Introduction
The starting point of this research stems from an inner need to clarify my position within the world of art and music. Over the years, I have increasingly found myself confronted with the fundamental—yet never trivial—question: "Who am I?", often followed by a more specific and urgent one: "Where am I going?" It has always been important for me to place myself within a context—an environment that could provide the stability necessary to approach my work with a sense of serenity and purpose.
Over time, I have realized that even the search for stability can become limiting if it confines my artistic identity to a fixed framework. This has led me to embrace a more fluid approach—one that sees change, experimentation, and the redefinition of tools as essential aspects of musical growth.
The musician I am now
I come from a strictly jazz background, having spent many years immersed in an environment that fulfilled both my artistic and social needs. Over time, however, I began to notice that my artistic appetites were increasingly diverging from the jazz idiom. I found myself no longer stimulated or fulfilled by the musical language or the community surrounding it. This realization prompted me to seek alternative paths—ones that could at least gesture toward the direction I felt I needed to explore. Within free improvisation, I discovered a form of expression that felt instinctive and natural.
Given how broadly and sometimes rigidly the term “free” has come to be used—often denoting specific musical genres or schools of thought—how do I define free improvisation for myself? For me, it means a practice not bound to a codified language, unlike the strict structures and stylistic expectations I encountered in jazz. It is an open space where I can act and interact with others without the weight of expectation, regardless of their musical background or level of technical knowledge. It is a process centered on mutual listening, not on proving technical ability, mastery of idioms, or fluency in repertoire.
This kind of approach to performance not only satisfies me as a performer but also allows me greater freedom in the use of pedals and electronics—tools that expand my expressive range and reshape the sonic possibilities of my instrument. It also represents a shift in paradigm and focus, well articulated by Malcolm Goldstein:
“A shifting of focus, from the performance of sound-object (composition) to sound-play/enactment (improvisation), and other radical implications become apparent. The intention of performance changes; not an aiming at a preformed journey well done […] but rather the realization of form, ourselves finding/revealing on paths (perhaps) untravelled. (‘Unpremeditated music is the true gauge which measures the currents of our thoughts— the very undertow of life's stream,’ reflected Thoreau in his journals.) … like a brook after rain pours through dirt, rock, trees and grass, finding new and subtle twists and turns as things move/are moved in the flow. Doors opening.”
— Goldstein, Sounding the Full Circle, 1988, p. 4
At the same time, I have always felt a deep connection to what Goldstein refers to as the “sound-object”. I am drawn to the craftsmanship of composition, to the possibility of reflecting, of working with time and process. To compose is, for me, to make use of my artistic creativity beyond the boundaries of genre, instrument, or tradition. It is about consciously applying techniques, methods, and systems—studied, tested, and refined—to express myself fully. In this compositional practice, listening, both to the material and to myself, becomes a form of perception. Selection and organization arise through a process that Igor Stravinsky described succinctly:
“The composer works through a perceptual, not conceptual process. He perceives, he selects, he combines [...].”
— Stravinsky, An Autobiography (1962), cited in DeLone et al., 1975
The connection between composition and improvisation, in my experience, lies precisely in the notion of perception—a word rooted in the Latin percipere, meaning "to grasp completely," and implying both effort and attentiveness. Whether improvising or composing, I am fundamentally engaging in acts of perception: I want to perceive while improvising, and I want to perceive while composing.
The musician I am working towards becoming
Thus far, I can summarize the answers to my initial questions as follows: today, I perceive myself as a composer who employs improvisation—through my instrument or perceptually—as a means of navigating personal interests. Once I have defined where I currently stand and what I consider to be the foundational tools of my process and aesthetic, the next question arises: what is the appropriate environment in which to express myself?
In truth, I believe there is no definitive answer to this, as it would contradict the very premise I laid out above—namely, a refusal to confine myself within a fixed stylistic framework or language. This leads to the necessity of constructing my experience as a composer/improviser across diverse, dynamic contexts—environments that remain open and avoid becoming too self-contained or rigidly structured to the point of presenting binary choices.
My desire to explore different languages—ones open to experiences that draw in a range of artists and audiences—requires me to reflect objectively on a critical question: “Do I currently have the tools necessary to take this step?”Most of my academic time was devoted to studying tools designed for a specific context (e.g., What do I play over this chord? Fretboard studies, analysis of past masters, transcriptions, etc.). These remain extremely valuable in terms of a general understanding of music, and I still regard them as such.However, they no longer represent my primary area of interest.
Therefore, new environments = new tools, or at least a new interpretation of those I already possess—tools I have especially developed and internalized during my recent academic experiences.
The term tool emerged during the composition course I recently completed, and how, through the study of a Bach fugue, I could extract elements applicable even to the most abstract forms of contemporary composition. Referencing Stravinsky once more, this has never been a matter of conceptualization, but rather of perception: anything one can absorb may be transformed and shaped according to personal tastes and evolving interests.
Amid these multiple definitions—which is precisely why the term fluidity aptly captures both my personal and artistic orientation—the idea for this research emerged: to find common ground and a sense of direction for my development. This is an attempt to create a system through which I can better understand the multifaceted nature of my identity as a musician.
"A musical identity is not static but is constantly evolving by nature. Musicians reject the notion of identifying with a single, narrow and confined view of themselves, often weaving together multiple threads to construct their own distinctly personal musical identities."
— Nigel R. Thomson, Benjamin J. Harwood, and Lucy Green, “Musical identities and music education: Crossing the divide,” British Journal of Music Education, 2023.
Research Goal
This research seeks to address three core aspects of my artistic inquiry: the connection to my instrument, the compositional and narrative dimension of my work, and the exploration of new languages and possibilities. In the absence of a concrete, tangible objective to guide my thoughts, I decided that the research itself would become the object of study: a path of discovery that embraces all these facets.
The central goal is to design an expandable system that allows me to compose music adaptable to any role, context, or artistic desire I may encounter— in this case, starting from the spontaneity of free improvisation with my instrument. And, as with any well-prepared journey into the unknown, both the right vehicle and suitable tools are required. The latter, in particular, had to be created from scratch—new, personal tools capable of evolving alongside my artistic and human transformation.
"It's true that by blundering about we stumbled on gold, but the fact remains that we were looking for coal."(Crick 1988)