My first string quartet is built around the tension between two opposing conceptions of musical time. On one side, a directional, almost “chronometric” perception, grounded in processes of temporal contraction and expansion, generating a flow that accelerates or decelerates depending on its internal energy. On the other, a more contemplative approach, where time appears to stand still, suspended — leading to a more “vertical” perception of sound, where music unfolds not in motion, but in depth.

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These two temporal perspectives do not merely coexist in contrast; they interact and are unified through a shared musical material that appears to be inherited, almost archaeological. However, this material is filtered through microtonality, which transforms it into a strange and unfamiliar sound object. Tradition, in this context, emerges not as a clear reference but as a distant, distorted echo — a tonal fog, a blurred memory.

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Microtonality here is not just a technical resource but a poetic device: it erodes familiarity, blurs contours, and opens perceptual cracks within the sound matter. The result is a quartet that oscillates between propulsion and suspension, between remembrance and distortion, between linear time and suspended time.