In the Composer’s Studio

– about music, emotions, and finding my way back to myself

This text didn’t come when it was meant to.
For a long time, I thought it should have been written in 2022 when everything happened. But that was a time when I felt far away from myself. My sensitivity and creativity had gone quiet for a while. I wasn’t writing. I wasn’t creating. My life revolved around a simple pattern – work, home, work. My soul was trying to break through, to make itself heard, but not quite successfully.

It was my second time visiting Tenerife. This time, I stayed in the island’s capital – Santa Cruz de Tenerife. I spent a week there. I was in a beautiful place, but not entirely within myself.

A Meeting in Santa Cruz de Tenerife

One day, I was invited by Diego Navarro to visit his studio. It wasn’t easy to align our schedules, but eventually we managed. One late afternoon, I went to the place he had given me. It was very close to where I was staying – right in the city center.

I remember how my heart was pounding as I stood in front of the door. I felt that something unfamiliar was about to happen. Excitement was mixed with a quiet kind of fear.

A Sacred Space

His studio wasn’t very large. From today’s perspective, it’s hard to remember all the details, but I remember that the first room was filled with posters, awards, and various objects connected to him and the world of film music. It felt like a living museum – a space where you could glimpse both the artist and his life.

The second room was different. It was the command center. A composer’s sacred space. There were multiple monitors, speakers, a piano, and many other devices I probably couldn’t even name. I also remember posters from films he had composed music for.

I still remember the feeling of being slightly overwhelmed as I crossed the threshold. My body needed an extra second before stepping inside. It was a place where I could see not only the results of someone’s work, but the entire process of being an artist. This was where the first sounds and emotions were born.

We sat down and started talking. I asked him what was more difficult – the act of creating or letting the work go into the world. He paused for a moment. I was deeply curious about what happens inside a composer’s mind, what thoughts move through it. There was something almost intimidating in how much I wanted to understand it.

Music Flowing Through the Body

At some point, I had the privilege of listening to a piece that hadn’t been released yet. It was the first time I experienced music in a professional studio, through high-quality speakers where the sound felt clear and spacious. I will never forget that feeling. I felt shivers throughout my whole body, as the composition was rich with strings and choir – two elements that always move me in the same way. Then, I closed my eyes. I sat completely still, although my foot was unconsciously following the rhythm. I didn’t try to analyze it. My body and my heart understood faster than my mind.

I was also surprised by subtle Slavic elements in his music. We started talking about it. He tried to describe the film without revealing too much, just enough for me to understand the musical themes he had created. I could see the scenes in my imagination as he spoke.

I remember how deeply that meeting affected me. For the first time, I saw an artist in his sacred space – the place where everything is born and refined. I felt as if, for a moment, I stepped into his world. Imagine that I could sense the emotions of someone who knows that their work will soon be released into the world, and that they will have to let it go. I saw a person who could describe through words what he feels while composing. I discovered the story he wanted to tell through sound.

It Will Stay With Me Forever

How do I know that this meeting was so meaningful and inspiring to me, even though at the time I couldn’t find the strength or the words to express it?

First, I still remember it, even if not in every detail.
And second, the next morning, I woke up at sunrise, stepped onto the balcony of my hotel room, and wrote a poem. Just like that – while looking at the ocean and the rising sun. It was a flow that needed to find its way out.

Today, I understand that this moment started to open something in me again. That’s why this text could only be written now. Maybe that’s also why I needed to hear from him: “try to imagine that situation again and imagine what would have you felt but living it now.” So I did.

Thank you, Maestro.