Freedom and lightness, condensed on paper.

Preludes are works born of pure inspiration — and they shine with a soft, delicate light, one that paper, the most yielding of surfaces, makes possible. Spontaneous as diary pages, they carry the intimacy of an unguarded gesture. In music, preludes are free-form pieces — openings to a suite or fugue, or complete worlds in themselves.
These works carry the same spirit: colour and feeling find their pitch together, the way a voice searches for its note before the song begins. They echo an ancient ritual, the one in which the poet-singer would immerse himself in sound, listening, until the right tone rose to meet him.