Premiered by the West Chester University Wind Ensemble

LEARNING TO STAY

How many steps 
until the very beginning? 
circles and cycles,
patterns;
I’m hoping to catch one before sundown.

Here in the cornfield,
the sound of fingers 
grasping vapor — 
ephemeral. 
Close your eyes and count to ten.

Forgetting the numbers,
you remember another rhythm,
one you left behind in another field,
on another shore.

Does she remember you
when you call out her name?

You open your eyes at the very beginning,
having taken no steps at all.
Learning to stay is not so simple 
as learning to walk,
and yet I’d rather be in the circle
than running around the rim.

-- cjg 2020

Learning To Stay (Live)

I. Remember how you left me
II. Clinging to
III. An empty kiss

This piece is, in effect, a breakup song. Grief is by no means linear, but at some point –- amidst the hope, the anger, the pain, and the heartache –- there is a gradual unwinding that leaves you someplace very far away from where you started. 

May the unanswered questions become unimaginable blessings.  

Premiered by Radius Ensemble. Winner of the 2022 Pappalardo Competition.

The Last Words

i. become a mirror (0:00)
ii. a nail in the back (1:32)
iii. you are suspended in me (2:45)
iv. trapped (3:58)
v. think about pools (4:57)

For Echo, who someday might stop falling in love with Narcissus.
Inspired by the Margaret Atwood poem “Tricks with Mirrors.”
Commissioned by Kendra Woywod.

Christina J. George, FLUTE
William Pyle, SAXOPHONE

fall into me

This delicious rain (2022) for baritone, trumpet, trombone & bass clarinet
Music & text by Christina J. George
Premiered by loadbang at Longy's Divergent Studio 2022

loadbang: 
Baritone: Jeffrey Gavett
Trumpet: Andy Kozar
Trombone: William Lang
Bass Clarinet: Adrian Sandí
______

TEXT:
This delicious rain is like
treefrog fingers,
is like
a gentle caress that
lingers
on the nerve endings,
like contrast dye
that overstays its welcome
in the veins.

This dear, delicious rain
is the blanket
and the bedframe,
is the shelter
and the wildflower
around which the honeybee
longs to hover
but cannot,

for this rain,
this delicious, insidious rain,
weighs down the wings
of a creature who lives
for the sun.

This delicious rain

a night like this
Performed by the Byrne:Kozar:Duo
Boulder, CO

Music and text by Christina J. George

A NIGHT LIKE THIS

Through your window,
the light shimmers
like broken glass
on the roadside.
Picking out pieces
stuck between wildflowers,

mind your fingers as they bleed 
into the shallows.

O tender heart,
why must you strike me so
suddenly in the waiting room,
sipping carefully
from your highball,
proclaiming self-control
on a night like this.

You are not who you think you are,
or who you say you will be
or won’t be.

The level reaches empty
on a night like this,
softly waiting
for deliverance
under this starless sky.

You will not find what you do not seek.

It’s all a shroud
until it moves into the gleam
of what is bright
and broken
in this glorious garden
on the shoulder.

Pull off and gaze into the bramble
of your open heart
as it trickles onto your shoes
in the darkness.


a night like this (live)

When I was little, I used to lie in bed at night at my grandparents’ lake house in Maine, listening to the haunting cry of the loons echo across the water as they found their way to one another in the dark. Although I didn’t realize at the time, those loons had a better grip on communication and awareness than most humans do. When we feel lost or overwhelmed, we often don’t ask for help – rather, we let ourselves fumble in the dark, alone, battered by the anxious thoughts ricocheting around our minds.
This piece is about acceptance – letting be what is and whatever becomes. It is a loon call in the night, warped through space but nevertheless heard.
If we don’t acknowledge where we are, we will never be found.

it is, it is, it is what is -- for wind band

A dream is a safe haven, a place free of decisions and responsibilities. But we can easily get lost in a world that doesn’t exist. When we remain suspended inside of our heads, entire lifetimes can pass us by unnoticed, and we miss all of the wonderful gifts that the real world has to offer. In order to receive them, we must wake up.
Our greatest gift in this life, this magnificently messy life, is the freedom to choose. We have two options: love or fear.
I choose love.

Lotus-eater [daydreamer] (Live)

Fear paralyzes us. It holds us hostage amidst the swirling voices of doubt and mistrust. So often, we do not have the courage to stand up to fear. We let it rot us from the inside out. But what if we were brave enough to let it scream so loudly it became silent?

Fear owns us until we stare it in the face and say, “You are not me.”

This work was inspired by Artemesia Gentilleschi’s painting, Judith Slaying Holofernes, which depicts this Biblical allegory of the same name. Judith’s city is under siege of the Assyrian army. Her people are losing faith in God’s will to save them. For Judith, surrender is not an option. On God’s word, Judith and her maidservant enter the army’s camp in the middle of the night. They arrive at the tent of Holofernes, the army general, who lies defenseless in a drunken stupor. Judith takes the sword of the general from his own belt and severs his head from his body. Leaderless, the army retreats. The city is liberated from its oppressors by the hands of Judith, her maidservant, and their unshakable faith.

In Gentileschi’s telling of this tale, these women are strong. Their hands are clenched in fists as they unify to save their people. Suspended in this climactic moment, their faces are determined, not frightened. Fear is left at the door to be consumed by the sky. In its wake lies courage, and in courage lies freedom.

The only way to come into our power is to release the fear that keeps us weak.

– cJg 2019

Judith -- for Pierrot ensemble

What if your breath were your spirit?

This sentiment was proposed to me by one of my yoga teachers, Adriene Mishler. In her teaching, the breath is a guide, a center when it seems the rest of the world is spinning out of control. One of the greatest challenges in this practice is finding the way back when that center seems far out of sight.

In contemplating this idea, I encountered the mantra haṃsa (pronounced “hum-sah,” and sometimes reversed as so’ham). This Sanskrit phrase comes from the Vedas, the ancient scriptures originating from India, where much of the foundational yogic philosophy and texts were formed. The Sanskrit translates to “I am That,” referring to the identification of oneself with the universe. This mantra lives in the sound of the breath: “ham” for the inhale, “sa” for the exhale.

For me, this mantra is a reminder to trust that I already have everything I need. My breath – my spirit – is my anchor.

Hamsa -- for mixed chamber ensemble

Time is linear, constantly expanding and moving through patterns that repeat without end. The seasons will always progress through summer, autumn, winter and spring. Life will always be a sequence of birth, death and rebirth. These predictable structures provide stability in an uncertain world. But the true beauty is in the change.

Inspired by the e. e. cummings poem, anyone lived in a pretty how town.

sun moon stars rain -- for trombone quartet

Anahata: the unstruck sound

Here rests our inner guide, our spirit, waiting for us to be still and lean into our very essence. Only from a place of deep listening are we quiet enough to hear its message – a piece of the universe; the message at the center of the heart.

the unstruck sound -- for percussion quartet

for anyone who has ever felt suffocated by anxiety:
remember to breathe.

[breathe] -- for flute duo

This piece is an aural depiction of the poem “Women” by Adrienne Rich.
As the ocean’s waves lap against jagged rocks in unrest, three sirens quietly serenade their sisters. The hum throughout is both a lament for the oppressed and a call to arms. The revolution has only just begun.

on rocks of black obsidian -- for piano

In Baroque paintings, women’s hands are often depicted as pale, delicate and limp – in other words, stereotypically feminine. This is not so in Artemisia Gentileschi’s work. In all of her paintings, women do anything that was believed to be beyond their capabilities: wield swords, resist attackers, even grip instruments with reasonable force. Gentileschi was not the first, but she was certainly at the forefront of a long history of women fighting for recognition of their intrinsic strength.
Today, we are lucky to live in a world where our hands are not under quite so much scrutiny. We have more freedom than we’ve ever had before, and we owe it to the countless women before our time who blazed the trail. Our fate rests in our own hands now.

HANDS -- for flute and piano

When a star dies, it consumes itself in fire, building so much pressure that it implodes and emits light that can be seen from billions of lightyears away. From here on earth, it’s extraordinarily rare to catch the end of a distant star’s life. It is visible only as a blip of light in the infinite sea of celestial bodies. But what if you followed curiosity to the edge of the universe to witness this spectacle? What if you were so enraptured by the beauty that you leaned in just a little too close?
Sometimes, curiosity betrays us. We trust this little voice of intuition and follow where it leads, only to be blown to pieces. After a catastrophe of this magnitude, the damage feels irreparable. Our survival instinct tells us to keep our distance from curiosity. Hiding forever seems like the most reasonable choice.
But the universe will not stop for you.
All the matter of the universe is in a constant state of flux. Stars become stardust. Stardust becomes new galaxies. New galaxies become new stars and planets. And these planets become home to new life. The explosion is not the end; it is the beginning.
Curiosity is what propels us forward. If we try to avoid it, the universe will propel us forward anyway. We have nothing to lose by choosing to be a part of it.

starlapse -- for tuba and piano

upwelling | ˌəpˈweliNG |

noun
Oceanography. the process by which warm, nutrient-depleted surface water is drawn away from along a shore by offshore currents and replaced by cold, nutrient-rich water brought up from the deep ocean.

adjective
(especially of emotion) building up or gathering strength.

Upwelling -- for saxophone quartet

Sometimes you have to drop all your leaves before you can regrow new ones. 

In loving memory of my grandmother.

Jonathan's Coat -- for flute quartet

Flute, voice & synth -- Christina George
Electric Bass -- Hannah Boissonneault

Christina J. George

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