The Art of Listening
Songs You Can See
In my first blog post, I said I’d be back the following Sunday. But I lied, okay? Keeping you on your toes. Did you come looking for one? If not, that’s fine—I forgot too. I’ll try to be better, promise.
A few weeks ago, I wrote about using music to spark creativity. At the time, I didn’t mention the project that had already been unfolding in the background—maybe I wasn’t ready to. But now? It’s happening. It’s coming to life.
I’ve been working on a collection of paintings, each one shaped by a song. Not just inspired by—translated from sound to colour, rhythm to movement, lyrics to brushstrokes. No two songs feel the same, so no two paintings are born the same way.
There’s no rush to finish, no deadline looming over me. Just precision and chaos in equal measure, trusting that the right colors will find their way to the canvas. And when the time comes to share them, each painting will have a QR code. Scan it, and the song that built it will play. You won’t just see the art—you’ll hear it.
I Knew These Songs Before I Knew Them
Some people hear music and see memories. A moment, a place, a feeling. I hear a song and see colour first.
Lilacs by Waxahatchee? Soft violet, muted greens, hints of something golden.
I Hate It Here by Taylor Swift? Stark contrasts—dusky blues for the parts that feel trapped, bleeding into something lighter, something untouchable.
The strange part? I knew this before I ever looked up what these songs were actually about. I didn’t need an interview or an article to tell me what they meant—I felt it, saw it, and built stories from them in my mind.
Take Lilacs. I kept coming back to this one line:
"If my bones are made of delicate sugar, I won't end up anywhere good."
It felt fragile. Temporary. Like something that could dissolve under too much pressure. And when I read Waxahatchee’s own words about the song—how it explores self-care and the way good habits can turn suffocating—I realized I had already painted it. Or at least, I had already felt it.
And I Hate It Here? The first time I heard it, I pictured a body weighed down, roots tangling around their ankles, the air above them open and free. Later, I found out Swift describes the song as an escape into
“secret gardens in my mind”
because reality feels too heavy. That’s exactly it. Trapped below, free above.
How Do You Paint a Song?
The process isn’t logical, and I don’t try to force it. Some paintings start with a single lyric that lingers. Some start with the bassline, guiding deep, smudged layers. Others are dictated by the drumbeat—quick, sharp, staccato brushstrokes. It’s instinct. Trust falls into sound.
So, if you could paint a song, what would it look like?
The Missing Piece—Listening
There’s one part of this project I haven’t quite solved yet: how do I share the music behind each painting in a way that actually works in a gallery setting?
Each piece in this collection was inspired by a specific song. The music isn’t just background noise—it’s part of the story. It shaped the mood, the colours, the concept. I want people to hear what I heard while making it. But how?
QR codes are a start, sure—but then what? Should I suggest people bring wireless headphones? Would that make the experience too solitary? Too techy? And no, Spotify links won’t cut it—too many steps, too many distractions.
So I’m opening this up to you: if you were walking through a gallery and saw a painting tied to a specific song, how would you want to experience that connection?
What would feel smooth, intuitive, and human?
Drop your ideas in my DMs on Instagram —this is something I want to figure out together. Because this project isn’t just about looking. It’s about listening with your eyes.
