The movement, the pace, the silence and the sound.
What, if, after all, all my work, all the effort, were just nothing more than a futile attempt to capture, to recreate, to procreate, those feelings, those turgid emotions, those spasms of inner beauty, hidden in those notes , so apparently naturally being, casually happening in this musical piece just with lines and colors?.. What if...? What if everything was nothing more than a repetition of that moment so many times seen, of men trying to catch the wind. What if...?
What, if, after all, all my work, all the effort, were just nothing more than a futile attempt to capture, to recreate, to procreate, those feelings, those turgid emotions, those spasms of inner beauty, hidden in those notes , so apparently naturally being, casually happening in this musical piece just with lines and colors?.. What if...? What if everything was nothing more than a repetition of that moment so many times seen, of men trying to catch the wind. What if...?