Haiku

It was 1999. The shadow theatre company Controluce from Turin, Italy, commissioned me to compose the music for a performance in which their projections — which had always fascinated me — merged with the movements of a Butoh dancer who had come specially from Japan. The subject was set: I was to work on a selection of haiku they had chosen, and write for piano.

The commission thrilled me. Being forced to remove, to dig deeper, to suspend — I liked that, and it was new to me; my music was usually rich, effervescent, always in motion (and to be honest, even here and there among these haiku, there are moments where energy bursts forth). But evidently it worked, because the performance toured for years, in many countries, and as far as I know, is still being performed today.

I cannot forget, however, the shock — and then the emotion — I felt when I met the dancer on the evening of the premiere. I had always longed to write music for dance, to invent sounds for dancers’ ears; and I was happy, truly happy, to have done it. But when they introduced me to that extraordinary performer, I discovered that he was completely deaf.

He could perceive my music only through the vibrations of the floor (hence the piano), yet nonetheless he had danced in perfect symbiosis with the score, following every phrase, every melody, every rhythm — in an almost magical way. I’m not sure anymore, but perhaps I cried from the emotion.

Now this music also reaches the concert hall, and for me it’s a joy to imagine that other shadows, other dances, will come to life in the minds of those who play and those who listen. Perhaps, who knows, other forms of magic will be unleashed. I would be happy if that were so.

(Nicola Campogrande, October 2025)