← Studio Notes
January 2026

Kinnera, my grandmother's voice

I never learned to play the Kinnera, and yet its voice is the one I recognise before all others. On how inheritance travels through weather rather than instruction.

I never learned to play the Kinnera. And yet its voice is the one I recognise before all others — the way one recognises a grandmother's cough from another room.

Inheritance moves this way. Not through instruction, but through weather: the songs that filled a house before I could name them are the songs my hand now paints.