ABOUT
Kia ora! My name is Alexandra Murco4, and I’m an ar8st from New Zealand who calls New York, USA, home. Thank you for taking a geeze at the things I create on my journey toward personal truth, self-love, and acceptance. I hope what you encounter here feels thoughKul, human, and illumina8ng—with a li4le whimsy tucked into the seams.
Since 2006, under my nom de plume, I’ve created a wide range of work across many mediums. Moena Moxham is less a brand, more a living record of growth through crea8vity. Think Renaissance woman, with a few extra tabs open.
On the surface, I make objets d’art, fashion and accessories, pain8ngs, drawings, and edible art. But the true heart of my work leaves no tangible trace. It lives in moments shared with others—flee8ng or sustained—life-shiUing conversa8ons, presence at crossroads, and the exchange of energy when people meet withopenness.
Crea8ng around the world has changed my life and, I know with certainty, the lives of others. Surviving an
unusual and challenging existence with hope, joy, and playfulness intact feels like my greatest achievement
—though I’m grateful people also enjoy the physical things I make along the way.
This website is a visual narra8ve of the many micro-life8mes I’ve squeezed into one. These chapters oUen ran in parallel with love affairs, both physical and fanciful, and form part of my ongoing unmaking.
This About page has become one of my favorite artworks. I’ve been tweaking it for years—not just as inspira8on for others, but as a bookmark for myself when things get dark and I need reminding of how far I’ve come. Some8mes an ar8st needs her own li4le breadcrumb trail home.
This porKolio exists because of epic hard graU, countless mistakes, trials and tribula8ons. It’s a huge amount of hustling my cute ass, and the financial and emo8onal support of family, employers, friends, lovers, and people who saw something in me and chose to do cool things together.
What ma4ers most is the reinven8on: the problem-solving required when life throws curveballs, occasionally with rather unnecessary enthusiasm. What you see represents nearly two decades of diligent work; what you don’t see are the many hands, minds, and hearts that held me up.
Most of my work is made by hand, but the real magic oUen emerges through collabora8on. I work with extraordinary ar8sans, including glass ar8st Emily Doerflein, cashmere weavers in Kathmandu, and Michael and Kristen of WellSculpt in upstate New York. I value connec8on enough to travel across the world to meet collaborators face-to-face.
Sharing resources, ideas, and opportuni8es compels me to keep crea8ng. Making things helps me work through my own thoughts—but it’s infinitely more sa8sfying when it supports someone else’s growth and livelihood too.
My professional path—up, down, sideways, under the radar, and occasionally nowhere near the expected trajectory—has been a quiet blessing. Had there been more eyes and opinions on me, I doubt I would have worked through my challenges so organically. I’m grateful the universe kept me somewhat hidden while I figured things out in my own way.
“So, Mrs… what do you do? In simple terms. Summarise it.”
Errr. Let me think. What do I do?
I can doooo many things, but what’s the point of it all? Who am I? What kind of ar8st am I? Are my
crea8ons valuable or frivolous? Is this business or therapy?
Well. Let’s see where I’ve got to.
My work is personal, purpose-driven, and oUen born from unresolved life moments. I’m not par8cularly good at being visible, strategic, or business-minded. I fail oUen. I don’t create for demographics or trends, and I have li4le desire to be shaped into something universally palatable.
I make beau8ful things from my not-so-beau8ful problems.
You might ask, “Why make life so hard? Why not give up and get a normal job?” This ques8on visits cyclically, usually when I’m 8red and something expensive has just gone sideways. I have waves of wan8ng to throw the towel in on everything. But I keep coming back to this: I don’t think I would have been given my giUs if I wasn’t meant to use them, and around really goddamn spiky corners are truly magnificent things.
Some8mes the main challenge is holding on to see where things take you.
I need to read that again.
A wee disclaimer before we wander further
This About page is not succinct. It is self-indulgent, occasionally convoluted, and prone to wandering into the bushes. It reflects how I think and work things out. I didn’t really write it for anyone else; it became a place of working.
If you wanted a neat li4le blurb, this might be your stop. Make yourself a cup of tea and move on to something scin8lla8ng, like folding your smalls or hun8ng out some chocolate.
If you choose to proceed, good luck to you. I’m in admira8on. You may be becoming a dinosaur: a rare being who wants to seek ideas rather than be shown them.
I accept no liability for your eventual level of betwixed-ness, but I hope it’s a pleasantly squiggly, higgledy-piggledy one. Perhaps something here will make you ques8on a li4le, offer a glimpse inside this ar8st’s mind, or produce an “ahhh” or an “ohhh” along the way.
I should also say: I don’t think I’m special for doing this. We’re all on a journey of self-discovery; some of us are simply more compelled to dig around in it. Life knocks us about, especially when we’ve thrown ourselves into it fully. And some people are handed really difficult things regardless. If that’s you, well done.
It takes courage to own problems and work through them.
I can’t help but dig. When I see or feel something, I have to find out what it’s about.
So here we go: valida8on and shame, energy and mortality, sacrifice, healing, ecstasy, grief, gender, legacy, sex, pleasure, beauty, vanity, purpose, self-doubt, and courage. The yin and yang of emo8onal experience.
What you see here are the physical manifesta8ons of riding through, over, and some8mes beneath these
undula8ons—and using crea8vity to cope, process, and restore.
Explore | Reflect | Create
I’m a passionate crea8ve. I thrive on connec8on, s8mula8on, and growth through explora8on. My accomplishments are diverse, but look closely and you’ll find consistent threads: a4en8on to detail, precision, focus, and vision.
Moena Moxham is a pseudonym for my crea8ve personali8es and expressions. I move between different energies and ac8vi8es, not to perform gender, but to follow what resonates. I’m uninterested in reinforcing labels—especially when figh8ng them can 8ghten their grip. What ma4ers to me is authen8city in ac8on.
For a long 8me, emo8ons and interpersonal rela8onships weren’t my strongest arena. What you see now reflects the ways I’ve learned to understand them while untangling my thinking.
When my thoughts get too noisy and I 8re of the tennis match between ques8ons and answers in my head, I head into physical ac8vi8es: driving, flying, walking, motorcycling, solo travel. New environments recharge my soul and rearrange the rooms upstairs.
Some8mes people mistake my love of “extreme” ac8vi8es for recklessness. For me, they are considered prac8ces of risk assessment that quiet my internal monologue by anchoring me in the immediate. They demand asser8veness, presence, and responsibility. Through them, I find fresh perspec8ves on how to live, think, and create.
I follow organic “pebbles of interest.” My travel, like my life, is shaped by conversa8ons, people, opportuni8es, and curiosi8es rather than guidebooks.
Recently, my oldest daughter Adira started reading The Magic School Bus. “You ARE the Frizz!” she announced one day. “Mom, you are the Magic School Bus! You find things we like, get us interested, and help us learn more!” I think this might be the pinnacle of comparison. Finally, a job descrip8on.
Immersion in new cultures and rigorous introspec8on are central to my process: explore | reflect | create. My life itself is a craUed artwork.
Two of my favourite passions! I am on the way to getting my PPL (Private Pilots Licence… because I want my Heli license!) & my MV Agusta Brutale Dragster RR. Photography: Bern Stock
Moving meditation, with the occasional day off
Speed, for me, isn’t about velocity alone. Riding winding roads, snowboarding, flying, pain8ng, or making music, I seek the sweet spot where precision becomes flow. My mind priori8zes what ma4ers now; my body and whatever I’m working with begin to dance together.
The smoothness is my responsibility. There is libera8on in that singularity—and humility in its consequences. Some days the clarity isn’t there. Recognizing that is wisdom too. Those days are for sunbathing or movies in bed.
My literal speed can be high, but my psychological pace is slow and a4en8ve. I savor detail, romance the moment, and delight in the aesthe8cs of 8me and place.
This has frustrated people who wished I would narrow my focus or “s8ck to one thing.” But I never stopped playing. I think it’s immensely important to keep doing. My crea8vity unfolds in seasons, reflec8ng my own wax and wane and the world around me. Like life, my work is many interlinked chapters.CommentHighlight There are different facets to my crea8vity which are influenced by sexuality; the intensity of this energy, my soul’s orienta8on towards physical & spiritual a4rac8on, my moral direc8on towards these powers, my ownership over how I share this, how periods of abs8nence increase crea8vity, control v relinquishment;
dominate v submission, and my primal desire to watch things grow and to nurture, are a4ributes that instantly come to mind.
My passionate nature + the a4en8on my physical appearance affords me has been a complicated giU- one that has been roses; long, perpetra8ng painful thorns included. I didn’t naturally gel with being pre4y, and I wanted to be accepted for my abili8es not my looks.
There are par8cular elements associated to being able to create as a woman and how this is impacted by the hormonal rollercoaster we ride. In my experience, this ebb and flow is integrally intertwined with our quali8es of being ul8mate creators, but this honor comes with intense fluctua8ng emo8onal challenges that require a mul8tude of different types of care & open-mindedness.
A lot of the ac8vi8es I love to do have parallels with clima8c pleasure- the adrenaline of a perfectly executed chase of cat & mouse through heavy traffic, the sensuous vibra8ons of playing the violin resona8ng through my heart and breasts, the sensa8on of bringing an airplane higher and higher to the point of stall… It is primal & sensual delving into both adrenaline & deep crea8vity. Both wax and wane; are unsustainable at high intensity and vola8le in essence.
As in nature, beauty lies in the irresis8bility of impermanence.
I’m drawn to flee8ng experiences: edible art, shared moments, laughter, conversa8ons, mo8on, sensa8on.
Things that don’t endure materially but leave las8ng impressions.
Perhaps it’s rebellion against a world obsessed with tangibility. I want to give what can’t be taken: a memory, a feeling, a hidden treasure inside someone else. Pebbles of joy to remind us, when things get tough, that we have been loved.
Fire in the family
But let’s rewind a little.
I’m a Kiwi, a mongrel of many ethnicities, an immigrant in my home country and in my new one. An only child with a soul full of wanderlust, descended from science-and-arty brains who emigrated, invented, and fought for their visions.
My grandfather, Gibby, was a maverick surgeon, internationally respected and gracefully humble. He also designed and engineered ways to improve things at Wellington Hospital. He inspired me to focus on doing, not accolades.
At his memorial, I recited a version of the starfish story, adapted from Loren Eiseley’s The Star Thrower. A boy walks along a beach, returning stranded starfish to the sea. A man tells him there are too many for his efforts to make much difference. The boy throws another back and says, “It made a difference to that one.”
That was my grandfather... and qualities I hold dearest.
That afternoon, I went skydiving with a friend. Drifting back to land, I felt his presence profoundly. I spent the following days reconsidering my purpose and where I wanted my life to go.
Alongside Gibby were inventors, farmers, missionaries, healers, cartographers, gold miners, entrepreneurs, teachers, motorcyclists, a Pan Am air hostess, and wonderfully go-etting women. My great-great-grandmother raced a Bugatti and a Triumph motorbike in the 1920s. Yep, dem dames were spirited.
There is heavy-handed fire in my blood. My people weren’t particularly laid-back. They were wildcards,underdogs, and rebels. It has taken decades to understand my makeup well enough to accept it rather than dilute the inconvenient bits.
When I became a mother, I came across a saying: “Only parents with gentle children can gentle parent. The rest of us have to square up and fight for our lives with the tiny bullies we made.”
It made me laugh—and recognize a few things.
My life has been a process of understanding where fear and dominance collide, in myself and others: where to temper them, where to forgive them, and where to channel that passion into something worthwhile.
I don’t offer a perfect solution or a manifesto for living. I’ve found healing through activity, connection, and presence—and sometimes helped others along the way. In a world increasingly pulled away from embodied living, that feels important to share.
Aotearoa, I love you—and we need to talk
New Zealand shaped me: its wild weather, ingenuity, cultural richness, landscapes, oceans, and skies.
Wellington’s wind taught me resilience and how to become symbiotic with Mother Nature rather than argue with her. She generally wins.
I grew up with whales visiting the harbor, stingrays in the shallows of Oriental Bay, meteor showers, volcanoes to hike and snowboard, vintage cars, motorbikes, and room to explore. Māori, Pacific, and Asian cultures, diverse food, art, and religion fed my curiosity.
Aotearoa gave me freedom, creativity, and grit. She also gave me challenges I didn’t fully understand until I lived elsewhere.
I’ve often been misread by appearance alone and never felt neatly contained by a cultural demographic. My ancestors were many colors, yet I felt pushed to pick sides. Internally, I resonated with Japanese, Indian, and Arabic cultures and with spiritual traditions beyond my upbringing.
Reading about reincarnation and other concepts presented in religions different to my upbringing gave me a better understanding of the feelings I felt towards my own existence on Earth, for this lifetime around. I strongly feel I have lived other lifetimes in other skins; why would I show prejudice towards another when that is another version of me, living a life I could have led?
A child of the world is how I see myself—and, really, all of us. Sensual, sentient beings made of the same matter; stardust and moonbeams, with varying amounts of paperwork.
As a little girl, I loved the spices, music, embroidery, and vibrant saris in my Indian neighbors’ home. My grandparents’ Japanese collections stirred deep familiarity. These encounters felt cellular—like remembering rather than discovering. Eventually, I went looking for those experiences firsthand.
I was encouraged academically and creatively, in feminine crafts and traditionally male pursuits. What I lacked was guidance in growing into womanhood without rejecting my other energies. This portfolio is partly the record of that search.
In the early 2000s, Wellington pulsed with music, film, and possibility. My twenties were wild, vibrant, electric. Over time, though, I felt fear and control crowding out our openness.
Tall Poppy Syndrome is an insidious cultural behavior which is rampant in my home country, and is quite a hard thing to explain to outsiders. It became a particularly painful part of younger life experience. It can be hard to explain to outsiders: a compliment with a little slap tucked inside. You’re built up, then promptly knocked down.
Recently I was chatting to a young NZ friend of mine in NYC; we were talking about conversational power play, and how this compares to the US and other places. Kiwi’s like to jib each other in conversation- there is a tendency to throw out veiled compliments and the nature of the conversation is to try and one up each other with a bigger slag off eg:
“you look great tonight.. if you are dressed up to be auctioned off!.'“
“It’s just a good-natured jibe!”
Sometimes. But I think these exchanges can become poisonous when they condition us to shrink ourselves and accept unkindness as belonging. The comments return when you’re tired or vulnerable, feeding the little gremlins already conducting meetings in your head.
Culturally we accept stealing someone else’s power in a negative way; there is a looser and a winner in interactions and even though these may seem ‘not important’ these comments, this type of interaction, increasingly eats away at one over time. It starts young and is prevalent through to elderly, and where is may be found in a conversation, it’s also found in relationships, business dealings, driving (yes, someone might give you the thumbs up that they like your car, but they ain’t letting you in on the motorway merger) and the collective conscious in how the community interacts.
New Zealanders are being conditioned to be compliant and reactive to assertiveness and this is really not healthy...
because in order to design a different path, one is going to need a decent dose of exactly those traits. I feel that the community in NZ is being mollycoddled into thinking that making your dreams happen somehow comes about without having to stick your head on the block for them, or that someone is going to give you a guiding hand. It simply doesn’t work like that.
If you want something you have to fight for it from your ideas, but when you live in a place where striving for what you want is dangerous and incites jealousy and rage, you’re going to end up either thinking there is something deeply wrong with yourself, or you are going to have to get out.
I grew tired of being called an “overachiever” as though it were a nasty condition. Tired of snide remarks and having people sabotage my projects because they felt threatened.
Dreaming loudly in an environment hostile to aspiration is kryptonite to spiritual growth.
I succumbed for a long time into these toxic comments that fed my already fractured self worth, so far that I too was nearly one of NZ’s deadly statistics.
There are interesting theories about the four main forms of stealing power, or dominating someone’s power in an interaction. Intimidation, aggression, woe-is-me or aloof. In all my travels, I have not immersed myself in a culture which uses these as liberally and intensely as New Zealand on each other. The UK was similar, and even Canada had similarities, Japan has ijime which is a very dangerous type of bullying which I felt was akin, yet I would argue that this is understood in a much better way than young New Zealand. It’s not a coincidence that New Zealand and Japan have the highest suicide rates in the world along with Finland and Korea.
The USA (and I’m in New York to be specific) in comparison is buoyant and playful- people are excited to interact and enjoy hearing about ideas and thoughts on new projects. They celebrate success, conversationally & spiritually. People are attuned to want to build another up, allow people to strive to express themselves; to find an edge with the system to succeed, and there is an active push to help each other find resources to build the things we have the guts to dream of and be ambitious for. These differences have been profound.
And yet—I love Aotearoa deeply. Even its difficulty carved my tenacity. Its beauty, resourcefulness, and extraordinary people are part of me.
The wind, the weather, the wildness shaped my resilience. Battling Welly wind (regular 120km wind patterns, in fact the windiest city on Earth), and wonderful dramatic weather gifted me a resilience to life & what it throws you in general, while teaching me to become symbiotic with Mother Nature and her wildness rather than push against her. The landscapes, cultures, oceans, and skies fed my soul.
The liberal side of our community let me inquire into my creative personality while I had access to hiking and snowboarding volcanoes (need I say more?), Māori, Pacific & Asian cultures, diverse food & religions.
I grew up with whales and water spouts visiting Wellington harbor, swimming with the stingrays & kina in the shallows of Oriental Bay in the warm summer evenings, the Southern Lights and meteor showers from crystal clear skies, cow tipping (if you know, you know lol), vintage car and motorbike culture, and I was able to be let loose in the beautiful geography to explore and have fun without the pressures of big city intensities, health insurance and privatized health care, and the race of a lot of people doing a lot of things.
Even my family + communities risk aversion made me question my values and desires, and the crazy cost of living (it is incredibly expensive; personally by far the most expensive place I have lived and worked and that includes big cites like London, Tokyo and New York.. ) carved my tenacity towards making my goals happen.
You can get access to learning new skills in NZ if you are resourceful, but it is taxing and stressful fighting the hiked cost of utilities, food, amenities and the delays in getting anything in and out. Aotearoa gave me freedom, creativity, and grit. She moulded me, whether I saw it good or bad, those things have made me become me. New Zealander’s; Kiwi’s as we are called (Phillipino, Malaysian, Māori, Thai, British, Dutch...and every denomination and ethnic group you can imagine in-between) are beautiful, ingenious people. That’s why it hurts to see fear and division tearing such a special place apart.
These are my impressions, not everyone’s. Your experience might be entirely different. If you’re thinking of visiting, doooo ittttt! Every community has issues and hidden nuances. New Zealand simply wasn’t meant to remain my home.
I do feel that NZ is also a precursor to the rest of the world. What has been implemented at home are often social constructs which are taken on by bigger nations. We are the testing ground- a nice tidy western population at the bottom of the world to be a petri dish... be careful- what you hear is not what it feels like to live here, to raise a family, to do business...
If NZ was a human she would be a hot supermodel glinting from a giant billboard in Time Square.. dazzling & airbrushed to be all that and a bag of chips, but in reality, vacant & suffering from self hatred, spiritual anxiety & being torn from the inside out by racial division, jealously, bickering and deep internal fracture.
I say this not from bitterness, but from love—and the hope that honesty might make room for healing.
A colourful beginning, followed by a rather sharp turn
I was born in Wellington, New Zealand in the mid-1980s. An only child Leo to a Piscean Mom and Capricorn Dad. I attended Samuel Marsden Collegiate School for Girls from just before age four and adored school. I was academically and socially engaged, empathetic, and unusually focused.
My inner world was vivid and intense. As a child, I experienced elaborate visions and sounds in the space before sleep, superimposed over what I could see around me and I see people in colors. These hypnagogics could be frightening, but my parents patiently helped me learn to calm within them. Eventually, I could enter and exit those states intentionally and manipulate the visions within them.
What began as something overwhelming became a place of creativity. It taught me early that my mind was powerful—and that learning how to work with it mattered.
A busy mind and a strong moral compass have remained both blessing and burden. Learning to filter the ideas, sensations, and imagination has been lifelong work. My spiritual experiences and beliefs have also shaped me deeply. I feel there are forms of connection we lose fluency in when we stop listening.
Around age ten, my family fractured through violence, deception, legal conflict, and trauma. As I began finding my identity, my loving but frightened parents became increasingly controlling. Home collapsed. I spent time with other families, on the streets, and in foster care, eventually accessing the Independent Youth Benefit (life changing social welfare for young adults that NZ has just passed a law to abolish).
I also battled privately with a lot of bullying at school. After an illness caused me to lose weight, I discovered a dangerous new sense of control. What was a new tool I thought I could use briefly became an eating disorder that would consume nearly two decades. I thought I had found a great new fix, I could eat what I loved, I didn’t put on weight, but it also brought into line my very vivid ability to visualize things and the torrent of noise in my mind- especially later in the day as I got more tired... “I’ll do this for a little bit, it’s just helping me out”, I thought, “I’ll keep it under control, just until I am stronger.” Sadly anorexia and bulimia doesn’t work like that, it becomes a cage for your mind; the more it makes you shameful and afraid, the more it consumes you into a cycle of feeling inadequate, sick and inept.
Excellence hadn’t protected me. It had brought pressure, attention, and rejection. I became recklessly self- destructive—drugs, alcohol, sugar, painful relationships, and a frightening disregard for myself.
At fourteen, I was deeply unwell and off the rails. A police youth aid officer was one of the first adults who set aside my inflammatory behaviour and listened to what was driving it. In many ways, I owe my life to him.
He taught me a grace I’ve tried to offer others: don’t let the flailing on the surface stop you looking for the distress nderneath.
Moving to Wellington High School rerouted my life. I thrived in its inclusive creative community and was privileged to have Rob McLeod as my art teacher. Marsden taught me how to learn; Wellington High taught me how to live.
After placing third in fashion design at NZ Young Designer of the Year, I entered Massey University’s Foundation Certificate in Design at fifteen, turning sixteen. I was living independently, studying, partying, and searching—capable in some ways, very young in others.
I moved between industrial design, textiles, and fine art, guided by tactility, curiosity, and a refusal to remain in one lane. A trip to New York at nineteen shifted everything. I eventually graduated with a Bachelor of Design with honours in Textile Design, then freelanced and worked in high-end fashion while funding my art.
It was exhilarating—and brutally hard.
I also want to acknowledge my parents’ situation with compassion. They gave me extraordinary opportunities and were navigating fear and complicated personal circumstances. They feared watching me make mistakes and superimposed someone else’s story onto mine. Instead of seeing me as a young woman whom they had instilled all the best qualities & good judgment they could into, they slipped into being terrified of watching me find my way while layering another family members’s choices over my own. I was not my family member, but I can see how their fear of him became only the qualities they could see in me. I am also a lot less conservative than my parents, and I can appreciate how affronting this may have been. Becoming a mother has helped me understand how hard it can be to protect littlelies without clipping their wings.
Food, love, and the long way home
One lasting effect of those years was sidelining my personal needs. I learned to function, achieve, and appear balanced, but not to advocate for myself in intimate relationships. I feared rejection and tried to make choices everyone could live with—sometimes everyone except me.
I lived dual lives: gifted and capable outside, fractured and lonely within. Bulimia & anorexia became both confidant and tormentor, offering release while taking away contentment and sanity. It was both coping mechanism and prison, deeply entangled with trauma and self-worth. Recovery took many years and profound humility. I was so desperate to try and achieve the dreams I held in my heart, but I was a fractured kid at the bottom of the world who just had fantasies until she could master eating eggs and bacon for breakfast.
In my early twenties, as I was beginning to build a safe life, I was raped by the father of my best friend at the time. I was a situation which had ripples for decades; it sligshot’d me back into oceans of shame, guilt and and over analyzing my responsibilities towards how I had ended up being abused. This took a decade to unwind.
A pivotal love brought faith, family, and support into my life while I found my way into AA. I had become acutely aware that sugar was my main addiction issue. However at this time, I wasn’t able to cope with loosing my love, his family, and the breakup of our engagement, while also shedding my friend bulimia at the same time.
After our breakup, I turned to Overeaters Anonymous as I became more aware of my relationship with sugar and food.
Recovery wasn’t a tidy before-and-after photograph. I pursued motorcycling, snowboarding, flying, and solo travel alongside it. Moving meditation shifted my focus toward what my body could do and how strong it was, rather than what it looked like.
Being experiential indulged my emotions of all varieties, made me commit to my choices and thoughts without relying on anyone else and taking full responsibility for my actions and thus consequences. Intertwined with my physical escapades, my spiritual journeys also became more profound. I started to travel internationally by myself a lot; Australia, Bali, Japan, Myanmar; all around South East Asia. London, the Netherlands, India, Kashmir.. many more- letting places and experiences guide me, choosing locations that resonated with me and becoming more attuned to following and trusting my intuition. I was intentionally working on getting well mentally and spiritually so I could unwrap & unwind my physical compulsions.
A major breakthrough came at Schiphol Airport after two months trying to find work in London. Exhausted and lonely, I sat opposite a convenience store, fighting the urge to buy comfort food. Instead of moving, I made myself watch what was happening.
Images of food my Nana and Mom made flooded my mind, along with shame, uncertainty, and a desperate longing for a hug. That was what stopped me: the hug. I saw that I was seeking emotional reassurance in something that couldn’t provide it. My hollowness wasn’t a physical void. I couldn’t fill it with something bought and consumed.
It sounds simple now. Inside that nightmare, it was painfully elusive. I dragged my ass back across the world and into the familiar Overeaters Anonymous room. There, I began learning to meet the sick parts of myself with compassion, rather than believing I had to eliminate them to become acceptable.
Terrible and beautiful could exist together. That paradox shaped my worldview and my art.
Today, food no longer occupies every corner of my mind. I eat with pleasure and balance, avoid making things forbidden, and pay attention to what keeps me feeling well. Sugar, once my nemesis, became a medium for celebrating pleasure and exploring identity, gratification, obsession and expectations.
Bulimia wrapped every Easter, every Christmas meal, every friends birthday party and my own in fear, anxiety and shame. I would at times feel so paralyzed by my preemptive thinking (great for motorcycling & flying- shit for living) making up scenarios of what to do or not do, all I could mange would be to decline attending events, or make excuses and turn up late or some other convoluted situation. The logistics of living in this Hell are a nightmare. Bulimia was both my confidant and my tormentor, it gave me comfort and release from the world but the cost for doing so was sacrificing any semblance of contentment and sanity.
Trusting myself again was slower work. If you have been trapped in your mind for nearly two decades, unable to break free of compulsions, you may be able to see how becoming well becomes a bit Stockholm Syndrome-ish.
The key to my recovery was, quite literally, learning to develop positive feelings toward the acts of deprivation I had inflicted upon myself—becoming both prisoner and captor. I believe this was where I began to recognize that I am somewhat unique in how I relate to others. I don’t fear inner ugliness or what it can make us do, because I have wrestled fiercely with my own. Yes, others have done horrible things to me, but by far it is myself who has most tormented my soul or taken other’s actions and used these to continue to hurt myself. Travel, solitude, and adventure became essential tools for recalibration—ways to hear myself clearly, see how other cultures think about things and choose alignment over anxiety.
Today, I eat what I like, and what I crave in moderation and balance. My only ‘rule’ is savory before sweet and that there are no ‘bad foods’ but I am aware of what certain foods can do to my mood and what does and doesn’t keep me levelheaded. I think calorie numbers and health food stars & scales are the devils work, and am incredibly cynical about labelling- eat how our Grandparents ate; predominantly fresh, home cooked and limited crap out of packets.
My metabolism doesn’t like it when I travel and I have to consciously up vegetables when I’m international to keep in line with my normal food intake at home. I keep highly processed foods to a minimum but never tell myself I can’t eat something. If I do; if I hear ‘die’t, my psyche will panic and seek comfort foods- I prefer to encourage myself to intake more veggies, more soups and make sure I have a lunch filled with these so I can still indulge in whatever cake, pastry or delicious meat, seafood, cheese or whatever it is at the time I’m hunkering for.
One of the very dangerous and long standing effect of having issues with eating, and major trauma, is that it really screws with one’s abilities to trust instincts. I was deeply cynical about listening to myself or even realizing that the amazing things that were popping into my life as I got well were actually FOR me, not coincidental happenings. This mistrust of my thoughts, emotions and the undercurrent of fractured self esteem took a long time to learn how to get in flow with.
Around thirty, I met another major love. He was older, and I wasn’t ready. I friend-zoned him for years, but his patience, loyalty, generosity, and enthusiasm for my ideas quietly changed me.
Early in our friendship, he invited me to beautiful restaurants and ordered little plates of delicious things, with no pressure or expectation. He had no idea of my grey always present wraith sitting all present beside me. We talked and nibbled for hours, sometimes until the lights came on and the chairs went up around us.
He didn’t know what he was giving me. He put pleasure into a place I had painted with pain. Only later would my opportunity to fight for his life come crashing into mine.
Motherhood in the middle of the storm
Eight years ago my world imploded. I had taken a pregnancy test at Sydney airport after flying back from New York where my mother in law was hospitalized. I had been in India, Myanmar and Thailand prior this and I was not happy about returning to NZ, I knew I was much healthier offshore. It was my 32nd birthday the next day and we were flying into Queenstown to celebrate by snowboarding.
My partner became entangled in legal proceedings arising from a former business relationship. The years that followed brought court cases, financial devastation, and intense public scrutiny.
Any former illusion of safety and security I had again cultivated was shattered. I would be entangled within a twisted love affair gone bad between former friends. I’d watch a billionaire unleash his power, to wipe any stain of truth, or the opportunity for it to be aired away, to a point of madness... and this has been ongoing to us in the USA. The saddest and most destructive of ‘divorces’; you cannot hate what you did not love. Corruption, fear, malice, possessiveness.. no intellectual assessment of what you think it’s going to be like to live through this prepares one for what it truly is like-ones entire world and all the fundamentals of what you think are certain within it are shaken and tipped over in relentless internal earthquakes.
I experienced that period as a struggle against power and influence that seemed to have no end. I went into protective mode, but at great cost to myself. I declined joy to preserve stability. I survived, though not without deep scars.
This arc of my story is not only about resilience but also about performance. It’s survival, repair, choice, Motherhood, and the long curve of becoming and breaking and re-making. I am still here. Still making. Still listening. I think Leonard Cohen put it perfectly "Ring the bells that still can ring / Forget your perfect offering / There is a crack, a crack in everything / That's how the light gets in.”
Then my second daughter Darzia arrived, and I had never been so happy. On one side, life was being cleaved into chunks; on the other, I floated in maternal bliss.
Shortly before the birth of our second daughter, my partner was convicted of fraud and sent to Rimutaka Prison. I remember taking the call outside Kilbirnie pool, nine months pregnant, and hearing the change in his voice. The sound of blood pulsing in my ears has never left me.
I became a mother caring for a two-year-old, days from giving birth, while our home and finances felt under threat. Supporting my partner, navigating the legal aftermath, and trying to create safety for the girls became my daily work.
Darzia was born on March 31, 2020, as Covid lockdowns transformed everything. A pure delight, arriving in a world that had gone very strange.
There were people who kept us afloat: friends who helped secure our home, a high profile businessman, himself in legal proceedings with the same billionaire, who offered an unsecured loan when I desperately needed it, and my great girlfriend who shared Darzia’s birth, prison visits, lockdown, and the load.
You know who you are. Thank you forever.
At the same time, my parents faced their own crisis, with my mother facing challenges with her own mental health and wellbeing.
Around us swirled legal documents, media narratives, whispered judgements, and professional doors closing by association.
It was loud. Overwhelmingly loud within so much silence.
Later, after my partner’s parole and under continuing pressure, I became pregnant again. I wanted our child with my whole heart. But fear gathered quickly: money, stability, our existing responsibilities, other people’s opinions, and the voices already living inside my head.
I chose to terminate the pregnancy.
I terminated myself along with my child.
I chose my insecurities over believing in my strengths.
I also deeply disrespected Mother Nature and the gifts my life was trying to present me.
No one forced my hand. That was the hardest truth to live with. I felt I had chosen insecurity over my strengths, fear over faith, and other people’s voices over my own knowing.
The grief coloured everything. This is my personal experience of that choice, and one I still carry.
* I just want to be very clear here that I believe it’s absolutely every woman’s (persons regardless of sex!) right to choose what they need for their body. This is only my story, and how much my personal choices impacted on my personal makeup.
There were so many realities colliding: isolation, motherhood, fractured love, emotional confusion, loyalty, and a world locked down. I told myself to focus on my daughters, put my head down and tail up, and build a fortress of security.
But I had dealt with the logistics while refusing myself permission to be human. My soul was not going to let me forget it.
Later, a stranger suggested that my child had come to wake me up—to show me how far I had drifted from my own truth. Whether understood literally or symbolically, it landed with force.
I could no longer outsource my choices.
That wound has taught me to stand like iron for the life I want. It has also given me deep empathy for what people do when they feel terrified, cornered, and unheard.
Shame, sugar, and something beautiful
Shame. I know her intimately. I am a connoisseur of shame in all her forms.
Through ' - ', I began translating what it feels like to consume and be consumed by her. I wrestled with obsession, desire, polyamory, unease, judgement, and expectations.
Food felt like the honest medium: care, intimacy, pleasure, and vulnerability, all in something you could put in your mouth. I realized I wanted to share the ugliness behind the beauty. It is often there that our most powerful connections are made. Detail has always mattered to me—not perfectionism, but awareness. Yes, you can laugh. I’ve given the distinction considerable thought.
I learned young to turn that attention inward, organizing my internal world while others focused on external milestones. I wanted a vibrant, cinematic life, not yet understanding how often it would require being broken and rebuilt. I never wanted simply to be the pretty girl on the plane; I wanted to fly it. I didn’t want only to wear other people’s fashion; I wanted to create it. If I couldn’t find or afford the beautiful things I imagined, I made them.
My competitiveness is internal: to outgrow my limits and become the woman I can see. I’m most definitely racing my own race, and yes, to some people’s annoyance; crossing all the lanes in doing so. When I fall short of my own moral compass, I regenerate. Within the “I could have done betters,” I find solace in making something lovely. Sometimes these things are my apology to the universe: “I’m sorry I fucked up. I see my mistake. Here is something beautiful from my soul.”
Real life, not the airbrushed edition
I guard my privacy and enjoy my anonymity. Social media doesn’t come naturally to me. I like sharing tidbits of life, but I don’t want mine—or my families’—to become an open book. But, I have also come to realize that I have to crawl out of this space of comfort, because it is the fractures and my story of how I created achievements through them, that is really valuable to share.
I have invented, reinvented, burned, risen again, bottomed out, clambered up and put myself out there over and over and over again. I make myself feel awkward on a daily basis and yerp, often I’m scared, confused, not suer about where things are going- but I’m doing it anyway. I do feel that my cycle of an unlimited metamorphosis-of-types is defined by femininity. We are in an unavoidable loop monthly of wax, wane, facing feeling horrible often with responsibilities that won’t wait but having to show up, pick up and forge forwards to those 2 days in the month of balance and then back into turmoil again. I feel life impresses upon us; whether we like it or not to change, alter, bloom, & recreate so much more than men. I’m chiseled by my rounds with life yet each decade I feel humbled by the authentic revelations each chapter unveils.
I adore being Mom, and I love being social. Real social: nightclubs, dive bars, decadent dinners, late-night street vendors, fashion shows, and fabulous adventures with my girlfriends. I am pro women, in particular, but pro people being able to live boldly, vibrantly and authentically.
My default introversion coexists with a love of people and experiences. When I can, I recharge by traveling alone—luxuriating somewhere exotic, wandering up a snowy mountain, hunting unique treasures, or squatting on a tiny plastic chair in Southeast Asia with a motorbike and backpack behind me.
I’m not against digital media or AI. But I want to celebrate the human mind and the process of doing. Making with our hands. Looking into someone’s eyes. Failing and trying again. Love infused into a process changes its resonance.
I have little tolerance for bullies, lies, repression, or exploitation. I’m tired of seeing airbrushed perfection, life is raw and incredibly painful for most of us. I resist fakeness because I watched the loves of my life try and convince themselves that the were ok- my family, my school, my country, myself. Hypocrisy, fractured identity, and spiritual disorientation shaped my path because I mirrored the world around me. Choosing truth and radical honesty pushed me against mainstream beliefs, cultural norms, family expectations, and my own assumptions, but that friction became my redemption.
There is no magical team behind me. I am a one-woman show, and frankly, it is very hard work. I love collaborating and outsourcing to people more skilled than I am. Being able to bring others into the fold is one of the best parts of success.
But the long hours, limited scalability, and parenting juggle can leave me oscillating between exhilaration and overwhelm.
Baking macarons, doing yoga to the moon, and attending fashion shows with my family also come hand in hand with thumping the table in frustration, yelling about bedtime, and crying on the floor because Mochi has demolished another Christmas ornament—or enjoyed his favourite gourmet delight, the ball point pen or toilet roll.
Same woman. Same day, sometimes.
Memories, mess, and masterpieces
I treasure my epic memories above all else; my babies taking their first breaths & our first glimpses into each other’s eyes, the first time taking off & landing an aeroplane, falling in love with flying helicopters and taking the controls on a very special held ride into New York with my little family for my birthday to high tea at Bergdorf Goodman, snowboarding off the highest gondola in Asia (located in Gulmarg, Kashmir) with Indian army militia accompanying me with assault rifles on my gondola trips, solo motorbike road trips around Japan to onsens down corkscrew highways on stilts in the moonlit wee hours of the morning, midnight snowmobile races across a frozen lake to a midnight wazwan feast on top of Kongori Mountain with the men who looked after it, all while sandwiched in the middle of a war between India and Kashmir. Chewing betel and nightclubbing around New Delhi into days that became nights that became days again... driving my parents in the middle of the night in their pj’s to show them my newly fixed differential in my 1959 Morris Minor... which ended up in me overlooking how much petrol was in the car due to my excitement- sorry Mom & Dad, it was a very embarrassing push down the motorway we won’t forget. Skinny-dipping off float planes, swimming with phosphorescence & dolphins, taken flying inverted in an Extra 300L over Wadi Rum, being proposed to under meteor showers & the Southern Lights over Lake Ōhau in South Island, New Zealand. Solo motorbike road trips through Myanmar, Cambodia, London, Japan, and other exotic locations, running my finger over the soft skin of my lover and watching the goosebumps rise in the pale patches of Winter sunlight dancing on their body through the shadows of a kowhai tree... Multi-day music festivals in Aotearoa with my little Morris Minor car ‘Maria’, mind expansive journeys meeting souls of past lives, a perfect batch of macaron fresh from the oven risen with delicate frilly feet, the sitting tree at the top of the Cable Car, cherry blossom season in Tokyo, eating fire ants & holy basil in Cambodia, being Au Pair in Tokyo to two of the most special little girls you could ever meet, meeting my bestie from age 4 in New Zealand, now us both grown women in New York laughing with reckless abandon and flagrant disregard to the tiply-topply bar stools we are perched on with espresso martini’s in hand. Three day Thingyan celebrations on motorbike around the castle moat in Mandalay, dawn breaking at Wainui Beach in Gisborne, NZ - the first place in the world to see the light. Temples in Bagan & Angkor Wat. Rappongi bleary eyed after dancing the night away VIP with a Swedish boy band. My daughters’ first Broadway show and the pure delight on their little faces, spiritual realignment in Ubud while watching a pig being gutted on the side of the road for a celebration, Flashlight on Mt Victoria, a surprise encounter on New Years in Amsterdam, hiking solo to the summit of Ruapehu & snowboarding down.. and doing it all over again straight after.
Smoking and talking politics with some of the brightest 85 year old female minds in New Delhi into the wee hours of the nights, motorbike adventures repairing my friendship with my Dad, Halloween at Shibuya crossing...
... and the painful ones too, some too much to write: loosing our baby which I mourn every day of my life since, foster care in my teens, looking after elderly to their time of passing, toxic family dynamics, people I hurt, that just-shy-of 2 decade long eating disorder which dragged me to search for exit strategies. Rape, starting from scratch - sooo many times broke and existing on dreams, including turning up to the USA to start all over again, self hatred & sabotage, lost love, and broken relationships. Big volumes of intense moments; of beautiful, vibrant faces, smells, sensations, feelings and instances, all cherished within me, although some laminated with finger marks smeared upon from years of pulling them out, and others delicately wrapped in tissue paper and boxed with keys.
My daughters, Adira Isla and Darzia Sanaa, are my favourite bosses. We get up to artistic and adventurous impishness together, and they challenge, teach, and humble me daily. My Samoyed’s Mochi and Shiso teach me patience, structure, clear communication and kind assertiveness. Training and In 2017, accompanying my partner on his business, I was delighted to attend a private audience with King Abdullah II and Queen Rania in Amman. I had just started working on a motorcycling apparel collection. His Highness King Abdullah is passionate about motorcycles and has one of the most comprehensive collections in the world. I was very fortunate to be able to discuss the initial ideas, and talk about opportunities with manufacturing in Jordan. My artwork Mandala was given as a gift to his and her Majesty.
My life has held extraordinary encounters and very ordinary struggles, often shoulder to shoulder. Faith in good energy and yes God(dess)’s - insert many, many different names in here, there are so many names in Religion that are given to a power bigger than ourselves—faith in dreams, connection, responsibility, and relentless determination has brought me here, on my own terms and timeline. By listening closely to the answers that surface in my heart and mind, by acknowledging and forgiving trauma—both received and inflicted—and by cherishing kindred spirits; genuine wonder-kids sailing wild ass life seas, I’ve managed to survive this interesting existence. That some days can be a damn big achievement in itself.
Some hurdles nearly killed me. Others were described as insurmountable. Yet here I am—the proof is in the pudding, and occasionally a highly detailed patisserie.
I’ve learned that I am equally the maestra of my masterpieces, as of my mess. I love hearing “It can’t be done.” There is usually a way. It may take years, and an unreasonable amount of plotting, but there is a way.
Please don’t ask me to count the hours. If I knew beforehand, I might never begin. I’m a kind of kintsugi human. My suffering hasn’t been neatly balanced by commercial success, but the breaking has given me a language for pain, love, and healing. I have also cultivated a deep resilience and tenacity from repeatedly trying... and failing. And trying again. It’s the new trying taking you off on unique tangents that makes magic happen.
Being broke hasn’t stopped momentum. Money is like water; it flows. Although, let’s be realistic, a few puddles—or a modest trickling stream—become rather appealing after enough years slogging through the desert.
Where I’ve arrived—for now
As I entered 2026, I could see how much of my earlier work had been about being seen and validated, shaped by rejection and the belief that I had to be “more” to be worthy.
After time in France, Monaco, and Italy, I realised I had already arrived at what I was searching for: self- approval. Acceptance of myself, good and bad included.
I accept my choices and mistakes, my shame and joy. I feel a slowing, a settling. After decades of jumping, professionally and personally, I’m choosing to protect my energy with reverence.
I’ve spent my life swinging between not giving a fuck and giving all the fucks, always trying to align my choices with my core.
Now the metronome feels paused, just before something new begins.
I am here. And I’m curious who will arrive to meet me.
I still want to champion imperfection, age honestly, encourage inclusivity, and make room for difficult conversations. I dream of monumental artworks, bigger collaborations, and a real-life Magic School Bus of adventures with my girls.
Financial stability is another fortress I want to build—not for excess, but for breathing room and the ability to give back meaningfully.
So, what do I do?
So “What do I do?”. I flourish. With resilience, tenacity and in challenging conditions I thrive. My true value is not what I create, but that I harness my fears to re-generate. What kind of artist am I? I dip my brush, my hands, my thoughts into my soul and paint my essence into everything I touch. My creations are the psychoanalytical manifestations of traveling on the conduit between my thoughts, anxieties, desires, pains & pleasures and the spiritual tendency fields. These ephemera may be invisible lines through traffic, they may be a delight you can eat, it could be a sculpture to hold in your hand, my caress, or that you get to indulge in the offbeat combination of colors and textures I am wearing.
It could be that we make art together, or that you receive a handwritten note from me. Perhaps you are blessed to meet my most powerful creations; my daughters. Ultimately I hope that in most instances, my presence has been a blessing. There is a wise old saying which says, “in the end, no one remembers what you said or did, but they do remember how you made them feel”. I hope that I am remembered less for what I make, and most for the warmth & effervescence I bring.
Am I valuable or frivolous? In a way, both. Something can be completely pointless on a world scale and immensely important on a personal one. Like a butterfly, some of the things I make exist for a teeny blip of time, but can bring immense delight within this short timeframe, and a lasting effect on a person’s mood or impressions of the world & their place in it.
I spent my life making beautiful things because I was often surrounded by situations that weren’t beautiful.
Are those negative snide comments dangerous or benign? I would argue they are pure poison.. what do you think of my antidotes?
For a long time, I didn’t know the point of it all. I trusted my process before I understood what it was healing. My art is not my greatest legacy; my story is. My capacity to connect, to listen, and to grow alongside others—that is my gift.
Ultimately, I hope my presence has been a blessing. I’d like to be remembered less for what I made and more for the warmth and effervescence I brought.
Our communities need givers, healers, supporters, and cheerleaders. Those gifts can’t always be collected or displayed. My physical creations were the conduit until I became strong enough to offer more.
A virtual HUUUG before you go
I love encouraging others—and myself—to stare fear down and get up and out doing what they adore. I rarely feel ready. I decide I am anyway.
Stepping into the unknown can be terrifying in many ways. Sometimes you have to be irrational, irresponsible, selfish and single minded. When you try to be a good person, making choices here can be bloody hard- set aside fear of rejection and focus on personal truth and redemption. So get at it, take a deep breath, eyeball your dread, wrap yourself in it and fill up on it, because once you can nail that to the wall, you’ll be able to see behind it- here’s a virtual HUUUG, lets take a moment, it’s a big step- it will be ok.
I feel nervous too, fears are slippery little suckers, and they can morph and change. It’s intimidating staring at your terror & wanting to fight for dreams that may or may not happen with certainty and setting intentions to understand one’s self, but I can assure you, you’ll feel much better if you at least give them the light of day to not whither and disappear into the ‘I wish that I could have’ pile to be covered with the negativity of others or your own whisperings.
Someone I love told me that when their heart starts beating really fast, they call it their ‘inner applause’ because their body is cheering them on. Is that not the coolest thought adjustment ever?!
Turn off watching other people’s dreams playing out (Insta, Facebook.. ) and dedicate your thoughts to what is your greatness, it may not look like other’s, and it might take out there steps which make you feel awkward to get there and dont look anything like what you are seeing. Getting some these connections is going to be scary and challenging, Life is testing you- if you feel the fear heart flutter applause, it’s your time to choose for your story.
We hear this all the time, But in a world where we can be anything, be kind; not just to others, but internally- to little you. Their rooting for you- they are your biggest cheerleader, and they are so proud of how far you already have come. Dreams and desires are your’s for a reason, they are given to you because you can do it, you can make them blossom and you have the ability to find the resources and connections to make them happen. Try not to say no to ideas and opportunities- they are doorways and for YOU. “It’s not happening to you, it’s you happening” Most of all, and zero it’s really important, because facing fears is tough and demanding- go have some FUN- you.
deserve. a. life. filled. with, it!
Find that prickly bubble that’s sitting inside and gently, but properly take a look at it. You know the one, it’s not ugly, it needs aroha, a generous sprinkling of this and slowly the trepidation will melt and a new path to a better way will appear.
With Love,
Alexandra
October 2026