When a spider moults, it sheds its exoskeleton, renewing itself and leaving behind a material imprint of its body — climbing out of a ghost or shadow of its own form. This is a vital but vulnerable process: moulting insects stop breathing, the freshly moulted body is soft and unprotected, but the new skin gives an animal space to grow. The double temporality of the animal and its cast-off shell fascinate me: they confront us with a physical trace of the past within the movement of the present, a vision of the self split across times. In MOULT, I try to imagine the orchestra as an animal that can shed its skin, shedding pasts that continue to haunt the form of the piece.
© Clara Iannotta, Chris Swithinbank