Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Illustration & Collage 2026
I listened to a recent talk with Naomi Klein, which emphasized the importance of bridging the gap between the fight against fascism and the fight for our living world. We often compartmentalize these movements, becoming fixated on the immediacy of one over the other—responding to the cascading crises that are unfolding at rapid speed. This is the moment we are in…but it is also not all encompassing of the ideological and cosmological shifts we can encourage amongst one another.
As Standing Rock, the Keystone XL pipeline protests, Project Blue resistance, Mauna Kea protectors, and so many other Indigenous land defense movements show us, there is a sacredness to our resistance. The fight to protect our air, waters, land, soils, is inherently a fight against the destructive forces that aim to do the same violence to human bodies. Our ability to connect and build solidarity/relationships with the non-human world is just as much apart of the resistance as building coalitions with our human comrades is. The technocracy will never be the savior, and the genocidal, billionaire egomaniacs that are creating their fortresses on the backs and bones of everything they are destroying will plunder themselves to death in the end—if we let them.
In the midst of this ecocide, I’ve been fixated on these resilient beings. They have been endangered for the past 50 years, largely due to lead poisoning from bullets/ammunition (as well as wildfires, habitat loss, pesticides, pollution, microplastics, all things climate collapse related). In the 80’s, it is said there were only 22 California condors known to exist. That number has now increased to over 500.
I was first drawn to condors as these seemingly mythological beings. Large, Paleolithic looking creatures with glorious feathered collars and captivating wingspans. Their association with death felt archetypal, in the realm of vulture-esque symbolism of the transition or balance between two worlds. Yet, they also symbolize renewal, freedom, the heart of the Earth, and the prophecy of what is to come.
As scavengers, they feed off of the carcasses of dead animals. They are the composters that we so often take for granted, breaking down the unsightly flesh and bones that become the nutrients and foundational components of the soils that sustain us. The cycle of death and rebirth. It is in our collective reverence for all of these earthly allies that we will find the seeds of liberation and world building that we have truthfully always had—we just have to remember them.
Illustration & Collage 2026
I listened to a recent talk with Naomi Klein, which emphasized the importance of bridging the gap between the fight against fascism and the fight for our living world. We often compartmentalize these movements, becoming fixated on the immediacy of one over the other—responding to the cascading crises that are unfolding at rapid speed. This is the moment we are in…but it is also not all encompassing of the ideological and cosmological shifts we can encourage amongst one another.
As Standing Rock, the Keystone XL pipeline protests, Project Blue resistance, Mauna Kea protectors, and so many other Indigenous land defense movements show us, there is a sacredness to our resistance. The fight to protect our air, waters, land, soils, is inherently a fight against the destructive forces that aim to do the same violence to human bodies. Our ability to connect and build solidarity/relationships with the non-human world is just as much apart of the resistance as building coalitions with our human comrades is. The technocracy will never be the savior, and the genocidal, billionaire egomaniacs that are creating their fortresses on the backs and bones of everything they are destroying will plunder themselves to death in the end—if we let them.
In the midst of this ecocide, I’ve been fixated on these resilient beings. They have been endangered for the past 50 years, largely due to lead poisoning from bullets/ammunition (as well as wildfires, habitat loss, pesticides, pollution, microplastics, all things climate collapse related). In the 80’s, it is said there were only 22 California condors known to exist. That number has now increased to over 500.
I was first drawn to condors as these seemingly mythological beings. Large, Paleolithic looking creatures with glorious feathered collars and captivating wingspans. Their association with death felt archetypal, in the realm of vulture-esque symbolism of the transition or balance between two worlds. Yet, they also symbolize renewal, freedom, the heart of the Earth, and the prophecy of what is to come.
As scavengers, they feed off of the carcasses of dead animals. They are the composters that we so often take for granted, breaking down the unsightly flesh and bones that become the nutrients and foundational components of the soils that sustain us. The cycle of death and rebirth. It is in our collective reverence for all of these earthly allies that we will find the seeds of liberation and world building that we have truthfully always had—we just have to remember them.