There is the magic of music. The sonata begins with the first descending melodic line of the viola, the piano sets in, and there it is already, the instantaneous presence of a distinct emotion; the atmosphere of sound that envelops and touches me, that puts me in a special mood. There is the magic of painting and poetry, of words and images, there is the magic of radiant thoughts. And there is the magic of the real, of the physical, of substance, of the things around me that l see and touch, that l smell and hear. Sometimes, at certain moments, the magic conveyed by a specific architecture or landscape, a specific milieu, is suddenly there; it has materialized like the measured growth of the soul, unnoticed at first.