Who are you, and what do you do?

I’m a multidisciplinary artist and writer working at the intersection of memory, mental health, ritual, and personal transformation.

My work moves between poetry, painting, sculpture, and installation — not by discipline, but by instinct. I follow ideas until they tell me what form they need.

What shapes your art and writing?

My work is shaped by lived experience, memory, and the quiet moments most people move past too quickly.

I return often to personal history, mental health, and the weight of expectation — societal, familial, and self-imposed. I’m less interested in resolution than in honesty, and less concerned with polish than with presence.

Symbolism plays a large role in my practice. Certain images return again and again, not because I plan them, but because they insist..

Why does symbolism matter so much in your work?

Symbols allow me to speak where language falls short.

One recurring image in my work is the octopus — a symbol of adaptation, intelligence, self-sacrifice, and the unseen labour that happens beneath the surface of everyday life. It mirrors my own mental health journey: shifting, elusive, responsive, and never entirely resolved.

Like healing itself, its meaning continues to evolve.

How do writing and visual art coexist in your practice?

I don’t force them to coexist — they already speak the same language.

Sometimes a poem arrives first and asks for a visual form. Other times an image, object, or installation opens the door to language. I move back and forth between mediums intuitively, allowing each piece to inform the next.

About Unshackled

What is Unshackled ?

Unshackled is a deconstructed autobiographical work told through poetry, drawings, and diary entries. It captures fragments of struggle, resilience, and self-reclamation — moments rather than a linear narrative.

It’s less a memoir and more a constellation.

Is Unshackled autobiographical?

Unshackled is a deconstructed autobiographical work told through poetry, drawings, and diary entries. It captures fragments of struggle, resilience, and self-reclamation — moments rather than a linear narrative.

It’s less a memoir and more a constellation.

Why did you choose to publish under B.M.B. Martin instead of your full name?

I wanted to create space between myself and the work — to allow it to exist without the filter of gendered assumptions or expectation.

My name has never felt like the most important part of the art.

What changed after Unshackled?

Unshackled was the moment I named what I had survived.

What followed was unravelling. Healing revealed how much of myself I had been censoring — not only as a person, but as an artist. I had mistaken refinement for growth, and safety for authenticity. The unshackling was permission. The unravelling was remembering.

Creative Alchemy emerged when I stopped sanding myself down and let my work become instinctual, symbolic, and unapologetically alive.

Art & Practice

What kind of art do you make?

Whatever the moment asks for.

I move between poetry, painting, sculpture, and installation, often incorporating found objects and raw materials. Lately, my work has been centered around reclamation — of self, of memory, of space, and of creative autonomy.

Where can I see your artwork?

I share exhibitions, projects, and works in progress through my social media channels and website as they unfold.

Do you take commissions?

Stepping away from commissions was part of reclaiming my creative autonomy.

Now, I create from curiosity and necessity — not obligation.

Process, Ritual, & Background

What’s your background in art and writing?

I hold a Bachelor of Fine Arts from Mount Allison University (2010), completed an artist residency at the Toronto School of Art (2010), and earned a Master’s in Contemporary Art from Oxford Brookes University (2014).

More than credentials, though, I’ve been writing and creating for as long as I can remember. My diaries were my first studio — and they remain the foundation of my practice.

Do you have any creative rituals?

Yes — but they’re less about routine and more about intention.

My practice now begins with slowing down. Creating space. Letting myself arrive fully before making anything.

I incorporate mindfulness, meditation, and spiritual practices into my creative process — lighting candles, pulling tarot cards, working intuitively, and allowing play and messiness to lead rather than outcome. These rituals aren’t about prediction or performance; they’re about presence.

Creativity, for me, has become a way of listening.

How has your creative process changed?

Healing taught me that productivity was never the same thing as truth.

I no longer push ideas into form or demand clarity before beginning. I allow myself to play, to be uncertain, to make work that doesn’t immediately resolve. Messiness is no longer something to edit out — it’s often where the real work begins.

By approaching creativity as a mindful, embodied practice, I’ve reconnected with a deeper, more intuitive relationship to my art — one that feels honest, alive, and sustainable.

What role do spirituality and mindfulness play in your work?

They ground me.

Spirituality, for me, isn’t dogmatic or prescriptive — it’s experiential. It shows up in quiet rituals, intuitive decision-making, symbolism, and moments of reflection woven into the creative process.

These practices don’t replace skill or intention — they deepen them.

What role do journaling and writing play in your work?

Journaling is the foundation of everything I make.

Writing — especially private, unedited writing — has always felt like a direct line to my authentic self. It’s where truth surfaces before it’s shaped, where the inner voice speaks without interruption, and where creativity is allowed to be messy, contradictory, and alive.

Many of my poems, visual works, and installations began as handwritten entries — moments captured without intention beyond honesty. That practice continues to be essential to my work, not as preparation, but as communion.

Journaling isn’t something I do before creating.

It is the creating.

Are there influences that shaped your relationship to journaling?

Yes — particularly the work of Julia Cameron, whose framing of writing as a spiritual and creative practice helped me recognize something I had already been doing intuitively for most of my life.

Rather than teaching me how to write, her work validated writing as a form of listening — a way to clear space, remove interference, and reconnect with creative truth.

Conversation & Exchange

Do you teach or mentor?

Not formally.

What I value most are genuine creative conversations — spaces where curiosity, uncertainty, and lived experience can coexist. I’m always open to thoughtful dialogue, especially with fellow creatives navigating their own unravelling.

Do you give advice to artists or writers?

I don’t believe in prescriptions.

What I offer, when asked, comes from lived experience rather than instruction. If there’s one thing I return to again and again, it’s this: keep listening for the voice underneath the noise — and protect it.

Do you accept speaking engagements or collaborations?

I’m open to them, provided they align with my values and creative integrity. If you have something in mind, you’re welcome to reach out.