Whenever someone asks where I was born, I always say Georgian Bay. I like to imagine that I slipped out of my mother's womb and landed straight in the lake among granite-stained rocks and lily pads. It is peaceful to imagine my birth in this way. Water-born, intuitive, and connected to nature. 

The notion of place has played a prominent role in shaping my identity. My childhood is filled with memories of my father’s voice, the taste of water from the garden hose, and colourful chalk on asphalt. Whenever I lose my bearings or find myself backed into a corner, I make my way home—back to the bay, where I can remember who I am. 

When I turned ten, the creative bones in my body began to bend and stretch. I started to see art as a doorway into some far-away utopia where I could both exist and dream. I was lucky enough to grow up in a home full of creative energy. Rhythm and melody lived in my brother's voice, and the written word danced in the tips of my father's fingers. The men in my life were authentic, visionary artists. They taught me to see life as a malleable ball of clay, capable of being sculpted into anything I desired.

After I turned nineteen and accidentally pursued an English degree at University, I saw that writing could give me access to something much more powerful. It became a salve for my wounds. When I write, I am reminded to breathe and listen to the voice of my body. I don’t think I could have found my way in life without this form of dialogue.

I’m currently… 

Working on a personal memoir about my experience of being diagnosed with a chronic illness. My Substack explores this topic in various ways and provides me with space to share my voice. Visit my page.  

Developing my graphic design skills. I have discovered a hidden passion for designing print media for magazines, periodical publications, and newspapers. Check out my past publications. 

Looking for companies and creatives who would like to collaborate. I am currently accepting freelance opportunities. Get in touch.