Michael H. J. van der Sloot
DRAGONFLY
Throughout my youth and early adult years, I’d always feel a sense of dread during vacation in August with the end of the summer approaching. I remember one summer when I was struggling particularly hard with that anxiety, and to help myself deal with it I would get up early in the morning and swim out into a mountain lake. There, I would close my eyes and float in the cold water, totally submerged except for my face. All I could hear and feel was the water around me and the sun on my face, and all I could see were glimpses of light and colours through my eyelids. I’d stay that way until I felt peaceful and quiet in my own world, focusing on my breath, allowing myself to move with the gentle waves, letting go of everything around me. Alone - except for the dragonfly who would join me every morning and hover around me as time, space, and all my worries were left temporarily suspended. Since then, dragonflies have had some special meaning to me despite being a person who is not particularly spiritual at all.
Towards the end of summer 2024, I was feeling anxious again. This time, I was anticipating the imminent arrival of my twins that fall and the beginning of a new chapter in my life. Despite the obvious joy, excitement, and wonder that I felt, in the background there was also a darker cloud of deep fear. Knowing that whatever future was in store was now inevitable, I found myself trying to place myself back in the same state of mind that I discovered in the water with my winged companion, focusing on the things I could control and letting go of the things that I couldn’t as time continued to pass. I thought of my babies, still in-utero: floating, calm in their own little universe, blissfully unaware of any trouble in this world. Dragonfly is the creative result of this unique and unforgettable time in my life, as I counted down the days to fatherhood and tried to maintain some semblance of inner calm and composure.
For this piece, I was drawn to simplicity, elegance, and flexibility. I wrote it in such a way to allow for freedom and self-expression in performance within certain parameters that help guide the way as safeguards. The harmonic motif of a major second - a close pair of notes that sound distinctly different - is constant throughout the work, with the pitches G and A representing my twins' initials. A continuous ostinato reminiscent of a fetal heartbeat is also present. Both piano and strings use a variety of extended techniques that demonstrate a rich spectrum between noise and tone. To further the metaphor for my twins, the piano and string parts themselves are completely independent of each other and only loosely connected for performance purposes. There is no score, only a graphical representation of a dragonfly drawn in one single, continuous line. Each individual part can start and end at either end of this line. Since each part can be played forwards or backwards (or both), every time it’s played this piece can be a unique experience with its own different length, different flow, and different story. Before each performance, nobody knows exactly what to expect, almost like the ways I would often wonder what my babies’ smiles would look like, what their hobbies might be, whether they’d look more like their mother or like me, or how I’d react when I’d meet them for the first time. Commissioned in 2024-2025 by the Land’s End Ensemble as part of their residency at Mount Royal University with the support of Walt & Irene DeBoni.