How to disappear into sound
Grand River — the Dutch-Italian composer Aimée Portioli — crafts sonic environments where human and elemental forces are indistinguishable. In this conversation, we delve into the philosophical underpinnings of “Tuning the Wind”, a work steeped in the tensions of identity, migration, and the natural world. As she prepares for a Berlin listening session, Portioli shares insights on the mutable nature of both art and self, probing the elusive dance between sound, emotion, and the transient beauty of impermanence.
Your latest album, “Tuning the Wind”, is described as 'human artistry being indistinguishable from nature's symphony.' With your deep connection to the natural world, would you say this perspective reflects a philosophical assertion about the relationship between human creativity and nature's immutable presence? Or is it more rooted in your personal emotional connection to nature and the inspiration it provides for your music?
In creating “Tuning the Wind”, my intention was to integrate the wind as if it were a musical instrument, a voice within the composition. This approach stems from my personal emotional connection to nature and the inspiration it continually provides for my music. The idea of 'human artistry being indistinguishable from nature's symphony' reflects more than just a philosophical assertion; it is deeply intertwined with my own emotional connection to nature. For me, the natural world has always been a source of profound inspiration, a space where I can reconnect with myself, with what I want to express, and with who I truly am.
My emotional connection to nature is where the creative process begins, but it extends into a broader reflection of the symbiotic relationship between human beings and the world around them. This album, in a way, is my attempt to create an immersive sonic landscape where nature and humanity coexist harmoniously.
Being of Dutch and Italian ancestry, you've mentioned in the past not feeling a strong sense of "belonging" to any one place, having moved back and forth between Italy and the Netherlands. Do you think this experience of displacement is core to shaping your creative philosophy and your perception of self? In “Tuning the Wind”, the concept of "wind as air in motion" evokes the image of a constant observer — one who moves through spaces without becoming fixed. Does this resonate with how you approach your music? Would you say you sometimes feel like an artistic wanderer, both in spirit and in sound?
Indeed, my experiences with displacement and moving between Italy, the Netherlands, and Germany have played a significant role in shaping both my creative philosophy and my sense of self. Growing up with dual cultural identities and constantly moving between these places, I never truly felt like I fully belonged to one particular location. Instead, I often found myself in an in-between space, where no single place felt completely like home. This sense of displacement isn't something I see as negative; rather, it's been a crucial part of how I’ve come to view the world and my creative process.
For me, home is not tied to a specific place; I feel at home where I decide to stay, where I create my own space, my own little micro world. The concept of wind as air in motion in “Tuning the Wind” resonates with my approach to composition, as I am a constant observer, moving through spaces and emotions without becoming fixed. We, as humans, are always evolving and shifting, and in a way, our artistic expression emerges from this. We create what we are.
Your previous full-length album, “All Above”, offers a fantastic centrepiece for your sonic philosophy, emphasising that each instrumental element is representative of a different mood or emotion, with guitars representing "strength or violence," synthesizers the realm of fantasy and dreams, and the acoustic representing "warmth and intimacy." How does this categorisation of human experiences influence your compositional choices? Do you find that certain emotions or themes naturally emerge through specific instruments, or do you ever challenge these associations in pursuit of something unexpected? Have there been moments where the instrument surprised you, evoking something unintended?
In All Above, I aimed to translate emotions into sound by assigning different instruments to represent various emotional states. This approach significantly influences my compositional choices, as certain emotions or themes naturally emerge through specific instruments. However, I also enjoy challenging these associations to explore new sonic territories. There have been moments where an instrument surprised me, evoking emotions I hadn't initially intended, which led to unexpected and enriching creative directions. I think of each instrument as a character in a play, each with its own unique traits, but all equally important to the story.
I worked on the pieces for over two years. It’s the album where I experimented most with fusing electronic sounds and acoustic instruments. The piano is very present throughout the album, deliberately used in many different ways. In some compositions, it’s quicker and more precise; in others, it’s more distorted and fluid. I consistently record with the same piano in my home studio, even using the same microphone. It took me a lot of experimentation to find the exact sound I wanted, but once I did, I stuck with it throughout. That’s what makes them all belong to the same world.
Your music often evokes the movie scores of classic 80s noir thrillers, as seen in tracks like "The World at Number XX," and you've frequently collaborated with Marco Ciceri on audio-visual projects. How do these visual elements enhance or contrast with the sonic narrative of your music? Additionally, your collaborations, such as those with Abul Mogard, seem to be a key part of your creative process. How have these partnerships influenced your music and what have you learned about yourself and your process through working with others?
It’s funny how people always associate images with my music. This is something I never actually do; I simply don’t see them. For the lighting and stage design of the “All Above” live show, I worked with Marco Ciceri. We had previously created AV performances, but this time, I wanted to express the album with a different visual influence, using light design. I aimed to create an immersive experience that would enhance certain moments while reducing visibility in others, allowing the audience to focus on deep listening.
We worked intensively together for many months before the premiere of the show in March 2023, in a trial-and-error process of experimentation, to achieve the synchronicity of light and sound we envisioned. We discovered that the intensity of the colours in the lights and projector, the shape of the reflections, and the distribution of smoke all varied depending on the size and architecture of the venue. It has been both fascinating and surprising to experience how each performance becomes somewhat site-specific.
Collaborating always offers fresh perspectives and challenges me to adapt and evolve. Through these collaborations, I’ve learned the value of openness and the importance of dialogue in creating cohesive and immersive art.
The cover photograph for “Tuning the Wind” — taken on Lanzarote — carries a quiet, elemental power. Does that landscape mirror the emotional or sonic terrain of the album? Also, your upcoming listening session for this album at After in Berlin (April 23) sounds like a meaningful gathering — not only to experience “Tuning the Wind” in an audiophile setting, but also to reflect on its evolution as a work. With Daniela Huerta and Elisa Caivano joining you for a conversation, what are you hoping to explore or share with the audience that evening? How does this moment feel in the context of the piece’s three-year journey, from installation to 4DSOUND to vinyl?
Yes, the cover photograph was taken in Lanzarote, a place I feel very connected to. The landscape there holds a raw, elemental energy, it’s shaped by volcanic activity, wind, and time. The rock in the image is actually an open crack in a crater that has been slowly eroded by the wind. I found that both symbolic and fitting for the piece, as if the wind had tuned the rock over time, carving it into something resonant, with a shape reminiscent of sound waves. That connection spoke to me and felt aligned with the concept of “Tuning the Wind”.
The upcoming listening session at After in Berlin will be a nice moment of gathering and communion. Sharing the album in such an audiophile setting will offer an immersive listening environment. Having artist Daniela Huerta and booking agent Elisa Caivano join for a conversation after the session will be interesting as we’ll explore the concept, the creative process, and the evolving performative and installation-based forms of the work.
This moment feels like a kind of "homecoming" for the piece. After three years of transformation, from a spatial sound installation, to 4DSOUND performances, and now to vinyl, it’s a chance to share not just the final work, but also the journey and the process that shaped it.
In previous interviews, you've spoken about the fluidity of identity and the importance of being aware of oneself. Do you think true inner peace or contentment can ever be found in the constant reshaping of who we are, or is there a point where we must anchor ourselves to something permanent, even if it's just an idea of self? With that in mind, how would you like your legacy to be remembered, and is there a particular message or feeling you hope your music leaves behind for future generations?
I believe that inner peace comes from embracing the fluidity of identity and being open to the continuous process of self-discovery and transformation. Anchoring oneself to a fixed idea of self can be very limiting, whereas accepting change allows for growth and adaptability.
Embracing this fluidity creates a sense of peace because it acknowledges that we can evolve. As I explored in “Tuning the Wind”, the concept of wind as air in motion mirrors this, constantly flowing, but always with a purpose and direction. Similarly, I think there’s beauty and peace in moving through life with openness to who we are becoming, rather than trying to force an identity onto ourselves that may not align with where we’re headed.
I’ve never thought much about my legacy, honestly, but I guess I hope to be remembered as an artist who conveyed genuine emotion and connected with listeners on a deep level. I would like my music to serve as a bridge, connecting listeners to their own feelings and to each other. If future generations find resonance in my work and use it as a means to explore their own identities and emotions, that would be wonderful.
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