I was happy when David Finckel and Wu Han asked me to write a large-scale work for them. They form a very dramatic union, capable of captivating audiences with magnetic intensity and powerful interpretations. I was well aware of these qualities while writing the sonata.

In any performance there is an element of theater and drama. In this work, the instruments often play different roles and embody different characters even though they might be playing simultaneously. At times this coexistence is a dialogue, at times - a struggle or an attempt to solve inner questions.

I began working on the piece while reading Herman Hesse’s novel “Demian.” Although there is no direct connection and the work is not programmatic, perhaps some of the imagery from Hesse’s novel may have infiltrated the writing, especially in the first movement - Allegro moderato - where I thought of a dance of Abraxas, a mysterious god, who combines in himself both good and evil. Sonata starts with the violent and terrifying statement of the piano, full of inner-tension. The cello's response is more human, desperate and questioning. The very first “calling” statement of the cello becomes a leitmotif throughout the piece. This introduction leads to a dark and strange waltz in 5/4 - as if from the depth of the past shadows have emerged. The second theme is both dreamy and passionate and leads to a fugal development with its dry twists.

In the second movement – Lament (Adagio) – the juxtaposition of characters is also present. The piano carries a column-like inescapable choral progression, while the cello’s lamenting monologue is free and deeply human.

The third movement - Allegro assai - is a toccata with fiery syncopations and obsessive energy.

The last movement - With extreme intensity - may be one of the most tragic pieces I have written. It begins with the cello playing quarter-tone trills. The image I had in mind was of reaching a point in life where one stands at the very edge of the abyss, when nothing is left of the past or of the future, and one is completely alone with his trembling soul. Sometimes it is possible, through pain and tragedy, to find lost beauty and meaning – as it may release something in the soul that was aching to be freed. At the end, both instruments rise beyond the limits of their registers, as if entering a different kind of existence.

I completed most of the sonata while in residence at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts during the summer of 2002.