The Observer: A Love Letter to Moss, Snails, and Forgotten Things

As a kid, I grew up along the B.C. coast, picking up leaves bigger than my head and bringing home every rock I could carry. One time my pants literally fell down because my pockets were so full of stones. I loved moss. I loved snails. I loved collecting little treasures and preserving forgotten things that felt important, even if I couldn’t explain why.

When we moved to Alberta while I was still young, it was a big adjustment. I’ve felt like a dry little lizard ever since. But even then, I couldn’t stop being fascinated by the nature around me. We lived out in the country, and I could entertain myself for days digging up bones and uncovering forgotten trinkets from old farmhouses, places that were once someone’s home.

That curiosity never really left me. I still love foraging through nature, finding bits of grass, rocks (with a stronger belt for my pants), and quiet moments. For a while, I thought of this as wasted time, wandering, collecting, slowing down. Now I see how deeply it’s shaped my work. My love for nature, for stillness, for observing the overlooked, has become the way I make and share work with the world through my eyes.

I’ve noticed this in so many of my fellow artists too. We’re all out there exploring and observing, curating our homes with what we’ve found along the way. It might seem a little odd to most people, but we get it. I see you and your dead bug collection, and honestly… I love it!