The workshop is my refuge. It does not isolate me from the worldly noise, it only protects me from its ravages. From there I saw how Chechnya was wiped off the map and also the drama of Bosnians, Croats and Serbs, Palestinians and Israelis.
I have seen how Manhattan lost its profile without the Twin Towers. Now Iraq brings us more blood poured. I also perceive all the garbage that surrounds us. To exorcise so much surrounding pain and hate, I keep the air full of music. It sounds almost all; the ancients. modern and popular. The boring ones are left out.
My dead loved ones live in the workshop and the Isoldas and Salomés languish in love. The rough ones kill themselves frequently and they sing to the love Orfeos and Fidelios. And I do not stop regretting with Philip II, by Giuseppe Verdi; Until when the holy inquisition?
