flute, clarinet, violin, cello, piano and percussion

Premiere: February 28, 2021, Montréal / Nouvelles Musiques 2021: Couleur et lumière, Montréal (Québec)

This is the man. This is the work. For lack of a better term, let’s call it “dreamlike autofiction”. No, this “V” is not the Roman numeral five, but Vincent’s “V”, quite simply. A “V” that vibrates in chorus with my brave performers: the “V” of Victor, the “V” of David, then those of Viviana and Geneviève who, each having two “Vs” each, can lend one to Daniel and one to Jeffrey, both missing this sublime consonant. Their six voices are the kaleidoscopic expression of a single voice, mine. For my valiant comrades are only there at the road’s end. “Zone V” is a “no man’s land” where I alone must tame my second breath. There is a gloomy mist, sometimes dark, sometimes shimmering… if there is light, it emanates from within, because everything is confined within the space of one night. Call (setting): The sun sinks into the river to the sound of a curious chorus arising from nowhere. I barely have time to ask myself what is happening; already the star has plunged behind Charlevoix. Soliloquy (twilight): On the way back to my alcove, I find myself in a state of intimate verbiage which I must overcome before its vanity does me in. Daedalus (night): Here is the green darkness where the true journey begins. The butt remains on the chair, the pencil remains in the hand; the spirit enters a labyrinth, not knowing if it will return. (1) Curiosity, fascination. Lantern in hand, I observe, explore corridors and rooms, pass through doors which immediately vanish. (2) Suddenly swallowed up by my vertigo, I want to return before the dream takes me out of reach of myself. I must escape. Where is the exit? Spring (dawn): I fall into the middle of the estuary in a rage; all the water in the world pours over me. Will I survive the violent wrath of the waves? Farewell (rising): The sky clears. The river, as it retreated, spat out my body on the shore. Am I still breathing? Who knows. In this transient morning, a sensation of gentle heat on my closed eyelids. It seems as if the day wants me. For want of anything better, let’s call it an “initiatory journey”.