From Teaching to Environmental Communication

For as long as I can remember, creating art has felt like unlocking a door to magic—the act of transforming something from the subconscious into existence. I experience that same sense of wonder in nature, where beauty and evolution are inseparably linked. Orchids, octopuses, and hummingbirds are not only living organisms but also masterpieces of creativity shaped by time.

Growing up in the 1980s, I became acutely aware of environmental crises—oil spills, ozone holes, dolphins caught in nets, and mountains of trash. Those images left a lasting impression and ignited a lifelong urgency to protect our planet. Convinced that science would offer the surest way forward, I earned a degree in Environmental Science from Warren Wilson College in 2002. Knowledge, I believed, could help turn the tide.

Life, however, drew me along a different path. Through marriage, motherhood, and teaching, I discovered how art could re-enter my life as both practice and philosophy. Sharing creativity with my children and their friends rekindled my own dedication, leading me to spend years teaching myself painting, sculpture, photography, and eventually digital design and storytelling. Teaching K–8 art in Asheville, including for neurodivergent students, deepened this journey. In the classroom, I emphasized that art is not only about the finished piece but about process, discovery, and confidence. I tried to model curiosity and humility, showing my students that saying, “I don’t know—let’s figure it out,” is the beginning of learning.

Then came the COVID pandemic. While supporting my children through distance learning, my long-buried fears about the climate crisis surged back. The stillness of that moment forced clarity: I could not remain on the sidelines. Teaching had revealed the power of imagination and resilience in young people, and it convinced me that our best hope lies in equipping future generations with both the truth of ecological challenges and the tools to imagine different outcomes.

So I returned to graduate school to focus on the twin threads that have always defined me: environmental science and creative communication. My research now centers on water security, climate resilience, and the ways we tell stories about disaster and recovery. Through StoryMaps, graphics, and narrative projects, I work to make complex ideas accessible, to communicate urgency without despair, and to open space for resilience and innovation.

Hope and regret walk together in this work. I regret the wasted decades when warnings about climate change went unheeded. Yet I find hope in the creativity, courage, and determination of younger generations. If we can nurture a love for nature, an understanding of our dependence on ecological stability, and the confidence to challenge the status quo, I believe they will rise to meet the future.

This conviction—born from art, strengthened by teaching, and renewed through science—guides my work today. At the intersection of art and science, I aim to tell stories that help us face the realities of climate disruption while imagining more resilient futures.