In reading this text, we rediscover the subtle pleasure we feel when listening to Michel Doneda's solo concerts. Beneath an apparent disorder in which intuition alone seems to guide the unfolding of a pointillist discourse, a highly structured thought process emerges.
Never relinquishing primacy to the sensitive approach, Michel Doneda delivers a reflection on improvisation, tested by decades of uncompromising personal practice. Like his music, Doneda's writing gives pride of place to the quality of sound, rhythm, breathing, and the space and silence that separate and connect to enable listening.
Each sentence is demanding and intelligent, and we are reminded of Jean Cocteau's words: "The tight sincerity of each minute, even when it offers a series of apparent contradictions, draws a straighter, deeper line than all the theoretical lines to which we are so often obliged to sacrifice the best of ourselves. (Le Rappel à l'ordre, 1926)
These "Miettes" (crumbs) are not reliefs abandoned by someone who has reserved the best pieces for himself, but a whole fragmented to be better shared. The reader is free to pick at them or swallow them whole.