The residue of my experiences accumulates on each new project. 

Creating music was born out of my own performance of the works of other composers, especially singing in choirs. I experienced such intense saturations of emotion and embodied response while bringing truly stunning choral music to life that I began to explore the possibilities of crafting a similar experience for others with my own music. At the foundational level, I write music to be carried away by sound, to create situations for music makers and listeners to get lost in their own experience of the music at hand. In composing, I aim to create a sonic space that heightens the listening experience, however interpreted by an individual. Art is such a unique thing to consume; we are all presented with the same set of stimuli, but its varying effect on our own self in any given day or situation is constantly shifting. Composing is an opportunity to explore my own set of sonic inspirations and celebrate the ownership and  uniqueness of audience experience.

In the broadest sense, nature, the human experience, and heritage are the three driving factors of inspiration for my creation of new music. I am gratified by the immediacy of effect when I listen to music, and I cherish its lingering forces well after the sound is gone. For me, no music is absolute; I do not live in a vacuum devoid of outside stimuli, nor can I exclude portions of myself in the act of creating music. While it is rarely my intention to compose a direct response to a specific experience, philosophy, or work of art, the moments of our lives leave a residue on our future thoughts. This residue is for me found predominantly in the natural world and in ancestral heritage; it is what sparks the inspiration to compose.

A crucial consideration in the projects and collaborations I take on is one of representation and voice. As a result of my own experiences being judged by or excluded from certain spaces because of parts of my identity or the aesthetics of my work, I am committed to bringing under-recognized content and voices into the space of the concert hall. This objective manifests in setting texts written by women and using current issues as the inspirational germ for new works. It is focusing on creative wellness and vulnerability in the composition process as content for invited talks at higher ed institutions, and advocating for more representational diversity in concert programs and classroom repertoire. This mission to “expand the room” contributes to a larger initiative in diversifying current music-making environments and organizations. I recognize that my whiteness makes it safer for me than it is for others to speak up, call out, and push for change, and I am committed to creating that safety for underrepresented communities where I can.

As a composer, I am a maker. But, in my estimation, so are my collaborators, the people for whom I write new music, and those whose creations spark my own: poets, playwrights, lawyers, teachers, public speakers, artists. My work always considers the ecosystem of makers that contribute to the piece: I am one part of the network, and it is my responsibility to carry the others with me as I compose. The foundations of my process are the questions “What does this feel like to play? What does hearing this feel like?” From the beginning, I write with the performers’ specific investments and interests in mind. I incorporate performer participation in the early stages of a piece; I ask them what they wish composers knew about their instrument, what sounds or in what ranges they love to perform, what sounds or techniques they would be happy to never play again. When working with singers, I ask them to suggest texts or writers whose words they would like to sing, which integrates them into the piece beyond its premiere. My style as a composer, my philosophy of composition, and the people and objects I choose to work with all stem from the same roots. In each project, I work to find the common ground between my own compositional voice and the artistic and technical proficiencies of the performers. 

The content of my work grows, also, from an awareness of the natural world around me and a cognizance of the influence my present existence and genealogical past plays upon that awareness. Birdsong is filled with musical shape and gesture; waves crashing against one another result in complex rhythmic structures. While there are musical elements constantly occurring in the natural world around us, music as the act of organizing these sonic inspirations into crafted sound is human. By connecting an underlying current of the human experience with the inspirational spark of the natural spaces we live in, a saturation of effect can be achieved. We can turn up the volume, re-balance the speakers of our ears, and submerge ourselves in the experience of music.