For a long time, my work lived in separate rooms. Music in one place. Design in another. Writing somewhere else entirely. Same hands. Same mind. Different containers. Nothing was fake. But it was split.
This site isn’t a rebrand. It’s more like knocking the walls through.
Lately I’ve been thinking about unison. Not theory. Not metaphor. Just that quiet feeling when things inside you stop pulling in different directions. For years, I could feel the separation. The designer voice here. The artist voice there. The “professional” version in certain spaces. The more human one in others. All true. None of it dishonest. But not fully together. This site is what happened when I stopped arranging those parts… and let them stand in the same place.
Unison, for me, is when inner and outer stop negotiating.
I don’t really think of this as a website. It’s closer to an exhibition space. You arrive. There’s a moment of stillness. A face. Light. An Enter button. Nothing else competing for your attention. You step inside. Then you move through the work, like walking through rooms in a gallery. Projects. Pieces. Evidence of thinking made visible. After that, if you want, you can read my thoughts. That’s the Notes. The quiet back room where the processing lives. Then the person behind it. Then how to work together. Then how to reach me. Not a funnel. A space.
I care about how something feels to move through. Pace. Weight. Where you pause. Where you breathe. A lot of the internet feels like being ushered through a shop with someone talking at you the whole time. This isn’t that. Here, you’re allowed to arrive. That pause at the entrance is deliberate. Crossing a threshold does something to your attention. It asks for presence, not scrolling.
The background is blurred light, taken from a portrait. Not a brand move. Just a human starting point, softened until it becomes atmosphere. The type isn’t there to look clever. It’s there to carry tone. Some sentences need softness. Some need structure. The rhythm matters. There’s space. Quite a lot of it. Not as a style choice. As breathing room.
Nothing here was dropped into a template. I needed nuance. Subtle shifts. The ability to let things sit quietly without being boxed into someone else’s layout logic. Templates are built for speed. This was built for tone. This is the first time my music, design and writing are living side by side without feeling like they’re visiting each other. They come from the same source. And now, it finally looks like it.
This site isn’t really about how I work. It’s about how I want to be. A bit slower. Less noisy. More honest about complexity. More comfortable with quiet. That shows up in pixels. In punctuation. In how long something takes to appear. In whether a sentence is allowed to finish without being interrupted by a call to action.
Design shapes behaviour. It shapes attention. It shapes how we feel inside a space, even if we don’t consciously notice. I didn’t set out to make something impressive. I wanted something that felt like me without splitting me into departments. If it feels different, that’s probably why.
This is just what happens when the walls come down. It’s what alignement looks like. And like anything alive, it’ll keep shifting. But for now, this is the shape of a whole self.