This piece is a reflection of a very specific memory of mine from my grandparent’s old house and the garden they used to have in their front yard. I remember being a small child, walking around the garden with my Grandfather, picking and eating tomatoes right off the vine. They tasted so sweet and juicy and perfect in that memory, and in a way, they’ll never be able to taste that good again; because I am not tasting the tomato, I am tasting the memory of the tomato, which is tainted with memories of sunshine, and dirt, and freshly cut grass. It’s the present recreation of the flavor, rather than the memory of the flavor from all those years ago. That’s what this piece is about: memory. The frog guiro, the ceramic cups, the wind chimes, every instrument comes back to the idea of memory, and what each sound inspires in one’s memory.

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