Chromatic Reverie grew out of my fascination with sound as color and my synesthesia. I wanted to write
music that came from the sounds I heard. From sounds that didn’t move in straight lines, but instead
shimmered, refracted, and transformed — like light hitting glass or memory shifting in and out of focus.
The pieces are less about traditional resolution and more about lingering in the spaces where tension,
beauty, and fragility overlap.
Each movement has its own kind of landscape. Despite this, they’re all connected by this idea of
something more luminous than heavy. For me, a single chord can feel like a painting: from one angle, it
can be tender; from another it could be darker. That sense of resonance — of chords breathing, bending,
and dissolving — is at the heart of this work.
When I listen back to Chromatic Reverie, I don’t hear it as a story with a beginning, middle, and end. I
hear it as a series of dreams: some fleeting, some turbulent, some unexpectedly still. My hope is that, as
you listen, you’ll find yourself wandering through those dream-spaces too — and maybe even staying
with the shimmer a little longer.
