Becoming

The artist and the architect

There’s always been a tension in me.
Between structure and softness.
Between dreaming and doing.
Between the artist and the architect.

One part of me wants to follow the feeling. See where it goes. Stay in the fog a bit longer. That’s the part that writes songs, that sits at the piano without knowing what will happen, that chases something half-seen. The other part wants things to make sense. Wants structure. A framework. Clean lines. A way of holding all that feeling so it doesn’t spill everywhere.

For a long time, I thought I had to pick one. Be the emotional one. Or be the capable one.

Depending on the room I was in, one side would step forward and the other would go quiet.

But the work never felt right when one of them was missing. Too much feeling without structure and everything drifted. Beautiful, but hard to hold. Too much structure without feeling and everything worked… but felt a bit hollow. It took me a while to realise that the tension wasn’t a flaw. It was the point.

When I design, the part of me that loves grids and systems is very present. But so is the part that notices mood. Texture. Subtle shifts in tone. When I write music, it might start as instinct, but it ends up shaped. Arranged. Given form. My piano playing has discipline in it. My brand documents have rhythm in them. I didn’t plan that. It’s just how I’m built.

We talk about people like we have to be one thing. Creative or analytical. Artistic or strategic. I’ve never recognised myself in those splits.

The more I’ve tried to lean into just one side, the more something felt off. Like walking slightly out of alignment. These days I’m less interested in choosing a label and more interested in letting both parts show up to the same table.

The artist in me is what reaches for beauty. For emotion. For the thing you can’t quite explain.

The architect in me is what makes sure it stands up. That it makes sense. That it can be lived in.

Together, they make work that doesn’t just look or sound good… but holds. And I’m finally comfortable letting that be true, without trying to tidy it into something easier to describe.

Notes, as they’re written
You’re in.
I’ll be in touch as things unfold.
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