Breath and tongue coax the long air column of the contrabass recorder into vibration. Generously the air flows through the instrument, in and out. A low sound appears at first, later pulsing partials start to oscillate. As the instrument surrenders, fractal moments of articulation gather like beads on a string. Is there an end to the flow, is there a beginning? What happens between the in-breath and the out-breath? Is continuity a mere illusion?
In 2014, a few days after Éliane’s 82nd birthday, the realisation of Occam XVIII was finished in the composer’s living room in Paris. I remember the heavy perfume of abundant flower bouquets and lilies.