At my residence, I like for things to be quiet. I don’t even listen to music at home. In early January, I took down this very heavy book from its shelf. As I began to peruse it, I felt the kind of excitement that overwhelmed me. It was like falling in love. As of that moment, engaging with this book filled up all of my available free time. I read it, jumping from one place to the next, I thoroughly studied the images, searched for the notes and began to sing. Every day, periodically, as if I was attending school or going to work. The songs of Kurt Weill rescued me, took me to the shore. I found a new home, I failed because of them and learned to speak German, French and English. I got a new family, got married and divorced. I was a man, I was a Jew, but most importantly – I found myself during the lockdown. I once again had secrets and I learned to feel again. My piano, covered with the mess of musical scores on it, with notes, the traces of glasses – like a double bed in a hotel room – retains the muggy atmosphere of these rendezvous.
Annamaría Lang, Budapest, 12 March 2021