The Enigmatic Girl mvt. II Uneven Pendulum

The Enigmatic Girl mvt. III Watercolor Canvas

Piece for Marimba, Vibe and Glock 
"In the darkest and most desolate quagmire stands a mighty tree; it's seed unfortunate enough to take root in such a graveyard of life.  Slowly it sinks deeper into the muddy morass for there is not enough solid earth to hold it.  The deeper it sinks, however, the more it's roots find fertile soil to sustain it.  It feeds on the life left behind by the countless seedlings before it to realize their mortality in this mordant murk.  As it draws in these sacrifices it's branches begin to blossom with the most beautiful of flowers.  The deeper it sinks the more radiant it becomes; it's crown a kaleidoscope of color.  As it descends, however, the soil becomes too sweet, too fertile and it's roots begin to burn.  A waterfall of pedals cascade downward, leaving only bald branches behind.   Now dead, this corpse of a tree is finally engulfed by the quagmire, leaving only a few floating pedals; the remains of what was and what will never be again."

Quagmire

Piece made using Audacity from sample vocal recordings for a Computer Music class project.

The Haunting of Simms

Written about a year ago today and the precursor to the Songbird, the largest piece I have composed to date.

Letters To Someone: Blossoming Affections

 The Songbird lives alone in the only tree on the far side of the Calm Lake.  It sings its melody of loneliness and desperation every morning and evening and receives no answer.  One morning as the sun crested over the hillside the Songbird noticed in the distance an island in the middle of the lake with a bird much like the Songbird perched in a tree.  The Songbird, in such surprise to have finally met another so similar, becomes excited and sings a much brighter song.  In absolute joy the Songbird bares its wings and takes flight to meet its companion and dives directly into the Calm Lake, drowning in what was only it's own reflection.  The Songbird fights at first but then gives in, realizing that there is nothing for it above the surface.  Unnoticed and unwanted, the Songbird dies alone.

Viola soloist: Clara Logue

Songbird

This piece depicts life through the eyes of the Scarecrow, a filthy, misshapen abomination who lives in an abandoned field of perpetual night.  The crows have gone in fear of it and the insects will not so much as touch it.
Catching Fireflies:
It is but the cusp of winter and lightly snowing.  A thin blanket rests delicately on the dormant crops and dry soil, yet fireflies dance against the night sky saturated with stars.  A young child giggles and dances with outstretched arms as it tries to catch what it most desires; a piece of magic.  Finally the child catches one, feels it gently buzzing and glowing in its hand.  Carefully, gently the child opens its hand to discover just another snowflake.  All an illusion, a mental manifestation of its desires.  There were no fireflies, just stars and snowflakes.

Catching Fireflies

Atlas:
The moon is radiant and full, which is always so.  The Scarecrow is cast in a cloak of darkness, which is always so, and cannot feel the soft glow of the lunar light.  There is, however, an oak tree on the far edge of the field; tall and sturdy yet somewhat awkward in its disposition.  The moon bathes this oak in its light, as if radiating for this tree alone.  The Scarecrow loathes this oak.  An unmitigated, irrational hatred fueled by jealousy and spite that burns the timbre beneath the ash of its soul.  What more is the shame and disgust it feels for having such vile and unwarranted emotions.  But this shame does not quell the hatred that scorches the brush and salts the earth of its heart, a quiet furnace that boils underneath.

Atlas

Silver Wing:
The night air is still and smells of fresh rainfall.  In the distance the Scarecrow sees a sparkle of light dancing closer.  A butterfly fluttering far from its home, attracted by the fresh air in hopes of finding a flower.  There are no flowers in this field, only the Scarecrow.  Its wings are ebony with glowing intricate patterns of silver lacing which rival even the brightest stars in its beauty and radiance.  Even the fogged glass eyes of the Scarecrow can see its pure luster.  It comes closer, sweeping in every direction unpredictably yet elegantly.  The Scarecrow imagines dancing with the little silver star, matching its motions.  Then suddenly the butterfly is gone, carried off by a sweet smelling wind, most likely never to return.

Silver Wing

Conducted by Eunseok Seo
This piece is inspired by a quote by Carl Sagan from his book, "Pale Blue Dot."
“Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.”
― Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space 

Ione Grey