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LUSINE AZARYAN "When I was a child, I remember the day when my grandfather gifted me a piano. Back then, things were difficult: we had to go to Moscow, buy the piano and then wait for a long time. I remember the exciting day, when they finally brought the instrument. I can also recall, that from the very first day I had the coinage of Komitas hanging above my instrument. Coinage was fashionable back then and I don’t even remember how it appeared in our home. But I remember for sure that, from the first day I started to practice music, HE “was standing” over my head. Two relics from my childhood: the piano gifted by my grandfather and the coinage of Komitas. They both still accompany my journey in the world of music. I know how to love and to appreciate, but I have never had idols. And if I had to choose an idol, then among the many talented, greatest and most beloved giants, I would still choose Komitas. Not because that I need some kind of an idol. Only because after many years of examining and studying the phenomenon of Komitas, still I cannot fully comprehend and embrace the greatness of this incredible human life, who, despite all “the impossible” “happened” and became the cornerstone of Armenian music, ethnography, theory, classical school of composition. How long I was on my journey to reach Komitas? Possibly, my entire conscious musical life. I kept on walking to Him and I knew that me, as an individual musician, no matter how carefully and knowledgeably I was trying to approach, I would still lose to the great Komitas, who had harvested the fruits from the Armenian national musical minds. I kept on walking with the thought that I was doing, at least, a small service to his genius gift. I kept on walking with a trembling desire to at least somehow be grateful for the treasures that had been so carefully and preciously collected, cleaned, and returned to my nation as a priceless gift. My task was immensely difficult. Very often, I was in despair to the point, that I wanted to escape the limits of the miniatures, leave everything behind, perform a concert with opera arias, sing with my full voice, break out into a large-scale performance in several octaves… And this seemingly appeared to be an easy task compared to the little story telling songs with a range sometimes of half an octave with a neat accomplishment, where every note and every word is like the purest feeling, the most subtle emotion, reaching a sterile naivety that seems so distant to us. And in every little song there is a huge concentration of Armenian national musical consciousness and here you will go mad realizing your responsibility and helplessness… But a sense of duty forces you to continue and complete the work you started."