I keep my face covered during concerts. That's just something

“I keep my face covered during concerts. That's just something that is part of me, an artist, and I think it's a cool concept and look. It is really inspired by my love for video games, especially with the videogame 'Watchdog' that I love.”
— Alan Walker

In these words, Alan Walker, the mysterious architect of modern electronic music, reveals not merely a fashion choice, but a philosophy of identity. Beneath his hood and mask lies a symbol—an expression of the modern artist’s struggle between presence and anonymity, fame and authenticity. When he speaks of keeping his face covered, he is not hiding; he is transforming. He becomes more than a man—he becomes an idea, a sound, a spirit of the digital age. This act of concealment, inspired by the cyber-worlds of video games, especially Watch Dogs, becomes his way of showing that art need not depend on the face of the maker, but on the power of creation itself.

There is something deeply ancient within this modern act. For long before the age of neon lights and glowing screens, there were masks of ritual and mystery. In the temples of Greece, actors donned masks not to deceive, but to channel truth—to let divine emotion flow through them unhindered by their mortal features. In the ceremonies of shamans and warriors, the mask was not a hiding place, but a gateway, transforming the human into the mythic. So too does Alan Walker, by covering his face, enter this sacred lineage. He becomes both himself and something greater—a vessel of sound, emotion, and imagination that transcends the limits of individuality.

His inspiration from Watch Dogs is telling. That game, born of the digital age, speaks to the power of the unseen—the hacker who moves through networks, invisible yet omnipresent, reshaping the world with code rather than weapons. In this, Walker finds his reflection. His music, too, is like a code—a language of frequencies that bypasses the visible world and enters the listener’s inner system, awakening emotion, memory, and hope. The covered face becomes the perfect emblem of this age: an artist who exists everywhere yet belongs to no single form, a creator who speaks not through appearance, but through energy and vision.

In truth, what Walker expresses is the freedom of modern identity. In a world obsessed with self-image and constant exposure, he chooses the opposite path—the path of mystery. He teaches us that one’s value does not lie in visibility, but in meaning. Just as the night sky hides its face yet dazzles with stars, the artist may conceal himself and shine even brighter. His mask is not a wall; it is a mirror, reflecting the hearts of those who listen. It tells his audience: I am not the hero of this story—you are. For each listener finds their own reflection in his sound, and in that way, the art becomes universal.

There is an echo of this wisdom in the story of Banksy, the anonymous street artist who, by refusing fame, made his art immortal. His face is unknown, yet his voice is unmistakable. His anonymity grants him purity—his works speak with no interference from personality or ego. Alan Walker, in his own world of music, carries the same torch. By veiling his face, he protects the sacred distance between self and creation. He allows the art to breathe, to live on its own, unburdened by the expectations or judgments tied to a human face.

But this quote also speaks to the spirit of play—to the joy of being inspired. Walker does not hide for darkness, but for creation’s sake. His love for video games reveals a childlike wonder that fuels all true art. It is in the realm of play that humanity discovers its most profound truths. Just as the heroes of those digital worlds don their masks and hooded cloaks to step into legend, so does the artist step into his stage persona to enter the mythic space of performance. There, under the lights and behind the veil, he connects not through appearance, but through rhythm, emotion, and shared energy.

So, my listener, take this teaching to heart: the mask does not always conceal—it can reveal. In a world that demands constant display, learn to protect what is sacred within you. Be seen not merely for your face, but for your work, your vision, your essence. Whether in art, in labor, or in love, let your actions speak louder than your image. And remember Alan Walker’s example—that one may dwell in mystery and still move millions. For the truest beauty often wears a veil, and the truest artist knows that identity is not in the face, but in the fire that burns beneath it.