verlaine writes of a recurring dream - of a love familiar, true - a conjuring that supersedes the physical characteristics that we cling to (his eyes - so blue! his brow - so fair!)
in this work, anne renders the vague, romantic verses in verlaine's "mon rêve familier" into flute syntax. when we worked off a sketch for her solo flute piece "vox" last spring, she wanted to convey the feeling of not being able to speak - both in the physical movement that eventually accompanied the work and in the actual musical performance. the specific challenge of this work, i think, will be to infuse my reading of the verses with anne's singular sense of musical gesture.
trope derives from the Greek τρόπος (tropos), "a turn, a change"," related to the root of the verb τρέπειν (trepein), "to turn, to direct, to alter, to change"
play on words
a particular instance of a property, like the specific redness of a rose, or the specific nuance of green of a leaf
universals are unnecessary
how can different things be the same?
how can the idea, being single, nevertheless be present in a multitude of separate instances without being split apart?
it's been a while since i've thought of columbia as "home." 10 years, to be precise. bringing my art back seems fitting at this point in my path, as it were. before i left new york for christmas last winter, i had this flurry of thought: what if i were to go back? what would it mean for me, for the community? would i create some sort of blip, inspire a student to take action? make someone listen differently? as artists we are constantly reinvigorated by what surrounds us, and my 3 or so years in new york have instilled a sort of annoying fervor. if i put my mind to it, it will come.
and so, i begin my descent. the scores aren't in yet; drake flies in this weekend, perhaps we can talk more about the flow of the performance (i always seek flow); i sent anne a recording of me reading a verlaine poem; mike's rig is daunting; and jonah is, well, i can only assume manipulating the sounds of the alto flute and my speaking voice into electroacoustic oblivion.
will they be ready?
© 2018 Martha Cargo