The history of storytelling goes back thousands of years. Cave dwellers used pigment to paint on walls with their hands to create stories and myths. Today we use square photographs where the intention can be lost or misinterpreted. As a woman, being heard and telling my story is simultaneously scary and empowering. However, I believe in something larger than my own fears. I believe that story telling is the most powerful tool we have and the remedy to our many ailments.

My medium of choice is typically oil paint, however, words have always been the steady backbone of my painting practice. Words have a gorgeous way of connecting people by becoming intimate and personal with each individual who reads them. Creating a shared story, a place of resonance.

Raised by the River is that place of resonance. She is a collection of poems that speaks to the tenderness of being human. She is an intimate, reflective journey that honours love, loss, grief and healing. In sharing these works I wanted to share parts of myself that haven’t been seen by anyone. To share for the purpose of connection and to inspire others to share their stories.

Raised by the River was written over many years in the quiet stillness of remembering. Remembering all that has been, all that is and all that I continue to forget just to be reminded of again. She is a tender devotion to all that I love and have lost. My hope is that her gentle pages soothe your vulnerabilities and contradictions of being human and make you feel heard in some way.

Herbs of Home

what would it mean to be raised by the river? smooth stones along its bulging sides

your home, currents your guide,

mingling wonders filling in memories

of those ceremonies of fire and smoke, wildflower and vegetables, made up tales

and torchlight wandering, drawing a circle around my family, those dishes scented with herbs of home, spilling over into the world

and the world spilling into us, there is no containment, the beauty of one heightened

by the other, green and orange,

purple and gold, to the land what

were we saying? ‘Here we are’

or ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’

and as time has passed I’m not sure

what tone she used when she

murmured back ‘oh it’s you’