You wrote a beautiful score for Disneynature’s “Sea Lions of the Galapagos.” What was your initial reaction when you were approached to score the nature doc? What aspects of the project excited you the most?

In documentaries, I often let the music hold back—to support rather than lead. But Sea Lions was built around a real narrative arc, with clear emotional beats, character growth, and many moments of humor. I approached it almost like a scripted film, developing evolving themes for Leo, and even pacing the score to match its emotional states. It was documentary in form but narrative at heart, which let me be much more musically expressive than usual. 

More broadly, I find the line between narrative and documentary increasingly blurred—many modern documentaries embrace cinematic storytelling, which opens up new possibilities for music to take a more active, character-driven role. That shift is exciting for me as a composer! 

I was immediately struck by the emotional focus—a mother and her pup navigating this rugged, majestic world. The chance to tell that story with sincerity, but also nuance, really appealed to me. I also knew the Galapagos would offer a unique sonic palette, and the idea of blending environmental textures with orchestral writing excited me. 

And I’ll be honest – getting to record it at Abbey Road was the dream. 

The doc follows little Leo as he grows up on the island. There is so much about parenthood in this nature film with the relationship between him and his mum especially. Can you talk a little bit about how you tackled this relationship emotionally with music?

That relationship was very moving to score, especially because I became a mother for the second time during the process. There was something deeply personal about watching this little creature grow, stumble, and slowly gain independence. I approached the music with a lot of emotional honesty—keeping it delicate, melodic, and never too polished. I wanted to capture the beauty and fragility of that bond, the quiet moments of care, and the inevitable push toward separation.

Can you talk a little bit about your workflow when scoring for documentaries? What advice would you give to fellow composers working on nature docs? What can be pitfalls, what are some challenges and how did you grow as an artist working in that genre?

In nature documentaries, there’s a constant tension between underscoring beauty and staying out of the way. One pitfall is trying to over-musicalize everything—nature already has its own poetry, so sometimes the best choice is restraint. Another challenge is tone: if you’re not careful, music can easily tip into sentimentality or cliché. I’ve learned to trust space more, to let silences breathe and to be more intentional with every gesture. 

Working in this genre has taught me a lot about patience and precision. You have to write with empathy—for the animal characters, the visuals, and the people behind the camera. But one thing I’ve also learned is the importance of diversification. It’s easy to get pigeonholed in documentary once you’ve done a few, especially in nature. I’m incredibly grateful for these projects, but I’m also very keen to do more fiction work—especially stories with psychological depth or darker emotional terrain.

I admire how you made a career switch from the corporate world into film composing about a decade ago. Can you talk a little bit about that?

I left a stable job in tech to pursue scoring full-time in my early 30s—with no film scoring degree and zero connections in the industry. I take pride in that shift. Having spent over a decade studying, working, and reporting to people, I knew I wasn’t willing to follow any of the traditional routes being suggested to me—like going back to school or assisting another composer. So I started from scratch, with only my classical training and a strong sense of what I wanted to say musically. I began writing, pitching, and reaching out relentlessly. 

There are as many paths as there are composers, and I don’t think there’s one piece of advice that fits all. But in my case, perseverance was everything. I kept showing up, rejection after rejection, kept improving, and eventually started finding people who resonated with my voice. That said, taking an unconventional path didn’t help with impostor syndrome—it probably made it worse at times. But over the years, I’ve learned that the doubt doesn’t really go away—you just get better at walking through it. The industry is unpredictable and full of detours—but your authenticity, your grit, and your ability to carve your own path matter more than any set formula.

Do you have any specific rituals or routines that help you get into a creative headspace?

I always start at the piano—it’s my anchor and where everything begins for me. But pretty quickly, I try to provoke accidents. I’ll layer sketches, send something through the wrong processor, or manipulate a sound until it becomes unrecognizable. I’ve learned that I get more surprising and emotionally honest results when I bypass my conscious mind and avoid over-controlling the process. As humans, I believe our brains tend to cling to what’s familiar and predictable, especially under pressure—and that’s sometimes not the most interesting creatively. So I’ve developed this habit of disrupting myself early on. It’s not about chasing chaos, but about shaking off default patterns before they lock in.

How do you approach overcoming creative blocks or moments of feeling stuck? 

When I feel stuck, this “happy accident” approach helps break the loop—trying something unexpected or slightly wrong on purpose to shake things up. That momentum almost always opens a door. But I’ve also learned that sometimes a block can last for days, and it’s almost always tied to how confident—or not—I feel in that moment. Recognizing that helps me step back and see it as a phase, not a failure. When I stop fighting it and let something else in—rest, movement, even distraction—it usually clears on its own.

What does community and The Alliance for Women Composers mean to you?

For a long time, I worked in isolation—especially coming into this field later, with no formal scoring education or built-in network. So finding a sense of community, especially through something like The Alliance for Women Composers, has been incredibly meaningful. It’s not just about support—it’s about visibility, access, and shared experience. Being surrounded by women who are carving their own paths in such a competitive and often male-dominated field is both inspiring and grounding. It reminds me that we don’t have to do this alone, and that collective progress matters just as much as individual wins.

Interview by Thomas Mikusz

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