On using AI to express what words struggle to hold
Over the past year, I’ve been quietly contemplating and experimenting with how AI can help me express something I’ve always found difficult to fully capture with words alone: subtle emotion, atmosphere, and lived experience.
Not emotion in a sentimental sense—but the kind that sits beneath decisions, movements, and choices. The kind that shapes how people experience products, services, and organisations long before they can articulate why something feels right or wrong.
That exploration became unexpectedly personal during this year’s work-away journey.
A road story, seventy years apart
Earlier this year, my wife and I travelled south in search of light, warmth, and new ways of working with more mobility. We jokingly dubbed the journey Travel with Charlie—a quiet nod to Travels with Charley.
Steinbeck wrote his book at a point of renewal. He travelled across the US with his ageing dog, Charlie, recording not just landscapes and encounters, but an inner reckoning with time, purpose, and belonging. I first read it years ago, and when we returned from living in the US, I named our dog Charlie without quite knowing why.
Fast-forward eleven years.
Here we were—finally on our own Travel with Charlie. Our Charlie, a French bulldog now well into his later years, quietly anchoring the journey. There was a sense, unspoken but present, that this might be the last trip of this kind with him.
That realisation carried weight.
Wanting a cover, not a caption
When we returned, I felt an urge to capture the journey—not as a diary entry or a blog recap, but as a single distilled image. Almost like a movie poster for a memory.
I knew the ingredients immediately:
- The rolling hills of Andalucía
- The river cutting through the valley
- The white village of Frigiliana resting on the mountainside
- The long, winding road
- Our small travelling companionship
- And Charlie—not as an accessory, but as part of the story
I wanted the image to hold presence, passage of time, tenderness, and movement—without explaining any of it.





Composing with AI, not prompting for results
Technically, the process was simple—but intentionally slow.
I loaded reference images of the Andalusian landscape and the village: sun-washed whites, gnarly hills, dry riverbeds. Alongside that, I added photographs of Charlie and of us.
Using Nano Banana, I generated multiple compositions—not chasing realism, but feel. Adjusting framing, balance, posture, light. Letting the image settle into something that felt emotionally correct rather than visually impressive.
Only once the still image felt right did I move further.
I then asked for a short animated walk sequence—Charlie moving through the frame. And finally, because our modest micro-camper (the Red Falcon, as we call it) was such a key part of the journey, I brought it into the composition as well. Playfully. Slightly meddling with the title text, the way real life always meddles with our plans.
[Insert image carousel: AI-generated poster variations]
[Insert embedded video: animated title sequence]
It became a small, poetic artefact. A title shot for a memory.
Why this matters beyond nostalgia
This experiment reinforced something I increasingly see in my professional work.
Whether we’re designing customer experiences, shaping product strategies, or transforming organisational cultures, the hardest things to communicate are rarely the functional ones. They’re the subtle notions:
- Trust
- Belonging
- Confidence
- Calm
- Momentum
- Care
Words alone often flatten these ideas. Slides rationalise them away. Metrics arrive too late.
Storytelling—especially when supported by visual, atmospheric cues—allows these qualities to be felt rather than explained.
This is the same muscle I use when helping leadership teams and product organisations articulate:
- What kind of experience they actually want to create
- What emotional contract exists between a company and its customers
- What culture is implicitly being reinforced through decisions, structures, and behaviours
AI, used with restraint and intent, becomes a powerful extension of this work. Not as a generator of answers—but as a medium for sensing, shaping, and expressing nuance.
In that sense, Travel with Charlie wasn’t just a personal experiment. It was a reminder.
Innovation doesn’t start with speed or tools.
It starts with the ability to notice—and to give form to what’s quietly already there

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