Part 2

Once a piece is finished, how important is it for you to let it lie and evaluate it later on? How much improvement and refinement do you personally allow until you're satisfied with a piece?

Letting a piece rest is crucial for me.

The moment I finish something, I’m too deep in it to hear it objectively. Stepping away, whether for a day, a week, or even longer allows me to return with fresh ears and a clearer perspective. Some tracks feel finished almost immediately, while others need time to settle before I know if they’re truly complete.

Refinement is a huge part of my process, but as I progress in my musical journey I try to avoid over-polishing to the point where a track loses its raw essence. There’s definitely a balance between improving and overworking.

How do you think the meaning, or effect of an individual piece is enhanced, clarified or possibly contrasted by the EPs, or albums it is part of? Does each piece, for example, need to be consistent with the larger whole?

I think a track’s meaning and impact can shift depending on the context of the larger body of work. When I am working on an EP or album, every song must flow into the next and tell a story both individually, and as a whole.

That being said, I don’t believe every track has to be strictly consistent with the rest of the project, at least not in a rigid sense. What matters is a sense of emotional or conceptual cohesion, whether through themes, key signatures, connecting lyrical stories, sonic textures, or the journey the project takes the listener on.

Sometimes contrast is just as important as continuity. A piece that feels like an outlier can actually enhance the whole by adding unexpected depth or perspective.

In terms of what they contribute to a song, what is the balance between the composition and the arrangement (including production, mixing and mastering)?

The balance between composition and arrangement/production is fluid, and for me they’re very much deeply intertwined. A song can start as a raw composition; melody, chords, and lyrics, but the way it’s arranged, produced, and mixed determines how it actually feels.

Composition is the soul of the track. It’s the core emotion, the storytelling, the structure that holds everything together. You could strip a song down to just a single instrument and vocal, and if the composition is strong, it will still resonate.

Arrangement, production, and mixing are the skin and atmosphere. They shape the sonic world where the song lives. The choice of textures, the space between elements, the depth of a reverb, or the sharpness of a percussive hit ... all of these affect how the song is perceived emotionally. Even silence can be part of an arrangement.

I don’t see these as separate steps but as an ongoing conversation. Sometimes, a production detail will change the way I hear a melody, leading me to adjust the composition. Other times, the core composition demands a specific sonic treatment to fully express itself. Mixing and mastering are the final brushstrokes, but even the most polished mix can’t fix a weak foundation or poorly produced track.

For me, the best balance happens when all these elements work together to serve the song’s emotion. It’s not just about making something sound good, but making it mean something.

After finishing a piece or album and releasing something into the world, there can be a sense of emptiness. Can you relate to this – and how do you return to the state of creativity after experiencing it?

Absolutely. There’s always a strange emptiness after finishing and releasing something into the world. I spend so much time living inside a project, obsessing over every sound, every detail, chasing the feeling that tells me it’s finally right ... and then suddenly, it’s done. It no longer belongs to just me; it’s out there, and there’s nothing more I can change.

It’s both liberating and unsettling. There’s a high that comes with finishing something, but after that, there’s often this quiet space where you’re not sure what to pour yourself into next. It can feel like you’ve emptied out everything, and the idea of starting fresh can be daunting.

For me, returning to creativity after that requires letting go. I try not to force the next idea too soon. Instead, I step away, listen to music without analyzing it, immerse myself in different art forms, go out and experience life without the pressure of immediately translating it into sound.

Often I’ll experiment with something completely outside my usual process ... playing with new synths, exploring new rhythms, or just creating with no intention of finishing anything. Eventually, something pulls me back in. Maybe it’s a random sound that sparks something, maybe it’s a lyric that appears in my head out of n   nv vn  owhere.

Creativity is cyclical, there’s a death and rebirth to every project. I’ve learned to trust that the next wave will come ... I just have to stay open to it.

I would love to know a little about the feedback you've received from listeners or critics about what they thought some of your songs are about or the impact it had on them – have there been “misunderstandings” or did you perhaps even gain new “insights?”

One of the things I love most about releasing music is hearing how people interpret it ... sometimes in ways I never expected. Since my lyrics tend to be conceptual and open to interpretation, the meanings listeners find in them can be wildly different from what I had in mind when writing.

There have definitely been alternate understandings that made me see my own work differently. Some people have described my songs as deeply personal, as if they’re confessions or diary entries, when in reality, some of them are more abstract explorations of themes like transformation, desire, or the subconscious. Other times, people will connect a track to a specific experience in their own life that never crossed my mind, but somehow, it fits.

One of my favorite things is when someone tells me that a song made them feel something they can’t quite put into words ... that it gave them a sense of nostalgia, longing, or mystery, even if they don’t fully understand why. That’s exactly the space I love to create in: the in-between, where meaning is fluid and shaped by the listener’s own emotions and experiences.

Creativity can reach many different corners of our lives. Do you personally feel as though writing a piece of music is inherently different from something like making a great cup of coffee? What do you express through music that you couldn't or wouldn't in more 'mundane' tasks?

There’s definitely a shared essence between creativity in music and creativity in everyday things ... like making a great cup of coffee.

Which, by the way, I have my own spin on ... just like I do within the world of music. Both require intuition, balance, and attention to detail, and both can be rituals in their own way. But for me, writing music is different because it allows me to express what can’t be put into words, what exists in the subconscious or beyond logical thought.

Music taps into something deeper, more visceral. It’s not just about crafting something ... it’s about translating emotion, memory, and atmosphere into sound. There are things I express through music that I couldn’t articulate in conversation, let alone in a mundane task. It’s where I let contradictions exist without explanation ... where longing and detachment, control and surrender, light and shadow can all blend together without needing to be resolved.

That being said, I think there’s something beautiful in approaching even small tasks with a creative and romantic mindset ... seeing the ritual in them, the care, the sensory experience. Music is no different.

Do you have things that you are super into but rarely get to talk about? Like, you're wondering why no one is interested in this, while you'd be able to give an enthusiastic interview on the topic? I'd love to hear about them.

I love this question. There are definitely things I’m obsessed with that don’t come up often …

One of them is the way sound affects the body and mind on a subconscious level—like how certain frequencies, rhythms, and textures can trigger deep emotional or even physical responses. I’m fascinated by things like binaural beats, microtonality, and the psychological effects of reverb and delay.

There’s so much science and mysticism around how sound can alter perception, mood, and even time itself. I think about this constantly when producing ... how the right sound design can make something feel haunting, euphoric, or even transportative without the listener realizing why.

I’m also really into esoteric symbolism and alchemy ... not in a rigid or dogmatic way, but as a language of transformation. A lot of ancient alchemical principles map perfectly onto the creative process: breaking something down, refining it, distilling its essence until it becomes something new. This cycle ... creation, destruction, rebirth ... is something I find myself referencing a lot in my work, even if it’s not always obvious.

Another thing? Weird, forgotten instruments and experimental sound-making techniques. I could spend hours messing with obscure synths, granular processing, or field recordings, turning everyday noises into something unrecognizable. The idea of finding music in places people don’t usually listen. like the hum of electricity, the way wind rattles through metal structures, or the rhythm of footsteps in an empty hallway, gets me ridiculously excited.

So yeah, if anyone ever wants to have a deep conversation about the alchemy of sound, haunted frequencies, or the hidden music in everyday life, I’m all in. Normal conversation gets boring anyways.