Writing music is a privilege that connects me to exceptional composers and performers of the past and present. The dialogue with these great minds and souls through listening to their music, reading their scores, and at times meeting them in person, is a source of pleasure and discovery, and gives me the feeling of belonging to a community of musicians, spread across continents and over centuries.

My stimulus to write music comes from listening to internal and external sounds, being asked, collaborating with performers, and by elaborating a vision in my mind and addressing an emotional grappling felt in my body.

An essential bond unites composer, performer, and audience. I treasure what each brings: the solitude and craft necessary to work and create, the collaboration with performers who infuse the piece with their humanity and musicianship, and the thrill of an engaged audience hearing the music and participating in that experience at that moment, with those performers.

There are times when magic happens during a particular performance or during the process of composition. These occurrences cannot be conjured up on command. I believe many people have experienced them, and they make the quest of making music real and worthwhile. I try to always be open to those magic moments,  they come and go, but we know when they happen.

It is humbling to work at something that is to some degree unknown, and has a life of its own. I can relate to what Picasso said: “inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.”