Water Remembers is my contribution to Ann Duhamel's prescient "Prayers for a Feverish Planet” Project, which brings together commissions and other works all addressing one of the most important issues of our time: climate change.

The title of the work is inspired by the quote from the novel There Are Rivers in the Sky by the Turkish writer Elif Shafak. The novel traces three distinct characters and timelines all connected through a single drop of water. It centers the importance that water and rain have had throughout human history and it serves as a kind of warning about the growing importance and seriousness of floods and mega storms.

My piece is centered around two larger movements: The God Ea Tells Utnapishtim of the Flood, and Kun Apanane, which are framed by a Prelude and a Postlude.

The God Ea Tells Utnapishtim of the Flood is inspired by the flood myth in the Epic of Gilgamesh, one of the earliest stories recorded from the ancient Sumerian civilization. In this story, dated to about 2,100 BCE, the gods punish humanity for its noise and behavior. The gods conspire to unleash a huge flood in secret. The god Ea, however, secretly warns Utnapishtim, a mortal, about the impending disaster. Utnapishtim is instructed to build a large boat (or "ark") to save himself, his family, and representatives of all living creatures. The flood lasts 6 days and nights, and destroys everything in the

earth. As a reward for his obedience and survival, Utnapishtim is granted immortality by the gods. The music in this movement tries to capture the moment when the god Ea is whispering this secret plan through a reed wall to Utnapishtim. It is instrospective, channeling an ancient-seeming melody over a gently swaying accompaniment. It is an enchanting, mysterious and shimmering reverie that hints at

the disaster to come.

Kun Apanane tells the flood myth of the Warao people from Venezuela.

A long time ago, in the lands of the Orinoco Delta, lived the Warao, an Indigenous people who respected nature and gave thanks for its blessings. But one day, the men began to forget the teachings of their ancestors. They cut down trees unnecessarily, polluted the rivers, and hunted more animals than they could eat. This awakened the anger of Kun Apanane, the god of water, who protected the harmony of nature.

Kun Apanane decided to teach them a lesson. One night, the sky suddenly darkened.

Black clouds covered the moon and the stars, while a strong wind began to blow. The first drops of rain fell, soft at first, but soon turned into a torrent. The rivers overflowed, and the water began to cover everything: the villages, the trees, and the crops. It was a flood like they had never seen before.

The Warao tried to save themselves. Some sought refuge in the mountains, others climbed to the tops of the tallest trees. But the water kept rising and seemed to have no end. The people, terrified, understood that this punishment came from Kun Apanane. Then, an elder of the village, wise and respected, asked them to come together to ask for forgiveness.

With hearts full of remorse, the Warao lifted their voices to the sky and pleaded with the god of water.

“Kun Apanane, forgive us for forgetting the balance of life. W e promise to

respect the earth, the rivers, and everything you have given us.”

Kun Apanane, hearing the sincere words of the people, decided to stop the flood. The

clouds cleared, the sun shone again, and the water slowly began to recede. The land was left clean, as if the flood had washed away the mistakes of the past.

The music in this movement traces this myth fairly closely. It begins with a depiction of the flowing water and the world in balance. Gradually, this delicate balance begins to falter and the first warning of an incoming disaster are given. The music becomes tentative, mysterious and we hear alusions to birdcalls and the first drops of water. A chorale emerges in the middle section, which is how I imagined the voice of Kun Apanane warning the people to change their ways. These warnings go

unheeded and the full storm is eventually unleashed on the Warao. This is the climactic point of the whole piece, a virtuosic, energetic deluge full of pyrotechnics and excitement. The destruction is stopped as the people reconsider their ways and ask for forgiveness. Echos from the opening of the movement return, and a new balance is recaptured.

The last movement (Postlude) Awaiting the ARkStorm brings us to our modern times, where these floods are no longer the stuff of legends and myths, but our new reality. We have lost our ways, our world is out of balance and we continue to not heed the warnings of scientists about our impeding climate crisis.

"The ARkStorm 1.0 scenario describes an extreme storm that devastates much of

California, causing up to $725 billion in losses (mostly due to flooding and erosion), and affecting a quarter of California's homes.

The music in this movement acts both as a denouement to the whole

work, and also as a kind of warning. An ostinato pattern emerges halfway through this Postlude that sounds like our idle waiting, it grows ever more intense and unchanging. All the while, we hear echoes from the whole work, to which the ostinato appears to be impervious. Its unchanging, relentless nature a warning to us all.