Every path begins with a short conversation — about fifteen minutes, free of charge — just to meet and get a sense of whether this feels like the right fit. No pressure, no obligation.

From there, you choose what feels right. You can book a Wayfinding the Threshold session — one hour to ninety minutes — to be heard, to feel into what you're carrying, and to leave with a little more clarity. Some people come once. Some return over time. The session is complete in itself.

If you're ready to have something made, the process moves from the session into the making. I sit with everything you've shared, let it settle, and when things begin to crystallize I'll come back to you — a call, a message, whatever feels right — to share what I'm seeing and feeling and to hear your input. From there, you decide whether to move forward. There's no rush and no obligation.

The fifteen-minute call is just a meeting. We get a sense of each other, you hear a little about how I work, and you decide whether you want to go further. No pressure, no obligation.

A Wayfinding the Threshold session is where the real work begins. You share what you're carrying — or what you're moving toward. I listen deeply, reflect back what I'm receiving, and we feel into what's needed together. That might mean returning for more sessions. It might mean moving toward having something made. It might mean the session is exactly what you needed and nothing more is required. None of that is decided in advance.

You can absolutely come just for a session. Wayfinding the Threshold is its own complete offering — not only a first step toward having something made. Some people need to be heard, to feel into what they're carrying with someone who knows this territory, and to leave with a little more clarity. If that's where you are, the session stands on its own.

A session is $100 for one hour or $150 for ninety minutes, in person or over video call. If you decide to move forward with a custom piece, the session is part of the process — not an additional cost on top of it.

d nothing that needs to feel like homework.

The most important preparation is simply noticing where you are. What you're carrying. What feels alive or unresolved or ready to be looked at. You don't need to have it articulated or organised before we meet — part of what we do together is find the shape of it.

If something wants to come with you — an object, a photograph, something that belonged to someone — bring it. If nothing comes to mind, come empty-handed. Both are fine.

After our fifteen-minute call, if you decide to move forward with a session, I'll share a little more about how you might want to prepare — some simple suggestions for the time before we meet. Nothing required. Everything optional. Shaped by what feels right for you.

Yes — and for more than one reason.

If you're coming for a Wayfinding the Threshold session, bringing something physical can help ground you in the conversation. A stone from a significant place, a feather you found, something that belonged to someone you've lost, an object that holds a memory or a feeling. Sometimes the things we carry in our hands help name what we're carrying in our bodies. You don't need to bring anything — but if something wants to come with you, let it.

If you're moving toward having something made, you're also welcome to bring items you'd like incorporated into the piece — something gathered, something inherited, something found. These become part of what the piece holds and carries. If you have nothing to bring, that's equally fine. I gather materials from the natural world and work with what wants to be present.

No. Grief is one reason people find their way here, but it isn't the only one. This work is for anyone navigating a significant life transition: a divorce, a diagnosis, a career ending, a move, a relationship changing shape, a version of yourself you've outgrown, a new version you're stepping into. All of these carry their own weight. All of them deserve to be witnessed.

And some people arrive not in grief at all — but in excitement. Ready for something new, moving toward a change they've chosen, wanting something made to mark a beginning rather than an ending. That energy is equally welcome. We work in whatever register is true for where you are.

I want to name something that might not be obvious from the rest of this site: this work can be joyful. Even when the subject is grief, there is often laughter. There is play. There is the particular lightness that comes when something heavy finally has somewhere to land. I hold the full spectrum — the weight and the levity, the sorrow and the delight — and I bring all of it into the work. Humour is not a distraction from grief. Sometimes it's the most honest response to it.

No. You don't need to use words like spirit, animism, or ritual, and you don't need to believe what I believe. I've worked with people who would describe themselves as secular, skeptical, or simply uncertain — and they felt something in what was made. What I ask is only this: bring something real. A grief, a question, a transition you're moving through. That's enough.

I want to name something directly: these words are overused in many spaces right now, sometimes to the point of losing their meaning. I use them carefully and only when they're the most honest words I have.

When I say spirit, I use the word in two ways. The first is spirit with a small s — the animating quality of a living thing, and the persistence of that quality after physical form changes or ends. A person who has died still carries spirit. So does a feather left behind by a bird. 

The second is Spirit with a capital S — what others might call creator, god, universe, source, or something else entirely. The larger animating force that moves through everything, including through me when I make. When I say that a piece arrives through Spirit, or that Spirit leads the work, this is what I mean. Not a religion. Not a doctrine. Just the most honest word I have for something I experience as real.

I also use the term spirit world — the unseen realms that exist alongside and within the physical world we can touch and measure. Not somewhere else, not after death, but here, layered through everything we can see.

When I say ritual, I don't mean a prescribed set of steps. I mean a deliberate act of attention — a marking of something that matters. This doesn't require planning or structure. It can arise intuitively, guided by Spirit in the moment it's needed. It can be something that occurs regularly — daily, monthly, seasonally — or something that happens once, in passing, and is no less meaningful for that. Ritual is personal. Something you carry into your everyday life to tend what needs tending. You don't have to call it that for it to be true.

When I say ceremony, I mean something that holds more deliberate weight — an experience created and held together, designed for a specific moment or crossing. A marked threshold. A honouring of what's ending or an opening of what's beginning. A custom piece is, in this sense, ceremonial: made specifically to hold and honour the transition you're moving through.

The two are related and often interwoven. A ceremony can give rise to ongoing ritual. A ritual can become, over time, its own kind of ceremony. I don't hold them as pure or separate categories — more as different qualities of attention, each with its own place and purpose.

When I say threshold, I mean the moment of crossing — when one version of your life is ending and another is beginning. These moments run in both directions: toward loss and toward becoming. My work lives in that space — not before it and not after it, but inside it, with you.

Sometimes I'm moved to create before I know who a piece is for. Spirit leads and I follow. These pieces tend toward the ceremonial — tools and regalia for those who carry medicine, who do their own work in the world. They're listed on my website as they’re completed with photos and a description of what each piece carries and who it may be for. 

If you feel drawn to one — if something in you recognises it before you understand why — reach out. We'll talk. You'll know if it's yours. These pieces are not priced in the conventional sense. If you feel called to one, we'll find our way to a conversation about what feels right.

It depends on many things: the size and complexity of the piece, what materials are called for, where I am in my own process, and what Spirit is doing. Some pieces arrive in weeks. Others take longer. I'll give you my honest sense of the timeline after our session, and I'll keep you informed as the work unfolds. I ask for patience — not because I'm slow, but because I won't rush what needs time.

Let's talk about it. Payment can be made in full or in installments — typically two or three payments over the course of our work together. If cost is a genuine barrier, I'd rather have that conversation than have someone go without something that could serve them. Reach out and we'll see what's possible.

Jewellery and smaller adornments are also available — made from the same materials and with the same intention as the larger pieces, at a more accessible price point. If this feels more right for where you are, mention it and we'll explore what's possible.

What I offer sits outside the conventional mental health system — not beneath it, not as a supplement to it, but alongside it as something distinct. Earth-based, Spirit-led, ceremonial in nature. The kind of support that has existed in human communities for as long as humans have grieved, marked transitions, and needed to be witnessed. It predates the therapy room. It will outlast it.

I am not a therapist or a grief counsellor, and I don't offer crisis support. If you are in acute distress or need immediate help, please reach out to someone who can provide that. What I offer is not the right container for that moment.

For the longer, slower work — the grief that has been sitting in you for years, the transition that doesn't have a clinical name, the part of you that knows something needs to be marked and honoured — this work can be exactly the right thing. Not instead of other support you may be receiving, and not dependent on it either. How it sits alongside whatever else you're doing is entirely yours to determine.

If you're unsure whether this is the right time, the fifteen-minute call is a good place to start. We can talk about where you are and what might be most useful.