will go through February 27th.

To join, all you have to do is sign up for the paid tier, and you will automatically be a member of The Photo Club, and receive all the information for the workshops, and access to the WhatsApp group.

The full schedule for the 5 Days is listed below ↓

These workshops are simple and more bite sized, giving you the ability to test out new ideas for your art practice.

Click here to join The Photo Club

The First theme challenge of 2026 is:

5 Days of Self Portraits

Day 1-Breaking the Fear Barrier
(When taking pictures of yourself is a bit intimidating)

Day 2-Yourself, in Your Space
(Using this for intentional simple portraiture)

Day 3-Experimental Self portraiture, mixed media
(Using different materials outside of traditional photography)

Day 4-The Body, Up-Close
(Focusing on specific elements of your body)

Day 5-A full Self-Portrait concept
(A full photo concept that will be prepped from Day 1)

(The Tiered subscribers will have access to the full schedule with recommended prep below ↓)

The WhatsApp group is also down below after the paywall. Sign up to see the detailed prompts. You will receive the full notes for 5 days, via email. Please note that these will come in your inbox!

In each email you will get:

1. The Daily Self Portrait Prompt

2. Necessary items/recommended gear

3. Check-ins via WhatsApp

4. Daily Inspiration

   
   

   Join the February Workshop!

And then there is the plan for next month!

March Workshop Theme:

“Before the Photograph Exists: Sketching and Planning Your Image”

check the full February schedule below↓

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reading steinbeck in tokyo.

These past few weeks I have been reading East of Eden, the novel that John Steinbeck considered his magnum opus. Though he seems to take it back in this interview.

I was in desperate need for a book. And a good one.

Feeling a severe lack in written content online, my brain has been thirsty for substance. Every twist and turn on the internet is harrowing. And a large part of me is considering taking active measures to separate myself from it.

There is too much AI these days. We have perfection. The content is pristine. No bad punctuation. And I rarely hear anyone’s voice.

It took me a month to finish East of Eden. I read it on the Odakyu line, here in Tokyo. I read it on the day bus going from Kanto to my hometown in Kansai. I read it in my tiny Japanese bathtub, trying to avoid water splashing onto the pages.

Growing up in my childhood home there were a few books by Steinbeck, including Grapes of Wrath. But for reasons unknown to me I had left all of them unread.

As my friend Amy handed me the book from her collection, I glanced at the tagline on the cover:

And this I would fight for, the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual.

I was particularly drawn to these lines. In my own upbringing growing up in Japan, I have felt in the society a severe opposition to individualism. While there are subgroups, as well as economic differences that funnel people into varied experiences and patterns of thought, the pressure to conform is staggering.

This, I believe, destroys the individual, and completely suffocates happiness.

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As I was reading the book, I was impressed by Steinbeck’s skill for nuance. There were many times over the course of reading that I would put the pages down to meditate on a sentence.

I was touched by his clarity, and his ability to explain human intention. We can know that we are experiencing a certain feeling, but not be able to specifically put it into words. We can be fluent in a language, but still remain incapable of fully expressing certain ideas and concepts.

This is especially frequent when the concepts in question involve the examination of ourselves. We remain in some sense trapped by our own short sightedness. So, we must continue to scratch at dry earth for understanding.

I loved the book. I loved it because of how he was fully able to show the reader each character, purely, in their imperfections and in their lack. I loved it because in this book, he was able to transmute a clear message: People are not perfect. We are both Good and Bad. But we can also choose which we want to be. We have the hope of being better.

Even a character like Cathy, in all of her evil, felt like a whole human. We are not forced to accept her, but we are given the ability to understand her.

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There is a word from Genesis that is brought up in the book: Timshel, “Thou mayest”.

Not “thou shall”, which is a fixed, but “Thou Mayest”. A future where you have agency over it. The release from fate, and cruel destinies. The permission to overcome sin and struggle, rather than feeling fated to them. We get to choose either good or evil. What a novel idea. We can change our lives.

Part of me also loved the book because it aided me—just a little bit— in easing my own personal guilt. I have discussed this with a friend of mine, but I have questioned the intrinsic “goodness” of the human being.

I question it, because I know how I am. I have access to my own thoughts. And while I actively try to do good, I know that I am not good. I know where I lack, and I ache to be better. In this aching, I have generated enough shame to power a small city.

I am so frustratingly aware of how fallible I am, and how constantly I trip over the wires left over by past generations, as well as the ones I willingly placed in my own path.

My thoughts flash before me, they plague me. They may not be me, and I get a say in which ones I entertain, which ones I act out, and how much I control them.

But because of my upbringing, I have been chained my own idea of perfection. The perfect why to act. The perfect daughter. The perfect artist. The perfect citizen.

And then I read:

now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.

I was on the subway when I read that sentence. And in the quiet train car I whispered to myself: now you can be good.

I have been aiming my arrows at perfection for a long time. Japanese culture does that. Anything that is less than perfect, can incite shame. I didn’t think that I could simply be good.

I finished the book a few days ago, and I am still thinking about it.

As I rode the train, I was suddenly distracted by a sound: Swan lake was playing.

I turn to the older Japanese man next to me, where the sound was emanating from.

He had AirPods placed loosely in his ears, and was holding his iPhone with shaking hands. He didn’t know that his earphones weren’t connected. The music carried itself throughout the subway car. It was the most beautiful sound.

I saw heads turn, and eyes squint with dissatisfaction. I counted each person who turned to look in displeasure. A young man with black rimmed glasses. A older lady with a bob. A rugby athlete, square jaw. Then finally, an office worker, brown briefcase held to his chest.

I was feeling a sense of rapture. This person was not rebelling against the code of conduct, he simply was a man in his 70s who did not know how to use Bluetooth.

He was unaware that he had made a small wave in the standard etiquette that comes with train riding.

The music continued to stream loudly from his phone. In some ways, it reminded me of a scene from Shawshank redemption, where Mozart was played throughout the courtyard.

As we approached the next train station, the old man pressed the pause button on his phone, and removed his ear buds, as if they had been playing from them this whole time.

He will never know of the social sin he has committed. He will never know he wasn’t perfect that day.

And that is wonderful. Timshel.

More writing:

Books.

I put out a new writing project. It’s a series called “Photo Notes” This is the first of the edition. I take you behind the scenes of the whole image, from beginning to end, from the film labs used to the things I learned along the way. Which is often a lot. Fumbling along and making mistakes is part of the game. Pick up your copy of “Photo Notes #1” here!

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Reylia’s Monday Updates is a section of this blog where I’m letting my hair down, figuratively. I am often preoccupied with getting things perfect, rather than simply sharing and enjoying the process while talking about life. Instead of the tradition of hating Mondays, I’m going to try to associate them with creative freedom and allow myself to speak my mind without the worry that a perfectionist usually has. Things here may be a bit disjointed, incomplete, and occasionally nonsensical, but they may also be playful, curious, and whimsical. I will do my best to make it more of the latter.

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Originally published on Aug 7, 2022

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Unfortunately, we often treat our art projects like how people date in New York City.

For the short duration that I was in New York, I noticed a patten in how the people viewed romance. They love in short, potent spurts, like how it feels to witness a comet.

Bright and beautiful, it lights up the entirety of the sky. It stops you in your tracks, and you find yourself completely immersed in this earthly phenomenon.

How can we be so lucky to experience this?

It feels like it’s a once in a lifetime moment—only for it to come to a fiery crash into soft, unforgiving earth.

I have been a sorry victim of this type of love, and perhaps I have also been the instigator. (We humans tend to mimic our environments, after all)

The problem is that in learning how to love this way, we also treat other areas in our life in a similarly. Including art-making.

We cannot know a whole person in a week. Love within that timeframe does not exist, not the real kind.

We can be infatuated, we can be a bit obsessed, we can even say eureka, this is what I’ve been searching for my whole life.

But then as the chemicals wear off, as they always do, we come face to face with the lack of ourselves, or our counterpart. With our desire waning, so does our willingness to participate in the game.

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Throughout my career, my art-making process has been messy.

The path from when I started till now is littered with the graves of unfinished projects. I start one thing, fiddle with it, till the point where I either hate it, or worse, feel nothing, and then start something new.

On most occasions, this is not conducive to producing art. But there are few instances where this is appropriate, or even necessary.

We must experiment and try many things until we actually know what we like, or what we want. And because art doesn’t have feelings, we can go about this like a crazed rabbit until we finally land on something that can satisfy us.

But we are the ones with the feelings. So while we assume that there is no victim in this equation, the victim, in fact becomes us. We fill both roles, the oppressed and the oppressor.

So, how can we, as artists, love our work more?

After all, we are both blessed and cursed with ideas, and surely we cannot control our creativity anymore than we can cork up a geyser.

I am constantly crushed by the weight of my desire to make everything I have in my head. But the pain of inaction simultaneously dilutes my attention for individual projects.

I am unfortunately well acquainted with this vice. But I have been actively trying to remedy my own wandering eyes. With this, I want to talk a little bit about the available countermeasures to this artist dilemma.

How we can focus better, complete our projects, and how we can love our own art, just a little bit more.

1. Attention. Attention. Attention.

A few years ago for my 30th birthday, I was in Rome.

I was a long way from home, approximately 6,139 miles from Japan. We had to take a layover in Thailand to make our way to Europe. (Turns out they have massage parlors open at midnight at the airport in Bangkok)

I was taking this trip with my twin sister and our wonderful friend Luke.

Besides the Colosseums, the gelato, and the unreasonable amounts to tiramisu I was consuming, it was the first time in 5 years that I had felt an extended stretch of joy.

The company I was surrounded with allowed for so many laughs, unabashed exploration, and an emotional freedom that we carried throughout the whole trip.

During our time in Europe, a question was brought up by the group. “How do you show someone you love them?” We mulled about the ways that people display love. Words of affirmation, gift giving, acts of service, and all that. Things you can take a quiz on.

Luke listened, but had his head down, with a serious look on his face. After a little while through the discourse, he broke his own silence with a gentle smile, “I think you love something when you pay attention to it.”

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There are many ways this can be applied to art, but for me it means several things.

If I have an idea for a photo, in the initial stages I push to draw it as much as I can.

I sketch, and develop a bit of obsession.

I think about the colors, the shapes, the pairings. I try to sense if there is any distaste within me regarding my choices. Do I like this, or this? I think about the framing, would it be better to see the whole body, or just the face? Should it be a man, or a woman? Or even just a foot?

Not everyone can draw. Hell, not everyone likes drawing. Sometimes it’s a drag, and depending on the mood, it is not at all satisfying. But it doesn’t mean that it isn’t important.

It is easy to let impatience run the show, but if this is the dominant emotion, the curtains will never close.

The Tip: Keep your sketches and notes in a place where you can look at them often. From your bedroom wall, or maybe even on the mirror in your bathroom. If they doesn’t look good after a while, you can throw them out, and start new.

2. You can’t rush art

Someone once told me that love is affection plus time.

Of course it’s many other things, but in order to know something deeply, time is a key component.

Everything you want to make should remain in your notebook, until it is ready to come out into the world.

Many a times I have attempted to birth several concepts at one time, and then having them all fail miserably. There are cleaner ways to make art.

Focusing on one or two concepts at a time gives you the ability to understand your process. If you have never finished a project, you do not have any data to inform your way of working. You will not know how to improve, your intuition will be skewed.

There is the assumption that intuition and guesswork fall in similar buckets.

But intuition is built on pattern recognition, on observation over a period of time. Guesswork is a bit messy, like throwing spaghetti at the wall and hoping something will stick.

We need guesswork when we are starting something new, but only with time and dedication to one thing can it begin to shift to something more informed.

So, take things slow. Let intuition, the quiet hum of understanding, slowly form.

The Tip: When you are starting off on a new project, don’t get impatient. Sit with it for at least three weeks. Try your very best not to entertain too many new ideas at one time.

Note: The opposite of this is also true. Giving something too much time delays action. It is important to not sit on a project for too long, otherwise you will be just as discouraged.

3. When you know, you know

I have never liked running. God.

My friends have tried to convince me of it’s benefits. I’ve seen all the happy photos of marathon runners. I even bought the shoes at one point. But after at least twenty attempts, and some moments of genuine enjoyment, it is still the last way I want to exercise.

I will run for health, I will run with friends. But I have never thought, “Man, I wish I could go for a jog right now.”

But then there’s bachata. It’s a latin dance. From the first day I tried it, I knew I could do it for hours on end, no matter how tired my body got. That is something I couldn’t choose. Sometimes it just clicks.

It’s hard to trick ourselves into liking something.

Manufacturing interest, or love, can work for a short time. It can sometimes even lead to genuine fondness.

But when you know, you know. When something just clicks with you subconsciously, it fuels the process effortlessly.

Sometimes we get roped into an idea because we feel like we need to do it.

Through obligation, expectation, or even money, we accidentally tie our identities to things we don’t actually care for too much. This can keep us stuck for a really really long time. Sunk cost fallacy can do a lot of damage because it keeps us from doing the things we should.

For the longest time I was a graphite pencil artist. Then one day I wasn’t. And that’s ok. For 13 years I was a vegetarian. Then one day I wasn’t. That’s ok too.

It’s important to revise what we like and what we do, in order to make way for what we actually want to be. If we don’t we will never know ourselves fully.

The Tip: I do not know how to teach somehow how to be honest with themselves. I can only ask questions. So, if you had to do this for least the next 5 years, would you be happy?

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4. What do you want to do with all these ideas?

You can have ideas and plans until it covers every inch of your apartment, but until you have a plan for any of them, they only exist in your head.

And this is never a good feeling for an artist. It sets up seasons of art block, and is dismantles confidence.

You don’t have to make lofty goals. Not everything has to lead to an art exhibition, or photographing your favorite musician. (They can, but it doesn’t have to. )

It is also helpful to make the goal attainable for the time in your life. Sometimes we go through things that prevent us from taking on big projects. But even tiny ambitions are better than none. Building up confidence in your ability to deliver dampens hesitation, and keeps you from second guessing yourself. It saves time.

The Tip: Get a piece of paper and write out something tangible, like “I want to create a series of 20 images”, “I want to finish a whole painting course”, “or “I want to take a self portrait every day for a year”. Extra points if you put a timeframe on it.

4. Growth to the goal

In order to maintain a healthy relationship with art, you have to be willing to see your own mistakes, and understand your infallibility.

A lot of artists stick a wrench in their own growth because they do not feel the need to improve, or they do not know how to develop.

The quick way to growth is through others: Find someone you admire and listen to their advice.

This is, by nature, the purpose of a photo review. It is not for someone to clap for you and what you’ve been doing, but to borrow someones eyes. Even more importantly, it is the eyes of someone who is on the road you want to walk on.

The Tip: Start taking classes in the exact area where you feel like you need to improve. If you want to get better at sketching out ideas, go to a drawing class. If you want to improve your techniques with darkroom printing, sign up for a three day course, to iron out your bad habits.

5. Little habits, and the sum of small efforts

One day I got a notification that showed me exactly how much time I was on Instagram.

After seeing the number, I felt such a deep sense of disappointment, and loss. I wasn’t getting any of that time back.

So, I took Instagram, Threads, and Facebook off my phone.

I had known for a while that I needed a solution to lower my screen time, but I avoided the culling. I told myself that the apps were a necessity to communication.

Turns out, they weren’t.

We need to pay attention to what we do with our time. We can proclaim our artist manifesto from the hills, and dream of finishing our first short film, or imagine how our first exhibition will be. But if someone followed you around for a week with a video camera, what type of documentary would they be making?

For a lot of people it would probably be a film warning others on the dangers of doom scrolling.

These tiny little habits build upon each other, and make a life. Try to imagine how yours looks from the outside.

The Tip: Carefully observe yourself and your habits. What do you default to? Do you open Instagram instead of sketching? Do you binge watch shows instead of finishing a painting? Take drastic measures to eliminate the bad ones. Go ahead, it won’t hurt. (maybe)

6.The Necessary Elimination of Stress

More than a killer of inspiration, stress completely obliterates presence.

Tolstoy wrote at the beginning of his novel Anna Karenina ,“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” People are all stressed in different ways. Unfortunately, there is no panacea.

So, what helps you feel good in your body?

In my case, I need to go to the forest. It’s imperative that I touch moss. Smelling flowers should honestly be in my to-do list. I have to move my body. To dance. I have to take time away from any screen, big or small. I need to avoid the clock. I have to hug my friends, to write letters and send postcards.

And goodness gracious, a good book every once in a while could save your life. Or at the very least, your sanity.

Whatever works for you, do it. And do it whole-heartedly. Godspeed.

Final note.

I am not a perfect artist. God, I don’t think there is any way to be. But we can be better than who we were a week ago.

We can make vows to be more technical, and we can pledge to the creative spirit that exists in our bodies. We can come away from this with more love for our ideas and for the mind’s that brought them forward.

And if we really do it right, we can be more of ourselves.

More writing:

Books.

I put out a new writing project. It’s a series called “Photo Notes” This is the first of the edition. I take you behind the scenes of the whole image, from beginning to end, from the film labs used to the things I learned along the way. Which is often a lot. Fumbling along and making mistakes is part of the game. Pick up your copy of “Photo Notes #1” here!

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reylia’s monday updates.

A sea of pinks, oranges, purples, and green. The floor was filled with colorful faux flowers from Daiso, and my hand was cramping from extended use of the the hot glue gun.

Multiple accidents with it left me with less fingerprints than I had when I started. After several hours of abysmal posture, my back began to plead for a release. This is somehow all part of the work.

How does one begin to plan for a photoshoot? In my case, it begins both with the willingness to properly prepare for it, and also abandoning denial.

There are so many roadblocks that stop an individual from making art, but most of the time he is in his own way. There is severe procrastination, and a lack of direction, and misused energy. But you need to first be aware that this is indeed happening.

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Today when I was on riding on the Odakyu train line coming back home, I saw a poster that caught my eye.

In Japanese it said, “Every day I come back home to myself.”

I cocked my head as I read it. I thought about the person I come back to.

These past few months being home in Japan, I have developed a complex relationship with presence, and sitting with myself. Because of so many big changes, I am often in a dissociative mental space. It is hard for me to process what is happening around me, let alone fully enjoy it.

I am in the beginning stages of moving to my own apartment. This will be the first time I live by myself. I have either lived with my twin sister, with roommates, or with a partner.

This will be the first time I am doing this solo. It is strange, I have lived in over 30 different apartments, houses, and floors over these two years, but signing a lease by myself leads my mind to distress. I don’t think it understands how to stay in one place anymore.

In these transitional periods, I keep something beautiful in the corner of my mind. I have been listening to a lot of Chopin, and reading John Steinbeck. They both knew pain and suffering well, and knew how to transmute it into beauty, or at least something that we can digest. I think I can learn a lot from them.

I went to the most amazing darkroom last week. It was a space called Atelier Chataigne. It was the perfect place to print in Tokyo. They only speak Japanese, and they are often fully booked, but I was so pleased I got to experience this spot.

When I was living in Mexico, it was impossible to find a color darkroom with the proper facilities. I was scouring every possible avenue, and even after a year I couldn’t find what I was looking for. So because of that, a lot of the work I did abroad was left until now.

In Mexico, I worked on a nude concept with my friend Mar, a figure model figure from the city. One of the funniest, most vivacious people. Caring as a friend, and fearless as a model.

We painted her whole body with colors, and we covered her in black goo. A skin-safe concoction I had been perfecting ever since my time in Wisconsin. I had finally gotten to use it.

The work is still unreleased, but I’m so giddy to share tidbits. I’ve been wanting to scan these for a while. But until I’m able to, glimpses are below for you.

A early peek to new work:

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When you’re born here in Japan, you don’t automatically get a passport.

Of course, you don’t know this when you’re three hours old.

And when you’re a new born baby crying in a hospital room, you don’t know how it will affect you your whole life.

But it does.

I was born here, and raised here, I lived here for 30 years.

Japan is filled to the brim with amazing things. Spectacular food, a rich culture, safe lifestyle, affordable healthcare, and captivating traditional art.

I could fill a several hundred books about why Japan is wonderful, and why, in many aspects, it could appear to be the perfect country.

And visually, Japan is a stimulating place. It’s a big reason why I grew up and became a photographer.

I don’t have to convince anyone on the extraordinary things here in Japan. It is there for anyone with eyes to see.

But hidden under the surface of it all, there are struggles that people who’ve grown up like me have to experience. Hafu, the third culture kids, or the people who have lived here for an extended period of time.

These struggles follow us, and sometimes have great damage our whole lives. From how we interact with people, to our insecurities about identity and language, how we look, and even who we are fundamentally as people.

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Everyone’s story is different. I’m a photographer, I’m an artist. I do things that aren’t exactly normal.

I take a lot of risks, and I tend to rebel against the status quo. Not because I do it for the sake of rebellion, but because on a fundamental level, it just isn’t me.

And I like being me.

But being yourself in a country like Japan is a bit more complicated than it seems. Not only for people who look different, but for full Japanese as well.

Let me tell you, just a little bit, about growing up in a country like Japan.

Keep in mind that what I say here may not apply to everyone. This is my story, and it’s incredibly specific.

But It is also the story of my sisters, my friends, and a lot of people who don’t quite fit into this society. And those who desperately want to belong. I think that side is worth sharing, just as much as a matcha trip to Uji.

Why was I born in Japan?

My parents came here in the early 90’s from a teeny tiny town in Wisconsin.

The town only had 2,000 people at the time. I have no idea how two individuals from that part of the Midwest came to Osaka, a bustling metropolis of 18.3 million.

During that time, there was no WhatsApp, no Skype, not even email.

All they had were letters and long distance phone calls, calls that were astronomical in prices, sometimes in the hundreds of dollars. So you ended up not calling at all.

I can’t imagine what it would have been like. Leaving your country and not looking back. Growing up, my parents didn’t talk to me about it. But as an adult, I can’t imagine how brave—and how lonely—that must have been.

I call my twin sister Johnna at least three times a week. I don’t know what I would do if I could only call her once every three months, or know nothing about what was going on in her life. I think I would go crazy.

My parents came to in Japan at a time where there was a bit of promise. It was right around the bubble era, right as it was popping. In the 70’s and 80’s, Japan was a rich country. And an expensive country to people traveling or visiting.

There was job security. English teachers could make money. They had good benefits. In many ways, Japan was an economically good choice. At least for a short while.

I don’t believe it was part of my parents plan to stay so long. But then they had five kids, and then relocating with 7 people as the economy weakened, didn’t seem as possible anymore.

Growing up

The older I got, began to realize that things weren’t normal.

When you’re a toddler, anything outside of playing and eating didn’t matter.

But when you start to grow and develop awareness, then you notice that there are certain things that feel very, very wrong.

But lets start with what was right.

The Good

To begin,

as a child, there is something incredibly magical with springtime filled with cherry blossoms.

Nothing is more splendid than seeing the first buds of the sakura, and seeing cloud-like puffs of light pink trees zip past the window as you ride the train.

Winter is now gone. The blue hanami tarps get pulled out. Beers are poured and spilled. Laughter is everywhere in the parks. It is one of the few times of the year where everyone is loud and happy in public.

Secondly,

there is the deep sense of social awareness. You develop a keen ear and eye for this.

Your mind is always picking up the tiny shifts in the room. You become highly attuned to the tone of others, and build a deep paranoia for nuance.

This can be detrimental and stop you from enjoying things, but it also can help you develop omotenashi, and respect for others and your surroundings.

You know how important things like omiyage are. I believe understanding these little gestures are good, and quite particular to Japan. There are similarities in other countries I’ve been to. But definitely not to this extent.

And of course, the food. I grew up eating and being full on the most delicious things.

Miso soup was my breakfast. Rice crackers were my snacks. Nikujaga was my dinner, strawberry daifuku my dessert, and ramen and chahan was my fast food.

Finally,
visually, traditional Japan is just very beautiful.

The art is like no other. The dedication to precision and craft is a result of 1000’s of years of meticulous training, and passing that knowledge down.

Growing up with this is a blessing.

From traditional calligraphy, to manga, to pottery, to watercolor artists, there is a never ending stream of traditional art.

As a child, seeing these things were normal for me, even banal. And it was incredible.

The Bad

When you are a 5 year old little girl, walking down the street or going out in public shouldn’t make you feel like you’re on stepping on stage.

That’s what it was for me. When I walked to the park, other kids walking past would stop, gasp, and say “gaijin, gaijin”. (Foreigner, Foreigner)

As a toddler people would try to touch my hair.

As a teenager I would be jeered at by groups of school kids laughing and pointing.

Often, older men on the trains would stop reading their porn magazines to take sneak photos of me (Not so stealthy, though, I noticed this happening as a 7 year old).

As a young adult, I’d fall asleep on the train and wake up to being touched.

Or walking home I’d have older men shout outside of izakayas, asking me how much I’d cost. For my whole life, every single time I stepped out of the house, I knew I would be stared at.

This does something to a child, and it does something to a young woman. It deeply affects the human psyche. To what degree, I have no clue. But I know that it changes how you feel about yourself, and how you walk around in society.

The world is an oyster, but in a different way. It becomes a strange and slimy place.

My Environment

I grew up homeschooled, along with my four sisters. One of them is my twin.

The way I was educated further compounded the problem. In a country that isolates you, we were isolated even further.

The final layer was that at the time we were deeply religious (Now, I’m agnostic) But at the time there were three layers of separation. There was little getting in, or getting out.

Somehow within this isolation, I discovered a love for art and creativity.

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The books in the house were invaluable to me. I would read everything. As a child, I remember a thick dark navy book we had on “1000 Famous pieces of Art”. That was the first time I remember seeing Frida Kahlo.

My mother would also take us to many art exhibitions as a child, from Beatrice Potter, to Vincent Van Gogh. We would draw and try to copy the paintings we saw, and we were asked how we felt about the art. I believe this was important.

At 15 years old, I taught myself how to draw realistically with pencil, and even started a Youtube channel. I loved drawing. I drew fanatically every single day, sometimes for 6 hours straight. Then I was led to stop.

But with the heaviness of my environment, I needed an outlet for creativity. Eventually, I used photos instead.

When everything changed

I had some friends up till my mid-teens, but we rarely saw them, andthey were few and far between. But this changed when I was 16.

For one month out of the year, we were part of an international camp in the forests of Nagano. This quite literally changed the trajectory of my life. I didn’t feel completely alone anymore. In some ways, it was like a secret heaven for international kids, like me.

In this community there were kids whose families immigrated, kids who were half Japanese. And also kids who were full Japanese, but could speak both languages.

I think I can speak for everyone who grew up going to this camp that it was one of the best things that happened to us when we were kids.

It wasn’t without drama, and there were still many cliques that formed. But it wasn’t based on where we were from. And as a whole we completely accepted each other, we understood each other, and in some ways I believe we loved each other.

This place was an oasis for kids like me. And we got to go once a year for a month.

After the summer ended though, my sisters and I were back to an isolation. Waiting 11 months for it to come around again.

Japan in early adulthood

Japan didn’t get easier as I grew up.

In many ways, the awareness of how different I was made going out into society even more harrowing. It is a constant ostracisation that makes assimilating into society painfully complex.

You develop strange behaviors.

For a long time, I couldn’t bring myself to carry a suitcase outside, even if it would be easier for carrying heavy things. I did everything I could to avoid looking like a tourist.

I wanted a smaller nose (in Japan they would constantly comment on my “tall nose”), wished for different hair color, and I definitely wanted smaller feet (The cute shoes rarely came in my size as a kid).

Getting a job in anything besides English teaching was difficult.

I was rejected for jobs because I was told that the clients “would probably want to see a Japanese face”.

My sister had better experiences in this area. But my own personal rejections led me to try different things, and to focus more on art.

This led me, somehow, to photographing one of the most famous band’s in Japan’s modern music history, Mr.Children. It was years ago now, but it is still a highlight in my early career.

Despite such a good start, I still faced mountains of rejection for work. I didn’t exactly play ball how everyone did, it also didn’t help that I lived in a conservative area like Nara, and it led me to severe doubt in my work.

But as much as I’m doubtful, I’m also stubborn. I kept going.

The Pandemic

When COVID-19 was beginning it’s chokehold on the world, I was in New York City for photography.

I was supposed to be there for one month, and had a lot of important meetings set up. But with how scary it was turning out to be, I was urged heavily to come back home.

Besides the world falling apart, there didn’t seem to be anything usual about the day I came back to Japan.

I went to sleep in my bed, as I always did. Except around 3AM I woke up to an excruciating pain in my abdomen. I didn’t know what was wrong.

The ambulance was called, and I was rushed to the hospital. I learned later that I could have died.

Because New York was heavily impacted with COVID-19 patients, I do not know if I would have been admitted into the hospital. I do not know if I would be alive right now if I hadn’t gone back on that day.

One week after my surgery in Japan, the whole country locked down.

Permanent residents (Like me), who happened to be out of the country at the time, weren’t allowed back in. People with apartments here, with jobs here, with families here couldn’t come back home for a long time. Japanese citizens could.

If I had left New York just 7 days later, I wouldn’t have been allowed back into the country.

Leaving Japan

I had spent my whole life living in Japan, and I knew I needed change.

Several times throughout my life, I tried to leave, but life happened and I ended up being boomeranged right back.

I didn’t know how to leave the nest.

I tried thinking of my future in Japan, and even wanted to buy the house we had been renting for ten years. We were rejected and told no. When I asked why, the owner told me, “because the neighborhood is conservative.”

I cried a lot that night, and felt even deeper that things couldn’t stay the same.

My surgery left me with a deep terror of my own body. I loved to travel, but the idea of getting on a plane again absolutely horrified me. I felt if I did, I would run the risk of dying again.

But I needed to overcome my fear, in order to change.

And I was given the gift of change.

As the pandemic was relaxing, I went to Europe with my twin sister for our birthday, and in a short span of time had the most spectacular experiences. On the plane I took a lot of breaths, and braced for pain. Thankfully, it didn’t come.

I saw the Colosseum lit up at night, and ate tiramisu every day. I saw the Eiffel tower as it sparkled at dusk, and stayed in a old hotel in front of the Notre Dame. I went to Potsdam, in Germany, and got my favorite film camera. I went to the church of Saint Francis of Assisi, and learned about aperitivo.

I had a tiny taste of being myself again.

And then it was nearing the time to leave. But before going back to Japan, I found out that a friend happened to be in Italy at the same time.

As we were walking down the cobble stone roads of Rome, he looked at me and said simply, “I think you would like Mexico City.” Something in my brain lit up.

I had no more resources for another trip, especially for a solo one. But when he said that, I knew that if I didn’t go, I would regret it for the rest of my life.

This feeling made no sense. I had never been to Latin America, I didn’t speak any Spanish. I had no context for Mexico. I had no friends in Mexico. And I didn’t have any place to stay.

I booked a ticket for one month later.

There were many things that happened to me in Mexico. And those many things, changed my life.

It altered my brain chemistry, and made me realize that there were more ways to live, than just the rigid way society was set up in Japan.

I could walk outside and talk to people, and actually make friends. I could dance outside. I didn’t have to think about how I was holding myself. I could play music. I could hug. I didn’t have to lower my voice. I could be a little late. I could kiss my boyfriend happily in public. I could make mistakes, little ones, and not be shamed for them.

Leaving also helped me appreciate the things that were good about Japan, many things confused me about Mexico. The separation allowed me to not see through the veil of being a “gaijin”.

I was there for one month, then I came back to Japan.

I spent a year getting rid of everything I owned, and eventually said goodbye to the house in the mountains that I lived in for a decade.

In 12 months my whole life was condensed to a suitcase. And then I left home with a one way ticket to San Francisco, en route to Mexico.

It was only two years later that I stepped back into Japan.

Homecoming.

I have been back home for about 4 months now, as of January 2026, and I didn’t think I would stay.

I was scared to come back. My nervous system associates Japan with constraint, regression, and role compression. Rules. Lots of rules. I am reduced to earlier versions of myself. Not on purpose, or for lack of gratitude, it is just biology.

But also because of this, I knew I needed a redemption arch with Japan.

Leaving Mexico was the last thing on my mind. But there are many changes happening in my country, and I felt that now, in Tokyo, I could rewrite my own story about home.

And possibly, that despite the deep fear, perhaps the good would begin to outweigh the bad. Perhaps one day, home wouldn’t taste like rejection.

So for now, I am here.

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Japan is wonderful in many ways. There are reasons why people are flocking to the country.

I’m so pleased that people from all over the world will have amazing experiences here. I want them to have the most incredible time here. I want them to love Japan.

After being back for a while, I feel the society has loosened in some ways. Perhaps not the government itself, but on a day to day basis in Tokyo, I don’t feel that sense of “othering” as much. It helps that there are so many tourists, in some ways it has normalized faces like mine.

After two years, I learned one important thing: There is no perfect country.

When you believe in the infallibility of a place, blind to it’s faults, then you are infatuated.

If you think a country is perfect, you don’t see it completely for what it is. It is a caricature, a contortion birthed from either great marketing or a personal fantasy.

Only when you can recognize the faults, the areas where it could be better, or where it is deserving of criticism, is when I believe you can truly start to comprehend a place.

My story is little. And it also makes no sense. There’s no reason why two Midwesterners in the 1990’s would immigrate and live somewhere so different from their home. And yet, here we are.

I hope that with this story, it can grant a slightly more complete picture of this country. Not to have you enjoy it less, but to have you understand it more. I believe it to be important. Because only with understanding, can you have empathy. And with empathy you can have compassion.

And goodness. When you have those two things in hand, how can it not be a recipe for change?

More writing

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Reylia Slaby is a fine art photographer from Nara, Japan. Shaped by a rural upbringing in Asia and a self-taught path into photography, her work draws from lived experience, place, and long periods of observation. Having spent extended time living and working in Japan and Mexico, she explores the tension between pain and beauty in her work, using film and darkroom processes to preserve a tactile, human presence in the image. She is currently based in Tokyo, Japan.

Hi friends, Reylia here, and the biggest hello from Tokyo.

I have a new project for the new year. From February, I will be introducing online photography workshops to my Substack.

I have a few (imperfect) habits to hold myself accountable to an artist practice, and to keep a trickling stream of creativity. I believe these minute habits are like “good hygiene” for artists. Doing something a little every day goes a long way.

The 5-Day Challenge Sign up

I will be hosting 5-Day workshops every month for the remainder of the year. Each month will be different. The emails for each of the 5-days will also come with a section of inspiration, a recommended book, article, or movie, etc. Something that I believe can help a person in their pursuit of a more creative life.

For the friends who are subscribed to the monthly 10 USD tier, you will be able to join this 5-day challenge. I recommend joining early on in the month before the challenge starts. There will be a monthly WhatsApp group for everyone to have a little nudge daily to stick to the challenge. Also, you will be able to make new connections and friends. Big group, small group, there will be a new chat created every month. For 5 days only.

Join the Challenge here

The First theme challenge of 2026 is: 5 Days of Self Portraits

Taking self-portraits is an important habit for an artist. It can be a barometer to show how you feel about yourself. I wrote an article about this a few years ago, called “The Necessary Self Portrait.” , where I talk about the purpose of the self-portrait, beyond selfies and beyond looking pretty (In some ways, almost trying to capture the opposite). I also started making art with self-portraits, and I was the model in most of my original work.

The Challenge.

For 5 days, you will receive daily prompts and inspiration to challenge you in different ways. We will be doing this all together, but feel free to do it privately as well. I will also share my own self-portraits over the years, from casual snaps I took with my iPad, to the times I experimented with nude (Ironically taking a simple photo of your face can feel more uncomfortable than being naked).

Throughout the 5 days, I will be there in the chat to guide you. The group chat link will be shared at the beginning of the challenge, and will have daily check-ins. Note: You will not be able to join the WhatsApp group after the second day. So those joining halfway will hop onto the workshop for the month after.

For the 5-Day Photography Workshops, there will be a new theme introduced each month. You will have the full month to prepare for the 5 days.

Time Required Daily.

30 minutes (at the least) to an hour, but you can take as long as you need.

February Schedule:

Day 1: Feb 23rd CHALLENGE STARTS. Introduction, First prompt introduced
Day 2: Feb 24th, Prompt & Daily Inspiration
Day 3: Feb 25th, Prompt & Daily Inspiration
Day 4: Feb 26th, Prompt & Daily Inspiration
Day 5: Feb 27th, Prompt & Daily Inspiration, CHALLENGE FINISHES

This is good for:

1. PRACTICAL: Those who want to refresh their personal images, for social media or professional use

2. HEALING: Those who want to develop more compassion towards themselves, (in a way, self love) and do that in a safe environment

3. ARTISTIC: Those who want to experiment with new photo ideas and test them out on themselves first
   

   
   Notes:
   *March dates will be announced in February
   *You don’t have to share the images with the group, but select “Prompt finished” in the WhatsApp group that you completed the challenge.
   *There will be a set of rules for etiquette in the WhatsApp, if you violate it you will be promptly escorted out of the group

The Workshops officially starts on February 23rd, so join the “5-Days of Self Portraits” workshop in February by subscribing below. It would be a joy to have you.

Join the monthly challenges

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reylia’s monday updates.

It is late here in Japan. Over Christmas, I caught the flu, which resulted in a week of feverish, restless nights. From that time on, I have found myself incapable of sleeping at a decent hour.

So now I find myself awake, staying in a little pocket of Tokyo called Koenji. The buildings outside are illuminated by each other, and the winter clouds are pregnant with the hope of snow. Each time I glance out the window, the electric blue light from a karaoke sign screams out to me, beckoning me to release my anxieties with a solo night of singing and melon soda.

I scribble and write, trying to solidify a concept for my new photo series, simultaneously listening to classical music. By way of the internet, my weary mind is graced with the musical sanity of Debussy and Chopin.

The brain is used to being cloudy with the thoughts of others. Images, words, concepts that I barely consented to. In this disturbing era of ours, it is hard to escape the circus of society; even when we go to the bathroom, we are plagued by it. I am making a midnight attempt to sift through these jagged thoughts, looking for things that matter.

I begin to think of my mother.

I am on my phone.
“Are you thinking about going far away?” My ears prick up as I hear a video that stops me scrolling on Instagram. It’s a Japanese woman’s voice.
“Isn’t it enough? No matter how far you go, you can’t escape the loneliness.”
I begin to cry.

After a lot of mental gymnastics, I removed both Instagram and Facebook from my phone. I told myself for months that I needed it as a form of communication. Addiction has a funny way of convincing you that you need something.

When the phone is always in your hand for every minor whim (e.g., to check the time, to listen to music, or to make sure your twin sister is ok in Guatemala), then it is a difficult game to win. Turns out it’s super hard to quit smoking when the cigarette is in your mouth.

This month, I am slowly trying to be healthier, to pursue better habits for myself, and to set myself up for a more holistic thought life. And of course, to focus heavily on my art projects. But as I empty my pockets of my vices, I am careful not to also discard my pleasures.

I am trying to differentiate the two, and learning that there are some pleasures that shouldn’t bring us shame at all, but more joy. I am allowing myself to go through my long list of movie recommendations, to dance bachata until the last train, and to eat a lot of fluffy desserts from the konbini. So, for my time here in Tokyo, I will be doing my best to find and expand on every single guilty pleasure I have.

I might even start with midnight solo karaoke (and melon soda, too.)

More writing:

Books.

I put out a new writing project. It’s a series called “Photo Notes” This is the first of the edition. I take you behind the scenes of the whole image, from beginning to end, from the film labs used to the things I learned along the way. Which is often a lot. Fumbling along and making mistakes is part of the game. Pick up your copy of “Photo Notes #1” here!

FIND ME ON

MY WEBSITE | INSTAGRAM | YOUTUBE | SHOP

Reylia’s Monday Updates is a section of this blog where I’m letting my hair down, figuratively. I am often preoccupied with getting things perfect, rather than simply sharing and enjoying the process while talking about life. Instead of the tradition of hating Mondays, I’m going to try to associate them with creative freedom and allow myself to speak my mind without the worry that a perfectionist usually has. Things here may be a bit disjointed, incomplete, and occasionally nonsensical, but they may also be playful, curious, and whimsical. I will do my best to make it more of the latter.

monday updates.

The sound of the train rumbles above me; every 5 minutes, the cascading sound echoes through this space. I take a sip of my hojicha latte, the cup stained by my red lipstick. Everyone, like myself, had been seeking refuge in this coffee shop, one underneath the train tracks in Namba Station.

Japanese homes are not known for their heat retention, and on most occasions, spending 600 yen on a coffee is cheaper than running the heat all day during the winter. People sit close without acknowledging one another. Warmth becomes a shared, temporary arrangement.

The days move quickly and leave little light behind them; they often feel unfinished. There is still the looming uncertainty of the new year. Someone told me earlier that hope is free. I want to believe it, to embrace that sentiment fully, but I am not convinced. Hope often charges interest. Sometimes it costs clarity. Sometimes it costs your sanity.

The New Year’s shimenawa are coming down now. I notice them disappearing from doorways as I walk. Two weeks in, and people are ready to move on. Celebration has a short lifespan. It is replaced quickly by the comfort of routine.

Winter has finally settled into Japan. It is sharp but tolerable, gentler than the winters I remember in New York City. I think of the colorful tiles, my favorite part about the New York subway, with the wind trapped under the platforms. Everyone I would pass had their hands in their pockets and their heads down. Most were too cold for friendliness. In Japan, refuge from the cold exists almost everywhere except the home itself, unless you are sitting under a kotatsu, legs folded, heat pooled where it matters.

I have been dividing my time between book projects and my artwork. I have been dreaming of bones and of flowers. Of petals and pain, and redemption. I think about redemption every day, about repair. Of fixing a broken life.

I am also applying for an art residency in Mexico. My thoughts drift there often. I remember the colors, the looseness of the air, the playful rhythm of Mexican Spanish. It was a place that allowed room for feeling without asking for justification.

I have been thinking about how people find their way back to their own lives, and what it takes to return. I lived without a cellphone for ten years and have thought about doing it again. With the current online climate, the idea continues to appeal to me. And yet, I have not been able to let it go completely. Some tethers are harder to cut.

I have begun working on my new photo series. I have been carrying it for over a year. The idea has stayed intact, but the energy to make it real was missing. Emotional and physical reserves only stretch so far. Tonight, I was given a bundle of faux flowers that a friend had kept safe for me. With them, I can begin again, to move the work forward in modest, workable steps.

I am reading East of Eden into the New Year. I am soaking up every part of the story, and I find my eyes devouring the pages. I have found myself captivated by this book. It has me thinking about consequences, the consequences of believing blindly in what you love, and ultimately being destroyed by it.

Whether or not we like to admit it, I think it happens to most people, even to the best of us. We can only hope it doesn’t happen to us.

More writing:

THINGS I MADE.

ANNNNND I put out a new writing project. It’s a series called “Photo Notes” This is the first of the edition. I take you behind the scenes of the whole image, from beginning to end, from the film labs used to the things I learned along the way. Which is often a lot. Fumbling along and making mistakes is part of the game. Pick up your copy of “Photo Notes #1” here!

FIND ME ON

INSTAGRAM | YOUTUBE | SHOP

Reylia’s Monday Updates is a section of this blog where I’m letting my hair down, figuratively. I am often preoccupied with getting things perfect, rather than simply sharing and enjoying the process while talking about life. Instead of the tradition of hating Mondays, I’m going to try to associate them with creative freedom and allow myself to speak my mind without the worry that a perfectionist usually has. Things here may be a bit disjointed, incomplete, and occasionally nonsensical, but they may also be playful, curious, and whimsical. I will do my best to make it more of the latter.

I am back in Tokyo now, after a long stretch in Kansai. I spent the holiday season mostly in isolation, overcome with the flu. It caught me completely off guard, and I spent the majority of the time trying to bring my fever down. I lay awake counting hours throughout the night, pressing wet kitchen towels against my face, waiting for the heat to break, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

It was lonely in a plain, unpoetic way. When you are ill by yourself, there is no drama to it, only the banality of maintenance. Drink water. Lower the fever. Eat if you can. Shut off your brain during the worst parts. This too shall pass.

I still have not gone for hatsumode, the first temple visit of the year. The days slipped past before I noticed. Instead, I worked. New Year’s Day was spent preparing and publishing a new piece of writing, adjusting things in InDesign until it was finished and sent out into the world. It’s a series I’m calling “Photo Notes” and you can see it here. From all the failures to the shoot, to the gear, I’m trying to keep track of how I do things, as well as give advice that may aid in others’ processes.

For New Year’s Eve, I also watched a documentary about Gene Wilder. I watched the same one a year ago while I was in Wisconsin, in my dad’s childhood home. Some people lead with their sadness. Others carry it with grace. Watching Gene in this documentary always reminds me of the difference.

I do not feel especially sentimental about the year ending. I look back with tenderness on 2025, but in many ways, I wanted it over. 2025 pushed me into some of my lowest places, where forward motion becomes an act of will, and animal instinct rather than hope. I wanted distance. I wanted to put my head down, work hard, and narrow my focus to what matters: the projects that ask something of me, and focus on the people I love and the people who love me.

The new year arrives already full. There is work waiting, and there are projects that have been sitting untouched long enough. The most immediate task is finding a proper place to live. Since I’m back in Tokyo, the process for all of that will soon be underway.

Alongside that is another, quieter task, less practical and harder to measure: learning how not to miss Mexico.

FIND ME ON

INSTAGRAM | YOUTUBE | SHOP

Reylia’s Monday Updates is a section of this blog where I’m letting my hair down, figuratively. I am often preoccupied with getting things perfect, rather than simply sharing and enjoying the process while talking about life. Instead of the tradition of hating Mondays, I’m going to try to associate them with creative freedom and allow myself to speak my mind without the worry that a perfectionist usually has. Things here may be a bit disjointed, incomplete, and occasionally nonsensical, but they may also be playful, curious, and whimsical. I will do my best to make it more of the latter.

ANNNNND I put out a new writing project. It’s a series called “Photo Notes” This is the first of the edition. I take you behind the scenes of the whole image, from beginning to end, from the film labs used to the things I learned along the way. Which is often a lot. Fumbling along and making mistakes is part of the game. Pick up your copy of “Photo Notes #1” here!