Without a Map

Sharing my past has never been easy for me, but I've begun to understand that the work we're doing now is rooted in the contrast of where we've come from.
When I was released from the military in 2014, I remember feeling lost. The culmination of a four-year battle—both physically and mentally—left me struggling to find my place in an organization I no longer fit the arcs of. The haze of years spent on sleeping medications, antidepressants, and sedatives started to lift, revealing a world I didn't recognize anymore.  I'd physically run and marched my body into a state of disability I couldn't simply walk off.
The final day of my 15-year military career was spent leaning against an orderly desk. Not being marched out by my unit, not given a departure with dignity. Rather, the three hollow thumps of a pay clerk's stamp.

Between 2014 and 2018, I embarked on a slow journey of healing. I began to trade medication for meditation, and gradually, I learned to embrace gratitude again. I consciously shifted my mindset from the infantry creed of "closing with and destroying the enemy" to "creating something beautiful that wouldn’t exist without me". This transformation has been a years-long process, akin to a delicate surgery that requires time and patience.

Spending warm months on the shores of Nova Scotia has been pivotal in this journey. I’ve spent hours building gardens and a greenhouse, immersing myself in the fragile art of nurturing life rather than wielding the tools to take it. Wandering along the beaches with my wife, we search for tiny fragments of glass that were once sharp and dangerous, now weathered to smooth, colorful pieces. Each soft shard tells a beautiful story of transformation from something broken into something beautiful.

Strayboar, much like the ocean, has played a significant role in softening the edges of my past. It’s taken persistence, self-reflection, and more than a few literal walks on the beach, but we're getting there. The more communities and individuals we encounter who carry their own traumas, the more sharp edges we're able to sand smooth.

I want to express how amazing it’s been to realize that our art not only helps us process our own experiences but also supports others in their healing.
As we’ve started selling limited runs and unique pieces, I’ve seen our art make an difference. Knowing that some of our projects have helped initiatives in Ukraine for children affected by war is incredibly fulfilling.

Creating positive art from difficult experiences feels like cracking a code. If we can inspire more people to do the same, the ripple effect could be beautiful.
Together, we can turn our struggles into something meaningful, promoting connection and resilience. I’m excited to see where this story takes us!