How I Actually Compose

People often ask how I compose, and there is often an expectation that there must be some kind of method behind it all, something structured and repeatable that can be explained in a clear sequence. The truth is that it does not really work that way for me at all, and in many respects it is far more instinctive and fluid than people might expect.

Everything begins at the instrument. I sit down at the keyboard and start to play, not with a plan, but with a sense of openness. I allow the sound itself to guide me, and I explore harmonies and melodic ideas with my hands and feet at the same time. It is a very physical process, and the instrument becomes part of the thinking. Certain sounds immediately suggest a mood, and that mood begins to shape what comes next.

Ideas do not arrive fully formed. They emerge gradually through this interaction with the instrument. A particular chord might stand out, or a short melodic phrase might feel like it has something about it. When that happens, I stay with it and begin to explore it further, allowing it to grow naturally rather than forcing it into a predetermined direction. The organ, in particular, has a way of inspiring this process because of its range of colour and its sense of space, and very often the sound itself suggests what the music wants to become.

Every piece begins with a feeling rather than a concept. It might be something cinematic, or something more intimate and reflective, but there is always an emotional centre that guides everything that follows. Sometimes there is a clear image in my mind, and other times it is simply a mood that I cannot quite put into words, but I always know when something feels right, and that is what I follow.

As ideas begin to take shape, I make sure to capture them before they disappear. I use Dorico to input anything that I feel has potential, and I am constantly moving between playing and reading, adding things, removing things, and refining what is there. It is a continuous process of shaping and reshaping, and it often feels more like sculpting than composing. I am not building something from the ground up in a rigid way, but rather uncovering something that is already there, gradually revealing its final form.

Very often, the finished piece ends up being quite different from how it started. An idea that seemed central at the beginning might disappear entirely, while something that felt small at first can grow into the main theme. This is part of the process, and I have learned not to hold on too tightly to the initial idea. The music evolves as I work with it, and I allow it to change direction if it needs to.

The most important thing throughout all of this is mindset. I do not approach composition as a problem to be solved, but as something to be experienced. There has to be a sense of enjoyment, curiosity, and even a bit of discovery. When that is present, the music tends to flow much more naturally, and the result feels more authentic.

In the end, composition for me is not about following a system or applying a set of rules. It is about sitting at the instrument, listening carefully, and allowing something meaningful to emerge.