The first eight years of my life I grew up on a rustic and isolated ranch in Northern BC, Canada, living with my father, mother, brother, and sister. We had lived predominantly off the land, growing our own vegetables, raising and butchering our own livestock, chopping trees for firewood to keep us warm during the cold winters; my mum would knit us wool sweaters and socks from the freshly sheared sheep, and my siblings and I would take turns carrying up 5 gallon water jugs filled with fresh spring water to the house every day. I grew up in an entirely different world, not having any conception of what lay beyond —the cities and swarms of other people, the hustle and bustle of modern society and culture. I did not undergo any form of formal education until the age of 10, shortly after moving away from the ranch to Vancouver Island in 2008—I was never exposed to any notion of cultural or societal norms; how one should hold their fork or knife, or use them in a specific manner. As I see it now, looking back, I grew up in a way that was rather pure and uninfluenced by external culture or civilization outside of my own family. But it was no fairy tale either, just as there were moments that were filled with the magic of nature and its sublimity, there were equally times of strife, fear, and uncertainty; the cold intense, unforgiving winters, running home through lightning storms. During that time, I primarily dreamt of two things: going to school and having friends, for all I really did was work, play, and get picked on by my older siblings. I have now concluded it was a wonderful way to grow up, and although in my teenage years I may have often sat on a bench along the perimeter of my school in tears, pleading and asking why I could not have had just a normal life, I now look at growing up on the ranch with immense gratitude and nostalgia. It gifted me with levels of sensitivity and awareness, and a strong sense of self-efficacy that I am deeply thankful to have.

At the age of 8, I moved to Vancouver Island, and it is from this point that the tensions in my parents' relationship had escalated and erupted, leading to our family's separation. It was a time of great instability and pain for me; the violent parting of my family, the array of financial, social, mental obstacles, as well as transitioning into civilization. I had started school when I was 10 at the local public school in Tofino, and I remember that day—perhaps not the visual memory as clearly, but the emotional memory is carved into me; the feeling of standing for the first time in front of a classroom of kids my age staring back at me—feeling exposed and afraid; I had come face to face with bears, cougars, wolves, all kinds of things on the ranch but this fear felt entirely different, vulnerable and piercing. I recall frantically grabbing the first book I saw as we went into our pre class reading time and feeling the pit in my stomach deepen, hearing the sound of other kids flipping the pages of their books through hushed giggles and chatter when, with tear-filled eyes, I could barely make out the first sentence—for I did not know how to read (words here and there, yes, but sentences and grammar, most certainly not). But it was what I had dreamed of, and I reminded myself that in those times I was afraid or doubtful - that I was there, in school, with kids my age and I would make the most of it. As I continued on I observed the other kids around me with wonder and curiosity, confusion; I did not understand why one kid was deemed popular, and others slandered with mean labels and names; it was all alien to me. During this time we faced various financial droughts; we often dug in the dumpsters for food, “dumpster diving” my father called it. There was a point in which my brother, father, and I were homeless, crashing on couches of his friends, or in their basements. Running water, electricity, clean clothes—all such things were a far-off luxury up until I was about 14. All the while, my parents were battling over who got the role of primary guardian and my brother and I were frequently caught in the crossfire - running from child welfare callers and hiding in the woods. To put it as briefly as I can, my adolescent life was coloured with a complicated entanglement of adverse events and experiences.

Overall, my high school life marked a time of peace and growth for me, as I spent the entirety of my high school years at boarding school. We had started off in Shawnigan Lake living in trailers parked in a gravel pit; with no running water and only one generator that we would use sparingly to heat up our trailers before we went to bed. My brother and I started as day students at the school, and after our first term our living conditions had been brought to the attention of our head of school, who granted us both full-ride scholarships for our time there, to which I am eternally grateful. It was at last finally something stable for me, finally some sense of normalcy—running water,  a flushing toilet. Away from my father—some time and space for myself to explore and learn - a space where I did not have to be in survival mode. I was extremely dedicated to my studies, as it was my dream to be in such a place, and looking back, I feel during that time I really was growing into myself (as much as one can in high school). The transition to university, however, I believe shook up that newfound stability and sense of self I had begun to develop in high school; I did not really see it at the time, but in retrospect, it has become quite clear. My wounds from the trauma endured in my childhood and adolescent years had been brushed under the rug and, as such, were reflected outward onto my world and did not paint the prettiest of pictures. Throughout the entirety of my time at university, I recall having this chronic feeling of emptiness, of being alone; it was this deep pit of alienation where all I wanted was to feel connected—and yet, over the course of the four years, I always seemed to find myself back in that pit. It was extremely perplexing, as when I looked around me, I had so many incredible things in my life, having a full-ride scholarship to one of the top-ranking schools in Canada, a vibrant social life coloured with activities and events. All of this, and yet that pit would eat away at me. In retrospect I see this as a period in which my relationship to the world was positioned in a state of deep alienation and repulsion; seeing the world and myself as separate, the world as something to master or dominate. 

It was only recerntly (2023) that I had come to see that the change, the connection and resonance I had sought was not to be found out there— in graduating, or getting that job, conquering and dominating the world- but within myself. I have spent the last year dedicating my time and energy to my healing and mending this separation from self, and augmenting my perspectives. The experience has been miraculous if I had to use a single word to describe it. I had come to see that who I was, the image of self that I had believed myself to be, was in fact a coalition of coping mechanisms, trauma responses, and beliefs that were impressed upon me that had crystallized over time; this shell that looked like me and sounded like me, but whose voice was merely an echo, incapable of resonance. I used to hold a rather secular view of the world, seen through a binary lens, but my encounters over the last year with various ecstatic experiences and serendipities have led me to hold a far deeper and expansive resonant position within and towards the world. My artistic practice has flourished alongside my healing, in this undeniable synchronicity; the artist and the art not as separate but as a deeply interwoven relationship and dialogue between self and world. It was in creating the first work of this series I believe I truly encountered myself for the first time; perhaps not the very first time, but in such a way that I was conscious of it. I have been, and will continue to pursue, this path of unlearning the patterns and beliefs that were never mine, and unfolding the potential and possibility that lie within me. From what I have experienced thus far, the farther I go—the more expansive the horizon becomes, the more the world opens up. That would have terrified an earlier version of myself—uncertainty and having no definitive checkpoints; but now all I hold is a vibrant and bubbling curiosity, excitement, wonder, and a deep desire to express, create, give, and love.