Some obstacles are introduced throughout our lives, and others we are born into. Being Indigenous in Canada has initiated a series of adversities. Many Canadians have only recently begun to reckon with the tragic legacy of residential schools, but for me, it has always been a lived experience. I’ve been shaped by the generational traumas my people continue to navigate—and also by the strength it takes to transform pain into purpose. My story is one of victory. I’ve walked through darkness and come out not only whole, but creative.

To some degree, I’m grateful for the adversity I’ve faced. It gave birth to a deep, lifelong drive to create through music, film, food, and shared experience. I remember long car rides with my mom, The Doors playing through the speakers, and me pulling apart each song in my mind, wondering how something could sound so bluesy, so raw, so strange. That curiosity eventually turned into action. I started producing my own music in a cracked demo version of FL Studio, layering sound late into the night while my friends played video games. People teased me for it, but I stayed with it. Music became my safest space—my most constructive coping mechanism during a volatile time at home.

What I didn’t realize then was that creativity would become not just my escape, but my livelihood. Over time, I taught myself video editing and sound design, learning how to pair rhythm with image. And in parallel, another passion emerged: food. In the kitchen, I found a second language — one rooted in care, attention, and craft. I’ve spent over a decade working in culinary spaces, most recently as a fine dining events chef, where I’ve designed menus, led service for multi-course gatherings, and helped shape atmosphere through the plate. My work in food spans plating and recipe development to large-format catering, intimate tasting menus, and collaborative dinners that elevate cultural storytelling through every bite.

As an Indigenous chef, I am deeply committed to sustainable, low-waste cooking and to preserving and evolving North American Indigenous cuisine. Food, like music, became a place where I could bring people in—where I could nourish, connect, and create moments of joy and resonance.

Today, at Atelier Oluwatosin, I compose music, craft film and soundscapes, and contribute to the shaping of brand and event experiences through every sensory detail. My hope is to break cycles — not only for myself, but for those who come after me. I believe in beauty as resistance, and in creativity as a way to move closer to healing.

XO, J.