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Hey there—I’m Bella!

I grew up in Denver, Colorado, with a wide-open reservoir as my backyard. Coyotes were part of the scenery, and racing bikes with the neighborhood kids was a daily adventure. Nature grounded me while also stirring up a deep, playful curiosity that still shapes my work as an artist today. I live at the intersection of rootedness and expansion, and that duality drives me creatively.

My dad is an artist who can capture every detail of a lion’s mane with a pencil. As a kid, he taught me to draw an eyeball (to this day, it’s still the only realistic thing I can draw as everything else turns out delightfully Picasso-esque). But more than technique, he gave me a love for creation: its power, its beauty, and its potential to move people. My early exposure to musicians like Sinéad O’Connor and Janis Joplin, and films like A Long Kiss Goodnight, No Country for Old Men, and Fantastic Mr. Fox deepened that connection.

I first stepped into storytelling through Shakespeare Club in primary school. Our wise, witty British teacher, who lovingly called us “Bozos,” cast us in both traditional and modernized versions of Shakespeare plays. That was the spark. From there, I sang anywhere I could, and eventually stepped into the shoes of Wednesday Addams in middle school. The magnetic pull of music and the thrill of stepping into someone else’s skin lit something in me.

I’ve always led with feeling, compassion, curiosity, and conviction. That thread has woven through my participation in Jazz  and Choral choirs at Cherry Creek High School, and into roles that demand depth and humanity. One of the most formative for me was Henrietta Leavitt in Silent Sky, a scientist who measured the distance to the stars. Most recently, I dove into the raw and visceral world of The Bacchae in Tisch’s MainStage, exploring the extremes of power, ecstasy, and grief.

I love to dance, sing, ski, travel, play soccer, and spend time with the people I love. I’m inspired by bold outfits, honest voices, films that make me cry, music that moves me, and those small, joyful moments with family and friends. Sunlight on green grass? Pure serotonin.

Long story short—I’ve always felt storytelling in my bones. It’s how we illuminate truth, build empathy, and spark change. And I’m here for all of it.