art
“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”
So much of my (ongoing) creative recovery has been about granting myself permission—the permission to create without the weight of perfection, without the measuring stick of comparison, without the need to polish everything within an inch of it’s life until it loses any sense of what it once was. (Easier said than done, I know.)
It has been a lifelong practice of unlearning and letting go—of loosening my grip on what I have come to believe I am allowed to put out into the world. And of what I came to believe art should be and instead trusting in what it wants to be - through me.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve written, sang, created—songs, poetry, journal entries scrawled in the margins of my life. Writing has been my way of making sense of myself and the world, of tracing the contours of my own becoming.
Even now, I am still navigating the delicate dance between what is mine to keep and what is mine to share. How much of this sacred co-creation is meant for me alone? And how much is ready to be seen and sent out into the world?
Here is a small piece of the latter. May it be held with tenderness.
Music
Saint Swell is the love child of my husband Jamie and me—born from two decades of collaboration, creation, and a fair amount of chaos. Sometimes that’s meant babies, sometimes it’s meant getting lost on wild, nomadic adventures around the world, and sometimes—when the stars align—it’s the very thing that brought us together all those years ago as young pups in a dark basement of a famous open mic night in Glasgow—music!
In between parenthood, lockdowns and life we birthed The Last Night EP.
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