We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Britt Albrecht. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Britt below.

Britt, looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. We’d love to hear about a project that you’ve worked on that’s meant a lot to you.

One of the most meaningful projects I’ve worked on has been my zine, I Think This House Is Haunted. It started as a way to explore grief and the way certain memories live in the body—how you can move forward on the outside while still feeling like something is echoing through you. I used the metaphor of the body as a haunted house, where each room holds traces of something lost, something unfinished.

At the time, I was dealing with a lot of emotional residue—things I hadn’t fully processed but didn’t quite know how to talk about. Working on the zine gave me a language for that. Hearing from people who saw themselves in that space was comforting in a way—a reminder of how often we’re shaped by the ghosts we carry, and how validating it can be to see that reflected back.

Great, appreciate you sharing that with us. Before we ask you to share more of your insights, can you take a moment to introduce yourself and how you got to where you are today to our readers.

I’ve always been drawn to the in-between—moments that hover, stories that feel caught in the middle, what isn’t said. Much of my work exists in the space between intimacy and distance, softness and unease. I’m drawn to the things we carry and can’t quite put down—the ghosts of people, places, and former selves—and the desire to give those things shape. Working across mediums, from zines to standalone illustrations and short-form writing, I’m often inspired by dark fairytales and folklore, but it’s less about fantasy as escape and more about how myth and magic can hold emotional truths that are harder to name directly.

Originally from a small town in Alabama and now based in Los Angeles, I came to art and writing as a way to make sense of feelings I didn’t have a space to express otherwise. That need to externalize the internal—grief, desire, fear, longing—still drives my creative process.

In your view, what can society do to best support artists, creatives and a thriving creative ecosystem?

I think it’s time we put the “starving artist” stereotype to rest, along with the idea that art isn’t real work, that it’s a passion or a luxury rather than a profession. How many people go through a full day untouched by someone else’s creative labor? Art is embedded in nearly every part of daily life—city planning, architectural design, the branding on your favorite products, the music in your headphones, the book by your bed, the show you turn to after work for a moment of escape. Creativity isn’t just entertainment—it shapes how we experience the world.

To truly support artists, society needs to recognize creative work as labor and build systems that reflect that. That means funding the arts, offering grants and accessible resources, ensuring artists are paid fairly, and expanding access to arts education. But it also means shifting the broader cultural perception—understanding that creativity isn’t indulgent or extra, it’s vital. A thriving creative ecosystem supports everyone, not just artists, because art doesn’t just decorate life—it defines how we live it.

What’s the most rewarding aspect of being a creative in your experience?

One of the most rewarding parts of being an artist is getting to give shape to something that would otherwise just sit in your chest—something vague or unnameable that becomes real the moment it lives outside of you. The art I’m most drawn to—and hope to make—elicits that response where you stop, take a breath, and think, “yes, that.” It doesn’t explain a feeling so much as hold it.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.brittnalbrecht.com
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/brittnalbrecht & https://www.instagram.com/brittn.jpg
• Linkedin: https://linkedin.com/in/brittnalbrecht