I’m drawn to work that feels honest, disciplined, and quietly powerful. Not loud. Not showy. Just something that holds together  emotionally, structurally, and intellectually. I care about beauty, but not surface beauty. I care about forms that mean something, that unfold slowly, that reward attention. I don’t want to impress; I want to resonate. I try to make things that feel inevitable once they exist, as if they were always there, waiting to be revealed. What matters most to me is integrity: of mood, of form, of feeling.

In music, this means I tend to write with intention from the start, shaping the core themes early, then refining everything around them. I don't chase endless variations. I listen for what feels true to the piece — harmonies that ache just right, textures that carry emotional weight, structures that breathe naturally. My process is less about invention and more about uncovering what the music wants to become.

I’m influenced by composers and musicians who build with clarity, emotion, and intelligence: Tony Banks, Trevor Rabin, Chris Squire, Donald Fagen, Mike Oldfield, Steve Reich, Philip Glass. I admire music that’s harmonically rich without being indulgent, rhythmically alive without being chaotic, emotionally expressive without being sentimental.

This aesthetic reflects how I try to live, too: truth over novelty, coherence over cleverness, and the belief that restraint, when guided by conviction, can be more moving than spectacle.