The sections for ‘Image & Inscription’ were composed in order, from one to ten, following the arrangement and progression of the biblical narrative (Exod. 19.1-34.29). Having completed the final section, I worked my way backwards, making small adjustments as I proceeded, towards the first section. (This is the manner in which I proofread my written work.) Again, it’s a method of defamiliarizing oneself with the work … like turning a picture upside down in order to be either surprised or shocked by it, once again.
A work is finished only when its ends, and ends only when it’s finished. This isn’t a tautology. As I approached the conclusion of the post-production process, an entirely new and additional section suggested itself. That’s an underestimation; it came upon me forcibly, in the manner of an external compulsion. The new section is a coda, marking Moses’ return to the people, and their observation that the skin of his face shone (Exod. 34.35):
Gustave Doré, ‘Moses Coming Down from Mount Sinai’, The Doré Bible Gallery (1891)
Originally, this phenomenon was alluded to at the finale of the (formerly) concluding section, which evoked Moses’ forty days and nights on the mount. The new section better articulates a sense of fearful, luminous stasis. The seed of the compositional idea was the trichord at the close of the tenth section. At this stage in the game, all solutions and initiatives arise from within the established composition:
‘Image and Inscription’ embodies two contrasting dynamics acting in unison: the biblical and the technological (digital processes and the sound of machinery). In principle and prospect, each will find its offspring in the pair of sound projects that will be furthered once my present commitment is submitted for publication. The one, Talking Bible [working title], will address the first audio recording of the whole bible; the other, SteelWorks [working Title], will respond to the 2,000 or more glass-plates slide of the industry, recently deposited at the National Library of Wales. The latter, I suspect, will, like ‘Image and Inscription’, take the form of a series of sonic landscapes, of sorts:
