There is a version of your life that feels like yours.
Not performed. Not polished. Not waiting for the right moment, the right permission, or until you've finally become some perfectly healed version of yourself.
Just yours.
Led by what pulls at you. Held by community. Lit from the inside out.
I've spent much of my life learning what it takes to find my way back to that kind of life, and building spaces where others can do the same.
I am a writer, poet, textile artist, creative coach, and community builder whose work keeps circling the same question: What becomes possible when we stop abandoning the parts of ourselves that make us feel most alive?
My watercolor embroidery finds beauty in the mundane: the quiet, overlooked, deeply human parts of being a person. My writing does much the same. I'm not particularly interested in making life look prettier than it was. I'm interested in telling the truth about it, holding the light and the hard parts in the same hand, and seeing what can be made from there.
That philosophy carries into the way I work with other people, too.
As a trained life coach specializing in art wellness, I work with artists, makers, writers, small business owners, and wonderfully curious humans who know there is something they want for themselves, even if they haven't quite figured out what to call it yet.
Maybe it's a business you've been dreaming about. A creative practice you've lost touch with. A book you want to write. An idea that keeps finding its way back to you. Or maybe you're in the middle of becoming someone new and trying to figure out what you actually want your life to look like from here.
I care about the person carrying the dream just as much as the dream itself.
Because it's one thing to have an idea. It's another to trust yourself enough to follow it, make room for it in your very real life, and build something that doesn't require you to become an entirely different person to maintain it.
Sometimes our work together begins with curiosity. Looking at what you've been wanting, questioning the rules you've inherited, and getting honest about what matters to you.
Sometimes we roll up our sleeves. We sort through the ideas, find the thread, make decisions, build a plan, and figure out the next actual thing you can do.
And sometimes we do a little of both.
Through Creative Coaching and Creative Strategy, and The Makers Huddle, I help people reconnect with themselves and give shape to what they're dreaming up.
Not by handing everyone the same system or telling them what their version of success should look like.
By helping them build from who they actually are.
And if you've spent any time around here, you know I don't just talk about making things. I make a lot of things.
Some of them are art. Some are poems. Some are businesses, projects, workshops, or ideas that turned into entire rooms full of people.
I created the yART Sale, a community art market that began in my own backyard. This led me to create so many more art events throughout Utah. I created The Table a networking group for womxn alongside my friend Lisa, and I've helped build projects like Inspire Play Collective.
I tell people I started The yART Sale because artists needed somewhere to share their work.
And that's true. But the longer I've done this, the more I've realized I needed somewhere to belong, too. So I kept opening the door. Inviting people in. Making something out of what I had and seeing who might find their way there.
I am also a mom to three kids, a two-time poetry slam winner, and an educator who has taught at the University of Utah, Weber State University, and in countless less-formal rooms filled with people trying to make something meaningful.
I am currently in the throes of finishing my poetry collection, The Death of Us, and I write essays and reflections on Substack about creativity, identity, becoming, and the strange work of building a life that belongs to you.
Underneath all of it, the art, the writing, the coaching, the businesses, the gatherings, is the same belief:
We are meant to make things.
We are meant to know ourselves.
And we are not meant to do either entirely alone.
You belong here. Exactly as you are.
And if there's something you've been dreaming about building, changing, creating, or finally making room for, I'd love to hear about it.
Those experiences have taught me a whole lot about what it takes to bring an idea into the world. Not just the exciting part where you dream it up, but the very real work of building a plan, creating systems, finding your people, navigating the unexpected, and carrying something through.
That's experience I bring into my work with others, whether we're shaping a business idea, finding a way back to a creative practice, or creating a gathering that means something to the people in the room.
Because community has never felt separate from creativity to me.
Sometimes what changes us is making the art, sometimes it's finally sharing it, and sometimes it's realizing someone else has been sitting across the table wondering the exact same thing you have.