This film portrays my personal relationship with flowers, working as a florist over the last ten years. It is named, "Toxic Touch," to reflect on the ways florists constantly handle flowers (chopping, stripping, de-thorning, wiring, bending, arranging), and how flowers affect florists (sharp thorns, pigments that stain skin, rashes from poisonous toxins, sap that doesn't wash off). At the same time the relationship allows the flowers to flourish for a time, and their beauty, smell, and reception is a reward for the florist. Filmed on a 16mm Bolex film Camera with Kodak. Created during my degree program at Emily Carr University of Art and Design. Spring 2017.

Vanessa gets her cleaning cloth stuck inside her flute right before a big audition. Featuring: Vanessa Wong Rowena Lu Chantay Boulanger-Rowe & The flutastic sounds of the Canadian flute ensemble, Fluterrific: Michelle Carlisle Jeong-Won Shin Joanna Tseng Sara P. Made at Emily Carr University of Art & Design 2018

Flow-Phase Produced at Emily Carr University, March 2018.

Park cleaner, Terry Wynkle wants to be a famous filmstar just like his grandma. When his lunch is stolen at work he takes justice into his own hands.

Synopsis: Lin-D is a party person in a post apocalyptic world where GMO food has made everybody stupid. Some people tried to resist the changes by injecting themselves with bird DNA, and they became bird people. Party people hate bird people. Lin-D has the surprise of her life when she, a party person, births a bird egg. She waits for it to hatch! Starring: Rififi Lindsay Doell Petrus Drenters Taryn Demers Opening vocals by Aaron Douglas.

THE INNER MONOLOGUE OF AN ALARM CLOCK Hi. I'm back, did you miss me? It's time I ask you, "Was your dream pretty? Will you get up?" Forefit your dream dregs and trudge back to reality -What reality? Right, recede from subconscious zenith back to this coil-popping mattress, your limbs composting, decomposing; a pile of waste. Dirty sheets infused with a thick film of Triscuit crumbs and eyelid crusties infect you. Unwashed male perfumes, oozes shrill stink, smell, a vapor of eau-de-filth. Get up. Eyelids open? Awake? Need to piss? But eight dark beers, full chest of fresh zits, upper lip toothpaste remnants and spittle goo leave you partiallly processed like fat pats of fried butter rolling-folding-squelching-inducing burps in a fat woman's stomach. You're so full of piss! Get up, wash up, wake up. Knock back a triple-shot full-fat whiskey-whip hot sip. Slurp that brown fun. That's why your teeth are stained black! Get up, rescue the red tie your mother sent you as a birthday present. It's getting chewed, infused with dog doo by the thieving cow-pie dropping pug in apartment five-D, Mr. Marlett's dog breeding zoo. GET UP; we will fix this, I promise first! Heap your breakfast plate high with hashbrowns, weisswurst and disappointment as if it were healthy. But this, is not, it's crude bat shit. Time's up, game's up, YOU, wake up and realize that your life is worthless -your father hates you too, clumsy prick-set dung-drop twinkie, WAKE UP! (Snooze) 9" (sing-song) Beep beep beep! By the way Megan Fox wasn't really by for her appointment last night -that was fake, you leeching, liver-rotting perve! If you quit your charade you could see it was a buck-toothed ham with tree-trunk legs, a gauze tongue, and breasts like hunks of frozen sand. Why don't you get up, get dressed, buy some fresh carrots, and pay your rent? Mute Crazy Diamond for three seconds and realize your body's shrieking "Get the kryptonite crap out of my system! " But you opt "ignore malfunction" groaning on and on, a vile party fraud, mouth in a smile. Get up, Get up! Will you listen to me? Stop wasting my time, precious time, you bore me to death, crass ass, shouldn't you have left me on the supermarket shelf? Useless. Pathetic prick. get up In ten years you could be dead. Damned by self-corruption, anti-production, this cyclic gangplank of perpetual ill. Get out of bed you mutant cast-away! Black-burnt rotting bedlamite! Get up! You're sick, you're sick, yeast-infested, congested, bug-ridden chicken-shit, you make me sick. This is about the way you hurt yourself, miff your mother, damage your sister. About the women you fuck over, the dog you kicked, the philosophy teacher you infuriate, but you haven't got a clue because your life is in shambles -a thicket of quagmire glued together by loose change and borrowed cigarettes. This, this is me telling you get up, get up, move on. When you hit the snooze, red-eyed and hung-over with insecurity, I GET THE BLAME . I WILL PUT YOU TO SHAME, YOU USELESS PRICK. GET OUT OF BED, GET UP BEFORE YOUR TIME IS FUCKED. YOU PETTY, UNWORTHY DISGUSTING KNOW-NOTHING. WAKE UP WAKE UP! (silence, frozen in pose) 5" The truth is you're not so bad. I don't mind you when you're checking my green-numbers telling time, flossing your teeth, crying yourself to sleep. But get up, get a move-on. I'm here to remind you. Wake up, wake up and realize you are pretty and your mother still loves you. Wake up, find a friend who cares, who likes Jackie Chan movies too. Get up, get up. Wake up, I challenge you. Written for: Alarm Clock Speaker Temple Blocks Slide Whistle Sus Cymbal Vibraphone Megaphone Each percussionist requires 6 music stands to accommodate the length of the sheet music. The percussionists stand at 90 degrees to the audience with the speaker located towards the front of the stage between the two rows of music stands. The "alarm clock" requires 1 music stand located at the front of the stage.