Balance
When I was twelve years old, living in Adelaide, I stepped onto a tram alone.
As my foot lifted to climb the step, something extraordinary happened — though it didn’t feel dramatic at the time. For a brief moment, I wasn’t boarding a tram. I was climbing the stairs of a grand stage, preparing to speak to a room full of people about one word:
Balance
The moment passed just as quickly. I sat down, confused, replaying what I had experienced, trying to understand it. Nothing in my life at that age pointed toward stages, teaching, or public speaking. As the tram rocked along its route, a quiet thought arrived — not as an explanation, but as reassurance:
It’s okay that you don’t understand this now. You will when the time is right.
Years passed
About twenty years later, I found myself in a library, searching — not consciously, but with intent — for a book that would teach me how to draw. I had decided that I wanted to become an artist.
As I scanned the shelves, a book quite literally fell forward from behind another, landing in my hands. I opened it at random. The very first word I read was: BALANCE!
That book, with the author’s permission, became the foundation of what I would go on to teach for nearly twenty years — adapted, reshaped, and woven into my own way of working with imagination, creativity, and the mind.
Only then did I begin to understand the moment on the tram.
Balance was never just a concept I was interested in. It was something I was being gently guided toward — through creativity, through care, through learning how to hold both the practical and the imaginative at the same time.
Everything I create now — the artwork, the books, the workshops — comes from that same place. Not as answers, but as invitations.
This work is not about finding balance once — but about returning to it, again and again.