Back when I was a child, our next-door neighbour was a woman whom we knew simply as Frau Herta. We lived in an block of rental flats that was beginning to show signs of age, as were the majority of its residents.

Researching, questioning artistic practice, probing the unique process of development that it embodies, searching for its highs and lows—for those thresholds that lead to the next lofty height or open up on the next gaping chasm that lies ahead.

An accusation with which artists have been confronted since time immemorial is that they’re excessively concerned with themselves.

There’s nothing more boring than hours spent regarding our own reflections in the mirror. After all, who really wants to be confronted exclusively with their own, already-so-familiar selves?

At first blush, an orchestra is a group of artists whose playing as a group can sweep the audience away to other planes of being. As pathos-laden as that may sound, it’s true. And those who experienced, say, the performances of Tchaikovsky’s symphonies by St. Petersburg’s Mariinksy Theatre Orchestra this season … they know what this means: active thought ceases …

World culture, to hear Milan Kundera tell it, has Europe to thank for the novel and the symphony. Reading a novel is easily done—everyone can manage that on their own. But a symphony requires an orchestra in order to be heard. It was a centuries-long developmental process that led to the classical and romantic orchestras with their constantly increasing numbers …

Anxiety is a weapon. We can’t see it, we can’t hear it, and we can’t smell it: only from very close will one’s nose pick up the sharp scent of the sweat that anxiety and outright fear can trigger. And for that to be possible, two people have to get closer to each other. Have to reach out, come together, …

Life was easy when there were lions everywhere. You know, like back in the stone ages. Life had a clear purpose: stay away from big animals with big teeth. The fear of being digested without one’s consent was pretty constant, and it was there for good reason. A bush could turn into a lion, which could turn an unsuspecting Homo …

Incense. A procession of acolytes, deacons, and priests moves forward through the nave to reach the chancel. The congregation stands, reverently observing this pompous performance. What’s happening up in the organ loft while all this is going on? The (typically male) organist accompanies the procession with the droning sounds of his organ, while the music director (yes, also male) waits …

Tuscany in early June is like a birthday party where far more guests have turned up than were actually invited. In the big cities like Florence, Pisa, or Siena, it’s still somehow bearable—after all, there’s always a side-street or a little alley to run and hide in. Things can get brutal, though, in the little villages out in the country. …