Water Lilies Op.20, in E major
Of this work, there is little to say, except that it is the first bloom after a long winter, where not a single note found its way to the page. Yet, during that silence, I crafted an album I hold close to my heart (a link awaits at the end). Life, in its strange dance, led me back to creativity—events unfolding like pages turning, until here I am, composing once again.
This is a personal piece of music, as intimate as a whispered secret, and I won’t attempt to explain it. It is sufficient to say that it grows and evolves, much like the self does through life—shaped by memories, scented by the past, and echoing the sounds of time. Born from droplets of a present as uncertain as it is tangible, this work speaks in a rather peculiar voice, weaving unexpected harmonies and modulations where distant notes of late Romanticism blend with a fresh impressionistic breeze, garnished and sweetened by touches of cherry-modernism.
Being a dying breed of a true romantic at heart is like holding onto fading stardust in a world that’s slowly forgetting how to dream. You find beauty in places others overlook, hear music in the quietest of moments, and carry an aching tenderness for the intangible. In a fast-moving, pragmatic world, you stand as one of the few who still believes in the poetry of life unfolding in its smallest details. You’re both resilient and fragile, endlessly hopeful yet tinged with nostalgia for a time when depth of mind and soul felt as boundless as the sky. Today, almost everything, and more so, almost everyone, is aseptic, dry—consumed by self, sealed off like barren land. And when a parched soul meets one rich with life and depth, like scorched earth unable to drink the rain, the dry soul recoils—overwhelmed, rejecting the gift, unable to absorb the essence it desperately needs, without even realizing that a flourishing garden could be born. So who, then, is out of place in this world today? The parched soul, or the one brimming with life? This piece of music is silky water, nourishing, blossoming like flowers, rich, deep, and elusive as life itself can be. A brief glimpse into my mind and inner world, where music becomes the allegory of life itself.
Practically speaking, after christening Albus (my beloved Bechstein D282) with the recording of Rakhmaninov’s Études-Tableaux, this is the first video and composition I am releasing to the world with the new piano that has been living in my home since April 2023. Without exception, I personally take care of the instrument, as well as every technical aspect of the recording. As always, this piece is etched in the air and exists solely in my mind, never written on paper—an idea born entirely in my maze of thoughts. It is part of a larger cycle, most likely a Suite, though its shape is still forming. Perhaps you already know how much I enjoy playing with the puzzle pieces of ideas. Who knows what will come out of it. In the meantime, enjoy listening.
Of this work, there is little to say, except that it is the first bloom after a long winter, where not a single note found its way to the page. Yet, during that silence, I crafted an album I hold close to my heart (a link awaits at the end). Life, in its strange dance, led me back to creativity—events unfolding like pages turning, until here I am, composing once again.
This is a personal piece of music, as intimate as a whispered secret, and I won’t attempt to explain it. It is sufficient to say that it grows and evolves, much like the self does through life—shaped by memories, scented by the past, and echoing the sounds of time. Born from droplets of a present as uncertain as it is tangible, this work speaks in a rather peculiar voice, weaving unexpected harmonies and modulations where distant notes of late Romanticism blend with a fresh impressionistic breeze, garnished and sweetened by touches of cherry-modernism.
Being a dying breed of a true romantic at heart is like holding onto fading stardust in a world that’s slowly forgetting how to dream. You find beauty in places others overlook, hear music in the quietest of moments, and carry an aching tenderness for the intangible. In a fast-moving, pragmatic world, you stand as one of the few who still believes in the poetry of life unfolding in its smallest details. You’re both resilient and fragile, endlessly hopeful yet tinged with nostalgia for a time when depth of mind and soul felt as boundless as the sky. Today, almost everything, and more so, almost everyone, is aseptic, dry—consumed by self, sealed off like barren land. And when a parched soul meets one rich with life and depth, like scorched earth unable to drink the rain, the dry soul recoils—overwhelmed, rejecting the gift, unable to absorb the essence it desperately needs, without even realizing that a flourishing garden could be born. So who, then, is out of place in this world today? The parched soul, or the one brimming with life? This piece of music is silky water, nourishing, blossoming like flowers, rich, deep, and elusive as life itself can be. A brief glimpse into my mind and inner world, where music becomes the allegory of life itself.
Practically speaking, after christening Albus (my beloved Bechstein D282) with the recording of Rakhmaninov’s Études-Tableaux, this is the first video and composition I am releasing to the world with the new piano that has been living in my home since April 2023. Without exception, I personally take care of the instrument, as well as every technical aspect of the recording. As always, this piece is etched in the air and exists solely in my mind, never written on paper—an idea born entirely in my maze of thoughts. It is part of a larger cycle, most likely a Suite, though its shape is still forming. Perhaps you already know how much I enjoy playing with the puzzle pieces of ideas. Who knows what will come out of it. In the meantime, enjoy listening.
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Copyright © of Edoardo Brotto
