One of the great joys of my life as a composer is that no two projects are ever the same.
I find myself constantly motivated by new challenges, unfamiliar territory, and the unexpected directions my musical voice can take. I think that’s one of the reasons I’ve always been drawn to composing for such a wide variety of instruments, ensembles, and artistic settings.
Whether I’m writing solo, chamber, electro-chamber, voice, choirs, large ensembles, theatre, electronics, or art installations, there’s something incredibly invigorating about switching things up. Each project presents a different set of possibilities, limitations, and creative puzzles to solve. And I love that!
Composing for solo piano, for example, requires a very different mindset than creating an immersive sound installation. Writing for a choir introduces considerations that might never arise when composing electronic music. And combining acoustic instruments with fixed electronics opens up an entirely different world of textures, relationships, and possibilities.
What fascinates me is how these different experiences influence one another. Something I discover while working with electronics might eventually find its way into a string quartet. An approach to pacing that works in an installation might change how I think about musical time in a solo piano piece. Even the challenges of writing for an unfamiliar instrument can lead me toward musical ideas I might never have imagined otherwise.
I suppose I could choose one particular type of composition and devote myself almost exclusively to mastering it. There’s certainly something admirable about artists who spend their lives exploring the seemingly infinite possibilities within a single medium. But I’ve come to realize that’s probably not how my creative brain works.
I’m much more excited by the prospect of being a beginner again and again.
There’s something humbling about confronting a new creative challenge and realizing how much I still have to learn. It keeps me curious. It forces me to question habits I’ve developed over the years. And it occasionally takes me in directions that feel a little uncomfortable, which I’ve come to recognize can be a pretty good place for artistic growth.
Of course, working across so many different musical worlds can sometimes make me wonder whether there’s a consistent musical identity connecting everything I create. But perhaps that’s part of the discovery. Regardless of the instrumentation or setting, I suspect certain qualities, instincts, and preoccupations inevitably find their way into my music. They might just reveal themselves in different ways.
Maybe having a musical voice isn’t about always sounding the same. Maybe it’s about carrying the same curiosity, sensibilities, and questions into whatever creative situation presents itself.
And perhaps that’s what I enjoy most about this approach to composing. Every new project becomes an opportunity not only to discover something about music, but also to discover something about myself.
After all these years of composing, I love that there’s still so much I don’t know. And I hope that never changes.
