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Utzon in memoriam. The perils of publicity

On that now far and calm day of placid summer light, Jørn Utzon, the maestro, was seated silently attentive in his reed-seated chair, during the course of the work on his mythical house in Porto Petro, Majorca. The maestro was within, without the sea and the sky of insulting beauty. The architect in the shade, the landscape in the light. The luminous landscape was framed by built shadows. Built and defined with the precision of the large window openings, sensibly square. The interior space, higher than is habitual. What architects call double height. The openings with the height determined by the human figure. Lintel, jambs and threshold, were the four sides with which the frame was formed which glorified the impressive nature outside: nothing less than the entire ancient Mediterranean Sea. The spectator entranced by the supreme work of art. But, the architect thought, still seated, that there was too much sky. That the sea of Majorca was insuperable. And he had abandoned those subtle mists of Copenhagen for that which there in front materialised with furiously radiant calm. And if he was there, it was because he loved this sea. More sea. And he invented a simple mechanism. He shifted the stones funnelling outwards with the ancestral wisdom of an old Druid. He inclined the lintel to the precise line. Angling the jambs into the required position. And he maintained the magnetic horizontality of the threshold. Outside a simple glass which we don’t see, which disappears. As a magician could know the secrets of controlling space, he knows, the maestro touched everything with his magic wand and, abracadabra!, the spell was cast: the light there was tensed. And there today there is more sea. More sea than sky. And an immense beauty. Utzon the maestro.