I wrote my second string quartet in 2004 as a gift for my father’s 70th birthday. The piece is in five movements played without pause. Each of the first four has its own distinct character, atmosphere, and structure, yet they are connected through recurring motives that appear in varied forms across the movements. The fifth serves as a summation, weaving together themes and gestures from the earlier parts, sometimes simultaneously, so that the quartet becomes a layered dialogue with itself.
The work was composed using a method I devised, inspired by the mathematics of fractals. In nature, fractals appear in coastlines, snowflakes, leaf veins, and blood vessels—forms in which the same pattern recurs at different levels of scale. I sought to translate this principle into music by working with number sequences that shape durations on multiple levels: from single notes to entire movements. For this quartet the guiding sequence is 4–5–3–5–4, and it governs both the large-scale structure and the smallest musical cells. This approach gives the piece a strong internal coherence, though the rhythmic division is intricate and demands extreme concentration and accuracy from the players.
As Prof. Ruth HaCohen has noted, string quartets have long been a forum for experimentation, and this work continues that tradition. In String Quartet No. 2, “rigorous predefined forms grant liberty for the music to flow into them.” The fractal-based method creates thick networks of connections between the micro and macro levels of the composition. Yet calculation is only one side of the process: each movement also has its own expressive identity. The opening presents a solemn fugal theme interrupted by sudden homophonic outbursts, establishing a dramatic tension that drives the music forward. The second movement sustains long, serene sonorities while accommodating bursts of restless figuration. The brief third movement is scherzo-like and spectral, full of sul ponticello and bow effects. The fourth recalls earlier material in an elegiac mood, evoking a yearning tone reminiscent of Beethoven’s Heiliger Dankgesang. The finale gathers all these strands together in a rondo-like form, offering a playful yet comprehensive recapitulation of the quartet’s journey.
Despite its rigor, the piece is not about systems for their own sake. Rather, the fractal method provides a framework that allows intuitive expression to flourish. Within this structure, the quartet becomes an exploration of transformation, memory, and renewal—a musical gift, and a personal homage to my father.