The fourth scene is finished. Meddah made a scene again. It may amuse some, annoy others and probably outrage a few. Hopefully at least that. I had some fun with a quote in this scene, a rhythmic-melodic quote. From a well-known piece. But not a very direct quote.

And now, slightly breathless, I’m standing in front of a wall. I have two important scenes to write – the conclusion of act one. The beaus will show up, but before the winner of the contest is chosen, the founder of the prize will die. I don’t have the full text yet; nor do I fully know how to build up the emphasis on those final moments before the curtain falls (it is unlikely that we will have an actual curtain, but who knows), so that there can be no doubt as to how difficult a situation Şeküre found herself in. At times I think I know nothing and panic sets in. But after all, I do know something. My hand knows something.

To quote Olive from the novel: "I was presently going to render this horse which nobody had been able to draw before. Decisively, I pictured it in my mind’s eye. The world faded away, as if I’d suddenly forgotten myself, forgotten that I was sitting here, and even that I was about to draw. My hand dipped the brush into the inkwell of its own accord [...]. Come now, my good hand, bring the wonderful horse of my imagination into this world!"

Pamuk has written a piece that is opera-like through and through. There is mystery, there is love, there is death, there is revenge. There is even peeping through a hole in the wall. There is also, perhaps most importantly, a strange, even bizarre convention that you have to wade through and befriend in order to be deeply moved. Without first being aware of it and without accepting it, and then without surrendering to that convention completely and utterly, one would be bored to death.

Work on the concert also entered a new phase. I closed a kind of multi-threaded, extended exposition with several climaxes and processed elements. Time to reach the conclusion. I see several possibilities here at this point; I am in no hurry. And, perhaps, a double cadence, or similar elements, will happen on the way. We’ll see.

In a week’s time, Leśmian (and Baczyński) at Bad Muskau.

(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)