There is something in the idea of a crack that attracts and unsettles at the same time. An opening so narrow it allows only fragments of what lies on the other side to filter through. Yet sometimes, what inhabits the outside can seep in until it fills the inner space. The clarinet is initially alone and fragile, but the other side of the crack is not silence: it is an electronic territory made of layered, granular, multiform matter that gradually forces its way through: vinyl crackles, amplifier hums, until nervous distortions, feedback and piercing whistles are revealed. Sound scraps, disturbances that belong to no human gesture, yet seem to possess a will of their own. What unfolds over the course of the piece is not a dialogue in the conventional sense. The exchanges between the two entities shift in nature: they draw closer, alternate, overlap. The clarinet, understood as a wind instrument, which is breath and life,  seems to search for a way out within a matter that slowly engulfs it. Its vocabulary compresses, the gestures become more restricted, more obstinate, as if presence itself were a form of resistance.