Back in 2021, I wrote an article for Comment Magazine about the journey of my vinyl record, Lotuses and Mimicry. Titled "Art + Friendship," the piece posits a question to consider at the beginning of any entrepreneurial endeavor: Who would I enjoy making this with?

That question has its hooks in me. Four years now, and every time I get the itch or opportunity to create something, I find myself scanning the landscape of my friendships like an artistic metal detector. Who's out there? Who is the right fit for this beauty-making moment?

Friendship was my north star in the making of Found Love, the guardrails for my production choices. Every musician I called, every room I booked, every decision made—it all got filtered through friendship.

The Porch Moment

Flash forward to summer 2024. I had just wrapped up the first phase of recording Found Love and made my way to Raleigh, North Carolina, to lead a Kintsugi workshop with Esther Mun and Bianca Valencia Criscuolo. We'd tumbled into each other's lives by knowing Makoto Fujimura, and now here we were, three artists learning and leading the ancient art of mending broken things with gold.

That evening, Bianca and I ended up alone on the porch, talking about dreams and art making. I picked up my guitar and played her one of the rough draft songs from Found Love.

She did this thing—she sat back, closed her eyes, and let the music move through her. Not just listening but absorbing, metabolizing, and accepting the song as a gift. In that moment, Bianca beheld me. 

The Mystery of Covers

When Found Love started approaching completion in November, my mind shifted from creating music to capturing visuals. There's something mystical about the impossible task of finding one image to represent a record. I knew I didn't want my face staring back from the cover. This album was a portal, a place for people to step inside and find their own mending. I imagined a mural of sorts, images and scenes that wove together to express a divine, feminine hero’s journey. 

Bianca describes her work as "imagining the sublime", painting at the intersection of deep, refractive color and delicate penwork. She also has a whole practice of encouraging people to take their dreams seriously—to write them down, journal them, share them, and listen to what they're trying to say.

I am a believer in dreams, the strange space between sleep and consciousness. Call it the hypnagogic state, call it the edge of awareness—that's where most of Found Love got made. I’d start songs in the final hours of day and finish them before dawn (without coffee!), when my inner critic wasn’t kicking ass yet, and my creative soul was unashamed to be in full-view

The Sacred Commission

I shared my rough draft record and mural vision with Bianca, asking for a painting that would guide listeners through scenes and stories with textures and colors. Something complete but fragmented, like remembering a dream.

She asked me about my dreams; the ones that drove me, felt like reality. I told her about three. One with a house made of bones; one with a little girl; and one where I meet and fall in love with John O'Donohue. We talked for hours, Bianca absorbing my words with meditative concentration. Then, slowly, she prepared a commission proposal. That document is sacred to me. Proof that artistic listening can see you to your core. 

Our collaboration took seven months, ideas layering with paint, feedback mixing with process, chiseling away to let the piece reveal itself. That's why the cover had to be a painting, not a photograph. An album isn’t a single moment; you're layering music and instruments and vocals, redoing things, building layer upon layer upon layer upon layer. Slowly, slowly, slowly, until something prismatic emerges.

Just like life. Just like love. Just like the sublime experience of making something with a friend.