Wojciech Blecharz is somewhat an exhibitionist. An emotional one, of course. With his music, he doesn’t create a vision of the contemporary world burdened with disasters, being neither a “digital indigen” nor a fan of algorithmic passages. He’s not even recognized as a political rebel who discloses his outlook on life between the notes. In the centre of his interest remains what’s closest to him – the human psychological condition in the context of experiencing crises and break-ups, traumatic memories. And he is not ashamed of deriving from life experiences, talking about them in interviews, private conversations, programmatic notes but also through musicians performing on stage. He, therefore, creates music that is emotional, even autobiographical and he has no problem with sharing it with the wider audience. To Blecharz, the sound is a dynamic material – sometimes on the verge of audibility, another time waking us from the torpor with a strong bang against the table. In the final scene, Izabella Szalaj-Zimak, Elwira Przybylowska, Marek Czech and Michal Pepol conduct a musical autopsy of two cellos – lying almost as on a catafalque. We can hear the constantly repeated phrases, rhythmical knocks on the resonator, rustles (as if the composer is still haunted by the invasive earworms). Blecharz leaves us without an answer. Has “it” already ended?