I’m here to help you clear the noise, gently unravel what’s in the way, and reconnect with your creative instincts—so you can make the kind of art that feels true to you and carve out time for what matters most.
Hi, I’m Jane—and I’m so glad you’re here.
For the past fifteen years, I’ve been devoted to practices that support us in experiencing true vitality. The heart of my work lies in somatic education, movement therapy, and nervous system health. I’ve had the privilege of working with thousands of people—both individually and in group settings—and have traveled the world as a clinician, coach, and speaker.
My journey into this work began for two reasons: first, to free myself from the generational struggles I witnessed in my family line; and second, to find tools that could help me metabolize the big feelings that, as a sensitive person, often exceeded what the edges of my skin could hold. I found myself spilling over.
Living in a small, tucked-away pocket on the South Island of New Zealand—with two young children in tow—meant that my business and creative evolution unfolded as a product of my circumstances, not in spite of them. I’ve always worked predominantly online and found creative, adaptable ways to share what I know and love.
Looking back, working for myself was always going to happen. It was only a matter of time.
I’ve always described myself as unemployable; for as far back as I can remember, I’ve been useless at following the status quo, the well worn path.
That doesn’t, however, mean I haven’t tried.
After leaving a communications / law degree—despite topping the class and earning a scholarship to get there—I found myself needing to undecide and unlearn so much of what I’d been taught. Not just about the world, but about myself.
I had spent years contorting myself into boxes that didn’t fit me (and, what’s more, I was very good at it). I navigated the doubt, guilt, and shame that often come with not fitting the mold or stepping outside the norm. And for a long time, I tried to justify my worth through careers and pursuits that had more to do with what I thought I should be doing than what I actually wanted to be doing.
What I know to be true about myself is that I carry a powerful, creative energy—one that needs direction.
When left untended, it can easily become restless or unhelpful. If my creative needs aren’t being met, if I’m not contributing or engaged in something I care deeply about, I feel it—I feel miserable.
When I look back along my ancestral line, I see a lineage of women who didn’t have the choices or freedoms I now hold. I am the first woman in my family to be financially independent. The first to have true creative agency. That realization blows my mind.
What’s even more profound is that, especially on my mother’s side, the women were artists—creators: painters, potters, embroiderers. I imagine their wild creativity, shaped and contained by the limitations of their time. Expressions allowed only within certain bounds.
And now, as I sit here—drawing, writing, creating with abandon—I feel the weight and wonder of that inheritance. The responsibility to create. Not as a burden, but as a liberation. If I am privileged enough to make my art, then I am called to follow what I love. And if I carry all those women within me, then creating freely, wildly, doesn’t just heal forward—it heals in reverse, too.
We often speak of art as a healing force—and it is. But I’ve come to understand something even deeper:
While creativity can help us process and metabolize life’s challenges and traumas, unexpressed creativity creates them. When creativity is repeatedly restrained, it causes rupture—both within ourselves and with our life force, as well as our sense of who we are in the world.
I believe that part of living a vital, abundant life—one where we show up for what matters and contribute in meaningful ways—includes a responsibility to art and making.
And you know what else?
We’re living in an unusual time, with unusual pressures and demands. In a world like this, creating isn’t optional—it’s essential. It helps us think beyond the box, to loosen the grip of what’s expected, and to open ourselves up to possibility. Creation is what makes space for new answers to find us.
We’re also living in a time where our culture pulls us into ways of living that are completely out of sync with our animal bodies—and it’s causing deep dysfunction. The disconnection is so widespread, it’s being mistaken for normal. We’ve been taught to believe that art, creativity, and making are frivolous—something extra, something we do on the side. But in truth, they are necessary acts. Essential gestures. Vital to our well-being, our wholeness, and our humanity.
My return to art came through a somewhat predictable catalyst: a difficult period in my life, when writing words and creating art became my refuge. Visual art, however, is something relatively new to me. While I’ve always been a writer, I certainly haven’t been a lifelong drawer or painter. In fact, just 18 months ago, if you had asked me to draw something, I would have recoiled and said, “If stick figures are what you’re after, I’m your girl.”
The way drawing has consumed me felt like a bolt out of the blue—but it’s actually the result of perfect timing. Life, like a braided river, has led me here. Looking back, I can see how everything I’ve done—nurturing my nervous system, understanding the needs of my animal body, connecting with the non-human world, and giving myself permission to truly fall in love with a creative life—has all been preparing me for this moment. Leading my life with art feels not just possible, but inevitable.
A sentence uttered by the luminous Robin Wall Kimmerer is one I hinge my life around: “All flourishing is mutual.”
To create is both generative and necessary—it contributes to mutual flourishing. It’s an act of witnessing, of reverence, and of paying attention. It’s how we offer something of ourselves to the world.
For years, I channeled my creative impulses into the expected and accepted paths—until I reached a moment of understanding. One of my greatest fears is getting to the end of my life and realizing I didn’t follow through on my creative desires. I tried to soften that truth, but when it comes down to it, that’s what it is. I want to write the books I’ve always dreamed of, speak up for what matters to me, love deeply, help others, care for those around me, and be part of a community of inspired people all striving to do the same.
I know what it’s like to be busy and to work within a framework of perceived limitation. I’m the breadwinner for my family, homeschooling two young children, part of a neurodiverse household, managing horses, and living on a bustling little farm.
There have been moments when I believed that creating was the thing I had to cut out—that it was a side venture, a frivolous luxury I could only indulge in when time allowed (spoiler: it never does), or that I’d need to justify it if time ever did open up.
Now, I understand the opposite is true:
I’ve come to realize that following my creative impulses and making time for my art actually makes me more available—and more capable—for everything else. Not following those impulses is a deadening of vitality. Creativity isn’t just a survival act; it’s also an act of thriving.
A random assortment of curiosities for those still reading and interested...
🖌️ I’m a freeform, omnivorous creator. My writing feeds into my drawing, which flows into other forms of art—it’s all part of one living, breathing whole. I think of creativity as a wild ecology: an ecosystem with no rules, no limits, and no “right” way to make.
🪶 I’m a devoted bird lover and deeply passionate about conserving native birdlife here in Aotearoa New Zealand. We’ve put a lot of time and care into making our little patch of land a haven for birds—and a place where other native species can thrive too.
📚 I don’t believe in owning too many books (or sketchbooks, or notebooks, or art supplies). I’m also highly supportive of others expanding their collections… consider yourself warned—or blessed. Maybe both.
🫖 I drink a lot of tea (with a large morning coffee for good measure). I’m particular about cups—size and brim width are everything. Happy to discuss.
👗 I have a strong and growing collection of corduroy flares in all kinds of colors and combinations. It’s a bit of a thing.
🐎 Horses have always been a part of my life, and they’ve shaped how I relate to myself and the world. I’m endlessly grateful for their presence and wisdom.
🌿 Most of what I write and create revolves around the natural world—our relationship with it, our responsibility to protect it, and all we can learn from the non-human beings we share it with.
🎧 Listen to my interview with writer Kimberly Carter about finding my own creative path and what I hope to share moving forward.