Tell us a little bit about yourself, what have you been up to, where in the world are you?

My name is Jobi. I am an artist, writer, and explorer of the deep mind. I’m fascinated by the creative process and by how the secrets of change can be learned through attentive observation of the natural world. I work primarily with stone and water, because their fundamental nature mirrors the essence of memory and dream—one carrying the archival record, the other carrying the flow of time and space.
At the moment, I am back home in California, writing a book about the exploration of imagination through the apertures of symbol, pattern, and language.

Can you walk us through a day in your life, highlighting the moments that feel most aligned with who you are?

I love waking up before the sun rises. Those quiet moments are precious and intimate exchanges with the first impressions of time in a single day—here, the world is still, and anything feels possible. Most mornings I put on a record, make coffee, and write. The first few hours are always just for me. Afterward, I usually head out for a run to clear my mind and prepare for the day.
As I reflect now, it is the final month of a very challenging year, and things have finally begun to slow down—less travel, more space to take inventory, plan for the coming months, and prepare for the artists who will be joining me as residents.
The moments in which I feel most like myself are found in the simplest rituals: walking along the beach with my dogs and partner, soaking beneath the stars, or immersing myself in my own world of art-making and research.

Are there objects, tools, or spaces that play a key role in your daily routine?

I cannot live a single day without my journal and pen—and I’m particular about both. I use a gridded A5 Japanese notebook made by Midori and a medium black ballpoint pen that helps my writing feel deliberate and precise. I believe that the objects we choose to surround ourselves with are vessels for our secret nature, quiet housings for our intuitive essence.
We have a vaulted, screened-in porch that faces a rolling green meadow peppered with aloe plants, grazing families of deer, and the occasional hunting hawk. It’s where I spend most of my day—inside, but also out. In this room sits one of my favorite pieces of furniture: a beat-up farm table that serves as a rotating display of books, artefacts, and projects-in-progress. I feel a particular kinship with materials that are unapologetically honest in their weathering. I feel more at home surrounded by matter that embodies its story. 

How would you describe the culture that shapes your daily life? What values, traditions, or artistic influences guide you?

What an interesting question. My first impulse was to name the obvious: the culture I’ve been steeped in after living in Los Angeles for over fifteen years. But if I step back, I realize my daily life is shaped by multiple cultures—an ikigai-like constellation of influences.
Mexico is one of the strongest: vibrant, sensorial, and deeply connected to the invisible worlds of myth and ancestry. The second anchor is ancient Greece. From architecture to philosophy, geometry to mnemonics, their contributions—both historical and contemporary—continue to shape the ways I think and thrive. And finally, Japan. I am a minimalist at heart who celebrates the beauty in the mundane and the imperfect. Mindfulness runs through the fabric of Japanese culture, and I strive to live in a way that honors the subtle, often overlooked moments of the everyday.

Are there particular references—whether in art, literature, or business—that deeply inspire your way of living and working?

Recently, I’ve been reading a beautiful small book from The Hydra Book Club called Thus Waves Come in Pairs: Thinking with the Mediterraneans by Barbara Casavecchia. There’s a passage I adore:
“Maybe it is not so surprising that dreams end up in the sea. Both oceans and our dreams, after all, are made up of the same matter—of what matters. The forces that flip the seas and cast the clouds are the same ones that spin the fictions that wet our dreams. To dwell in their waters is to get closer to the mysteries that hold us and everything else together.”
In art, I’ve been inspired by the work of Emii Alrai, a British-born Iraqi artist exploring heritage, nostalgia, and the colonial legacies of looted artefacts. I’m particularly drawn to her piece Wallow’s Brace.
And in business, I find deep resonance with Therme Group—a company I collaborate with whose mission is to democratize access to health and wellness, particularly through large-scale bathing facilities around the world.

What does it mean to you to live and work from a place far from the city? How does your environment shape your creativity? 

It means that each day I’m able to do the work I’m meant to do in a way that feels rooted in balance. It gives me the foundation I need to live connected to my environment—close to the people who grow the food on our table, in the presence of wildlife both in our backyard and beyond. It allows me to live my values and to witness, intimately, the beauty and power of growing with a landscape.
It’s quiet—which is, as my mentor says, quieting. I spend a great deal of time considering what environment best supports my creativity, and I’m always drawn to places where “drama” is taking place—where nature is shaping and reshaping itself in real time. I like to live at the edge of a continent, at the edge of what is possible, at the edge of the unknown. This usually means I am near the ocean. I’m forever mesmerized by its power.

How have you adapted your lifestyle or work to be more in harmony with nature?

I’ve adapted my life to follow the rhythms of the natural world rather than the pace of urgency. I rise with the light, walk daily across the landscape, and design my work around cycles of water, season, and stillness. Nature is not something I visit—it’s the ecosystem that shapes my imagination. By slowing down and paying attention, I’ve learned to let ideas emerge the way phenomena do in nature: gradually, organically, and with their own intelligence.
Living in harmony with nature also means living in responsibility to it. I invest in local farming initiatives and community agriculture, supporting the people who grow the food on our table. I contribute to wildlife conservation organizations in our region, especially those protecting native species and restoring natural habitats. At home, I am mindful of every material that enters our space—favoring natural fibers, ethically sourced goods, and a “buy less but better” approach. We make every effort to eliminate single-use plastic, and I’m constantly refining how to reduce waste while increasing the circularity of what we consume.
For me, harmony with nature is not only about how I move through the landscape, but how I participate in its ongoing story—through care, reciprocity, and the choices I make every day.

Can you describe a sensory detail from your bathing ritual?

Outside our bedroom sits a circular cedar tub. Next to it lies a large stone I found nearby, its surface etched with the scalloped imprints of ancient fossils. When I bathe, the cedar’s warmth rises with the steam, and my fingers meet those soft, hollowed marks in the stone. It grounds me in deep time — a quiet reminder that even in the simplest ritual, I am part of something far older than myself. 

All pictures by Jobi Manson.