Bathed in blue light reminiscent of the 1920s cabaret dives that used to haunt central Mitte, Berlin, Bultheel takes up his office chair in front his keyboard, a sly smile to the gymnastic connotations piano concertos frequently draw upon. His body wrapped in a single white T and a string of pearls the time glitches the KW pogo bar. Beginning the piece, headdresses the audience with a soft voice acknowledging the disappointment they could feel at this faux concerto...but what he does have for his tightly crammed mostly art viewers is a machine. Built by his own hand that weaves and governs harmony through mathematical formulations, mysticism and medieval diapason.

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