Repetition and difference are at the heart of all musical (and other) life. We distinguish aesthetic movements, composers, and individual works. Difference is linked to the identity enshrined in self-repetition, which, in turn, is linked to completeness. Only a complete statement is considered; the author is implicitly required to define and protect the boundaries of style and aesthetics; the very figure of the author is linked to this, and self-repetition, to its equality with itself.

Any socially and media-acceptable form of musical existence implies finitude, finality. Everything we think and do is aimed at a result, and for us, this direction has axiomatic force. After all, we have a limited amount of time at our disposal — on any scale, in any situation.

(In fact, there are examples of the infinite in music. For example, archaic folklore, in which a melody exists as an infinite set of variants, irreducible to an invariant; or the annual cycle of Gregorian chants. All such cases are connected to the collective; they exist in the fuzzy world of memory and extension — while our individual consciousness resides in the clear chromatic world of writing. However, this is a separate, large topic.)

Other aesthetic axioms that we take for granted are also associated with limitation and completeness: choice, comparison, proportionality.

I want to uncover this axiomatics through infinite composition. I want to write as if I could do it forever. At no moment in time is the compositional process considered complete, nor the form finished. The composition exists as a collection of versions at individual moments, as a cast of the author’s time during which it is written. It can expand infinitely and nonlinearly, from any point; moreover, each version has the appearance of a separate opus.

(In fact, this is an attempt at a new practice, quarta pratica, which would question the concept of an opus, a corpus of texts, and in its place introduce something akin to a dynamic database.)

While one can speak of form in relation to these intermediate iterations, the infinite composition itself has no form. This is precisely why I assume that it must take place, must be performed in the world. Each infinite composition (I am planning several, for different instruments) must acquire a physical presence.

This could be as simple as: periodically (for example, every few months), the current version of the infinite composition is performed in the same place. Initially, this could be part of any concert or other public event; over time, it will no longer fit within them; then, perhaps, the participation of several performers, successively, will be required.