the uncanny art

  • spirit-work & animism

    My magic is rooted in spirit-work and animism, recognizing all things as alive with presence and power. In my practice, relationships with spirits—of land, ancestors, and otherworldly beings—are cultivated through fellowship, offerings, and mutual exchange. The work is built on pact-making, divination, and direct communion, honoring the unseen forces that shape the world and guide my path through the woods.

  • folklore & folk ways

    My magic is woven from folklore and folk ways, drawing on the wisdom passed through stories, charms, and everyday rites. In my practice, the knowledge of ancestors, cunning folk, and history-keepers informs my craft through the study of ancestral skills, language and lore. Spells, charms and omens are not mere relics but living tools, part of a personal tradition that is both deeply personal and rooted in history.

  • history & anthropology

    My magic is shaped by history and anthropology, grounded in the study of primary sources, scholarly research, and the lived practices of my ancestry. In my practice, historical texts, grimoires, folklore collections, and ethnographic accounts provide insight into the ways magic has been practiced, suppressed, and transformed. By bridging academic study with practical craft, this work honors tradition while evolving through informed, intentional practice.

of hearth & hedge

My journey into witchcraft began with a modest handful of charms and folk remedies; simple protections and signs for reading the weather. Brought into my family history by an immigrant  great-great-grandfather and passed down along with the whispered rumors that he was a witch. (It wasn’t until much later that I learned he would more appropriately have been called a cunningman.) It wasn’t an extensive inheritance, just the sort of practical magic that might have proved useful on my family’s dairy farm. But even even so, it sparked my deep and lasting love for magic. I clung to all of the little tricks and cures I learned in my grandmother’s kitchen. But I wanted more. It wasn’t long before I realised that what I wanted was a relationship with magic that wove itself into every day life, a practice that I could live in and wear out like a favourite sweater. 

Like most people who are starting out in their magical journey, I turned to books. The public library became a second home, and I devoured everything I could find—Outer Court Wiccan texts, bits of folklore, things tucked away in forgotten philosophy shelves. I admired the structure and depth of traditions like Gardnerian and Alexandrian Wicca, but I couldn’t make them feel like home. They did promise a framework for a liveable practice, but they didn’t have the same spark I’d found in the quiet magic of my childhood. I tried to bring the two together for a while, but in the end, I set Wicca aside and returned to what had first stirred my spirit.

A few years later, I discovered the early Internet and came across blogs and message boards about cottage witchcraft, hedgecraft, and other non-Wiccan magical paths. Something clicked. These traditions reflected the kind of magic I’d always been drawn to—practical, spirit-led, and deeply woven into the rhythms of everyday life. They weren’t systems to be memorised, but crafts to be lived. I incorporated them into my magical worldview and I began to shape a practice that felt truly my own—one that embraced both the old spark I had started with and the living, evolving magic I’d been searching for.

of foxglove & toadsbone

As time passed and new influences filtered in, I found myself feeling adrift from my magical practice. The foundation I had once built with such care no longer felt stable; the heart of my craft had become obscured beneath layers of borrowed ideas and outside expectations. I felt a clear pull to strip it all back, to pare things down to the bare bones and begin again.

This time, I was older, more discerning. I realised that I wouldn’t find a solution on the internet, that I would have to forge my own path. I turned to my roots, researching the customs of my ancestors, studying the languages and folklore that had shaped them, and tracing the threads that connected back to the earliest magic I had been taught. Bit by bit, I began weaving those fragments into the fabric of my longstanding spiritual beliefs: animism, primal deities, and the concept of destiny.

I delved into folklore, historical accounts of witchcraft, and the old grimoires. I returned to the source where I could, seeking to understand not just the content but the mechanics—the how and why—of the practices I knew and loved. I began to experiment with creating spells and rites that honoured tradition without replicating it, writing my own magic on the foundation laid before me.

Through this process, I shaped my craft into something deeply personal; something that draws from folk practice, spirit-led work, and the wiseways of the old world, while integrating the structure and clarity I had once admired in modern traditional magic.