Three layers became relevant for this work: collaboration as the guiding principle of my musicianship, the creative work with the material from the workshops, and finally the magical.

For me, composing almost always means collaboration. I want to develop works for and with people – to think, while composing, of a counterpart with their own voice, gestures and presence, and to let this influence my work. During the development of At night they listen to all creatures I recorded all of our workshops. From these recordings, I filtered the sequences in which Rafal Zolkos speaks, comments, sighs or breathes audibly, so that only the noises remain. The result was sequences of varying length whose sonic material consists of very short scraps of noise – the residue of the filtering process, as it were. Often they are phonemes or single consonants.

I used this material in two different ways. On the one hand, as a rhythmic and temporal structure, which I traced compositionally and assembled into a "collage". On the other hand, I stretched the short scraps of noise into whisper-like impulse responses, or transformed them, through analysis and resynthesis, into colourful spectra with slow envelopes. In this way, Rafal Zolkos resonates, so to speak, within the noises of his own voice.

In the magical, I process above all personal experiences. While writing this composition, I often lay awake at night for hours. All kinds of feelings arose, and I experienced a great abundance of sound worlds. Little by little, a magical world emerged: small noises turned into wild fluctuations, sporadic crackling joined into complex rhythms, here and there a scraping or a distant rumbling was added, until everything hissed and rattled – only to tip over, all at once, into the greatest silence. The longer I lay there, the more magical this sound world became.

Out of these experiences a mythical creature was born, covered with many shining scales. They clink and crash with every movement. Its voice unites the noises of the world and speaks the language of longing. A tender hissing embraces and heals me; accompanied by its snarl, I stumble into sleep; its softly rattling breath tucks me in. They sleep, wake up, move, and dance into the morning.