K E E N A N W I L C O X
B i o g r a p h y
I grew up Timothy Lake road near the tiny Canadian town of Lac La Hache, in an area of British Columbia known as The Cariboo, and was born at the hospital in One Hundred Mile House on March 18th, 1987. Childhood was like a shared dream between us kids, and passed playing games and frolicking endlessly through nature, our adventures shaping us through friendship and imagination and hardship alike. Family and friends were also ever present, as was live music; everyone loved listening and joining in. As such, singing is something that I've been doing for as long as my lungs could bear it; but it wasn't until my grade-three teacher began leading us in songs that the path I've now chosen was set before me. I can remember her gently strumming an acoustic guitar at the front of our classroom as she gracefully played her rendition of "Purple Kitty," all the while coaxing our nervous little personalities into following her lead. Thinking back to those days, I can now fully appreciate how wonderful she is.
As a singer-songwriter & musician, I am blended from folk, classical, country, rock, blues, hip hop, soul and other styles, and have many loved ones in my life who helped to guide and shape me along the way. I also write, and have studied poetry at both Thompson Rivers University and Bishop's University, and love to draw and act and pursue creativity in many of its artistic forms. Some of my favorite music includes Fleetwood Mac, Sarah McLauchlan, The Beatles, Gordon Lightfoot, Billy Joel, Mozart, Mumford & Sons, Death Cab for Cutie, Celtic of all kinds, and a host of others – though if there simply were two people who have taught me, and inspired me more in the ways of music, it would be my father Bruce and my mother Jo-Anne. They encouraged me to follow my dreams, and so it is that their wisdom, and above all their love, has been a blessing in my life – for which I will be eternally grateful.
Take care, love deeply, and may your days be sweetly spent!
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Photo by Jer Clarke, Montréal, Québec, Canada
She flows from the Spring on some nameless mountain tall,
down through the rocks – broken, beautiful, and sublime.
Above the highest peak she falls.
She takes from the Earth what is needed to survive,
up from the soil – broken, beautiful, and enthralled.
Below the lowest depth she dives.
My River, my pain serene; slowly in me do her tapestries weave,
but they are strong and cold, and I am not so bold to brave her.
How can love be baptized in still water, when she will not slow or steady or falter?
She says her course will change some day when her life no longer matters –
down through the years when she’s broken, beautiful, and scattered.
But I know better, and out loud I tell her that the scars will last forever.