The Baridegi tale is also a story of traveling between the world of the living and the world of the dead.

Taking that boundary as a starting point, I imagined 이호윤 and myself as beings outside the human world.

We were musicians, but we appeared onstage barely visible, watching Bari's life. At the same time, our music created the time and conditions through which that life unfolded.

Perhaps we were something like fate or karma.

Bari's dance takes shape within our music. But the music does not determine her every gesture.

She may move slowly to slow music, or she may move quickly. When the music grows intense, the dance may grow intense as well—or she may instead remain still.

The music creates a flow. How Bari moves within it is her choice.

I did not think music and dance necessarily had to move at the same speed or with the same emotion.

This thought also carried over into the way I constructed the music.

The eight pieces are independent works, but they also form a single structure. With the fourth piece as an important axis, I arranged the first and second halves to correspond.

In the first and last pieces, I used the Cheongsin-ak melody from Namhaean Byeolsingut. In particular, I reversed the sound of the jwajong used in the first piece and used it again in the last.

The sound of the beginning moves backward at the end.

In the third and fifth pieces, I layered synthesizer melodies with different tempos and starting points. Sounds moving at their own speeds sometimes fall out of alignment and sometimes happen to overlap.

Onstage, the young Bari and the older Bari exist together. In the music, different times flow simultaneously.

Repetition and symmetry, reversal and overlapping.

These were not simply compositional techniques. They were ways of shaping in music the lives I had in mind.