A Love Affair with Sound: Why Hans Zimmer’s Interstellar Is My Constant Companion

There are songs that feel like they were written for a moment. And then there are soundtracks that feel like they were written for a lifetime.

Wooden Stumps (2021)

For me, Hans Zimmer’s music falls into the second category. It’s not just background sound—it’s an emotional atmosphere, a vast landscape of sound that invites you to slow down, breathe, and become fully present.

I’ve been listening to Zimmer for years, but Interstellar is the one that never leaves me. It’s the soundtrack I return to when I’m editing, printing, or simply trying to find a quiet place inside my head.

Why Interstellar?

What draws me to this score isn’t just the beauty of it—though it is undeniably beautiful. It’s the way the music feels like space itself: open, infinite, and strangely intimate.

Zimmer’s use of sustained tones, slow-building crescendos, and haunting organ passages creates a sense of time stretching and folding in on itself. It’s music that feels like a horizon—like something you can walk toward but never fully reach.

And that’s the same sensation I’m chasing in my photography.

Skyline VII (2021)

The Connection to My Work

My photographs are often about quiet—about the moment before a scene becomes something else. I’m drawn to the places where the world feels suspended: the edge of a shoreline, the calm before a storm, the thin line between sky and water.

In Interstellar, Zimmer captures that same suspension. The music doesn’t rush. It doesn’t try to tell you what to feel. It simply holds the moment open.

That’s what I aim for in my images.

When I’m shooting fine art landscapes, I’m searching for stillness. When I’m editing long exposures, I’m listening for the silence between notes. And when I’m printing minimalist black-and-white photographs, I’m trying to translate that silence into something physical—something you can feel with your hands and your eyes.

Zimmer’s Interstellar reminds me that the most powerful moments aren’t always loud. Sometimes they’re quiet. Sometimes they’re vast. Sometimes they’re just a thin line of light at the edge of darkness.

A Reminder for Collectors

If my work feels like a place to pause, it’s because I’m always trying to make a space where the viewer can breathe.

And Interstellar—with its infinite horizons and patient stillness—has been the soundtrack guiding me there.