My dad's a sound designer, and he used to take me to work with

In the quiet music of memory, Emilia Clarke once said: “My dad’s a sound designer, and he used to take me to work with him.” At first, it seems a gentle recollection — a daughter speaking tenderly of her father. Yet within these few words lies a truth of profound depth: that the world of creation begins in the company of those who teach us how to listen. Her father worked not in words or colors, but in sound — in the invisible art that moves unseen yet stirs the soul. And by bringing his daughter into that realm, he taught her, without speech, that greatness is born from attention — to rhythm, to emotion, to the subtle harmony that connects all things.

In the ancient world, to listen was considered sacred. The philosophers of old spoke of the “music of the spheres,” the idea that the universe itself sang a divine song, if only one had the ears to hear it. The wise man did not merely hear with his body, but with his spirit. So too did young Emilia, following her father into the temple of sound, learn this truth: that creation begins in attunement. Before we can speak powerfully, we must first learn to listen deeply — to others, to the world, and to the quiet voice within.

Her words tell of a bond between generations, a lineage not of royalty or wealth, but of craft and wonder. Her father’s world — the world of microphones, echoes, and sonic landscapes — became her first classroom. In that world, she saw not fame, but devotion; not applause, but precision. The sound designer listens for balance, for the unseen threads that make chaos beautiful. And so, the daughter who would one day embody dragons and empires first learned, from her father’s patient art, that power begins not in noise but in harmony.

We are reminded of Leonardo da Vinci, who as a child followed his master Verrocchio through the workshop of Florence. He watched as wood, stone, and metal were shaped into form, absorbing the rhythm of craft long before he ever touched a brush. Like Emilia, he did not yet know his destiny — yet the seeds were planted in the humble act of watching, listening, learning. From these small beginnings, the great currents of genius flow. Thus, the presence of a mentor, especially one bound by love, is among the most sacred gifts life can offer.

There is also a subtler wisdom in Emilia’s remembrance — that every art, no matter how different, is connected by the same spirit of creation. Her father designed sound; she would one day breathe life into characters on screen. Yet both were storytellers of a kind — shaping emotion, giving form to silence, awakening feeling in others. The inheritance she received was not merely skill, but vision: to perceive beauty where others see only background, to value the invisible forces that give meaning to the visible world.

From this, we may draw a lesson for all who seek purpose: never dismiss the humble beginnings of your path. The work of your parents, your mentors, your elders — even if unlike your own — may hold within it the seeds of your destiny. Every sound you hear, every gesture you observe, every lesson whispered in childhood becomes a note in the symphony of your becoming. Learn to listen to the world around you, for wisdom often speaks in the quiet hum of ordinary life.

And finally, let us remember the truth that greatness is not born in isolation. Behind every artist stands a teacher; behind every achievement, an inheritance of love and labor. Emilia’s simple memory is a testament to gratitude — to honoring the unseen hands that shaped us. So let each of us, in our own lives, take time to look back and give thanks to those who took us to their “workshops,” who let us stand beside them as they built their craft, who showed us what care, patience, and excellence look like.

For in the end, her words remind us that to create is to listen — and to listen is to love. The child who hears the music of her parent’s world carries that rhythm forever within her. And when her time comes to make her own art, her own story, her own sound — it will be the echo of all that came before, transfigured into something new, something beautiful, something eternal.