6 Albums on repeat in the studio
Digital collage, sketchbook.
Music is one of the few constants in the studio, so I thought I would begin by sharing six albums that have become part of the way I work. This may be a one-off, or it might grow into something more. Let’s see.
Working alone means that music plays a significant role in setting the pace and atmosphere of the day. The work itself is intuitive and exploratory, often concerned with creating tension, rhythm and a particular mood. My listening is varied—and perhaps a little dark—but these records offer some context for the visual world I am drawn to.
My childhood was spent first in Nigeria, living on a compound, and later in Iran. With no siblings, little television and fewer of the freedoms often taken for granted in the West, much of my time was occupied by imaginative play: collecting objects, inventing worlds and copying images from storybooks.
Looking back, I often felt like a witness, caught between the place I understood as home—Yorkshire—and the very different cultures in which I was living. Standing slightly outside things made me sensitive to contrast: how colour, spirituality, pattern, objects and surroundings can communicate entirely different ways of life. That awareness still shapes the way I look, collect and bring unlikely references together.
The paths I weave through my work are an amalgamation of the cultural references I have absorbed over time. Nigerian spiritual and ethnographic art, the romance and sounds of Tehran, European folk art, old textiles, cinema, painting and the visual languages of the places I have lived all coexist—sometimes harmoniously and sometimes in friction. At its heart, the work is concerned with identity and the attempt to make disparate influences belong within the same world.
Recognising my instinct to create atmosphere helps me understand the motivations behind the stories I am trying to tell. My listening moves freely between Persian-influenced music, doom metal, film scores, traditional instruments and experimental sound. What connects these seemingly disparate worlds is their ability to transport, create tension and open the door to somewhere imagined. Ultimately, they return me to the memory of childhood—a place that now feels impossibly distant from the life I inhabit today.
The result is a melting pot of noise, memory and visual reference. The work often begins where two unlikely things meet: the ancient beside the contemporary, beauty beside unease, delicacy beside weight. That juxtaposition is where the energy lies—and where my heart blooms.
Drawing or collaging to music remains at the centre of everything.
Music creates the mood necessary to notice and explore unexpected shifts in the work. It also provides a way into feelings and ideas before they have become completely clear. Certain records can open a door to another place or period of time—escapism, fantasy, possibility and romance—allowing an image to develop without being forced.
Perhaps painting is simply drawing with a little more courage. One day, I might find it.
Sicario: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack — Jóhann Jóhannsson
There is something almost physical about “The Beast.” It feels as though the sound is rising slowly from beneath the ground—dark, repetitive and quietly threatening. It creates an enormous sense of space, but also tension, as if something is approaching just beyond view.
Dopethrone — Electric Wizard
Dopethrone is dense, distorted and completely immersive. It feels less like listening to a collection of songs and more like entering a strange, smoke-filled landscape where everything moves at its own heavy pace.
Seanteach — Fohn
Seanteach feels elemental and half-remembered, as though its sound has been carried across a landscape from another time. Sparse, atmospheric and deeply transporting, it creates a space in which the imagination can wander without needing to arrive anywhere definite. It feels profoundly rooted in the British Isles, evoking memories of coming home to cold air and the rain on my face—something I absolutely adored.
Jardins Migrateurs — Constantinople & Ablaye Cissoko
This album feels like travel without a fixed destination. It moves between places, traditions and periods of time, but never feels confined to any one of them. There is something ancient and deeply human in it, yet it also feels open and alive.
The Proposition: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack — Nick Cave & Warren Ellis
The Proposition transports me completely. It feels vast, scorched and cinematic—a landscape built from sparse melodies, restless strings and long stretches of tension. There is beauty in it, but also danger and unease. Nothing feels overly resolved.
Yaara — Itai Armon
Yaara feels intimate, wandering and quietly cinematic. It carries me somewhere distant and unfamiliar, while still feeling deeply personal. There is a delicacy to it, but also a sense of restlessness and movement—as though the music is continually searching for another path.