some might call them weeds

but our inner child sees them as something much more mystical

Mar 02, 2025

i’ve made a new promise to myself for my substack readers: that I, an artist, would share more of the intention behind my actual artwork. along with the other significant facets of my life.

very basic, no? but here’s the thing: I often split myself into several categories— worried that the perceivers within these sections of my life will not accept the other parts of me. I worry that my art collectors will see my writing and think, “god I wish she’d stop sharing that and focus on painting”. or that you, my dear reader, will see published pieces of my paintings and think, “I really don’t care that much about art”. Then, the facilitator and healer in me— the one who leads women’s retreats and is endlessly seeking spiritual movement and mind body connection through yoga, somatic practices and community… that part of me is worried she doesn’t belong in either of these categories.

feeling as if I have four versions of self separated for other people to consume feels inauthentic. because one without the others means the others simply do not exist. and hiding parts of ourselves— in order to be more palatable or understood in the eyes of others— is never a good thing.

so little by little, i’m working hard to untangle the web i’ve woven. I hope you’ll stick by me through it— and carry an open mind the entire way x

below is my latest piece, “SOME MIGHT CALL THEM WEEDS”, and a little bit more about it’s relevance through the process…

at the start of last year, I began working through the concept of a series I called childlike tendencies: a visual depiction of honoring the inner child.

I believe exploration of our childhoods are the key to unlocking nearly everything we long for in this life. Our biggest insecurities, our passions, our attachments, the way we love, the way we react, the way we live– can all be traced back to our experiences as little ones. Our inner child's spirit is the place we can go to when redefining humanity and what that looks like. All of the answers lie there. There is a way to view the world in which magic lives on, through these childlike tendencies.

Without my own childlike curiosity, my art, this platform, and essentially my life— would not exist. I have to believe in magic, over and over and over again, to even continue on my own life path as an adult artist. The magic is in the noticing. It is in the exhausting swim upstream— daring to aim where others are too tired to go. It is found in the desire to seek and understand ourselves but also something greater, alongside all of humanity and nature and how we are endlessly connected. Our childlike selves fully believed in this magic. They were not even aware of it. It was intrinsic to who they are.

They saw the world in an unfiltered lens, before the conditioning and programing was input into their consciousness. Even the littlest weed of the dandelion— a plant many adults spend their time tearing out of the ground, complaining about, or mowing away the existence of— our little child self is enamored by its beauty. Our child self collects them by the bunches and makes a bouquet, running breathlessly to our caregiver to share their magic. They cannot believe there are just dozens of these little gifts just growing all over the yard, waiting to be picked! They await wide-eyed for the life cycle to take the yellow from their petals and allow the fuzz to form— running around the entire field collecting their newfound wish-giver. That kind of magic keeps us tethered to our life-force. That kind of magic missing from our daily lives as adults is why we are chronically unfulfilled and lonely.

As a child, I spent nearly all of my free time outdoors in my back woods. I would find inspiration in the littlest things— a cracked open robin’s egg, moss on the side of a large rock, large enough for me to stand on and claim and my home fort— these noticings became my lifeline.

My siblings and I would find the tiniest little run off from a rainstorm and see it as a full-blown rushing creek. We would kneel beside it for hours and turn over rocks, toss pebbles inside, collecting clay-like colored mud for our imaginary recipes and potions.

As an adult, I would step right over that water runoff. Disregard the dandelions in the yard and mumble about how quickly they are growing. Many find the weed killer and spray it before their next mow. We stop wearing braids in our hair and fixate on the way it falls around our eyes in the mirror— the eyes with too many smile lines forming beside them from our years of life and laugher.

It is our job to remember that our childlike tendencies live on through our perceived magic. That if we no longer have any bits of dustings left of it in our lives— it is our job to reframe the weeds into something more mystical, more wish-like.

Though others may call them weeds, we know the power they truly hold. To honoring our inner child’s yearnings and endless magic <3