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The Art of Becoming
No One Woman
Everything and nothing,
For all, for none.
A complicated contradiction -
No one woman.
No One Woman -Multidisciplinary Artist & Trauma-Informed Integrative Healer,
Holisitic Psychotherapist, Sound therapist, Drama for well-being practioner & Women's circle facilitator.
No One Woman is the meeting point of multiplicity, emotion, and expression—
a living work of art in motion...
Born from the belief that suppressed parts of the self hold the key to personal liberation,
my practice explores how creativity can become a powerful force for healing.
Art is healing. Healing is Art.
My process honours the truth of many selves:
the wild, the wounded, the sensual, the angry, the soft.
Each is a thread in the tapestry of becoming.
Working across multiple disciplines - music composition, performance, drama, writing, visual and therapeutic arts - I harness the power of personal archetypes, transforming the inner voices and energies into something seen, heard, and felt.
We all have stories we were never allowed to tell,
roles we thought we had to play,
and parts of us we’ve hidden & created to survive.
When we allow our suppression to meet our creative expression -
we can finally breathe, finally be free.
We are not one woman.
We are soft and savage, sinner and saint.
We are contradiction & conflicting truth.
No One Woman honours that truth.
We are not meant to choose one version of ourselves to be palatable or professional or pretty.
We are complex, and within our complexity - lives truth & freedom.
I call this exploration - the art of becoming.
It’s an invitation.
To feel.
To express.
To re-learn, remember & create yourself - whole.
This is more than a project. It’s a reclamation — of art, self & experience.
The Shell and the Pearl: The Story of No One Woman Before there was No One Woman, there was a war. It was quiet, and it was constant — fought in my notebooks, in my songs, in the spaces I could not fill without stealing from one side to feed the other. Two women lived in me. Amber Wildling Stone — hurricane-hearted, bare-footed on the earth, with a voice that refuses to be silenced. She walks her own road, laughs in the face of rules, and dares others to stand in their own power. She has little patience for shame, and no interest in pleasing the gaze that has sought to own her. For a long time, she has been my protector — fierce enough to survive the years when survival felt like all there was. Amber, like a shell, is unyielding — forged by waves and time, weathering storms and tides to protect the pearl of vulnerability inside. But she is not only fight — she is also flame, and soil, and sky. She answers to no one but herself… and the call of the wild. Margot — all sighs and slow burns, a perfume bottle tipped on its side, pouring beauty into moments that could never last. Her world is cinematic — lit like a dream, scored like a film. Every room she enters is a scene, every glance a close-up. She doesn’t just live in her story; she stages it. Seduced by beauty, love and longing, pleasure and pain, she creates silken spaces for all of life’s fleeting moments of feeling — indulging in everything. Margot is the pearl — born of grit and friction, shaped in the quiet dark, and brought into the light with a sheen that hides the wound it grew from. She lives in aftermaths and loves in longing, her words the kind you read twice in a letter you shouldn’t have opened. She carries the shadows, the ache, and the truths too sharp for daylight. For a long time, she was my exile — hiding in silks and whispers, making art from every bruise. They are both mine. They are both me. And yet, for a long time, they could not stand each other. Amber would rewrite Margot’s songs to make them feel empowered. Margot would lace Amber’s fire with melancholy until the heat dimmed. Their messages blurred. Their truths diluted. And I — somewhere between them — stopped speaking at all. For years, I tried to make them share a stage. It was like asking the sun and the moon to burn in the same sky. They were never meant to blend. The breakthrough came when I stopped asking them to play nice. When I gave them each their own room, their own light, their own language. When I understood that my art, and I, didn’t have to fit into one box, one gaze, one voice — that I could live as many selves as truth demanded. I realised this is not just my story. You don’t have to be an artist to know the weight of the selves you’ve hidden. The protector who stands between you and the world. The exile who disappears into the quiet to stay safe. The voices you call on, the roles you retreat to. Life is a play, but somewhere along the way we stopped playing. We became typecast in the roles of trying and surviving, forgetting we hold the pen. We are the writer, the director, and the lead role. When we allow all parts of ourselves to take the stage — in different roles, in different moments — we don’t just make more art. We create a limitless canvas for life. More feeling. More experiences. More roles to step into. More truth flowing through you. I am No One Woman. And so are you.
Wild hair, dirty feet, and a fire that doesn’t wait for permission.
Amber walks barefoot into storms, guitar slung low, heart wide open. She is grit and laughter, protest and power — unafraid to take the long way, unafraid to take the stage.
Here, the music is raw, the stories are loud, and the truth doesn’t come wrapped in ribbons.
Step into the wild →
Dusky light, velvet shadows, and the lingering scent of perfume in an empty room.
Margot moves like a memory, framing every glance as if it were a scene in a film. She is silk and insense smoke, whispered confessions, and beauty too fleeting to hold.
Here, the music is cinematic, the moments are intimate, and the truth arrives softly — but it stays.
Step into the hush →