Music, for me, begins with a simple impulse: the desire to move someone. Not to impress, not to demonstrate mastery, but to reach another person through sound. Everything else—the formal structures, the harmonic language, the orchestration—exists in service of that impulse.
My music sits between tradition and the contemporary. I work with clearly discernible formal structures: motifs, phrases, themes, sections. I use contrast and variety as my primary expressive tools. The result is a language that some have called "accessible," though accessibility was never a conscious goal. I simply write what I would want to hear. What emerges is what emerges, unfiltered by aesthetic ideology.
I am drawn to literature above all: Shakespeare, Verne, Poe, Wells, Ovid. To the poetry of César Vallejo. To folklore, myth, and legend; to nature, spirituality, history, and lived experience. These are the currents that run beneath the music; rarely visible on the surface but always present in the foundation.
My work in film is a different discipline: there, I place myself at the service of the director's vision, listening carefully and translating what they need into sound. In concert music, the process reverses entirely. When someone commissions a work, I assume they know how my music sounds, and that is precisely why they have come to me.
As a teacher, I hold nothing back. I share my own works with my students and explain in detail how they were made: the decisions, the doubts, the solutions. I do not impose my aesthetic on theirs. My deepest ambition as a teacher is not to transmit technique, but passion: to send each student home wanting to wake up the next morning and compose.