There's an added dimension to how I experience the human condition. My brain has a synesthetic layer that translates what I feel and hear into things I can see. Emotion, sound, and the sheer presence of a person all take on their own color, texture, and pattern. Unbeknownst to them, everyone I meet has a unique visual signature in my mind. Some feel like sunlight, others like soft pastels or grounded metal. As a connection deepens, so does this sensory language. The voice of someone I love has a color; it’s a subtle, private dialogue between feeling and form. At times, it’s like a visual filter falls over my eyes. The old saying about 'rose-colored glasses' takes on a literal meaning for me, especially in moments of deep connection. Music is just as visual. Certain songs unfold in structured, harmonious colors, while others scatter like kinetic bursts. My artwork emerges directly from these internal impressions. Each piece is my attempt to give shape to what I perceive—to capture a fleeting translation of sound into color, or emotion into form. My work inspired by "How to Draw" by The 1975, for instance, is a visualization of that song's architecture as I hear it, with its emotional shifts rendered in paint. Ultimately, my art is an effort to document that space where perception and emotion meet, where the boundaries between hearing, seeing, and feeling begin to dissolve.