My voice has been both my gift and my curse.

I was never trained to sing.

When I was a kid me and my dad would make music together. He was the one who taught me how to listen. I was 13 when he left my family home and that was when I first lost my voice. I didn’t know how to tell him that I didn’t want him to leave. And so my own journey began from a place of deep disconnection, under the weight of that silence I had lost touch with my true expression. That loss eventually led me on a long path of reclamation, of rediscovering my authentic voice. And as I walked that path, the world of sound began to open before me.

I found myself drawn back to a time when the voice was wild and unconfined, not controlled by industry, not colonised by ideas of good or bad. I began listening for the old songs of my landscape, the ancient ways that sound was once used for healing, expression, and connection. This lead me on an expedition through Ukraine, song hunting from the Grandmothers in local villages.

Then I started teaching, first tens, then hundreds of people and something remarkable began to unfold. As I witnessed the reconnection to this ancient way of using sound, memories, sensations, and emotions began to rise. It was as though everything that had been numbed was surfacing, longing to be seen, to be understood. And after the release, the stillness, the clarity, the sheer vitality that emerges when a group of people sound together. That collective liberation and resonance is what keeps me going.

Because I can’t help but ask:
Why are we not using this power?
Why are we still so disconnected from such a fundamental source of vitality and truth?

I believe that if we are to truly rise, together, then our voices, our collective sound, must once again be remembered, reclaimed, and empowered, within ourselves and within our communities. This is the work.