A musing by Jan's son Phillip (who is clearly biased)

The transition seems ordinary enough—you get out of your car, gravel crunches under your feet, and you start walking around. But then you see the statues and sculptures, and begin to wonder if you've stepped into a different world, or an alternate reality altogether. Something about the colors, angles, burnished metal surfaces, and textured portraits recalls the most wild fictions. Without moving or speaking, each piece of art tells a story and invites you to remember ones perhaps long forgotten or left in the dusty corners of memory. They invite you to see the world with more color and poetry. This is the world of Jan Aijian, and there is room for everyone. With steel and fire, she at once tells her story and countless others, like Queen Scheherazade weaving her 10001 Nights—but with power tools. In the curve of an arm or the dancing of fingers lie traces of India and Thailand, the snow-capped Himalayas rising in the distance above tumbling clouds—all landscapes of Jan's formative years. In glass-filtered sunset, the face of Moses illuminates with the glory and awe that accompany coming face to face with God. And elsewhere, dancing poets raise goblets of wine, urging you to stay until the bottle is empty. Jan sees the world as it is—vibrant, with mystery and joy charging through the moments and objects the less-trained eye might dare to see as "common." She lives in Arroyo Grande with her husband, Peter, and labradoodle, Sophie, forging her visions from her workshop, Burning Heart Studio.