James Dunham and I met while I was working on a commission for the Cleveland String Quartet. We liked each other’s energy and had compatible views about music. I was dazzled by his musicianship and his genial and generous ways. I knew right away that I wanted to compose a viola sonata for him. In fact, the sonata came into my head almost full blown right after I met him.

Composing for viola is a particularly rewarding endeavor. Its mid-range lyricism and quiet ways demand a sensitive ear, especially to dynamics. I tend to think in bolder strokes, dynamically speaking. I found that I had to calm my ears down for this work, composing more subtle gestures which are, at the same time, bold. It was James’s playing and musicianship that brought the piece into my head. James has a gift for the supported lyric line—he is able to support a lyric line with deep and strong rhythm, while at the same time never letting you know that.

The work is in three movements. I adopted the formality of the sonata much in the same way an architect accepts the shell of a building and rehabilitates the interior. I often draw influences from extra-musical influence. However, this work is about viola and piano, nothing more, nothing less. It seems that when I compose for strings, as in my String Symphony, I focus on the quality of the instrument for its purely communicative powers, leaving any extra-musical interpretation to the listener. As I continue to compose for strings and orchestra, I find that I am focusing less and less on percussion, as was the trend of orchestral music of the 1900s, and more and more on the strings for their infinitely breathing and lyrical qualities. We are a world in search of our own lyrical voice—strings contain the universal within their evolved construction, performance technique, and repertoire.

— Libby Larsen (interview, The Strad)