Even from the beginning the stage never felt like home. Every second spent gazing into the faces of hundreds I wasted fazed, flaming.

¿Libretto Crescendo?

A violin plays, the notes lifting up and back down again, reverting in the end back again into air. I breathe. Somehow, it makes sense.

There is something magical about nighttime, the way it hangs in a fine balance.

Humming Along to Shakespeare

The music made Shakespeare transform into a dream-like world down here on earth.

The evening was much like a modern fairytale, all glass and light and tremors of hundreds of vocal chords warming up,