Spring has to be the worst time of the year. Ever-returning harbinger of light, warmth, and life. The certainty of spring’s arrival always brings about psychological instability in human brain, which brought us many great pieces of art, but also the immeasurable pain to the individuals getting through it. 

 Why should such beauty ail people so much? Why do we suffer from its warmth? That bizarrerie is something I never got a clear answer out of, even though it was ever so closely attached to me every single year.

 The piece is based on Chopin’s Nocturne Op.27 - 2, but only on the formal and structural aspect. I first stripped the entire piece of all things that are audible - like melody, harmony, and even the rhythms. Then I analyzed how the piece was constructed to its minute details, to see the core of it myself. Then the formula came by. The meter of the piece never deviates, and it allowed me to be extremely flexible within its crutches. The key of this piece can be perceived as f-sharp minor, yet it gets ever so obscured from always being amid contrapuntal relationship between three or more voices.

 This piece requires the extreme discretion of the performer. They need to have a very clear idea of rhythm for the piece first, but they need to be very sensitive and sensible towards every note they play, every voice they excavate, every key they touch.

 I hate spring. It is too bizarre for me.

(October 7th, 2026, at Jeonju)