each choreography is unique, everyone in his own place according to the rules of the bodies, ready for the dance, for the skirt roundabout and the count of the players…we are all here…it is the prelude to a beginning, open parenthesis ( …the sand doesn’t want to fill the other half of the hourglass and the misplaced game runs between the joints of the majolica

…tintinba lays down and hopes eager to dress that waterfall so full of colours…the floor ripples along the perimeter of the room, here mountains, over there fertile forests…suddenly all the tiles leave the wall in a colourful flock that flies upwards…he refolds the room and puts it back in the hat…tintinba remembers and learns that the traveler meets the game at every step…