Music was a constant presence in my house, I grew up surrounded by it, especially classical music. There was rarely silence while we were at home, but a changing music thread that would extend from morning till night. It was a part of the house as much as the walls or the windows or the colorful carpets; it was another inhabitant. I remember my grandmother singing while sitting in the backyard, her hands moving to bring back the songs, her eyes singing them. My mother leaned on our bedroom door, singing my sister and me to sleep, while we were still fighting against the hour so we could get another song.
From the beginning, music exerted a strong fascination in me, and I soon learned that I could connect and express myself better with music than with words. It all started with a piano and a violin, and a lot of singing.
Music has always been a language for me, one that is not concrete, that is composed of airy words without contours, of fleeting images, the ones that can be experienced but never grasped. Composing, or the idea of discovering the secret mechanisms that made music sound in this way or the other came quite soon. I wanted to learn how to create those mysterious patterns. I wanted to untangle the secret behind my excitement, or the emotion that I felt with that piece, that music, that silence.
Many years of conservatory and a bachelor's in composition didn’t unveil the mystery, but they gave me many tools to understand and develop. However, during those years, I realized that what I was doing was not completely satisfactory on several levels. On the one hand, writing scores in such a precise detailed way often seemed to get in the middle of the music or lead to stiffness. I was mainly using fixed electronics, resulting in the pace of the piece having to be the same in every performance. This was quite frustrating and lacked freedom and spontaneity. On the other hand, and even when I enjoyed very much writing music for other people, I started feeling the need to also perform myself, to establish that connection with music that only happens when you are inside of it and not behind the paper.
Coming from the classical world, and a very strict way of composing and understanding music, one that is measured to the very last detail and that is organized and perfectly planned beforehand, it was important for me at that point to find a free manner to relate to performance. Because I have been on the other side of the picture in which everything falls over and over again in the same places, I have now a sense of structure and form, but I wanted to be able to apply it with the possibility of creating something new every time.
That idea is what brought me to the Nordic master's, where I could have the opportunity to explore and expand my sonic vision.
I've always thought of a hybrid perspective between acoustic and electronic sounds. The objective was to find a way in which those two worlds could be balanced and interact organically. Also, to include another dimension into sound, taking space and movement into account, searching for a way of making music not only heard but seen.
Developing these two aspects in my musical perspective was what I had in mind when this whole process began. I was looking for a way to place myself on stage, to perform and create music closer to what I feel, integrating electronics while doing it.
Two years ago, I had no idea of how that exploration would be shaped, in which way would I be able to find what was only an abstract concept in my head. So I started with what seemed more obvious; composing and playing a lot, trying different ideas, different constellations, and forms of approaching composed and improvised music. All of which gave me an insight into the performative side that I hadn’t really experienced that much before.
But something was lacking, a certain point in which I couldn’t connect with my own music. A certain wall that rose when I was composing. I was struggling with the words. Thinking of the music first in abstract terms would make it very difficult afterward to include lyrics inside of it. It was also related to the form, the concept behind a song, the story; I felt that I was creating notes that were heading nowhere. Then, I decided to try the other way around, and choose beforehand something that would give that sense of a particular space and color, some kind of theme. That something happened to be poetry. When I tried having a poem to refer to, words that created an image before there was any sound, it turned out to be surprisingly easy to convey a musical mirror connected to it. The contours got defined; the purpose was clearer. That experience made me think immediately about the terms through which I see music. It made me question myself about what happens when you go and see and concert, what do I offer when I’m on stage, what do I want to create through music, and in which way? I realized that for me, music has always been a powerful way of communication, one that allows the revealing of what is on the inside, one capable of changing something in us. In that case, What is it that I want to communicate, what do I have to tell?
There is an immense space which is the land of the symbolic. Everything that we cannot comprehend, everything that lies behind the shadow of the objects, beneath the words, or on the very surface of what we touch, what we believe to see. There is a mystery surrounding every movement. Music is a door, a bridge to cross to where there is no need for understanding.
Now, that we walk barely around our already designed and well-practiced roads, without really looking. Now I want to turn to music as a sacred space, a ritual. That idea made me connect immediately with a sense of purpose, with a different way of thinking and conceiving music. From that moment on, I began exploring how to put the idea of a narrative into music, and how to translate that symbolic dimension into sound.