About Joy

I’ve always felt the world more vividly than I could explain. As a child in Indiana, I knew things I hadn’t been taught. I had dreams that came true, premonitions I couldn’t name, and a heart that felt everything. I worked full-time through school, put myself through art school, and carried a quiet question with me the whole way: Is there more? There was. There always is. My first big leap came when I left Indiana and moved to Utah after one magical weekend of sunflowers, mountains, and strangers who looked each other in the eye. I left behind familiarity, transferred to a Costco in Salt Lake City, and realized almost immediately—I hadn’t crossed the country to push carts. I quit with no plan and launched myself into the unknown. The unknown became my teacher. Through a chance encounter at a drum circle, I landed a job in marketing at a private aviation company. There, I met someone who introduced me to Ayahuasca, and though I thought he was a little unhinged at the time, I listened. Not long after, I sat in ceremony for the first time and met the medicine that would change everything. Ayahuasca showed me that love is infinite, that fear is thin, and that I was meant to walk a different path. That path led me to Spain in 2020. I sold my car, packed up my studio, found a home for my dog, and flew to Madrid with no plan beyond the first two nights. I didn’t speak Spanish. I just trusted. What followed was a global shutdown and a six-month quarantine in the south of Spain that became the deepest dive I’d ever taken into my own intuition. I began listening to the hum beneath the noise. I worked with San Pedro, painted, cooked, and started to live from a place of full-bodied yes. It was in Spain that I learned how to live outside of fear. From there, I followed the magic to Costa Rica. A friend was hosting an Ayahuasca retreat and needed help. I arrived with an open heart and left with a calling. I stayed to cook for sacred spaces, to hold community, and to learn how to lead not through hierarchy, but through presence. I’ve lived in vans. I’ve shaved my head. I’ve grieved the sudden loss of my father while holding others through their own healing. I’ve studied permaculture, intuitive nutrition, and plant medicine with elders, shamans, and spirit itself. I’ve fallen in and out of love, sat in hundreds of ceremonies, and returned to my art with new hands. My story is not polished. But it is real. It’s shaped by grief, beauty, ego death, and emergence. It is tended by a lineage of teachers—some human, some more-than-human—and it is always evolving. These days, I continue to follow the magic and listen to the hum. That quiet, honest vibration beneath the noise of the world. It’s what guides my brush. It’s what flavors my food. It’s what tells me when it’s time to rest or rise. It's what channels through me in service to you.