Change, chaos, and resilience as an artist

My life has changed more times than I can count, as illness, loss, and transformation have all left their marks. But through it all, I’ve learned that creation is resistance, and that hope burns brighter than despair.

As my following onlie has grown, I wanted to share where that fire comes from- and why, no matter what life takes from me, I’ll never stop creating.

I got the opportunity to move to the Netherlands to pursue my degree in illustration- and while I was there, I began working on children's books, and I ended up doing a solo project where I went to Northern Norway to interview and work with Indigenous reindeer herders, where I created the book Yuka's Way Home.

Then, when I graduated, things took a turn. When I finished university in 2021, everything I had planned for my future was suddenly thrown into chaos. I became ill with a long-term condition that we still don’t fully understand, and the pain never stopped. Like many people with chronic pain, I began to grieve the version of myself I thought I’d lost- the one who could work endlessly, travel freely, and keep up with a world that never slows down. I was also so young, and didn't know how to cope with the loss of so much. I began to feel resentful sometimes when I saw people my age not having to worry about their health constantly.

My career changed, too. The pandemic had rewritten everything, the creative job market had collapsed, and then came the rise of AI- an industry I had just found stability in was now being reshaped overnight.

Something big happened in my personal life too, out of a mix of grief and anger, that caused me to also lose my marriage.

And just when I thought I’d adapted, life demanded more. I tried to cope with the grief and make a new life with what I had, and with how things had changed. But I had to abruptly leave Europe last year. The home I had built, the friends and community I had, all because of another medical emergency and another new, horrible thing to get used to.

That was when I lost the sight in my left eye to glaucoma. Not a genetic condition, not bad luck or carelessness- this was something someone did to me. A doctor’s mistake. There’s a kind of rage that comes with that- my entire world has now changed, and I doubt this will ever impact her career the way it should. I don't know how to explain the rage and grief you feel with losing a part of yourself like this, losing half of your sight as a visual artist, and remembering what life before being sick used to be like.

Rage can be a fire that never really goes out.

Understanding chaos, and understanding how life has taken me on such a weird journey has lit a spark more powerful than rage, in the face of all this loss.

My hope burns hotter and brighter than my pain and my grief. Through everything I've been through and everything I've lost, I have hope.

I feel like hopelessness creeps in when I try to process not only my own grief, but the grief for the world around me and what's happening. But I refused to give in to my despair, whether it came from a place of reflection of my own circumstances, or whether it came from the awful truths of habitat and species loss, famine, war, and existential threats barraging our planet. The world bombards us with terrible news daily - but it's up to us to fight to create the world we want to live in.

But my fight taught me something about hope, and about our own voices. I started working on something as a response to the grief I was feeling, and that project became an ode to hope.

Out of that journey, and my growing sense of ecological despair and dread of an uncertain future came The Sixth Sun.

It began as my way of asking: What do we do when the world feels like it’s ending?

The story reimagines Aztec mythology in modern-day Mexico City, following two musicians who cross paths with the trickster god Huehuecóyotl and discover that the world’s end may not be what it seems.

For me, The Sixth Sun is both myth and mirror. It’s my response to climate grief, disability, and change. It’s about survival through creativity, and about finding, or even creating light even when the world feels dark.

This year, I lost vision in my left eye due to glaucoma.

It’s been a painful and transformative experience - one that reshaped not just how I see, but how I create. I live with chronic pain and fluctuating sight, and I’m still learning to adapt. But through that change, I’ve found a deeper way of seeing.

Art became my anchor through it all- a way to turn loss into meaning. I stopped painting what I could no longer see clearly, but despite the headaches and strain, and the constant uncertainty, I will always keep doing what I love.

I’ve written and illustrated many children’s stories, and I’m thrilled to share that I’ll soon be collaborating with a publishing house focused on social awareness, environmental storytelling, and historical education for kids.

Work is resuming on my next children’s book, The Grand Arctic Inn, which teaches about Arctic ecology through an imaginative hotel run by the animals themselves - where migrating species are the guests, and local residents keep the place running. But when one worker goes missing, everything begins to fall apart. It’s a story about balance, interconnection, and what happens when even one voice goes silent.

Through Coyote Studio, the creative hub I co-founded with my partner, I bring all these threads together - illustration, sound, and storytelling- to celebrate resilience and connection. Our goal is to center disabled, queer, and Indigenous voices, and to make art that inspires hope where it’s needed most.

I live with one eye, but I see more clearly than I ever have.

I see the purpose of what I was put here to do, and I'm never going to slow down- just adapt.

Working with bands- a new chapter

Ive got some exciting news! I love my girlfriend, and how committed she's been to her career in music here in Vancouver. She's truly been taking every opportunity she can to grow as an artist.
We've decided that since I've registered my business, we'll team up to offer a one stop shop here in Vancouver.
We had a band come in the other day, and she recorded and mixed their single while I drew the album art right there in the studio. The result?
A band walked away happy with photography, album art, and what they came in for initially - having their song produced.
Today, I'm back at the sound recording studio with her while she records for yet another band, and I'll draw the cover art.
I love working with who I love
We're a fantastic team!

We're In It Together- behind the scenes animating Rich Aucoin's Music Video

In between projects recently, I've been working on an animated music video for Rich Aucoin, among other projects. It's almost done, and now that I'm looking back through months of work as I edit and finalize this video, I thought it would be fun to share a reflection on the process behind this project. 

A scene from We’re In It Together, featuring Mexico City in the background

Last year, I was getting ready for a big international move. Like every other young adult at this time, it feels like climate anxiety is a persistent feeling in the back of my head, and the lack of certainty about our future makes planning hard. As I traveled through my old stomping grounds in Canada and Mexico, the feeling became more and more persistent: we need to do something, but was I born too late to make a change? was I part of the last generation of kids in my province who will remember summer as a fun, carefree time instead of a dreadful smoke-covered sign of a changing world? 

While addressing the somber realities of climate change, it was crucial to maintain an overall sense of hope and empowerment. To achieve this, I interspersed moments of resilience and positivity throughout the video. I also used visual metaphors to drive home the idea that no matter where we are, we all are connected to the same earth, and need to find it within ourselves to step up and do our part.  These scenes, while abstract, I feel convey the powerful determination of the human spirit. The bursts of colour and fluid movement symbolize us all as one- human. Our history shows us that no matter what we faced, the moments of joy and connection we create during our short time on this planet are irreplaceable. We've been laughing, singing, telling stories, making art, and making music since we lived in caves. A deeply unifying experience, and a uniquely human one at that, is the creation of art. Through art, we can be seen, and we can inspire others to care about the things we hold dear. I wanted to channel the energy and passion I have for conservation into a visual experience, and mixed with Rich's amazing music, create an energizing video that plants a seed of hope. 

As a kid, I started a recycling initiative at my school in Mexico. I'd organize food drives in my school and neighborhood, and volunteer to help stray animals. I thought it was easy to make change happen- in my naive and innocent childhood perspective, I thought the reason things were the way they were was because of a lack of awareness. The more involved I got in trying to make a difference, the more disillusioned I became. The problem was much bigger and much scarier than I could begin to comprehend. Still, I try to do what I can to help within my means. I donate my artwork and time to Caribou conservation alliance, in hopes that the passion I have for wildlife and education can help make a positive impact. Then, I heard Rich's song "We're In It Together" and right away, a new idea was born. I could see the animation clearly in my head- I wanted to make art that could complement Rich's art, and send the same message. 

The enchanting song "We're In It Together" by Rich Aucoin became the driving force behind this creative journey. Its inspiring lyrics and powerful message of unity resonated deeply with me. I envisioned a hand-drawn animated music video that would visually capture the essence of community, interconnectedness, and our shared responsibility in facing the challenges of climate change. In the early stages of pre-production, I immersed myself in the song's lyrics, melody, and atmosphere.

I wanted the visuals to mirror the emotional journey conveyed by the music. To achieve this, I decided to blend elements of motion design, typography, and hand-drawn animation. The music video's narrative needed to address the serious issue of climate change while maintaining a sense of optimism and hope. I meticulously crafted visuals that depicted the interconnectedness of all living beings and the collective effort required to combat climate challenges.

To visually represent the theme of community and unity, I chose a vibrant color palette, emphasizing warm and earthy tones to evoke a sense of connection to nature. The hand-drawn animation added an organic and personal touch to the visuals, enhancing the emotional impact. 

Animating a music video requires a meticulous approach. I started by sketching keyframes and storyboarding the entire video. This allowed me to establish the visual flow and rhythm that would synchronize with the music. Using various animation techniques, such as traditional frame-by-frame animation and editing, I brought the illustrations to life.

After completing the animation, I focused on refining the visuals and ensuring they were perfectly synchronized with the music. This involved fine-tuning the timing, transitions, and effects. Crafting a music video is an exhilarating and collaborative journey that combines artistic expression, storytelling, and technical prowess. Through the hand-drawn animated music video for "We're In It Together," I sought to create a visual experience that not only highlighted the urgency of climate change but also instilled a sense of hope and unity in viewers.