Music, time, and what we choose to value.
I am a recording artist and writer whose work explores time, responsibility, and the quiet continuity that connects creative expression with ecological attention and long-term thinking.
About
My creative life has unfolded over time, across different places and phases, shaped less by momentum than by attention. I have never been drawn to urgency for its own sake. What has mattered more is coherence — allowing ideas, questions, and forms of expression to develop over time rather than compete for immediacy.
Music was the first language through which I tried to make sense of the world, and it remains the foundation of how I think, listen, and respond.
Music as a way of listening
I began writing and performing music as a way of understanding experience rather than explaining it. Songs offered space — for ambiguity, contradiction, and emotional honesty — without the pressure of resolution.
Over time, songwriting taught me patience. It taught me to listen for what is not immediately obvious. It taught me that meaning often reveals itself gradually.
These ideas run through my studio album All the Difference, a body of work written and recorded over several years and released much later, with the benefit of distance and perspective. The album reflects a period shaped by loss, transition, and quiet persistence. It was never about capturing a moment. It was about allowing something to unfold.
The process of making the record reinforced something I continue to value: restraint. Not everything needs to be said at once. Silence, space, and timing matter as much as expression itself.
Music, for me, has never been separate from life. It is a way of paying attention.
Time, distance, and change
As life evolved, so did the questions that interested me. Family responsibilities reshaped priorities. The pace of creative output slowed. Urgency gave way to longer horizons.
During this period, my focus expanded beyond music into ecological thinking, with a particular interest in ocean conservation and the broader relationship between human systems and the natural world. What drew me in was not activism as performance, but responsibility as practice — the idea that care, consistency, and long-term thinking matter more than gestures.
This work required a different rhythm. Progress was measured in years rather than moments. Outcomes were uncertain, and often invisible.
Music moved into the background for a time, but it never disappeared. Neither did the values it had helped clarify.
Continuity rather than reinvention
Looking back, I do not see separate chapters so much as a single line of inquiry expressed in different forms. Music explores feeling and meaning. Ecology demands attention and humility. Systems shape how values show up in everyday life.
All three are connected by the same concern: how we live with what we know, and what we choose to value over time. I am less interested in reinvention than in continuity — in allowing work to mature, and in resisting the pressure to constantly redefine oneself in response to external expectations. What matters more is alignment: between intention, action, and consequence.
That continuity gives work its weight.
Present orientation
Today, my work spans creative expression, ecological reflection, and practical systems that aim to align everyday choices with long-term responsibility.
Alongside music, I write and reflect on ecology and responsibility through mydropintheoceans.org, a space dedicated to slowing down dominant narratives and exploring care, scale, and time. It is a place for questioning assumptions and making room for complexity.
I am also involved in mydio.com, a project focused on valuing sustainable everyday choices by making their benefits tangible in daily life. Rather than encouraging more consumption, the emphasis is on recognising and supporting decisions that already align with long-term social and ecological wellbeing.
These projects operate in different domains, but they are not disconnected. Each is an attempt to translate values into form — through music, language, or systems.
A longer view
I am interested in work that endures quietly rather than competes loudly. In a culture oriented toward immediacy, speed, and constant output, I am drawn instead to processes that reward patience and attention. Work that takes time to reveal itself. Work that remains open to reinterpretation.
This approach has shaped how I make music, how I engage with ecological questions, and how I think about the structures that influence everyday behaviour. It is less about scale than direction. Less about visibility than coherence.
Whether through music, writing, or systems, my focus remains the same: paying attention, thinking long-term, and asking what kind of future our choices contribute to. This site brings those threads together — not to resolve them, but to hold them in view.