I understand the struggles of chronic pain, anxiety, depression, headaches, compromised immunity, and digestive dysfunction—and the impact of developmental and complex trauma and PTSD on health, leadership, and human potential—because I’ve been there myself.

As a kid, I suffered from debilitating headaches, chronic pain, and frequent ear infections and strep throat. In adolescence and early adulthood, this snowballed into crippling anxiety, depression, and digestive issues. Alongside scoliosis and kyphosis—severe curves in my spine—I often felt like my body was tied in a knot, making life unbearable.

Fast forward to today: I’m nearly three inches taller. I no longer live with chronic pain, anxiety, depression, or headaches. My digestion is stronger than ever.

I was able to mine the gold of unresolved trauma—not only to heal pain, anxiety, and depression, but to create a life of meaning, connection, purpose, and impact. That’s what I’ve helped thousands of clients do for over 20 years.

Healing is a commitment to defy odds and disrupt a lineage of trauma. It rejects the inertia of suffering.

This work doesn’t bypass. It doesn’t rush. It honors the intelligence of the body and the sacred timing of transformation. It’s about forging something new from the truth of what’s been lived. Because healing isn’t just about feeling better—it’s about remembering who you are and becoming a generative force for good in the world.

Healing is a reckoning—an unflinching confrontation with the grief, rage, fear, and fragmentation we’ve been conditioned to suppress. It’s personal and political, ancient and immediate. What lives in our bodies also lives in our cultures, histories, and systems.

We are living in an age of collapse. The world as we know it is breaking apart, and the body knows it. Anxiety, chronic pain, despair—these are not pathologies. They are healthy responses to an unhealthy world. They are intelligence. Invitations. Tremors before the turning. The body’s way of saying: This isn’t sustainable. There’s another way.

Symptoms aren’t just disruptions—they are signals. They carry direction. They point toward the life that is asking to be lived.

This moment is not a death sentence. It’s an evolutionary threshold, a sacred invitation to descend, deconstruct, alchemize, and emerge with vision, clarity, and conviction. We are being asked to evolve—not just to survive—and reclaim our place in the web of life, to become fierce custodians of truth, and to mine the gold buried in our wounds.

Greg Wieting’s art is an act of defiance. To create is to reclaim what was once stolen. His work is a remembering—of who we are, what we carry, and what we are here to embody.

Wieting gives form to what lies beneath language: rupture and repair, unmaking and becoming, descent and emergence. Each painting is a portal, a signal, a living invitation to witness and participate in transformation.

His art demands full presence—raw, awake, accountable. It releases false promises and leans into reality, riding the wave of evolution instead of resisting it. Each piece pulses with the tension of collapse and renewal, decay and beauty, exile and belonging, resistance and reclamation.

Wieting inhabits the space between rupture and reclamation. His visual language holds the intelligence embedded in body, psyche, and culture—acknowledging histories of harm, confronting the depths of the collective unconscious, and imagining a more just, vital world.

In a time of disorientation, his work answers the tremor before the turning. Wieting’s paintings broadcast that energy into consciousness, demanding engagement and awakening latent power in those who encounter them. These are not static works—they are catalysts, portals, and invitations for a world ready to rise with vision, courage, and care.

Greg Wieting’s art is force. Art as movement. Art as awakening.

My career began with the Washington Wilderness Coalition in Seattle. I started as a canvas director and later became a grassroots organizer, training and leading staff and teams in high-stakes campaigns. I raised funds, mobilized communities, built public will, forged political alliances, organized statewide volunteer networks, and helped knit together coalitions with groups such as the Sierra Club, The Nature Conservancy, and the Audubon Society.

This work culminated in the 2001 Roadless Rule, protecting nearly 60 million acres of public land from roads and logging, and in the establishment of the Wild Sky Wilderness—securing 2.6 million acres of protected land across the Cascade Range, from Canada to Snoqualmie Pass. These were not symbolic victories. They were acts of preservation with permanent consequence.

Those years shaped me—and continue to shape my work. I learned firsthand what leadership looks like when it carries gravity and consequence, when decisions cannot be undone, and when integrity matters more than optics. The work demanded stamina, moral clarity, and a willingness to stand in uncertainty while holding responsibility for something larger than oneself.

I also learned that leadership is not defined by title or action alone, but by who one becomes under pressure. It is revealed in how power is held, how values are embodied, and how responsibility is carried when the stakes are real. This understanding now informs every dimension of my work.

What we were protecting was not only land, but life itself—along with memory, lineage, and the sacred bond between people and the living world. That reckoning still lives in me. It continues to shape how I understand leadership, creation, and the enduring obligation to act in alignment with what truly matters.