Living with these dances over several years has given them a kind of spaciousness in my life. Each time I return to them, something new comes through. It might be a subtle shift in harmony or gesture, or sometimes an emotional undercurrent I hadn’t fully noticed before. The more I practice, the more I feel like I’m having a conversation with the dances. Even after all this time, Granados continues to reveal himself, and I find myself still learning from his choices, his colors, his sense of rhythm and longing.
This weekly recording practice has sharpened that relationship. The repetition isn’t about polishing away uncertainty, but about making room for discovery. The harp keeps asking different questions of the music than the piano did, and in answering them, I’m reminded how generous these dances are. They hold history, but they also stay alive, responsive to touch, listening, and patience.
At the same time, I’m preparing for an upcoming feature in Stamford Magazine, which has offered another lens on this work. Articulating how long I’ve been in conversation with these pieces has been a meaningful counterpoint to the day-to-day practice. As February approaches, I feel grateful to still be learning, still listening, and still finding new pathways through music I thought I already knew.