What if this life was a musical score on a map of ecological history, one you could walk through, touch, or hear? I see art-making as world-making, a living, evolving story, song, map, or contextualized history. Critical to making maps is understanding how the way I listen informs the process. Maps are imperfect, temporary tools of navigating a world that is always in flux, and what is excluded from them is perhaps more fundamental than what is included. The attempt to understand how I know what I know about environmental experiences informs my art practice, which investigates the power differentials of space, access, belonging, and being bodied. Sound and sensory information outside of visuality are integral to this embodied process of mapmaking, which involves ways to lift narratives—including those of nonhuman agencies—that have been glossed out of dominant histories by a paradigm of extraction and erasure. Drawing and music are central to this nonlinear cartography. Unlike spoken language, these don’t need to adhere to grammatical rules that separate the subject from the object, human from nature. It’s visceral history—my perception and thought going for a walk along the skin of the world.