I am a storyteller first and foremost.
So, let’s start with a story.

When I was 11 years old, my mom picked me up from school for a doctor’s appointment. What she didn’t tell me? It was a vet appointment for my cat, who we were going to put down. I remember holding her in my arms as she died—the limp weight of her, and the tears that burned the backs of my eyes. But I also remember the beauty of it, a deep sense of circuity that has, to this day, permeated the way I see the world.

I’m afraid of death, perhaps not dissimilarly to most people. But while I fear mortality, I also find it beautiful. And that’s not exactly normal.

My career began in 2009 when, after graduating college with two degrees in English Literature and Filmmaking, I decided to create self-portraits. They ranged from me playing dead in a freezer, to playing dead in a parking lot, to playing dead in a…you get the idea. I didn’t know why I was so drawn to these depictions at the time, but over the course of my career I realized that getting closer to what I’m afraid of gives it less power over me.

My work spans from novel writing to fine art photography to mixed media to motivational speaking. In every form, my message is the same: let’s create a grief-positive movement that allows more bravery in the face of what we fear.

I’ve made it a mission to do what scares me. Like in 2019, when I became a foster mother and went on to parent six kids who mean the world to me—all of whom I’ve said goodbye to. I measure my life not in how fearless I am, but how brave I can be in the face of it. To examine what scares me, and name it.

If my art can shed light on those dark places for someone else, I’ll consider the whole thing a success.