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I focused as much as I could on things that are new to me: digital design and sound as well as aspects of editing, like sound mixing and colour grading.

I created a series of book cover mock ups for a Scottish author as a way to not only practice digital design but place it in a professional context.


Client: Lissa Corra
Brief: book cover for ebook and paperback (KDP)
Tools: Photoshop/Photoshop Elements, Paint, Affinity Design


Abstract and nature was all I really wanted to focus on.  I’m not very interested in human faces etc at this time. While living in Drongan, I was surrounded by fields of tall grass and horses. My commute in to UWS was when I was exposed to concrete, black and white, far more hustle and bustle.  There isn’t an in depth story here, rather photos taken to reflect how I see the world and what grabs my attention.


An ode to Pierre Schaeffer’s ‘Études aux chemins de fer‘. (1948). Mixing different sounds, all self created by striking man made objects and natural elements such as tree trunks, logs and branches as well as garbage bins, wooden fences and metal railings all found within the UWS Ayr campus. It still needs work to smooth out some elements. I can see where I’d like to improve in audio mixing and editing.  Audio is something that I would like to learn more about as it will help me be a better visual storyteller.


Empire: A Misremembered History
Series 1: Turtle Island, Truth, and Reconciliation
Premise: Each series is a deep dive into the reality of colonial history. We examine the lasting impacts this legacy of dominance and hegemonic power. What has it done to the victims of colonialism and how has it shaped the  romanticised ignorance and indifference of present day societies that benefit from their ancestors’ crimes.

Musical Credits:
A Lie Nation, Tribe Called Red/Halluci Nation
Outdoor recordings, frogs and birds, Recordist unknown, FreeSound
Raindrops and crickets in the beautiful state of Veracruz, recordist unknown, FreeSound
The Poisoned Princess, Media Rights Production, YouTube
Medley, A Tribe Called Red ft. Tanya Tagaq and Black Bear Singers, Junos/CBC


Working with paper sculpture. acrylic, oil, chalk paints and spray paints and paint markers.  Taking inspiration from the likes of Danny MInnick, Gehrard Richter and Pierres Souleges.


Edited together the trailer for Folkgalore, our collaboration project.  I used voice over narration and music from Kennagh Sprowart as well as royalty free (free for commercial use, no attribution required) video (with audio) files from Pixabay. Sneha created the Folkgalore logo.  As we didn’t have any footage at the time of our pitch, I relied heavily on finding clips that could be edited to fit the tone and aesthetic of the show.

Footage credit in order of appearance:
Forrest Grim, video by Louis de Funes, Pixabay
Door opening, video by Jacques Barrette, Pixabay
Searching book, video by Tommy Video, Pixabay
Full Moon, video by IconikMG, Pixabay



Wrote, directed, edited, sound mixed, colour corrected and graded scene from digital filmmaking workshop series.



Non fiction creative writing 

Basecamp, Toubkal Mountain, High Atlas Mountains, Morocco
September 21, 2016 

After 2 days of hiking, today is summit day.  An exquisite hike pushing every limit up the Ikhibi Nord route.  All the other mountaineers making a summit bid today are doing the South route – most people do. The north ridge is more difficult than the south which is why I wanted to do it.   It’s not like this is Everest. Standing at 4,167m, Toubkal is a high-altitude mountain and the tallest mountain in North Africa. But there’s no death zone, that place where there’s not enough oxygen to live, and there’s no scary death toll like K2 or Annapurna. It’s just your standard 4000m where it’s hard and you question your sanity but chances of death are lower.  Deaths on Toubkal are typically the result of winter conditions or falling down a crevasse near the summit. My guide, Ibrahim, and I were alone on the north route, able to luxuriate in its wild vastness and stillness.   

The Nord couloir is infamous for the bits of shattered airplane debris that litter the trail, guiding anyone feeling brave enough to take the seept route the way upwards to the pass.  Near the base of the Nord route, we pass the unmarked grave for seven souls that died in the crash. They were buried together covered with a mass of rocks.  

We keep ascending, the air gets sharper and colder.  A lone propeller caught my eye. It was in rough shape.  As we passed piece by little piece – bit of cockpit here, bit of exterior there – I wondered, “where is the bulk of the plane?” I thought of plane crash sites you see on the news. There’s always a bulk of the plane still intact. Where was the cabin? Or the cockpit? I’m no aviation expert, but there seems to be a whole lot of plane missing.  Ibrahim said they couldn’t clear out the site because it was so high up in the Atlas Mountains so everything was left here.  But “everything” isn’t here.  There was nothing but gnarled bits of plane scattered on the trail.   

Then, it dawns on me: the plane didn’t crash, it exploded. “This wasn’t a regular crash, this was an explosion?” 

Ibrahim nods.  

“What was on the plane that made it explode?  Did it hit something and that caused a detonation?” 

“The plane contained arms. Weapons. They think the men on board were some kind of mafia or weapons dealers.  The whole thing blew up when it hit over there,” said Ibrahim, pointing to the jagged tip of the north wall of the ridge. The ridge is called Tibherine East and is a summit in its own right.  

“The plane crashed in December and the wreckage and bodies were only discovered in June,” Ibrahim continued.  The crash was in 1969. At that time, there was no means to get the bodies down the mountain so they were buried there.  The plane had left Faro, Portugal full of ammunition and was headed to Biafra, which, at the time, was a self-proclaimed Republic that had attempted to secede from Nigeria but ultimately lost the war and was unwillingly reunited with the state.  

I passed the engine of the plane. It looked like an art installation, deliberately put there but some pretentious artist. I wondered if the passengers had family and if they knew they died here.  

The large rocks became more jagged and thin – like sheet rock – as we neared the tip where the plane almost 40 years earlier. They have a lot of slip and the boots I’m wearing don’t have the stick I would like.  I should have checked my boots before I left Canada. I would have seen that they needed resoling.  The sole snapped off on the left boot on day 1 of the climb. I had to turn around and rent some very stiff definitely too tight boots from a local store. I can feel the blisters already bursting in my socks.  

We reached the top of the pass where the plane allegedly met its fate. We took a moment to take in the cascading mountain range below, but not too long.  Stopping for too long allows the lactic acid to build up in your leg muscles and then it’s just pain.  My legs always just get really heavy as the air gets thinner. Everyone responds to the higher altitude differently. I get headaches, heavy sloggy legs and I have to pee a lot.  The side of a high-altitude mountain is not the most ideal place for a potty break. Lose your balance and it’s ass over tea kettle down the side of a ridge or crevasse (which almost happened on Kilimanjaro but that’s a story for another time).    

We pushed onwards across an open ridge for our final ascent of Toubkal.  The ridge was made up of stones that looked like knives laying horizontally with their blade facing upward. The ridge was incredibly exposed. The cold wind howled and raged in just the right direction, literally pushing us forward against its jagged surface.  This part of the summit requires a fair bit of scrambling.  The crevasses between the daggered stones were small with little room for error.  It wouldn’t be too difficult to imagine someone falling right off the side.  I had that split second of panic that I always get when I stop to realise just how high up I am.  It first happened years before, the first time I took an outdoor rock climbing lesson.  About three quarters of the way up, I stupidly looked down.  Pride, ultimately, is what got me to the top. Since then I’ve learned to refocus: breathing is good, summit is in sight. Just push.     

We summited in 2hr 59min 32sec. Panting and exhilerated. The view was beautiful, the Sahara in view in the distance. There was graffiti on some of the rocks. Why would you summit a mountain just to tag some rocks? A golden brown goat appears seemingly out of nowhere, with effortless ease from the west side of the mountain, bounding gently over the rocks and onto the flat surface of the summit.  Then comes another – a darker brown, nearly black,  then two others – they are small and look like babies.  I take a photo and then toss them some crumbs.   

Ibrahim and I raced down the mountain via the south route with a bit of a shortcut. Literally. If you angle yourself just right in the loose dirt and gravel, it’s like snowboarding but in boots. We skied in the deep gravel, the sun gradually warming us and the bitter cold wind gradually fading.  We passed a number of groups on the way down before making a run for it across the rock scattered field back to the refuge. It was good to be back.  The airplane graveyard felt like it happened days ago, not hours.  I pulled off my boots and peeled my socks away to reveal bloodied blistered heels. It was a perfect day.