Be­fore the com­pe­tent com­poser writes down the score he hears his mu­si­cal work in all its di­ver­sity within him­self. Only then he de­fines the in­stru­men­ta­tion to re­pro­duce out­side the mu­sic he has heard within.
The com­poser ex­peri­ences the mu­sic, which he hears inside, as some­thing com­pletely sepa­rate from the score. The de­vel­op­ment of a score, the draft for the ex­ter­nal re­ali­za­tion, then is a men­tal act of will of the mu­si­cal crea­tor – in con­trast to his origi­nal in­ner hear­ing.

A com­po­si­tion origi­nates with­out any par­ticu­lar effort of the com­poser’s will. It grows within his mind as a natu­ral ex­pres­sion of his enli­vened fan­tasy.

The mu­sic, which the com­poser hears within, is the origi­nal lan­guage of his own feel­ing and think­ing; and, ac­cord­ingly, the mu­sic of his in­ner sphere un­folds only within his own world of feel­ing and think­ing.
In this re­spect the com­poser is the first lis­tener of his mu­sic be­fore he writes it down or per­forms it; and, while writ­ing it down, he no longer ex­peri­ences him­self to be cre­at­ing, but rather “hear­ing” and “cog­niz­ing.”

The field of com­pos­ing is by no means a field of outer in­stru­men­tal ex­peri­men­ta­tion; in its es­sence, it is the ex­peri­ence of a clear and dis­tinct in­ner hear­ing. And only when the in­wardly-lis­ten­ing mu­si­cal crea­tor intends to com­mu­ni­cate to oth­ers what he has heard within, the art of com­pos­ing re­quires the solid knowl­edge of a prac­ti­cal tech­nol­ogy to per­form his mu­sic.

Only now the mu­si­cal crea­tor re­quires a clear knowl­edge of no­ta­tion to write down the score with com­plete con­fi­dence, in or­der to cre­ate a bridge on which his in­ner origi­nal mu­si­cal im­pres­sion can, in its purest pos­si­ble form, find its way to the in­ter­preter.