As I write this introduction, it’s mid-April and the wind is howling against the windows. Bits of ice stubbornly cling to the sidewalks, and the sky oscillates between sunny optimism and impending storms. This is life in Saskatchewan, where I was born and raised, and I feel it says much about me. That I’m unpleasant, cold and bipolar. Kidding, I hope.

But people who are grown on the Canadian prairies tend to have a certain grit, a fierceness of character that could only be crafted by the pressure of extremes. You have two options during the long winters – play hockey or make art. I assume it’s evident which route I took.

I’ve always had an abundance of passion projects and interests, oppressed by the notion of having “one true calling”. I’d watch in awe as people went after their one thing, and spent many years figuring I was broken, that I needed to tame my rebellious instincts.