Mourned by the Wind — Liturgy in memory of Givi Ordzhonikidze (1989)
I never commit myself to accepting or rejecting a previously established technical or stylistic system as my goal/objective. Of course, every person who starts writing music encounters the whole set of traditions, whether they be centuries old or contemporary. I am as close to the music of the pre-Bach composers as I am to those of the twentieth century. While I am attracted to that mysterious spirit of Georgian folk polyphony, I am still unable to comprehend it. True artistic perfection is always a mystery; there is no point I taking it apart in the hopes of creating something similar.
When composing, I never think of using specific means of expression. I establish basic themes, a dramaturgical scheme of the whole, and then gradually, note by note, create a musical progression. This progression should soar in the listener’s imagination. It should convey the sensations of beauty and eternity streaming in the height of light. Above all, it should inspire the widely understood feeling of religiousness which is manifest in all the music dearest to y heart.
Certainly, I want my music to live on. However, I do not work for the future, nor do I concern myself with my contemporaries’ evaluations of my work. Instead, I fill in the space left by the artists of past centuries who left behind unfulfilled goals. From piece to piece, my language becomes simpler, and I can’t do anything about it. At times, other pieces have shocked me so much that I have lost my desire to write for long periods of time. To compose music, one must have the ability to rejoice in the success of others, the capacity to maintain a critical attitude toward one’s work, and the determination to find at least one step leading up instead of down.