"Exhaustion" 2006, 9"x12" watercolor on Arches
Growing up on a farm, my childhood was spent wandering through woodland forests, building forts in boulders, caring for baby animals, and meticulously curating museum exhibits of fauna and flora alongside my fellow farm-kids. The farm was sold off the year I entered high school, forcing our micro-community of families to find new homes. As we uprooted our lives and began somewhere new, my worry, self-doubt, and fear began taking up so much of my mental real estate that I didn't know who I was without it.
As I navigated the passage from childhood into adulthood, art not only became a powerful coping mechanism for my psychological battles, it also became a vehicle through which I was able to receive a college education - something I believed I would never be capable of achieving on my own.
Even still, as the years passed, something was missing. I felt like a sapling that wasn't receiving enough sunlight. My root system was weak. I closed myself off more and more to the wonder of the world around me, and my art became a mirror for my inner world at the time:
As I navigated the passage from childhood into adulthood, art not only became a powerful coping mechanism for my psychological battles, it also became a vehicle through which I was able to receive a college education - something I believed I would never be capable of achieving on my own.
Even still, as the years passed, something was missing. I felt like a sapling that wasn't receiving enough sunlight. My root system was weak. I closed myself off more and more to the wonder of the world around me, and my art became a mirror for my inner world at the time:
"Self Portrait I" 24"x36" Oil on Canvas, 2006
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"Self Portrait III" 24"x36" Oil on Canvas, 2006
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Discovering mindfulness through yoga in 2005, at age 21, was a turning point for me. It was the first time in my life that I realized I was not my thoughts or, even my feelings.
I became a dedicated student of yoga, cleaning bathrooms in exchange for tuition for practicing 6 days a week. I took to the canvas to spend even more time with the practice and philosophy that I was learning on the mat. My BFA thesis came through as a series of life-sized figure drawings exploring yoga asanas that felt most meaningful for me.
When I discovered the word embodiment many years later in my first yoga teacher training, I realized this was what I had been doing all along on the canvas: art was my vehicle for embodied healing. With this realization, it suddenly became clear that I had been creating art from a state of reaction. It never occurred to me that I could could use my art as a tool to proactively grow. Art suddenly became tool of consciousness, through which I could learn, integrate, heal, and transform!
I became a dedicated student of yoga, cleaning bathrooms in exchange for tuition for practicing 6 days a week. I took to the canvas to spend even more time with the practice and philosophy that I was learning on the mat. My BFA thesis came through as a series of life-sized figure drawings exploring yoga asanas that felt most meaningful for me.
When I discovered the word embodiment many years later in my first yoga teacher training, I realized this was what I had been doing all along on the canvas: art was my vehicle for embodied healing. With this realization, it suddenly became clear that I had been creating art from a state of reaction. It never occurred to me that I could could use my art as a tool to proactively grow. Art suddenly became tool of consciousness, through which I could learn, integrate, heal, and transform!
"Bringing to Light" 4'x6', Charcoal on Arches, 2007
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"Quest"
Hand dyed silk, cold wax, oil paint, gold embellishment on panel, 2015
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When my life was again uprooted again, facing divorce of 5 years at age 28, my roots again felt parched, longing for terra firma into which they could sink and settle. I began to experience inexplicable cravings for the aroma of decaying leaves, the quietude of pine groves, the shocking cold of mountain steams swirling around my ankles, and the paradoxical feeling of complete insignificance and total interconnectedness through gazing out across a horizon of rolling blues and greens from the peak of a mountain. My hunger to heal had finally grown stronger than my fear of the unknown. It was here where my journey into the outdoors began, in the gently rolling, yet deceptively challenging White Mountains of New Hampshire.
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I wasn't imagining how mountains would help me recover a sense of belief in myself when I first took to them. I was simply searching for a way to quiet my mind, to soothe the heavy ache in my heart, and find rich, fertile earth for where my tired roots could rest and recover.
The Phoenix came to me in between my weekend escapes to Appalachia. I still remember sitting in a pool of my own tears on a Saturday night in September, thinking how much easier it would be to numb my pain away with a bottle of red wine than it would be to stand in front of a blank canvas and risk feeling like a failure in being unable to express the pain inside of me.
The Phoenix came to me in between my weekend escapes to Appalachia. I still remember sitting in a pool of my own tears on a Saturday night in September, thinking how much easier it would be to numb my pain away with a bottle of red wine than it would be to stand in front of a blank canvas and risk feeling like a failure in being unable to express the pain inside of me.
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I remember how stiff my body felt when I first started drawing. And I remember the incredible rush that I felt as I slowly became so absorbed in what the art was telling me to do, I completely lost track of myself. Art was carrying me beyond my critical thoughts, and leading me into territory of limitless wonder.
With a tingling warmth that felt a lot like joy, I suddenly realized I was an explorer on that canvas, just like I'd been out in the mountains. In front of the canvas, I was monitoring my breath and body, listening to my intuition, keeping my humility in check, and opening myself up to awe, just like I would do up north. Most of all, I was allowing myself to be courageous; to enjoy every step of the journey. It wasn't about summitting, it was about being fully present with what was right in front of me, and letting go of any attachments to outcomes.
On the canvas, I learned I was safe to explore the vast realms of my heartache, as well as my imagination. I could spread my flaming wings as cool breezes fanned my flames, feeling myself taking flight.
With a tingling warmth that felt a lot like joy, I suddenly realized I was an explorer on that canvas, just like I'd been out in the mountains. In front of the canvas, I was monitoring my breath and body, listening to my intuition, keeping my humility in check, and opening myself up to awe, just like I would do up north. Most of all, I was allowing myself to be courageous; to enjoy every step of the journey. It wasn't about summitting, it was about being fully present with what was right in front of me, and letting go of any attachments to outcomes.
On the canvas, I learned I was safe to explore the vast realms of my heartache, as well as my imagination. I could spread my flaming wings as cool breezes fanned my flames, feeling myself taking flight.
2014: first hike, Franconia Notch, NH
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2019: first 12-pitch rock climb in El Chorro, Spain
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The further I ventured into the outdoors, the more I noticed transformative shifts of perspective in my inner and outer worlds. Activities that initially felt daunting to the point of tears and nausea, things like sleeping in a tent by myself, going for a walk in the woods alone, or being up high, anywhere - became activities that I started to crave as sources of empowerment, inspiration, and renewal.
All-female backpacking trip, Rainier National Park, 2017.
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Watercolor of Maligne Lake; solo backpacking through Jasper National Park, 2017.
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In a matter of years, I went from having never gone on a hike, to wandering knife edges of mountains in the North Cascades, solo backpacking in the Canadian Rockies, camping in deserts of the southwest, and scaling rock walls 1,000 feet in the air in Southern Spain as golden eagles swooped by!!
"Edge of Wonder/El Chorro, Spain" 24"x36" acrylic on canvas, 2019
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 Rock climbing in El Chorro, Spain, 2019
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I've discovered over the years how outdoor adventure and creative practices are all forms of yoga! Moving my body and challenging my physical limitations in nature serves as a pathway to quiet the chatter in my mind and open my channel to creativity. If this works for me, it's gotta work for other people, too!
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I've been so fortunate in being able to travel to national parks and mountain ranges all around the world, starting from the ground up and taking small, progressive steps to educate myself in wilderness survival skills, building my self-confidence along the way.
As my love for nature has developed and deepened, I've taken up mountain biking, surfing, and climbing. Today, I lead beginner outdoors people on epic adventures that combine mindfulness, creativity, and nature!! |
I find myself now on a path of pursuing dreams that, for years, felt too big and scary to even consider as actual possibilities for my life, and yet somehow, once set in motion by pursuit, seem to foster and encourage even greater, more expansive, life-giving visions for a better world.
How could I not want to share this with the world?
How could I not want to share this with the world?
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I've come to believe so strongly in the power of nature, creativity, and mindfulness to help people navigate through times of difficulty and connect with who they're meant to be, that I've made it my mission to share the inspiration in every aspect of my life: in my murals and illustrations, performance art, public speaking, workshops, retreats, coaching, and even my yoga classes.
