I remember composing an album after a traumatic loss. I usually turn to my writing to touch the depths of despair, but this time I reached for the piano keys. My fingers stumbled over them, slow but steady, eventually finding a melody congruent to the tempo of my heart’s desires. It’s never been my favorite, but in times of loss we enact a chokehold on what has always been familiar.
Strings, my violin in particular, have my heart. The music flows out of my fingertips, every note and beat timed perfectly. It walks the line between artistic and mathematical expression, a quality I’ve come to love. I work magic with my rapid fire calculations, pouring the precision into every stroke of my bow.
The lyrics are unapologetically vibrant, all rich with metaphor, experiments, mistakes, and borrowed references from the songwriters and artists who came before me.
Songwriting, and creating such a complete union of art, math, skill, and language is the incomparable discovery of my life. My artwork is my beating heart.
Literary Musings 
Beautiful.
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