In sculpture, creation is brought about by reduction. A sculptor working with stone, for instance, eliminates raw material until a refined image emerges. In Sculpture I, this metaphor applies both to my own creative process and to the way in which a listener might experience a performance of the piece. Unlike pieces that feature a germinal musical idea which blossoms over time into an elaborate texture, Sculpture I begins with unbridled access to the full spectrum of raw musical material and gradually winnows it into a more clearly perceived set of themes and textures.



The voice serves a dual role. It begins as an equal member of the ensemble, and its text consists solely of phonemes chosen for their timbral qualities. At important moments, the voice emerges as a “singer” in a more traditional sense: disembodied vowels give way to intelligible words, and the remaining instruments fall into accompaniment roles.



The text consists of passages from James Purdy’s novel In a Shallow Grave, which tells the story of a wounded soldier having returned home, disfigured both physically and emotionally, hopelessly in love with a widow who lives nearby, yet bound to a life of solitude but for the company of his two assistants. Every day, one of the hired men reads to the soldier from a random assortment of books on topics ranging from botany to philosophy. Much like their musical settings, these passages gain meaning as the piece progresses, eventually culminating in the final climactic line, “Man is little more than a glyph which punctuates space, but once gone is as unrecollectable as smoke or clouds.”