Hello, friend, and welcome. I’m Elæ.

Gathered here are works across media, representing my efforts both public and private to consider our possibilities for system evolution: of our bodies, our relationships to nonhuman allies, our kinship networks and communities, the ways we engage with labor and creative practice, and the infrastructures we build and use daily.

This site is always evolving, with archival and new project material, resources and tools added frequently! If you’re interested in receiving updates about my ongoing work, please sign up for my (infrequent) newsletter here, or follow me on Instagram!

Here, you’ll find:

  • a collection of my [PROJECTS] across a range of disciplines and media
  • information around my [FACILITATION] / teaching / coaching practice, including workshops, lectures, and open resources for public use
  • a [MEDIA] page, where you can access and/or download texts and other materials
  • a calendar of recent and forthcoming [HAPPENINGSincluding exhibitions, performances and other events
  • an invitation to engage / other ways to [WORK WITH ME]

This work can be and feel a little unwieldy: it resists easy categorization by design, as the process of re/orientation around language as way to hack and make intentional our relationship with perception is not only something I write about or engage with in a “studio” capacity, but rather employ as a constant investigation. Perception, articulation, and documentation of my body’s experience in and with its surrounds, and then of both micro and macro systems with which I interact, is the key to my practice. The media used and strategies employed in my work are not a question of identity (ie: “artist,” “painter,” “writer”) or role in the invented industries of human history (“professor,” “publisher,” “curator”) but a site of discerning the appropriate material, form, and delivery system or structure to ask and investigate certain questions in different contexts. This practice also often has been subject to the chance operational constraints of scarcity and precarity: limitations of space, time, and resources mean that works has often taken textual, virtual and/or conceptual form not entirely because of preference but because of systemic conditions. Intentional investigation and consideration of this, too, becomes part of the process: interfacing with other logics, generating system intelligence.

Key to all of this is an outward facing documentation and offering, at all times, with the belief that others might use and benefit from these investigations and articulations. This is what I mean by “speculative solidarities”: this work engages always in the speculative, meaning that it asks questions of what might be possible for each of us in our bodies, with each other, and in this world. When I work through strategies for shifting systems, and test / develop tools for making change that build on micro-hacks (to language, somatic practice, etc) in the service of re-imagined structures (of kinship, labor, resource sharing, etc), I offer those freely. I do so in hopes that I might be able to increase others’ capacity and speed in growth and service, ultimately increasing resources for all of us individually and as a whole, opening potential that feels inaccessible in our current scarcity cycles.

Depending on the context, sure, I might refer to this work “art” or “scholarship” or “citizen science” or “philosophy”; code-switching is an essential and constant practice in my life so that the work remains legible and reaches those that might benefit from it. But truly, if we could understand ministry as a lifelong commitment to strategizing solidarity, more the act of “rendering service, aid, or medicine; furnishing means of relief or remedy” of its origins, perhaps that might be a way to understand what I’ve always felt called to do. It gives me purpose, and sometimes it aligns with a paid position, but usually not. I’ve learned over the years I just need to leap, and knit nets for myself in midair rather than waiting for resources. It’s scary, but I’m going to keep jumping into that void, because I think the alternative is worse (despite what the traumatized body is led to believe). I want you to leap with me. I think joy is resistance. I think there’s greater possibilities that we’ve ever believed.

In solidarity and possibility