Then it came to me: Dreams. Dreams that would transition – without one perceiving the change – towards a repetitive music, a procession to a land of illusion, an improvisatory jazz ‘cadenza’, an opera, or Kurtag’s suspended universe. Dreams arising from the music of Boccherini, dreams that would have their own logic, their own sense of time. Dreams one would be afraid of forgetting on waking the following morning, once Boccherini had been rediscovered. Bit by bit, I began to confuse night and day, and Boccherini and the dreams mingled together, suffused by a special kind of lighting in which day imperceptibly turned into night: and so Cadenza was born.