1.

The ground we carelessly tread on with our feet is so important.

It’s the earth, of course, and what connects us with it is the foot.

I can never pay enough homage to this modest aid of our life we excessively tend to ignore, although it is a marvellous organ of perception. Bare, habitual practice permitting, it is almost superior to the hand in terms of sensuality of contact, as if the entire body was run through by the definition of the material it touches. The smooth and never really cold softness of tiles, for instance, interrupted by the sequence of a woollen rug where it sinks in ever so gingerly. Because the ground is also a place of music, and the foot the instrument that plays the sound. A resounding and dull percussion sound on wood, measuring the relief of each grain as it goes, a flaccid, nearly animal sound on tiles, and then the pure silence of the rug.

To introduce a rug in an interior is to introduce an isle of silence.