In late September I wrote one of my favorite arrangements in my whole catalog. It happened over about 72 hours, when inspiration met a few free hours, and then an entire unscheduled Sunday.
Now, in November, having recorded it (remotely) and prepared for its release, I already can’t remember the details of writing it. I can’t put myself in the headspace I was in those precious semi-manic hours.
The result is that I’ve almost rewritten the story, to something like those classic Mozart tales: that I simply transcribed it from the air. That it came to me fully formed.
I keep insisting to myself: it came as a good idea, and I worked very hard to shape the details and find solutions to the arranging problems I came upon as I wrote it. That I did it quickly doesn’t mean that I didn’t do the work myself.
It is true that we can create art and then not remember creating it. We humans are good at forgetting the details of our day-to-day lives. But that doesn’t imply anything about the art or its creation–just about the artist’s ever-mutable memory.