I was at the Berlin Circus Festival on the Tempelhof Airfield (scene of the Berlin Airlift of 1948-9). On the grass I saw a conspicuous empty wooden desk, labeled (as one might a sculpture) “Written Portraits”. Later that evening as we were leaving, a man had taken a seat with his red typewriter. I approached and sat opposite him at the desk. In Adrián Dozetas’ interactive performance, he takes an intense look at the subject (in this case me) and clacks out a spontaneous poetic portrayal on the typewriter. As an improvising musician, I respect the commitment to ink and paper without a backspace button to save you. The poem is about me, so I suppose this setting of that poem is a musical self-portrait.