The think­ing proc­ess may well be com­pared to the growth of a tree. Be­cause, once the com­poser per­ceives a per­fect, fun­da­men­tal mu­si­cal idea in his mind on the level of the har­mony – like the in­ner struc­ture of a seed – he cre­ates, from the level of this pure, utmost con­densed cog­ni­tion, the liv­ing tree of his mu­si­cal com­po­si­tion, right to its leaves and blos­soms, in a lively con­tin­uum of thought.

And with great self-dis­ci­pline he will ensure that the natu­ral, con­cen­trated flow of his crea­tiv­ity is not in­ter­rupted; oth­er­wise the com­po­si­tion would im­me­di­ately dis­in­te­grate – just as a tree be­gins to dry up from the very moment its sup­ply of nour­ish­ment is cut off.

The term “to com­pose” lit­er­ally means the outer as­sem­bling of ele­ments to form an os­ten­si­ble whole, which in­deed con­tra­dicts the re­al­ity of crea­tiv­ity.

From within the unity of his in­ner, lively cog­ni­tion, the true mu­si­cal art­ist cre­ates the enli­vened di­ver­sity of his mu­si­cal state­ment.

Look­ing at it more closely, the com­plete truth of how mu­sic origi­nates within the mu­si­cal poet ap­pears much more com­pre­hen­sive than as­sumed so far, and the melody is not the first ele­ment to origi­nate in his mind but in­deed the very last.

So far, the end of the in­ner mu­si­cal act was thought to be the be­gin­ning of cre­at­ing mu­sic.
And to the parts of an un­known whole, which were barely heard in the in­ner ear, some ac­cepted, com­po­si­tional struc­ture was “at­tached,” which then had to simu­late the im­pres­sion of whole­ness.