Clarity is a Form of Care - Am I really leaving science behind?

A story about leaving science without really leaving it

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There are a few moments in my career thus far that I keep coming back to - sitting with work that was technically sound, carefully thought through, but almost impossible to engage with.

The science was good. The intention was good. But something wasn’t working.

For most of my life, I’ve felt like I exist somewhere between two worlds, never more strongly on one side the way most people seem to be, but somewhere split between science and creativity, data in excel spreadsheets and abstract painting. The kind of person who thrives on organization and forward thinking, but also craves space to explore, create, and wander a little outside the lines.

**Conducting field work in 2017 on a remote island in Northern BC

**Painting on the shores of BC, an abstract view of how I see the ocean

Hi, I’m Danielle, and I’ve spent the better part of a decade in academia, conservation, and policy. I’ve run the gamut in fieldwork - I’ve waded through water up to my chest, dug into the earth up to my armpits, and nearly froze every day for three months on an eight-foot zodiac in Alaskan waters studying Humpback Whales. I’ve worked with data, contributed to research, supported policy, led engagement and consultation processes, and sat in rooms where decisions about our natural world are made.

And still, something felt… off.

Not because the work didn’t matter. It did. Deeply. But because I hadn’t yet found the way I was meant to contribute to it.

Science is so much more than just science. It taught me how to think. It taught me to question, to stay curious, to accept that most answers are incomplete, and that what we uncover is often just a scratch on the surface of something much larger and more complex.

But over time, in my work, I started to notice something else. Good information doesn’t always guarantee understanding. And understanding is what actually leads to change. Somewhat of a catch-22 if you will.

And then there is this other side of me. The artistic side. Art, for me, was always there. As a kid, I drew constantly. In high school, it became a kind of refuge. I took summer school just so I could have spare classes which meant I could spend more time in the art room, getting lost in the process of making something. But as graduation got closer, my narrative shifted - influenced by both my internal dialogue and the voices of those around me. 

Art wasn’t practical. It wasn’t stable. It wasn’t a “real” path.

So I chose something that was. And while I never regret choosing science, especially conservation, I did, somewhere along the way, let go of that creative part of myself.

It would resurface occasionally. During COVID-19 it came back momentarily in the many moments of solitude as a way of coping with the reality of the world. And in small moments within my work, where I’d find ways to bring design into conservation projects. But it never fully stayed. And I wanted it to.

Abstract painting of an octopus on mixed media paper using acrylic and watercolour paints and ink.

Abstract painting of our eternal connection to nature. Painted using watercolours.

Until recently when I moved back to Canada after a two-year international stint with a global conservation organization and was tasked with finding a job in a Canadian economy that doesn’t currently have a lot of opportunity. And so I sat with that and gave myself the chance to really think about what my next step would be.

All this to say, I didn’t leave science because I stopped believing in it. I shifted how I contribute to science because I started paying closer attention to how people actually interact with information.

Because the reality is this: If no one engages with it, it doesn’t matter how accurate it is.

Clarity is not a luxury, it’s a form of care.

That’s what has led me to design. Not purely as decoration, but as a means of translation and accessibility.

And this is where Emergent Studios comes in.

It sits at the intersection of science, communication, and design, grounded in the idea that how we share information matters just as much as the information itself. The world doesn’t just need more data. It needs better ways of connecting people to it.

We need people shaping policy, people doing the science, people restoring land and water, and people helping others see, feel, and understand why it all matters.

There isn’t one right way to contribute.

But I think this is mine.

Choosing this path hasn't felt smooth or linear...

It feels more like jumping into a lake only to find out it’s glacially fed and the ice shattering cold is sharp, shocking, and momentarily disorienting while you plunge underwater.

But then, slowly, your body adjusts. And you realize that you can stay. I think I have reached the point in my career where there is a clear decision to make: stay with what’s comfortable and what I know, or move toward what I actually want. And it’s incredibly important that I choose the option that frightens me.

So, with all that, there are a few things I’m learning as I move through this and I wanted to share those nuggets with you:

If you come from science or conservation: 

• Your impact and contributions don’t have to be limited to traditional roles. 

• Complexity isn’t the same as clarity. 

• Your work matters more when people can actually engage with it.

If you’re in a creative field: 

• Your work has the power to shape how people understand the world. 

• Art is not separate from impact, it’s part of it. 

• What you create can change how someone sees something, and that matters.

This space is where I’ll be exploring the intersection of science and art, through reflections, experiments, and observations from both the field and the studio. And sometimes you might see a little personal creation or two.

Some posts will be practical. Some will be personal.

All of them will come back to the same question: How do we make things clearer, more meaningful, and more human?

Welcome. I’m glad you’re here.