I’ve always believed that art isn’t just something to hang on a wall – it’s a way to connect people. It cuts through the noise. Whether it’s a song that takes you straight back to a moment in your life, or a visual that makes you stop and look closer, art makes us feel something, and that shared feeling matters.

In my work, I’m trying to do precisely that. I map music histories, film plots, political timelines – but it’s not just about facts. It’s about drawing emotional connections between people and the stories that shaped them. When someone recognises an album that meant everything to them at 16, or spots a band member they’d forgotten, something clicks. That’s the connection.

There’s science behind it, too. Looking at or creating art can trigger dopamine, the brain’s way of saying “this matters.” It’s part memory, part emotion, part human instinct. We’re wired to respond to storytelling and visuals that feel personal.

So what makes art meaningful? For me, it’s about honesty. When I’m building a new map, I’m not just designing a nice layout – I’m building a structure that reflects the energy and detail of the subject. Whether that’s every musician who shapes a band’s sound or every character who weaves through a film’s story, it only works if it’s done with care and intent. The more specific and personal I make it, the more people seem to connect with it.

That connection works both ways. People who buy my maps often tell me their own stories: “That’s the album I played after my dad died,” or “I saw that film with my kids and now we quote it constantly.” That’s why I do this. It’s about shared memory, not just data.

In a world that’s increasingly digital and disposable, I think there’s value in making something that feels real and lasts. Art that connects isn’t about being clever or profound. It’s about creating something that feels true – and giving people a reason to care.