Like all composers I am very grateful for commissions, for expressions of interest in my music, and for future project ideas proposed by performers, by artists and producers in other fields, and by commissioning organizations. It is gratifying to have one's work appreciated artistically, and also financially, because composing is a vocation, not an avocation, and we still have to pay the electric bill and -- oh no! -- pony up big bucks for that unanticipated brake job. And because a commission confirms that a work of art has value.

And yet, there also can be a tender trap to this very lifeblood of composing. When one's work is valued artistically, it generally, (and almost of necessity) is one's recent, previous works that stimulate interest, along with one's potential to expand upon these achievements. "We like this piece, and would like you to create another, somewhat similar piece -- whatever you'd like -- designed especially for us."

For a young composer just beginning to fully explore and develop her talents, to discover creative techniques and media that fully engage her imagination and to build a reputation -- and who also, at this stage in her career, must take full advantage whatever opportunities come her way -- such overtures are a shot in the arm. They enable her to do precisely what she most wants to do: write a composition for someone who really wants this piece.

For mid-lifers like me, however, who by now may have created three, or four or more sibling works that all grew out of a similar initial or fundamental paradigm in response to such requests, but who also may be tantalizingly aware of other, different, if still inchoate, creative musical possibilities, the same project proposal occasionally can be at once both welcome and also, upon reflection, a little constricting. It could, at least for now, close a door that was just beginning to crack open to other compositional possibilities -- music for which no one as yet is asking, because they exist only in the composer's head.

As soon as work begins on such a project, there is always plenty of engrossing work to channel one's energies and imagination. One quickly becomes immersed in how this work, for these individual players, or for these unique technical resources and limitations, or with these particular aesthetic desiderata, develops its own personality and framework, and any initial hesitancy or ambivalence soon vanishes.

But if promised works keep piling up in the queue, as one rides one wave to the next, those beguiling, nascent alternative possibilities for creation may begin to recede ever further, without the artist even being conscious that they are being relinquished. The question, "What would I really like to take a crack at now?" no longer surfaces. The artist is too busy, too successful.

There is a chicken-and-egg conundrum here. Who can read an artist's mind, or be expected to try to do so? Who is going to propose a musical project that differs very substantially from what the composer has done recently? Fortuitously, such proposals actually do materialize, upon occasion. But one cannot count on such good fortune coming along serendipitously, at just the right moment. If a composer has an itch to "try something different," obviously it is his or her own responsibility to find ways to bring this desire to fruition. And, at a particular point in an artist's career, resourcefulness in making it happen, autogenously (from "within"), can be every bit as important in the composer's stockpile of skills as facility in manipulating pitches and rhythms.

Does this mean that I am growing tired of genres and media that I have explored intensively in recent years, and may be losing interest in writing pieces for solo instrument and computer processing, or works that integrate and interweave music with visual imagery, or multichannel electroacoustic works? Of course not. I'd crawl on my elbows and knees through a toxic sludge pool for the chance to work again with some of my favorite performers and filmmakers, or to discover and collaborate with young (or old) artists whom I may not even know yet, but who have a special gift.

But there also are roads not (yet) taken that beckon, as well as pathways not explored in many years, and thus not pursued by the artist and person that I am today, which hold the promise of expanding and enriching my art and experience, and my understanding.

I will be on a sabbatical leave between January and August, 2010, a gift that will afford me the time and (if I don't squander it) the opportunity to pursue compositional projects in areas where I have left no recent footprints. In preparation for this juncture, it was a very good thing for me this past summer to get off the bus for awhile and, if not yet crystallize some concrete source material and intentions for these projects, at least bring them into the light and let them begin to gestate. I have some ideas......