To know (nothing)

"Only a few know, how much one must know to know how little one knows." – Werner Heisenberg

The more I move forward in music, the more I feel like I’m walking in circles—except the circles are getting wider, deeper, more intricate. What I once thought was mastery now feels like just another step toward realizing how much more there is to grasp.

When I was younger, I believed there would come a time when I would “arrive.” A moment where I’d know enough, play well enough, compose convincingly enough, and feel settled in that knowledge.

But if anything, the opposite has happened.

The more I learn, the more aware I am of what I still don’t understand.

Socrates put it bluntly: “I know that I know nothing.” And while that might sound discouraging at first, I think it’s one of the most liberating truths an artist—or anyone—can embrace.

Because what’s the alternative?

To believe we’ve reached the top of the mountain, only to later realize it was just a hill?

I see it in music all the time. The more familiar I become with a piece, the more hidden layers I discover. The more I study a composer, the more I realize how little I truly understand their choices, their intentions, their life, their world. Even in my own music, what I thought was a clear idea evolves into something I couldn’t have anticipated.

There’s something humbling about it.

And maybe a little frustrating, too.

But in the end, I think this realization is what keeps us moving. If we ever felt like we had all the answers, why would we keep asking questions?

I don’t think we’re meant to arrive anywhere.

Maybe the point is to keep walking.

Have a nice day,

Claudio.

P.D. Listen to my latest composition here.