My struggle with perfectionism as an artist is something that has always, unfortunately, defined the way that I write music. This work is symbolic of that struggle, drawing inspiration from two stories that, to me, represent the cathartic nature of experiencing and overcoming hardship: the descent of Inanna, from ancient Sumer, and Xenophon’s account of the Ten Thousand, from ancient Greece.

In “The Descent of Inanna,” a Sumerian goddess, unsatisfied with her dominion over the heavens, journeys to seize the “Great Below,” the underworld ruled by her elder sister, Ereshkigal. Ereshkigal forces Inanna to surrender a layer of herself at each of seven gates, until she stands before her sister completely naked and exposed, and is killed and hung on a hook.

To me, Inanna’s descent often feels like the struggle of perfectionism in artistry—the journey of conquest breaks one apart, stripping away facades, fears, and self-delusions until only the unfiltered self remains. The Greeks had a word for this: katabasis.

But a true katabasis doesn’t end in despair. In 401 BC, an army of ten thousand Greek soldiers marches into the heart of the Persian Empire. They win their battle, but their leader is killed and their ranks collapse into chaos, a katabasis of their own. Like Inanna, they are stripped of their strength and forced to redefine their identity. Xenophon is elected to lead them, and he guides the army through the mountains to safety.

Together, these stories capture the two halves of change: the unraveling of the perceived self, and the rebuilding of the real one. This work for solo viola tells that story in two chapters, drawing on the Arabic maqam, a musical tradition of intense emotional duality that hails from the Middle East—the same region where both stories take place. The first movement, “Lament,” built on Jins Saba, is a sorrowful and wandering voice. It sings without meter—suspended in time like the cry of a soul utterly defeated by fear. The second movement, “Ascent,” built on Jinz Hijaz, is a furious climb. Insistent and forward-pushing rhythmic phrases explore new keys and meters, mixing excitement and grief in the bittersweet knowledge of all that was stripped away, until the music gradually unravels with the fury of a newfound identity.

Writing this piece has been my own small form of ascent. To give these stories a voice has loosened the grip of perfectionism, even if only a little. In this way I feel a bit like Xenophon, marching away from my katabasis step by step through the mountains. While the journey is not finished, speaking it honestly and imperfectly is to begin rebuilding something more authentic in its place.

Xenophon’s account of that journey became a staple of Greek literature, and its title has come to mean the opposite of katabasis: a return to the world of the living, the upward climb, the heroic return, the rebirth of the spirit. All of these ideas, held inside this short work for solo viola, can be captured in a single word: Anabasis.

World Premiere: November __th, 2026 by ___________, viola.