From which one cannot turn away 

For 12 Musicians

A creature of an unknown species, very, very near, with an enormous gaping terrifying 
opening just right for swallowing up the watcher, for making him disappear, soon hyp-
notized, lost and above all lost is any idea of return. Fall into the enclosure of flesh. 
Someone certainly has this temptation. 
Above, two dark eyes, globes of magnetic vision looking straight ahead, mono-ideaed, 
say in unison: “Would you make up your mind? Or must I still keep waiting?” For a bit
of free will seems part of the rules of the game, of the sinister, fascinating game. 
Teeth in one row guard—just about—the entrance. Almost translucent, they would
hardly hurt, except perhaps upon leaving, if leaving were still a possibility.
In the depths of the cavernous palate it looks like fringes inside, hairs, a row of supple 
blades, black—like whalebones.
A strange entrance. The mouth—almost flaming red—is reminiscent (by its circu-
larity and the perfection of its curve) of a planet’s admirable path around its mistress, the 
Star, the Star from which one cannot turn away.

Henri Michaux 
(english translation by David Ball)

Commissioned and premiered by Nieuw Ensemble. 

Co-funded by the Icelandic national radio.