Sciures d’Azur

I was a child. I remember. I was alone. I carved my name in sawdust on my grandfather’s workbench. I wanted to exist beyond man’s shortcomings. I heard music that has never left me since. I’m glad I did.
The viola is the repository of a language from beyond time. That’s the impression of the colors I hear when the instrument vibrates. Ligeti spoke of the smell of earth for the fourth string; personally, it speaks to me of abysses and abyssal depths. The extreme beauty of his velvety playing never ceases to seduce me. For this reason, and following on from my concerto and my viola pieces, I am repeating my attempt at inner listening, in which I try to draw her far, far away, into a lost world of silence.