For a long time, flying drones was my way of looking at the world.
I spent years capturing cities and landscapes from above — fascinated by geometry, movement, light, and scale. At some point, life took over. The drone stayed on the shelf. The perspective was gone. I stopped flying altogether.
Recently, I found my way back — but not by simply continuing where I left off.
This time, I wanted to create something more complete. Not just aerial footage. Not just visuals. I started writing my own music again and combined both disciplines into a single, coherent piece: sound and image developed together, shaping each other.
This project is called Wagner Horizon Sounds.
Each video is conceived as a finished audiovisual artwork. I compose an atmospheric indie electronic track specifically for the place I film. The music sets the emotional rhythm; the drone shots follow its breathing, its tension, its calm. Nothing is added later to fill space — everything is intentional.
The first piece of this project was filmed in Riga.
Winter in Riga felt quiet, restrained, almost introspective. No snow, no postcard moments — just cold air, muted colors, and a city that reveals its character when you slow down. I wanted the music to reflect that: warm synth textures, subtle movement, a melancholic but calm pulse. The result is Winter Echoes of Riga.
For me, this project is about rediscovering a perspective — not only from above, but inward. It is about combining two creative instincts that were separate for a long time and letting them meet in one place.
This is not travel content.
It is not a drone showcase.
It is not background music.
It is my way of turning cities into quiet, emotional landscapes — where sound and image exist as one.
Creating music and filming at the same time changed how I perceive places.
I no longer search for spectacular moments or dramatic angles. Instead, I listen first. I walk through a city without the drone, absorbing its rhythm — traffic, pauses, reflections, the way light moves between buildings. Only then do I start composing. The drone comes last.
This approach slows everything down.
The camera no longer dominates the music, and the music doesn’t overpower the images. They coexist. Sometimes the sound leads, sometimes the image hesitates. That balance is fragile — and that fragility is intentional.
What fascinates me most is that every city responds differently. Some demand movement and pulse. Others ask for restraint and space. Riga was one of those places. It didn’t want to be rushed. It wanted patience.
This project is still evolving.
I don’t aim for perfection or repetition. Each piece is a moment in time — a dialogue between place, sound, and perspective. Some videos will be calmer, others more dynamic. But all of them follow the same principle: honesty over spectacle.
Returning to drone flying in this way felt less like resuming an old hobby and more like starting a new one — with more intention, fewer distractions, and a deeper connection to why I create in the first place.
If you watch this video, I don’t want you to be impressed.
I want you to feel present.