images in my land

images in my land

I.- At dawn (Allegro)

II.- At sunset (Adagio)

III.- In the well of the souls (Presto)

images in my landtitles this work Claudio Alsuyet, and notimages of my land, as would be the temptation. Just a subtlety tells us where the composer sinks his roots, what is the territory in which he is going to move, which is not a mere topography located on the map, but a foundation, an identity.

In 2014, the author completed an ambitious journey by car along Route 40. There he sought to impregnate himself with the images that unfolded on his windshield almost without having to be summoned. It is not a minor fact that the composer is a pilot and that his physical experience of flying is poured into his creation. There where everything seems suspended and immobile, the light that bathes the world is seen in the fullness of its nuances.

On this more terrestrial route, light is also a constant, either in the morning twilight or in the afternoon.At dawnit is a pure, placid light, transmuted into sound with a diaphanous palette and a sound that always goes towards

up, as if resisting an inevitable gravity. Perhaps nothing here is exactly what it seems; Beneath a simple and at the same time elegant surface, without surprises, there is a substratum of deep contemplation, of subtle restlessness, hand in hand with azambacalm.

in the sunsetit opens with the anguish that appears before the intensity of the panoramic; that loneliness that engulfs man in his essential dimension, always small, that enters through the eyes and becomes a bodily sensation, an awareness of one's own scale underlined by an air ofvidala.

A new light bathesIn the well of souls, where once again the title hides an expectation that is directed towards a place that is always more friendly than the one that the words seem to suggest. the unspokenmalamboit is the backdrop of this new landscape that reveals itself incessantly, vitally, with silences that punctuate the final pages of this blog like spaces between words. The souls are the reflection of the observer himself in the observed, the mark that inscribes the real in human matter, like the old light-sensitive photographic plates. Sensitivity and transparency, elevation and roots, modesty and revelation, poles of a poetics that takes us to the land where the creator lives.

Daniel Varacalli Costas