Sun, solitude, soil. I remember a great lecture by Gaos in which he spoke of art as truth transformed by work. The movement of truth to art through work simultaneously builds a world and discovers an earth. But the land, which is also our roots, means obscurity, profoundity, a mystery that never completely reveals itself. We only know the earth thanks to the world; the world roots itself in the land, but, like the tree, spreads up toward history, and its branches are called possibility, pluralism, alternative (194).