Sinfonia
Veins run through the stone like a long sentence, interrupted only by the passing of light.
The veins of the stone begin beneath our eyes and continue beyond the point where we can follow them. They cross pale surfaces, meet darker marks and disappear into the light. Near the piano, the space seems to be waiting for a sound. This is a house discovered through resonances: a material recalls a shape, a line accompanies us towards the next room.
We would like to make this spaciousness feel close through small places to pause. Somewhere to sit and listen, a table around which to draw together, a window before which to interrupt a thought. Even in the most open rooms we look for something that recognises us, an intimate measure within the beauty of space, like a familiar voice in a large hall.
We imagine a note allowed to resonate and then, immediately afterwards, silence. For a few seconds the room might keep something we cannot see. Sinfonia belongs to that delicate boundary: to the presence remaining after a gesture, to light changing a vein in the stone, to the way a place can move us before we know how to say why.