Digging has its place. Brick-laying has its place too. And so does floating.

The truth is this is just me being me and I bring who I am to what I do, no matter what I do.

There is magic in moving through the darkness. And when I say there’s beauty in struggle, I don’t mean that it always feels beautiful.

Each passing moment is living proof of our power to savor the bittersweet and regard our lives as precious.

We create meaning. And at the same time, there is a vast, unlimited expanse of what we cannot see, grasp, quantify, or describe.

In between the moments of writing or painting or drawing, I get scared too.

Grief pulls me deep down under and I let it. And I stay here as long as I need.

My perfectionism was never about the surface level worries looping over and over in my mind.

Duality, how opposite things exist together, is a central theme of my art.

I'm noticing how often I find clarity after I take a pause.

When we allow ourselves to freely grieve what we’ve lost, whether in our own lives, in our histories, or on this planet, we’re able to more

I can be a little different depending on where I am, but I'm always me.

Every day I get to be here on this Earth, I’m paying attention.

We can choose to wander guided by our hearts rather than by fear of the future and the unknown.

Children are meant to be seen AND heard.

After years of protests, sharing their stories, and speaking up to keep another polluter out, RISE St. James prevailed.

Inside of my frozen parts, there was always deep sadness and grief waiting to be felt when the thaw came.

I want to keep trying starting from where I am. You have to start somewhere to go anywhere, right?

As long as we've alive, nothing is ever over and infinite possibilities remain.

I want to do what I can to make this world less lonely and the way I know how to do that is through being honest with my art.