Here in Moldavia Doga formed into a composer, moulding his self against
the hardships of life and throughout a long period of artistic growth. And here
he started his unrestrained creative ascent, having cleared himself of all
influences, to become a master of his own theme and vision.
The composer's attitude to his creation does not coincide with the
regard of musical critics depicting him as a man who has established himself at
the apex of his fortune. He would be more willing to compare himself to a small
boy, having climbed up a high tree, tempted by the best fruit at the top. The
ground is far away down, and thin branches are swaying under his weight, and
the fruit are seductive and calling. And there is no way backwards...
Sometimes, though, he is more confident while speaking about his work:
"There is only one thing I dream of; that something might intervene — a
chance illness or some other absurdity. I am working now with an unusual ease
and happiness. The music, yet unwritten, sounds in me, and I'm in an awful
hurry to put it down. I'm so full of energy: should you offer me an opera libretto
now, it seems to me I could write the music in a month..."
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