Plaster Casted Upper Ventral Region

Yes, that means boobs.


As an artist- sometimes you need help, and if you have a wicked idea that involves body parts, well, you kind of need to go on a search for willing appendage donors (is a breast an appendage? never mind – you know what I mean)

So Friday after school I was an appendage donor and had my breasts plaster casted, for my friend Dana’s homework assignment on prosthetics. I am really excited to see the final project, as there will be roughly 25 sets of breasts casted for this project. You should be excited too- as I think her assignment will blow the gallery show out of the water.

So to spread the good karma, and to satisfy my curiosity- we set up shop in the wheelchair washroom and got to work. And because I am way to curious for my own good- I requested another student (Props go to Lucy) to film and help me create a stop-motion film documenting the process. Because hey, it’s not everyday you get to create art with your rack, am I right ?

I found the whole experience relatable to a tea party with friends, it was very casual, and had lots of laughter, the only thing missing was the tea. Weirdly enough, this was something that I truly needed since my mental health has decided to play dangerously with my well being these days. It was also a nice pick me up- it’s nice to be part of someone’s art project. Even if it is just your breasts. I like to help out where I can, what can I say?

I think the practice of being a nude model for KIAC drawing nights helped with some of my body confidence/acceptance issues- and to be honest- this whole getting naked for art thing is quite liberating! To be able to find the beauty in someone else’s, as well as your own body, is such a wonderful thing.

I look forward to creating this stop-motion film. I feel like the title should be something along the lines of “They’re Just Boobs”

Here are some quick iPhone photos of the “tea party in the washroom”

Here are the “Facebook Proof Photos”

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And then here is a shot of my plaster casted upper ventral region.


Oh- The things we do for art.

Thanks for the opportunity Dana.



Start collecting canned beans. Run for the hills. I’m Warning ya…

Howdy Folks,

So this blog will temporarily be a host to my homework assignments.

First, let’s have a conversation.

Okay, you pretend to be the excited, loving grandma.


Are you in character yet?


Here we go. Let’s not make this awkward.

You: “How is school my [Insert loving nickname here]”

Me: “Well, I’m still alive. I have not become a raging alcoholic. And I still have all my fingers.  That’s all that counts doesn’t it?”

You: “Well okay sweetie…”

Me: “Oh and I know how to make tofu chicken nuggets.”

You: “That’s nice.”

Me: “And I passed all my classes last term.”


Me: “Yeah.”

You: “No Yukon men in your life, [insert cute nickname]?”

Me: “No Grandma, I rarely have time to shower, let alone to socialize with humans… To much homework.”

You: “Oh.”

Me: “But I do know how to run a snowmobile now.”

You: “That’s my girl!”

Me: “Thanks Grandma. I love you.”

Here is my “Official Homework Blog” – Maybe you’d like to take a peek if you are indeed interested in reading my homework posts in the near future and what to check out the interesting podcasts, discussions, etc.. .

My teacher is a pretty cool cat.

And so are ALL my grandmas (nana included).

And for those still curious:

I have not yet lost any body parts to frostbite.


Sunday Scribbles- I am my Mother’s Daughter

Today is a beautiful Sunday in Vancouver- yes the sky is grey, but there are no raindrops darkening the driveway and as I glance out the kitchen window- I observe a neighbourhood cat trek through the front garden. Most likely picking a nice warm spot to relieve itself.

Listening to CBC this afternoon I am hit smack in the face with some melancholy. Oh how I miss my homeland and family. Even though the flowers are blooming and the grass is green here on the coast, a part of my heart still houses a love of the snowy driveway that trails through the boreal forest to my home, the delayed spring, mom’s tuna casserole… There are so many things I miss- I think that is what is making it easier for me to prepare myself in regards to moving back to Fort St. James for the summer.

Family has been such a important part of my life that it seems that everyday I go without family contact my soul cringes- deep down I thrive on the unconditional love my family shares with me, and I with them.

Soon my mother will be coming to visit me- and I am thrilled.

She is my best friend – we share something so beautiful that living away from her felt strange.

But the distance gave me the space to grow, to find who I was and who I wanted to be, I was able to make mistakes, make gooddecisions, all by myself.

And now, when we get together it seems like nothing has changed but so very much has changed all at the same time. I can’t describe it in words- it’s a feeling. Nobody ever told me that this was a part of growing up.

I am still my mother’s daughter, but I have become my own woman as well.

I am so happy I will be able to celebrate Easter with my best friend.

Yoga, dark chocolate, and good food are in the plans for this easter holiday.

Happy Sunday Lovelies,



Food diary, library, and male anatomy….

Yes. You read that right.

So today I went for a morning walk to pick up more Bio-K plus and soy/almond/hippie yogurt- while I was wistfully making moony eyes at the Joe Fresh skinny jeans that come in all the colours of the rainbow… I stumbled upon the stationary department. What do people do when they want to lose weight? Oh that’s right ! Food diary!
Today I kept tracked of all my meals and snacks and made sure to write down the calories when I could. I don’t really know the whole shtick about calorie counting- so I guess that shall be my next step.
I didn’t even go into the market to get my favourite cookies- almond macaroons… I spent my afternoon at Emily Carr Library instead doing art homework. And really what appetite I did have was soon demolished and replaced buy a big question mark when the girl ahead of me asked me a question about the photocopier. ( I was standing in line to use it after her) –
So here I am waiting and pick up quickly that she is puzzled. I offer my help and she asks about some contrast question. I asked what she was copying – no answer. I just assumed she didn’t hear me, so I stepped back and waited my turn, but while doing so- she lifted the photo copy lid and I can’t help but glance at the piece of paper.
Like a tea party, or a country picnic- these medium sized penises (testicles included) pranced all about the page. I could feel my right eyebrow lift as my mind tried ever so hard to process what I had just seen.
Had it been in Highschool and it was a guy- I would of blamed it on immaturity and curiosity- but this was at Emily Carr university of art and design, in the library, and this was a young woman.
Sure- women can be curious too- but curious enough to be making photocopies of your penis doodles?
Was this a homework assignment ?
What spurred her mind to bring her to spend time and ten cents a sheet at the photocopier to do… Well a study of male anatomy?
She seemed oblivious to my presence – lifting her drawing up to the light- to examine her noodle doodles- focusing in on the head of the specimens and commenting about lack of contrast.
Trying to look anywhere but at the penis poster I settle my eyes back on the photocopier.
That’s when she pulled out her other drawing- smaller, multiplied penis doodles – my mind immediately tried once again to justify this fascinating woman and her penis doodles. My first thought was – Cool, she must of used photoshop! – then I again refocused my eyes on what the objects really were…
Then I began comparing the objects and the placement with things I see everyday. I thought to myself- ” why they look like raindrops!”
Each time my mind mentally smacked itself – reminding myself that now when ever I see or experience these things that I am comparing this family jewels portrait too – I will have penis on the brain.
Well that’s just- fucked up to hell and back isn’t it? So now I have to write about it!
I have never written a blog on penises before, but I just can’t not write about what I experienced.
It’s just too awesomely strange. It’s a must share adventure.
My mind hopped back and forth trying to find a reason for her illustrations of man’s other brain… It first went to ” that’d make interesting end pages in a book”
I shook my head…. Sally what the hell are you thinking.
I stepped back, and leaned casually against the opposite wall trying to convince my mouth that now is not the time to twist into a “I just saw something ridiculously funny and I don’t know what to think of it smile”
– homework?
– prank?
– sex maniac?
Maybe she’s just special.
Everybody is special in there own way I guess. And who am I to judge?
I wouldn’t of minded if she gave me a copy of her noodle doodles- I would put it up on my wall, maybe put it on the fridge, you never know, endless possibilities! because you know what? Life’s too short to be tight assed with no sense of humour. And she has some big balls (or many multiple small sets of them to be correct) to create those doodles.
Maybe once I start attending art school full time my lack of sleep will push my artistic gears in my head into dick-ville…
So thank you random girl with the noodle doodles for giving me a smile today. And I hope you enjoy those drawings and make something super awesome with those uh, lovely realistic renditions of your take on man.

She probably has a very conceptual and creative and maybe even political symbolism to pair with the little dudes- but frankly- I was too shy, or maybe still a bit shocked, to ask.

-ONE THING I LOVE ABOUT MYSELF TODAY IS: my ability to find humour in even the most strangest things.

Oh and my invention of “noodle doodle” 😉

Goodnight lovelies! Xx

Do you turn the shower on before you step in? Or after you step in?

Something to think about ladies and gentlemen,

personally, I like to turn the shower on before I step in because as long as I have been taking showers (probably since like… forever), I will always flinch like a cat thrown in a cold bath when the water spurts out at my face if I stand waiting in the shower for it.

Graceful creature I am, don’t you think?

Same thing applies when it comes to writing for me. Not flinching like a handicapped cat with a fear of water, but when it comes to being marked on something, something must be done the best it can be possibly done. Yes I’ve got perfectionist issues… And turning on the shower so it is at the RIGHT temperature when I step in is just the beginning.

Usually I just write, write without boundaries, without rules, or even a without a care if it will ever be read. My blog is a place for me to just mentally vomit my thoughts. Because honestly, I thought no one would be interested with what I would have to say but recently with my writing and english courses I have had the demand to sharpen up my techniques. I had to face it… A blog doesn’t get marked or evaluated, but my homework does. Uh-oh.

So I have started reading up, forcing my brain to act like a sponge, since honestly having a book in my hands is quite satisfying, and if it can make my writing better, hell why not. No offence internet, but my eyes seem to go cross eyed when I have to do any sort of research on the computer for more than 3 hours…

Curious about what this weird kid is reading?

I am reading “On Writing” by Stephen King


“The Elements of Style” by William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White

These books were recommended by my English teacher.

-if this was alcohol that we were talking about, I would be literally “Double Fisting like a mother fucker”, but since I do genuinely care about my brain cells I prefer to read two books at once instead.

Go ahead average high school party animals, smirk and laugh at me but I am pretty sure my priorities are straighter then your finances at the moment.


This is when the haters stop reading,

and when the people who are openminded keep reading.

My plan is to fully understand the concept of writing, and how to write great works and compose great poetry. I feel like I can do it, which is exciting, because I really hope that I don’t have false hope in hoping that my writing does have potential. I want to be able to know the rules so I can break them.

Oo I am so rebelious.

I wanted to mention some really inspiring people here: I am not looking for brownie points. I just want to acknowledge them.

Teachers, and Cowboys and Swedes.

My family is quite artistic, in a hidden way. Storytellers, writers, artists, poets, singers, crafty nuts, I am so thankful to have them all.

My small town has been blessed with many smart and talented english and art teachers as well, and I am so thankful I am not the kind of kid to skip class and miss out on the opportunity to learn from these people.

Some of the things that have made the biggest impact in my writing career, (oh how young it is, could qualify as a premature baby in an incubator)  is to have SUPPORT, INSPIRATION, and POSITIVE CRITICISM. There are many other things but these were the first things that popped into my head.

That’s what I have gotten from my family and teachers.

and LOVE.

Can’t forget love.

So, if you have any recommendations for resources, books, or recipes for gluten and dairy free mac’n’cheese please subscribe and comment.







“No pressure” she says; *cocks pistol to the back of my skull*

you could say that the pistol, with its cool metallic tip resting against the back of my skull is my Writing 12 assignment. Fully loaded, cold, unforgiving, and oh so threatening. My Ebus teacher, an educated well achieving stranger is unknowingly pressing this pistol further deeper into the back of my head. Not because she enjoys it, it is simply my imagination having a hay day in the horror movie department and decided that yes, she is would make a good  assassin. my eyebrows knit together as I try not to think of the pain flooding all  my senses; yes I can smell the pain. It smells like a cold sweat, shortness of breath, fingers  losing their warmth, blood pounding in my ears. Yes THAT’s what I taste.  Pretty soon that delicate finger, who takes part in writing helpful emails with smiley faces, will pull the trigger back, releasing my greatest fear.

“Not meeting expectations”.

That is what pressure feels like for me. A lethal weapon, just waiting to go off.

being a perfectionist, is well, a daunting daily routine. I am not your average teenager or maybe I am?, most of my friends don’t understand this undying need for everything to be ‘perfect’, sometimes its freakishly compulsive. I have anxiety issues over whether “my homework is good enough”, “have I studied the right things?”, “I am writing this essay correct?”, “Do you think  my boyfriend would still like me if he knew of my anxious habits of perfectionism?” Hah. got to smirk there, there is no boyfriend to worry about, but i thought might as well mention it for future anxiety attacks. (You never know right?) Some guy might actually be fooled by my face and weird charm. Is there such a thing as weird charm? or is that just awkwardness?

this lack of concentration and confidence could also be a side effect from the concussion i got last week.

which seriously freaked the honey out of the freaking vending machine.

Brain injuries kind of throw you off ‘your game’. They give you this insecure feeling inside your own head. You don’t know whats happening to your precious brain cells up there.

So trying to force myself to come up with brilliant poetry that ‘exceeds expectations’ seems quite difficult for me at the moment.


Im not as bad as I used to be, thank god for that. But there is still this element, that sometimes, I must say I am grateful for, for when I’m shredding, hell the work is impressive. But other times, it gets in the way of completing the tasks at hand. Its like an illusion. the work you thought was decent now looks like well.. some three year old barfed cheerios and crinkled the Monday newspaper and handed that in.

I wouldn’t call it a ‘writer’s block’, more like a ‘writer’s insecurity’. Confidence is lacking in my poetry department, nobody usually sees my work and now I am all of the sudden being marked on it.


I think yes.

Can I blame my procrastination on my insecurity?

not entirely, because sometimes… I really just don’t want to do it.

But the frustrating thing is when you DO want to complete it, but you just, you can’t, you can’t fathom handing in this “dirt” because you’re teacher is expecting a live iguana. Something that croaks- “I’ve got personality”

Dirt does not croak. nor does it speak.

it might hum,

like when your walking through a farmers field and its windy, you hear the dry crackling grain and you can feel the grit cover your eyelashes, cover your mouth. You can taste dirt.

You can taste success,

but unlike dirt, it is not so easily found.







People can and do recover from Depression, and so can you (:

It’s no secret, and I’d rather not hide behind a mask.

So any family members reading this, don’t be shocked this is me just being me.

Maybe if I take the mask off it might help someone who is unable to face tomorrow.

Ever been depressed?

Its kind of like having your heart broken but a little bit more tragic, really no words can describe the pain you feel, personally I’d rather have my heart broken by some boy then feel like you’re disappearing into the shadows of your own life.

You lose control in a way, like you are trapped inside your body. Your thoughts are not your own it seems, they are scary, violent, twisted in ways.

People sometimes commit suicide because they don’t think they will ever escape that feeling. At one point I thought I wouldn’t escape either.

Interesting that they call it “committing suicide”. My thoughts on this, (or at least in my experience) it is not a commitment, it is a surrender. You are surrendering to the pain you carry within you.

You do not want to die, you just don’t want to live like that anymore.

Trust me, I know what that feels like.

I chose to write about this tonight is to make my voice heard, I am not trying to get attention but simply the opposite. I want to GIVE attention to a matter that people do not want to talk about. Hello, this is not the 1950’s. I am just a teenager, so why pay attention to me, well you are already reading so really, how long will this take out of you time? 10 minutes maybe? All I am asking you for is to listen to what I have to say and maybe it will change your thoughts about depression.

First of all, whether you know it or not, you probably know somebody who is affected by this mental illness. Some people choose to talk about it, while some keep it hidden. I used to keep it under wraps, but that did more harm then good in my situation.

Second of all, Depressed people ARE NOT SICKNESS-RIDDEN ZOMBIES so don’t treat them like one, because  really thats just cruel to do that to somebody.

Third of all, Depressed people are not just selfish childish human beings, telling them to “be a big girl now” does not help. Do you think I’d be crying if I could help  it? No. Have some compassion and empathy for these people.

Educate yourself whether you are a coach, teacher, friend, mother, father, goldfish. I don’t care how old you are or who you are. I am not speaking for all the depressed people in the world but there are triggers, there are days when its a struggle, and there are days when you feel like you’re doing okay. Its different for everyone, so that is why I think Depression should be treated like a sprained ankle, broken arm, or even a concussion. It is not something to be afraid of. Just because it may be a bit more tricky to deal with does not mean it should be kept a secret. Coaches know how to wrap a sprained foot, so why shouldn’t they know at least a few tips on how to coach a player with a mental illness. Even just saying “I am here for you” really is such a beautiful sentence to somebody who feels so lost. Picture this, you give a kid an ice pack for when she has twisted an ankle, think of giving empathy to a kid when she looks like she is struggling.

I used to hide from my friends and family but in the end I was so desperate for someone to talk to. This is me healing. For I would never had told a soul other than my close family about my Depression a few months ago…

I used to think my depression was my weakness, it was something to hide from friends, boyfriends, family, teams,etc. It was something to hate and to despise that I had it. But that took up so much of my energy there was no energy to live life the way i wanted to: True to myself. I felt like i was living a lie, unable to admit that I have a mental illness,  that has become a  great challenge for me. I am not saying I am completely healed, for I have a long journey ahead of me, but I will say that I have made progress.

For now I look upon my Depression as a strength.

A challenge that was not easy,

harder then any video game

no gold coins gained, just a lot of tears lost. But I am still alive, I have seen the darkest moments but I held on to the wisp of colour and life that was left inside of me, and like a seed, when you nurture it. It can grow into something beautiful.

Whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. I truly believe that. And for all of you that are dealing with Depression. Hold on. Life has so much to offer, and don’t be afraid to ask for help, there are people that are there specifically for that. Mothers, Fathers, and if you can’t talk to them, go to friends, counsellors, a teacher, anybody. Because there are people out there that truly care about you so don’t feel like you are giving someone a burden.

take a few minutes out of your day and educate yourself.

People can and do recover from Depression, and so can you (:



Oh hey there…

It’s amazing how much living can take up your time, like geez it’s almost like I’ve orphaned my blog.

It has been sitting here patiently waiting to be visited and I have ignored it for months. ok ok it’s not human but still, I find that writing helps me de-stress, and lately the stress has been tearing away at me like a miniature saber tooth tiger in my brain.

Then I realise “oh I havent really written anything lately”

When stress comes knocking some people punch walls, kill kittens or do drugs to de-stress.

I do this silly little thing called writing.

something satisfying comes from writing. especially poetry when you have a lot of emotion to let out.

Not that I show anybody my poetry, it would probably make my english teacher hurl at the sight of my stanzas and limericks and lack of rhymes. but who really cares?

It’s for me, so maybe when I’m six feet under the ground or in outer space (who knows how they will dispose of bodies when it comes time for me to kick the bucket) maybe some little granddaughter or great great great granddaughter will open up my diaries, and seriously come to the conclusion that her ancestor was a legit nutcase.

my thoughts are not like clock work. If you have read my writing before you will nod your head in agreement and wonder why this kid is in grade twelve and not in grade three still. or if you have been in my presence for more than three minutes you will realize that yes, this kid is not normal.

So I am not  exactly positive that my writing will help me pay the bills, it’d be convenient because I could be like J.K. Rowling and write on napkins in a restaurant and then end up sleeping on gold infused satin sheets….

Not that money is what I am striving for. I just think that if your career involved something that was stress reducing you could prevent stress from happening because you’re getting paid to relieve your stress already.

haha I am brilliant. But here’s the stressful part. Who would wanna read my daily scribbles. I am not like Charlie brown or Kim Kardashian, I don’t have a way “in” already.

I am just one of those measly artists who takes any opportunity to get paid for what shes loves, no matter how many cats she has to fight against to get that last piece of pizza laying in the back alley in some dreadful slum because I WILL NOT WORK AT MCDONALDS. Hah just kidding, I’ll make sure to find a nice place to be unemployed. Maybe near an Italian restaurant.

Damn, can’t eat pasta.

hmm maybe behind a chinese restaurant?

or maybe I should just work hard to get a job;

yah that sounds like a better idea.

But I must say a “Lady and the Tramp” style dinner date would be romantic in a cheap university student sort of way.

So what am I writing about? I have no clue? Oh right orphaning my blog. and how I shouldnt really orphan it because this orphan helps me out a lot. You could say I am one of those highly sensitive artistic people who talk too much and have this skill of  taking on to much and then burning out like a light bulb.

So what keeps ping ponging through my mind is one simple thing…

What the hell am I going to do when I move out of my parent’s well fluffed, safe, food filled, toilet paper always on the roll nest?