Until recently, my familiarity with the work of Laura Cetilia as composer and cellist was restricted to the music she has produced with her partner Mark Cetilia in Mem1, a duo that has consistently been regarded highly in this house. However, in the three tracks of Gorgeous Nothings Laura asserts her ability for autonomous creation, crafting resonant environments for an inwardly receptive listener to find solace in, or — in the artist's very words — "a moment that I can crawl up into in order to escape the brutality that surrounds us all — and maybe others would like to join me there".

The opener "Gorgeous Nothing" is performed in complete isolation, following the ideals of the truest deep listening. Reaching a condition of actual oneness with the instrument, Cetilia gently moves the bow across the strings to elicit translucent pitches and gossamer upper partials. The microtonal layers fuse with her voice, used in turn as texture for a blend that is both contemplative and, at moments, mildly dissonant.

"Six Melancholies" is scored for cello, violin, and vibraphone, and executed by Ordinary Affects (made up for the occasion of Cetilia, J.P.A. Falzone and Morgan Evans-Weiler). The compositional philosophy of Jürg Frey — with whom the musicians have collaborated extensively — is a declared influence in the piece, which features a succession of subtly suggested harmonies, extended tones, spacious melodic fragments and silently breathing interludes that honor one's inner stillness.

"Soil + Stone" is the longest segment, a duo by Cetilia and fellow cellist Hannah Soren denoting a significant transition to a state of authentic transcendence. The two instrumentalists vanish inside beautifully droning flows, longer or shorter depending on the section, with brief pauses to allow the ensuing counterpoints to be imprinted on the memory. Within these currents, unhurried glissandos and excruciating repercussions originate the sort of emotional response that seriously introspective individuals encounter frequently throughout their lives: a summer afternoon spent in absence of dialogue; the acknowledgment of a placid sea, the soul permeated by faraway echoes and scents; a sunset awakening a feeling of inadequacy in the physical form that has been imposed upon us since birth. We could go on for hours, and the comparisons would make less and less sense. As always, one might say.