Every March our school gives a 11 in the town hall, and the whole term builds up to that one evening. The players are ordinary students. One girl carries a violin 12 in her school bag; a boy polishes his 13 trumpet on the bus. Their teacher, who has been the 14 for eleven years, says the hardest part is not the notes but the counting: half the group can play a difficult 15 beautifully and still come in two beats late. On the night itself, parents film everything, and nobody minds a few wrong notes.
The city 16 has given its largest room to a single artist this month. Every piece is cut from a single block of 17, and some are taller than a person. The best-known work is a 18 of a farmer resting on his cart. Visitors often reach out to touch it, which the guards allow, and the surface has slowly grown smooth and warm. The artist began to 19 stone at the age of forty, after twenty years in an office. He says the work is 20, but that nothing else has ever held his attention so completely.