circling/revealing for solo piano

(2018-2022)

When I have a "big" piece to work on, I always start a "smaller" work or two on the side. These adjacent side pieces, that are typically for no one other than me, can be done in days, but more often take years to complete. Part explorations, part distraction, and part self-indulgence, these "smaller" works tend to take on a life of their own.

I am fascinated by discussions surrounding repetition in music. They range from phenomenon of trance to the affect of ecstasy, to the thrill of rapture. However, my preoccupation with repetition has to do with its obsessive qualities - the ability to disorientate or distort. My world of repetition is in a fractured state, constantly in motion, always searching for an anchor or point of reference. And once I start thinking about repetition, I cannot help but think about how it central to ideas about form.

Rather than using ostinati or endless streams of repetitive cells or loops, my version of repetition is a shattering of phrases, mostly incomplete or played from odd starting points, that accumulate and accrete, forming larger shapes and sets of textures. The music can "revolve" in place, or circle around a point, at times saturating the space as if unable to escape, eventually hoping to break free of the repetition's gravity to reveal a "new way" - - - but this is all far more hopeful than anything I would (could) ever do in my music.

At the end of completing this piece, I came up with a definition of form that, for now, is one I am using when making work:

"Form" is a story we tell ourselves so we can tell it to others about what happens on the inside of something, or between multiple points, or around a space, or as something frays or gathers, or along a line that we can no longer see or understand its beginning and can't help but think about how it will end. Form is basically life.

The piece is in two parts: the first half is "circling" and the second half is "revealing."

It is written for and dedicated to Thomas Feng.