There are moments in life when the old way no longer works and the new way has not yet revealed itself. These in-between spaces are sacred.

My work is to tend these thresholds — the places of unravelling and becoming — with the same devotion one might offer land, lineage, or temple. I walk alongside those who feel called to meet change slowly, truthfully, and in relationship.

Philosophy, art, and education were my first sanctuaries. I have always carried an insatiable hunger for meaning — a longing to understand the unseen forces shaping our inner and outer worlds. After completing five years of illustration at university, my life unfolded beyond the studio and into lived inquiry: travel, altered states, embodied practice, and the deep questions that arise when the old stories no longer hold.

In my twenties, I followed love across continents — from the east to Margaret River, Australia — where I held a residency as an artist. Yet something in me knew that art alone was not enough. I was witnessing a world mirroring the same wounds I had grown up with: greed, deception, disconnection, and a loss of faith. I felt called not just to create beauty, but to tend the roots.

My spiritual path intensified through practices of yoga, psychedelic inquiry, and a spontaneous past-life regression that arrived not as metaphor, but as visceral experience. It initiated a period of rapid unraveling — relationships dissolving, structures burning away — and revealed a truth that would shape my life’s work: the world we perceive is an externalisation of our inner landscape.
If I wanted to participate in healing the world, I had to begin by tending myself.

In 2020, I moved to Devon with the intention of stewarding land and building a place of refuge — a community rooted in lost skills, sacred relationship, and devotion to the living world. In 2021, against all odds, we were accepted as caretakers of a piece of temperate rainforest along the River Dart. I prayed on the driveway and made a vow: if the land chose us, I would dedicate myself fully to her care.
For five years, I cleaned the land — and she cleaned me. It was one of the most reciprocal relationships I have ever known. Through seasons of labour, solitude, and listening, my body softened, my heart opened, and my understanding of nature deepened beyond theory into intimacy.

Then came another threshold. Five months after acquiring the land, my long-term relationship ended. Five years later, at five months pregnant, five days before my wedding, we were served notice to leave. The grief was immense — a severing that felt like losing a beloved. Yet alongside the heartbreak lived gratitude. I could feel, unmistakably, that my time there was complete.

I was being called into motherhood. Into a smaller, fiercer devotion. Into a new world.

Crossing these thresholds — landless, partnered and unpartnered, maiden and mother — refined my faith in God and in self-reliance. Where I once resisted change, I now recognise its voice: “It is time to move on.” I learned that transitions are not problems to solve, but initiations to be tended — consciously, responsibly, and with reverence. This is the heart of my work.

I support people who find themselves at the edge of something ending or something not yet formed: relationship shifts, identity deaths, spiritual awakenings, grief, motherhood, loss of place, loss of self. I offer tools, presence, and devotional practices that help navigate these passages with integrity, beauty, and trust.

My long-term vision is to steward land once more — a community space founded on sacred relationship, tending, and apprenticeship to life itself. Until then, my work lives wherever thresholds are crossed and creative force flows. I believe our lives are meant to be tended as monks tend the temple — with discipline, devotion, and love — and that when we do, the effects ripple through every fibre of reality.