“What story are you trying to tell? How does the music make you feel?”, my professor asked during my weekly viola lesson at the Indiana University Jacobs School of Music. “Sad,” I answered, referring to the opening of the Walton Viola Concerto. 

While most would agree the slow, minor opening of the piece feels more “sad” than “happy”, my answer was far from sufficient. 

“Sad, like you just got rejected by someone? Or you long for someone who isn’t here anymore? Or maybe something good happened, and you’re feeling nostalgic?”, he challenged.

I didn’t have an answer, needing more time to think. My priority was producing a beautiful sound, but the interpretation and performance lacked emotional depth. As lessons continued, it was clear that every note and passage would be met with the same scrutiny.

My professor, Stephen Wyrczynski, was a former member of the Philadelphia Orchestra who studied under Karen Tuttle, a renowned pedagogue at the Juilliard School. He showed me a chart Tuttle created that broke down human emotions into five main categories: Love, Joy, Fear, Anger, and Sorrow. 

Each emotion stood as its own column, with nuanced variations underneath. Love, for example, includes Lust, Longing, Flirt, Sentimental, or Plead – widely different expressions that bring the core emotion to life in distinct ways.

I realized this level of thinking is critical when telling a story. 

In fact, almost 10 years later, I gave an informal “Ted Talk” style presentation to a group of friends, where I showed them this Tuttle chart before performing a duet with my friend. After the performance, we went around the room and everyone shared what type of emotion they felt. What stood out most wasn’t just how different everyone’s responses were, it was how specific they became once they had a shared emotional framework. That moment taught me something I’ve carried into creative strategy: when you give people the emotional language, you deepen their experience. It’s the same in communications and advertising. A strong emotional anchor gives people permission to make something personal out of something public.

This framework followed me even as my path changed while finishing my Master’s in Music at Northwestern University. With the pandemic at its peak and no ability to perform, I decided to expand my skill set and enroll in Content Strategy. 

One assignment was to create an advertisement using a household product. I chose Splenda. In the video, a lonely cup of coffee spots a Splenda, and falls in love once they come together. “Be Part of a Sweet Love Story” was the caption, underscored by Marvin Gaye’s ‘Let’s Get It On.’ 

I chose “Let’s Get It On” not just for the humor, but because the groove made the emotion instantly clear. In under 20 seconds, I had created a love story using nothing but sound and visuals.

Splenda even sent me a thank-you note and a box of sweeteners — a small gesture, but a great reminder that emotional clarity sticks.

From that music lesson to that Splenda ad, the core lesson is the same: emotion gives ideas their shape. The better a brand can name and aim for a feeling, the more likely their message will stick with the audience.