My background is in law, philosophy, and human rights.

I spent years in academic environments. Reading, writing, analyzing, trying to understand the world through language and thought. From the outside, this path made sense. It was structured, purposeful, intellectually engaging.

From the inside, something essential was missing. I felt it as a distance. A sense that life was becoming increasingly abstract, removed from the body, from the senses, from the simple act of making something real. I moved into more intuitive and somatic fields, exploring energy work, coaching, and ways of feeling rather than only thinking.

This brought me closer. But still, something was missing. Creativity, in the sense of making with my hands, felt strangely inaccessible. Not because the desire wasn’t there, but because it was buried under perfectionism, self-doubt, and the feeling that I didn’t quite belong in that world. I would hesitate to begin. Unsure of what would come out, or whether it would be “good enough.”

What changed was not a sudden breakthrough, but a series of small decisions. I began to follow subtle impulses: working with clay, with wool, experimenting with different materials, spending time in spaces where people were creating together. These were not things I felt naturally skilled at. But they made me feel different.

More present. More grounded. More alive.

Over time, I began to see making differently. Not as a skill to master, but as a way of relating to the world. A way of listening and remembering. Cult of Wonder emerged from this. It is both personal and collective. A space shaped by my own movement from mental abstraction into embodied experience, and by a growing curiosity about how others live and create in this way.

I am drawn to people who work closely with materials, with the land, with practices that require presence and attention. Not because they fit a category, but because there is something alive in what they create.

At its core, this is a space for expression in process. For what is still forming. Still imperfect. Still becoming. Not performing, but exploring. In a world where attention is constantly pulled outward, where speed, efficiency, and consumption dominate - to make something with care and presence can feel radical.

Making becomes a way of returning to the body, to matter and to life itself.

This is not about becoming an artist. It is about becoming permeable again. Allowing life to move through the body into form. 

Cult of Wonder is not a finished concept. It is an evolving field. One shaped by participation, by curiosity, by the willingness to follow what feels meaningful even when it is not yet fully clear where it leads.

If there is a common thread, it might be this: A desire to move closer to life, rather than further away from it.And to remember that sometimes, this begins with something very simple: picking something up and making.

If you feel something stir as you read this — you are already part of the field.