Whenever I travel, I walk. A great deal. There is a thought that follows me into unfamiliar streets: I may never return to this exact place again. That possibility changes the way I look, listen and remember.

I pay attention to the music playing in taxis, on airplanes and in places I had not planned to visit. When I hear something unfamiliar, I reach for Shazam or SoundHound. I collect names, notes and fragments of experience — not as a checklist of destinations, but as reminders of what caught my attention.

A journey is made of more than the famous sights. It is the unexpected song, a passing conversation, a film discovered in transit, the character of a street at a particular hour. None of these moments needs to be grand to matter.

Do such experiences find their way into my work? Immediately. Discovering new music is more valuable to me than simply acquiring material to sample. It creates motivation. An image, an atmosphere, a feeling becomes engraved in the mind, and the urge to create follows.

I have travelled through more than 45 countries, but I do not think of that number as a collection of trophies. What matters is how much of the world I have allowed to leave a mark. To notice something is to give it a chance to become part of who you are — and perhaps, one day, part of what you make.