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Rating: Depending on how one looks at it, the building resembles a mountain hermitage, a soaring baroque palace, a perfectly faceted diamond, or an intricate house of cards.
Seen from a certain distance, with a keen ear, the discerning connoisseur might say: «what a refined passacaglia».
Once, the empty rooms that the shabby walls now enclose, housed an insomniac ambassador and a young musician, whose nocturnal tedium he caressed.
The air, which ceaselessly passed through those thirty rooms, took the shape of a constellation.
The builder of the building, who weighed his own idea of space and variation and bequeathed upon posterity this sonorous sleekness, was certainly not new to this way of conceiving the overall vision.
An anteroom, of clear splendor and arcane simplicity, left —and still leaves— an impalpable tremor around itself.
In a measured wandering, the walk in the crystalline building quickly becomes a labyrinthine journey: in every room, the same yet not the same as that anteroom, the play of mirrors reveals its own breath.
It is not easy to follow the thread that the composer, like an ironic Ariadne, has unwound. Yet, everything suggests that this thread exists.
That same anteroom, whose appearance is now familiar to those who, dazed by the labyrinthine wandering, finally return to it, marks the exit from the labyrinth and its very completion.
The air, laden with all its variations, reunites with itself. Only then, the eye can grasp the entire figure.
«Now —the new Theseus might say to himself, finally retracing his steps— I know what baroque is: this strange sense of vertigo.»
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