A letter to Taipei

for two spaces, pencil and paper

A letter is born of necessity. It is addressed to someone and is written on a variable fixed medium. The result is read at the end - you could say in deferred time. The recipient has the opportunity to interpret each word personally. The act of writing goes through different states: we find reflections on the formatting of ideas, caution and the search for words and their meanings, fury and the desire for abandonment when faced with a blank page, the courage of choices, the fury of moments of intuition that become clearer and clearer, the pleasure of discovering certain details. Finally, it is also the refuge or prison of an indirect confrontation with the recipient. The parallel with an electroacoustic piece is therefore obvious. It’s a parallel that doesn’t stop at simple concrete things, but is amplified when we think of the writer and the composer. So we come to the heart of the matter: life and composition, the place where the boundaries blur. There is no poetry or text. It is not inspired by a painting or an image. It will not be a tribute or an epitaph. There are no quotations. It is not even a piece, it is the composer himself.