Terry prefers to give the most minimal indications of how to play his music. Aside from a few dynamics and articulations, he likes to let the performer be involved as creatively as possible. But, of course, like any composer, he also knows exactly how he would really like it to sound. So my challenge has been to try to get Terry to articulate to me how he hears it, and at the same time to fabricate my own interpretation of what he has written on paper. I am absolutely committed to honoring Terry’s vision of the piece. On the other hand, I have developed some very emotional connections with many parts of this large work, and have invented my own scenario for what these passages must have meant to Terry as he was writing them, and part of me really doesn’t want to know if those meanings are actually true or not. And Terry is not always terribly forthcoming, especially in regards to what sections may mean to him emotionally. He gets that smile in his eyes that says, “I’d be happy to tell you, but that must remain a secret or it may throw you off course. You have to find your own way in, your own path and your own connection to it.” He has encouraged me to ignore, (to some extent, of course,) whatever his own intentions may have been and to create my own. We were talking about this discovery process just the other day, and he said, “I can’t wait to hear this with the orchestra. Then it’s my time to discover the piece. You know, you kind of set a piece out in the world and then sit back and see what happens to it, how it develops when other people get involved. I can’t wait to see how it grows up.”

Terry said the title came to him when he realized that the whole piece seemed to be his way of resolving the wonderful ambiguity in the harmony of the opening section. Of course, the actual solution to the ryddle doesn’t matter at all. It’s like a crossword puzzle. The finished puzzle is meaningless–it’s the process of solving it that is the point.