Story & Lesson Highlights with Alisa McRonald of Toronto

We’re looking forward to introducing you to Alisa McRonald. Check out our conversation below.

Alisa, really appreciate you sharing your stories and insights with us. The world would have so much more understanding and empathy if we all were a bit more open about our stories and how they have helped shaped our journey and worldview. Let’s jump in with a fun one: What is a normal day like for you right now?
Tis the season of applying for shows and funding. It’s been especially busy because I’m headed away to an artist residency in Mexico City at the end of this month.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
Hi, I’m Alisa McRonald! I’m a textile artist who loves turning discarded clothes and scraps of fabric into yarn, sculptures, and little characters full of personality and story. I grew up queer in a small town, surrounded by a crafty family, young punk-rock aunts, and a haunted house that sparked my love of the magical and mysterious—these things all sneak into my work.

I like mixing scrappy DIY resourcefulness with careful craftsmanship, making pieces that feel personal but leave room for viewers to imagine their own stories. I show my work in galleries and unconventional spaces, and I’m always exploring new ways to play with textiles, sculptural forms, and collage-like compositions.

Right now, I’m focused on projects that let materials, memory, and imagination collide—turning humble bits of fabric into something magical, playful, and full of curiosity. Basically, I make work that I hope surprises people, sparks joy, and invites them to linger awhile in my little worlds.

Appreciate your sharing that. Let’s talk about your life, growing up and some of topics and learnings around that. What did you believe about yourself as a child that you no longer believe?
As a kid, I thought being “weird” and “awkward” meant something was wrong with me—that I had to somehow fit in or smooth out my edges. Now I see that those parts of me are exactly where my power lives. Embracing my queerness and my quirks has given me my voice, my creativity, and the freedom to live authentically. What once felt like a flaw has become the spark that fuels everything I make and do.

When did you stop hiding your pain and start using it as power?
I think it came with age and the wisdom that grows over time, but it also coincided with watching my niece and nephew grow up. Seeing how the younger generation embraces themselves—owning who they are without seeing their differences as “bad” or “weird”—helped me finally do the same. Their confidence gave me permission to stop hiding and to transform my own struggles into strength, creativity, and voice.

I think our readers would appreciate hearing more about your values and what you think matters in life and career, etc. So our next question is along those lines. What do you believe is true but cannot prove?
I grew up in a house I now call “haunted.” Very strange things happened there—things my whole family witnessed. Because of that, I think I believe in ghosts, or at least in the unseen. Maybe it’s not ghosts exactly, but the idea that multiple realities can exist at once, overlapping in ways we can sometimes feel but can’t explain. I believe in liminal spaces—the in-between places—as real and important. They remind me that not everything true can be measured or proven, and that mystery itself can be a kind of truth.

Thank you so much for all of your openness so far. Maybe we can close with a future oriented question. What is the story you hope people tell about you when you’re gone?
I think about this often, especially since I don’t have children of my own. My family is pretty sentimental, and I once talked with my niece about it—we came up with a story where, after I’m gone, she’ll have to move all of my strange collections into a house that I’ll haunt. Then, when her time comes, one of her female heirs will do the same, keeping the chain of eccentricity (and ghosts) alive.

Really, I just hope people remember my humour, creativity, and the joy I found in being a little weird. If I’m remembered as the “weird aunt” who made things, laughed a lot, and saw magic in the everyday—that would be perfect.

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