The stone here was carved to be watched. Facades stand like curtains that never fall. Every door is an entrance, every square a stage. The gold of the stone stays in the wings. In its absence, the light takes every role.
The performance has no schedule and no tickets. A small train delivers the audience, and every visitor is cast on the spot.
A vendor lays out his props. A painted face performs from a facade, one actress among the extras.
The longest-running show is a doorway that opens every morning. No one directs, and everyone plays.
Backstage, the light is measured. Saints hold their poses between the candles. Beneath a bishop of stone, daylight bursts through a door: the oldest spotlight in the house.
After dark, the masks change. Grinning skulls light a doorway: the late show begins.
The audience finds the exit through the wings. Wet stone glows like footlights after the last act. The stage stays lit for no one.
