Tell us a little bit about yourself, what have you been up to, where in the world are you?

My name’s Leïla. I’m an artist, photographer, and writer (still getting used to saying some of those out loud, but I’m rolling with it!). I was born in Switzerland and spent most of my life in coastal suburbs of Sydney, Australia. The last few years of my time in Aus, I was based on Bundjalung Country around Byron Bay, mostly living on acreage, close to the ocean. Absolutely gorgeous land. I moved to Canada just over a year ago on a two-year working holiday visa. I’d wanted to visit British Columbia for a long time on account of the wild nature, and I’ve honestly had a fairly… odd trajectory since then. I’ve moved through a string of small, remote towns that I felt drawn to, from Ucluelet, a fishing village on the Pacific Rim of Vancouver Island, to the Alberta side of the Rockies, to winter months in Nelson, tucked in the Kootenays—with a few sidequests sprinkled in between. I think I’ve moved something like 13 times since I left Northern NSW, not including van trips. Right now, I’m spending a few weeks on Bowen Island off the coast of Vancouver. And beyond the next few months, I have no idea what’s next.. 

Can you walk us through a day in your life, highlighting the moments that feel most aligned with who you are?

I would’ve had a much more streamlined answer if I were still living in Australia, but the only real constant I’ve had since arriving in Canada is change. Beyond adapting to each new setting and place, the distinct seasonal shifts here have really shaped my daily rhythms. In warmer months, I start my days early, with a mug of cacao and my bare feet on the Earth in the morning sun, or dropping straight into some movement. I feel very much myself when I’m immersed in nature—sunbaking on a rock, watching clouds drift, swimming naked in a natural body of water. In the Canadian cold, my ritual became having my cacao in front of the fireplace. I’d step outside (bundled up) to breathe in some fresh air and watch the fog moving across the pine forests. Slow time in nature and movement (yoga, pilates, strength training, walking) really fill my cup. Any creative flow I can pour myself into and lights me up and feels almost outside of time, whether I’m reading, writing, working on images, or researching something I’m passionate about. Quality time with loved ones is also deeply important to me, and so with the more solitary life I’ve led this year, it’s become even more necessary for me to take conscious time for practices like meditation in order to feel connected. 

Are there objects, tools, or spaces that play a key role in your daily routine?

I love the ritual of my morning cacao—grinding it off the block, melting and spicing it, pouring it into a mug. I get really excited when a new place I’m living in has a good ceramic mug (!!) and I will always find a favourite spot to sit and drink my cuppa. I’m a bit of a bowerbird when it comes to collecting natural objects. I’m forever pocketing nice stones, feathers, pieces of driftwood, even animal skulls. Back home, I had an altar space set up with precious items I loved looking at, and every new space I’ve moved to in Canada has ended up with its own mini version of one, which has evolved over the months. I also care very deeply about the quality of light in my spaces, so much so that I travel with a few small lamps. It makes me feel relaxed and cosy to have my evenings lit in a warm glow and it’s a lot more fun that way! Combined with a smell I like—incense, palo santo, body oil—and some music, that usually helps me feel at home wherever I am. 

How would you describe the culture that shapes your daily life? What values, traditions, or artistic influences guide you?

Good question. I was raised with a blend of Swiss-French culture and Lebanese-Italian heritage in a lively, loving home with three younger siblings. Values like the importance of family, passion and expressiveness, appreciation for quality, art, and for simple pleasures, and rituals like shared meals have very much shaped my daily life. Curiosity, introspection, play, and creative thinking were all encouraged in my household. I grew up crafting a lot and devouring fantasy books, mythology, animated films, and anything tied to ancient civilizations, indigenous cultures, and the natural world, which undoubtedly nurtured my vivid imagination, a sensitivity to the unseen, and a passion for storytelling. Travel and reverence for nature are also strong family values, and growing up in Australia with so much access to wild, untouched places was a real gift in developing this connection for myself and my perspective of the human experience as being intrinsically linked to the natural world. I would shake off a tough day at school by running around feral on the local headlands with our family dog, getting lost exploring until dinner time. 

Are there particular references—whether in art, literature, or business—that deeply inspire your way of living and working?

I’ve always collected and consumed art—film, photography, literature, music—so voraciously that distilling it into one or two references feels almost impossible. The sheer amount and accessibility of art nowadays is actually at times overwhelming. I absolutely love it, but I also need to intentionally shut off from looking at other peoples’ art so I have the internal space to create my own. This is perhaps a cheeky workaround to your question, but I practically lived on Tumblr in my teens and early twenties. It was such a magic, kaleidoscopic wormhole of creative expression and, in hindsight, a great indication of how my creative brain works: intuitive, visual, a little chaotic, deeply feeling. I could save a Sally Mann or Ryan McGinley photograph, a gif of a passionate scene from a film, a Jack Kerouac or Anaïs Nin quote, a volcanic eruption, a nice leaf texture, and a woman running naked through a field all within a minute of scrolling. I still go back through my years of archives when I’m seeking inspiration. I think in general I’m drawn to what feels authentic, vital, raw, real, and tactile—and at the same time, also what carries a liminal, almost otherworldly quality. Art that feels both grounded in the body and touched by something transcendent.

What does it mean to you to live and work from a place far from the city? How does your environment shape your creativity? 

I’ve chosen to live in small towns close to nature for the past four years. The difference it’s made to my nervous system, my headspace, and my everyday sense of joy has been profound. I’m realising more and more how essential stillness and being in places that evoke awe is to my creative process. I draw so much inspiration from shifting skies, broad horizons, watching animals just doing their thing. I feel most creatively tapped in when I’m present, not rushing, not fixated on output—just taking the time to enjoy life. Creativity is seasonal, just like nature. I’m still unlearning the anxious hyper-focus on productivity that’s been so deeply wired into our culture. That said, the biggest trade-offs of living this nomadically have been feeling far from community and income instability. While solitude can be creatively rich, I at times miss the stimulation, connection, and culture that come with a busier life—quality time with friends, live music, spontaneous inspiration. Living in small towns also means fewer opportunities for creative work or collaboration. It’s a paradox I’m learning to live with, craving nature, stability, movement, change, solitude, and connection, all at once. 

How have you adapted your lifestyle or work to be more in harmony with nature?

In terms of my photography, I’ve always shot in a raw, instinctive way. My favourite muses are women and nature, the more free, unpolished, and natural, the better. I shoot with natural light, so the movement of the sun throughout the day, the shifting shadows, and the changing colours all shape what I create, as do the wind turning or the tide rising and falling. I love photographing women nude—not for the nudity itself, but because to me that’s our most natural state. It feels organic and honest, and the trust and intimacy I can develop with a model when it’s just us hanging out on a beach somewhere is really special. I value collaborating with clients and brands who are intentional about how and what they create. Whether it’s working with natural materials, slow processes, handmade goods, or simply placing enough value on art that we can take the time to shoot with presence instead of just punching out content. The difference is palpable. 

Can you describe a sensory detail from your bathing ritual?

I love that you’ve used the word ritual, because that’s very much how bathing feels to me. I’ve had a thing for beautiful bathing spaces for as long as I can remember. Smooth stone walls, long mirrors, dim lighting. A heated outdoor shower with no walls, surrounded by green. An oval tub with perfectly carved armrests, set out on a deck with an expansive view. Mmm. I love turning on the shower and hearing the tssshhhhh of water hitting the tiles, warm droplets splashing against my legs as the steam begins to rise. It feels like an exhale. The delicious rush of touch and heat as water greets my chest and flows down my belly. I close my eyes and tip my head up into it, let myself be engulfed. The weight of the day washes off me, stale energy sluicing from my field. My hair flows sleek and opulent. The wrapping of warm water feels like a continuous hug. Pure sensation. Everything else fades. I can feel my body in space. I can feel me. I reach for the soap. Its scent mixes with the steam like sacred oils in a temple. My skin is slippery and supple beneath my hands, lather smooth over limbs and curves. And still, only the sound of rushing water, so loud that all is quiet. Only the now. I could stay under for hours. Or, walking barefoot down to the shoreline, sand between my toes, hearing the lazy rolling of waves and the caws of seabirds overhead. Wind rustling through coastal trees. That little shiver as I step in, the ocean claiming my ankles, my calves. A deep lungful of briny air. Then diving—plunging into the shock of cold. The instant reset, like passing through a portal, the world suddenly wet and dark and so very present. Everything before forgotten. Anything heavy stripped away. A moment of suspension, floating, held. Then pressing up through the fabric of this watery dimension to break through the surface, up into sunlight, renewed. Sounds return. Smells return. I am here, and I am alive.