Lost in the Fields


In spring I found myself in a flower-filled field in Brittany. The flowers were intensely colourful, the air blue and dry. A light wind came from the ocean partly softened by the trees that surrounded the pasture like a crown of obsequious temple custodians. This scene fascinate me in such a way that I think of it repeatedly even today. At the same time the scene created a kind of disquiet in me. For many months I asked myself why did I feel this unease before a scene that proffered the mystery of a spectacle half way between Arcadia and the great north. Perhaps the response was within, even if I felt somehow that it was not so. The answer came to me a few months later, when I linked that image to the music I came to compose. The beauty of that pasture, suddenly appearing like lightening in a forest, represented something beautiful, simple and ancient. Thus, without knowing it the pasture had set in motion within me a form of revolt against the torment of the new at any cost, against the tyranny of “complexity.