
2022
ROSE GOLD
heart ready
​
Roses, Gold, Flower Essence, Spray paints, Camera.
​







wanted by life
you are
wanted by life
don't reach for people:
that can only be filled
by something much bigger
​
stay at the center
(but what is at the center?)
set forth to the south
(but will i be alone?)
​
when i'm alone, you always find me.

2022



wurm
​
Compost, Video + Photo + Wurms
2022





me and my people
​
Acrylic
2021
me and my people, we talk to plants
our bodies feel what is true.
we have gifts of vision and clarity
foresight: lightning
we are creative, sensitive, magic, intuitive, queer
wildness runs in our bones.
we are radical and ancient,
like stone.
​




belonging
HUMANS + PLANTS
BELONG TO BE
SIDE BY SIDE
TOGETHER
Pen + Ink + Digital
2021


our spring path
Pen + Ink
2021





yarrow through the hand lens
Achillea millefolium
closer than the eye
Photo
2021





rude flowers
a mini-zine
2020
building systems of support
buildingsystemsofsupport
Pencil & Photoshop
2020




walking, the inbetween & now
See blog post here
In collaboration with CGLIF
Photos & Drawing
2020
​





flowerfill
Photo collage
Hogweed, Yarrow, Clover, Elder
2020
​





springwatermagick





apocalyptic foraging
to hold in my hand
(ground elder)
often wanting to go
(hairy bittercress)
slow and sure
(yarrow)
loudly, our names
(dandelion)
growing out, pulling up
(cleavers)
2020
​






walking art
In collaboration with CGLIF
WALK in your own time
REST your feet
WALK free
WALK your path
YOUR pace
TAKE your time
OUR feet
HOME
2019
Mixed Media

























imagine looking forever // pine forever
Video
2019

always reaching
Reaching for the moon / sometimes the sun / but not very often.
2019
Mixed Media



Holocene
Exploring Grief and Extinction
photocollage
2018
​


in memory of life
with love.
Various rituals + photo
2018
Jane said "the birds body is in the bushes, will you both do something for her?”
So we took her in our hands; she was already decomposing,
her brains were filled with tiny white worms.
We took her to the top of the hill,
just beyond the forest, where the badgers come out at night,
we lay her on a bed of sycamore leaves.
Then we walked to the garden, and picked flowers, orange, yellow, blue.
it was nearly winter.
The day we said goodbye to the Mistle Thrush,
I remembered when I first met her.
I spent weeks walking around the garden, trying to work out who made those cackling noises,
who flew from tree to tree feasting on sweet, poisonous berries.
I guess i am getting used to saying goodbye.





