Paul Minagawa taught high school fine arts in Honolulu, HI, before working as an engineer at a Los Angeles chemical tech company. Historically a painter, his work now focuses on diagrammatic ink sketches melding engineering thinking and abstract concepts of selfishness, selflessness, and interaction between the church and the world.
After my grandma’s death, I found myself in this place of ambiguity. I didn’t lose her at the moment she died; rather, our relationship gradually waned as I grew up in the U.S., linguistically and culturally distant from her.
I live a small life. I teach, live alone, sing in choir, and commit Sunday evenings to family. My body, as it were, disappears into convention. But it is in the details that things get complicated: I teach religion at a Catholic all-boys’ school.
“Those affected by mass incarceration.” That could be you. That chair you’re sitting on. Where was it made? Those streets you avoid. Those people you’re afraid of. Scared of. Scared of what? And why?
Oh Creator, Redeemer Sovereign Lord and Savior Where are you on this street Where I live Where you live
TO THIS DAY, I can't quite say what it is that brought me out of depression a few years ago.
BENT KNEES. Straight back. Flexed body. Ringing voice. My friend slapped his arms against his thighs and raised his arms above his head, performing a haka.
THIS WORLD IS A COLORFUL PLACE. Not merely because of dusty pink dawns that greet us every morning, or the rolls of golden hills that frame this city, but because every person is like a color.