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When air becomes music: An example of how biology deals with data

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This article is mainly based on the book  » This is your brain on music  » by Daniel J. Levitin, and slightly on the work of Oliver Sachs. I tried to imbue it with a personal touch but at the end of the day I’m just standing on the shoulders of giants and I would be remiss if I didn’t urge you to go back to the source, where you would find the real deal.

I always wondered, like with the chicken and the egg, whether the music mind was an intentional result of the evolutionary process that any currently existent physiological function undergoes like the perception of colors, sounds, and scents for instance, or was it a product of some ingeniously discovered brain hacking, maybe something similar to drug-induced frenzies and hallucinations. It is surely a curious affair, but whatever the answer might be one thing remains certain: the human brain is equipped to perceive and eventually respond to music somehow differently than it would to normal sound.

We know that one remnant feature of our mammal predecessors’ lifestyle is the reflex of responding to a specific sound, or at least some inherent element defining and distinguishing it. We know that humans (as well as a considerate number of other animal species ) for example are wired to react to particular auditory stimuli, a baby’s scream, for instance, is set to trigger a reaction from the mother. This kind of response is very interesting to monitor with a functional MRI where you actually can see defined parts of the brain activating along with the infant’s cry.

Some animal species tend to be startled by the noises characteristic of their natural predator, so even if isolated shortly after birth and thus never having heard it before, a fight or flight reaction is still triggered. It is an innate reaction, it’s simply wired in. Music, on the other hand, seems to work on a deeper level, it’s much more complex and it relies on the brain’s ability to recognize intricate patterns and then to relay the right commands to the right structures. Unfortunately, the exact mechanisms of it all are not fully understood at the moment, and saying that the science explaining the musical mind is vast can only be an understatement, so I doubt that I can in this relatively short article lay down more than a fraction of it.

Yet, that doesn’t matter since that tiny fraction was enough to have me in awe, and hopefully so will you. I’m here trying to share a glimpse of what makes music magic, from its fundamental building blocks to the way it is processed in the brain and hopefully, together we would answer life’s most critical questions: why do I feel blue when I listen to the Smiths? Why do I feel the urge to dance when Soft cells ‘version of « Tainted Love » is being played? And why can’t I help but sing along to « Bohemian Rhapsody »?

It is almost impossible to set a value to a given perception since it is in a sense the very definition of reality, and so nothing can get more subjective than that. This doesn’t mean we can’t work with that notion we might be able to judge its usefulness in a given environment. So for the sake of the argument let us consider the average healthy human as a point of reference and let us establish our notion for perception: the power of perception. By definition, the average healthy human would have a mind perceiving just a fragment of all reality and that fragment is sufficient to survive and thrive in ( and only ) in that same reality.

We decrease that power of perception and we get cases like blindness, deafness, or more fringe and exciting complications. We increase it and we could get either superhuman-like abilities or very debilitating conditions. With that said I’m taking the liberty of establishing a further notion, let’s call it meaningfulness of perception, this would be the optimal perceptual power, which extends beyond the average healthy yet never inconvenience a person’s living.

Now we get to ask a question: what makes a perception meaningful? Perception is as meaningful as the amount of information held by a signal, as the capacity of the sensor to extract that said information, and then how well it is integrated into a whole. We could compare this last part to processing in a computer. This principle is important to understand since everything that exists can be in principal converted into « data » as long as you have the right sensor and the right way to process everything, or at least that’s the way nature managed to have living things around for so long.

Now, humans changed that when they started to mess around with the signals, eventually they succeeded to bypass the source and either duplicate it or create a new one, here of course I’m talking about inventions as simple as speakers and headphones. So when we talk about music and the phenomenon behind it we are dealing with a pretty meaningful perception of what partly constitutes reality.

To begin understanding music we have to strip it down to its core element: the sound wave. Sound propagates itself as a wave, which is interestingly enough a very efficient vessel for information. To dive a little bit deeper, try to visualize dropping a pebble on a smooth water surface, ripples would form, circular waves that spread outward. Those waves represent the trajectory of energy inside the water, moving in an oscillating manner pushing water particles on their way.

Now instead of using the water and the pebble, we struck a guitar string, the same thing happens, energy starts to move around. The shape of the string limits its propagation to two dimensions instead of three but the principle stands the same. Now since air too is made of particles that can be pushed around, the string will whip some of its energy into the air which allows the propagation process to take place there, again abiding by the same principle. Now a wave holds properties the most important being speed, frequency, and intensity.

Speed depends on the material inside which it exists, that’s why for example the speed of sound is more or less a constant and that’s why inhaling helium ( A gas 3 times less dense than air ) increasing this speed makes your voice sound funny. Frequency also depends on the properties of the material, so in a guitar string, it can be altered by loosening or tightening, when we later get to talk on a less physical and more conceptual level we will refer to it as pitch. Intensity is what is seen mathematically and intuitively as the height of the wave, it depends on how hard you pluck a string, this parameter defines loudness.

Other elements characterizing a sound are also derived from the wave, so it’s even more informative with « data » such as contour, rhythm, tempo, timbre, spatial location, and reverberation. These are not technically intrinsic to the wave itself but they describe its state in the outside environment and its interaction with a multitude of similar or different waves. Contour describes the overall shape of a melody, which translates to whether sound seems to go up or down, to visualize the difference I propose the word  » EETA » for up and « ATEE » for down.

This effect is coded as a difference between two pitch frequencies in the melody. Rhythm, briefly, is the relationship between the length of a note and another. You can argue that music, stripped of its rhythm, goes back to being just sound. Tempo is the pace of the music piece or if you want, it represents how fast a musical piece is being played, it must not be confused with rhythm since both vary independently. These last two play a major role in the emotional impact a piece of music possesses.

Timber is the thing that distinguishes one instrument from another. You hear a piano, you’ll know it’s a piano and not a guitar or a violin, even when it is the exact note is being played. This type of auditory data is what allows us also to recognize familiar voices and distinguish thunder from rain. Since two identical guitars would have the same timbre it is no surprise that this parameter is also related to the material from which emanates the sound. Reverberation as explained by Daniel J Levitin  » refers to the perception of how distant the source is from us in combination with how large a room or hall the music is often referred to as « echo » by laypeople, it is the quality that distinguishes the spaciousness of singing in a large concert hall from the sound of singing in your shower ».

This element exploits neural circuitry intended to perceive sound in the context of space and adds an undeniable emotional value to music. A great example of this is the work of Bon Iver mastered reverberation creating this hauntingly beautiful atmosphere in songs like  » Re: stacks » or  » Flume « .
The elements I just enumerated qualify as fundamental perceptual attributes. When they are put together or processed by the brain higher level concepts emerge: meter, harmony, and melody.

Frankly, my explanation of these lower-level concepts was just a watered-down version of the whole deal, each of those would have taken pages to fully develop, liberty that I lack. But as a compromise and I suppose as the necessity dictates for the sake of a more intelligible read I’m going to attempt expanding on some of them.

While frequency defines the physics of a sound pitch refers to its perception. This can be compared to colors and wavelengths. Audible sounds range from 20Hz to 20,000 Hz but the acuity of the hearing withers at the extremes. Even though we theoretically have an infinite number of pitches each corresponding to a different frequency ( Pitches exist in a continuum of audible frequencies ), we would only notice a change, a transition from one pitch to another if the difference exceeds a certain threshold. That threshold is not the same for everyone and it is linked to the sensor cells ‘density that we would find in a specialized ear tissue.

As an estimate, a human being can’t distinguish two pitches closer than one-tenth of a semitone. If you never studied music before, you must be confused about the semitone, bear with me, I’m getting to it. So we are all familiar at least somehow with the musical scale or more commonly known as the Do Re Mi. A modern piano holds 88 keys, 52 whites and 36 black, let’s forget about the black ones for this one.

If you start hitting one key after the other in the order you will notice that after 7 hits what comes out is a slightly different variation of the same notes you just played. And most people know that after you go from Do to Si you go back to Do. So something about this is cyclic. But the Do of the first cycle doesn’t sound the same as the one after and the one before it, it might seem higher or lower. In music jargon, we call each cycle an octave.

Here’s the wizardry behind that: For a given octave each note is defined by a pitch frequency meaning that if we take two pianos and we try to get them to sound the same we would tighten their strings in a way that when hit they vibrate at the same frequency. That’s what tuning means, by the way, setting the instrument to vibrate in specific frequencies. Let’s take a random frequency of 25 Hz for example if you wanted to hear the same sound at a different octave you have to multiply it by an integer ( N * 25Hz ) which would give us 50Hz, 75Hz, 100Hz … In the western musical traditions an octave is divided to 12 semi-tones, it’s an arbitrarily chosen unit of time.

The pitches chosen to form the musical scale were arbitrarily picked, but not at random. You see if you take a note and the one just after it in a standardly set and tuned instrument you’ll notice each time an increase in the frequency at a constant rate of 6%. That makes the notes equally spaced in our ears even though they are not ( The distance between Do and Re is Do+Do*6% while the distance between Re and Mi is Do+Do*6%+Do*6% *6% ), this is made possible by the brain’s ability to recognize proportional change, which is if you think about it very impressive.

The sensitivity to the spacing between notes is especially useful when building melody. Melody, in a nutshell, is the shape of the music, it doesn’t care about pitch individually but the relationship between those pitches, the distance between them. To help you see it, imagine you’re holding a guitar. You have your fingers on any given combination of frets and you strum the strings in any given order, now you slide your fingers without changing that combination you just transfer it as it is. If you didn’t mess up my commands and strum the strings in the same order you would hear something very similar to the first, the element responsible for the similarity is the melody. When you hum a song, you hum its melody.

At this point, you should be confused, if the pitch frequency sets the note and if generally speaking two different types of instruments could access the same frequency, why don’t they all sound the same, how the heck do we explain timbre?

In the 50s a composer named Pierre Shaeffer experimented. The first recorded the same musical piece using different instruments then edited out the first instant of every note. That instant corresponds to the action responsible for the initial transfer of energy that we talked about earlier, dropping the pebble, strumming the string, it could also be hitting a bell with a hammer or whatever we use to play an instrument, we call it the attack. What Shaeffer found out after piecing everything together is that without that attack people could not recognize the instrument in play. Cool right?

Explaining these strange results requires revising the notion of how pitch manifests itself on a non-theoretical ground. When I said a string vibrates at a specific pitch I undersold it since in reality, it vibrates at several frequencies all at once, this is a physical property to all things. And if you ever heard the word harmony and never bothered checking its meaning well it is somewhat that, a sound made of layers of pitches. In a harmonious sound, the lowest pitch is referred to as the fundamental frequency, the rest are collectively called overtones.

The overtones are always integer multiples of the fundamental frequency, so if we have a fundamental frequency of 50Hz, the overtones would be 100Hz, 150Hz, and so on ( Even though sometimes it would be just approximately that multiple ). When dealing with such a multi-layered sound the brain, who first detects each pitch separately, synchronizes the neural activity associated with each one to eventually create a unified perception of the sound.

We must never forget that we are still talking about waves, and these have intensity and that determines loudness. Considering that the loudness of each could vary independently we end up with an infinite number of combinations. We call those combinations the overtone profile, we can look at it the fingerprint of an instrument’s characteristic sound. Nowadays we can isolate these overtones and create basically from scratch new sounds never heard before and even impossible to find in nature ( And this is just one way to do it ).

In addition to the overtone profile, two other elements help shape the singular aspect of a sound: attack and flux. The attack allows us to understand the Shaeffer experiment: When we introduce energy to a material, it propagates as a bunch of waves, but with frequencies that don’t follow the proportional relation the same way overtones do, this only continues for a short time before stabilizing into a pattern associated with an overtone profile. This means that a strike of a bell, the strumming of a string, and the blowing inside a whistle impacts in the first instant, the way the instrument sounds.

Flux on the other hand describes the way a sound changes over time after it started. If you’re interested in the impact of timbre in music, I can’t find a better example than  » Bolero » de Ravel. Ravel had brain damage and by the time he wrote it, he was pitch-blind. In this piece, you’ll notice that virtually every element in the music keeps repeating but the timbre. You would think repetition would make it redundant and boring, but with each time a different instrument plays the same melody, it just keeps on coming and it is simply brilliant.

Okay, all that sounds nice and all, but as long as it is airborne and unprocessed, music is yet to be born. Faithful as we are to the Socratic method, we ought to ask another question: How does vibrating air become music? Well, the phenomenon starts when the wave finds its way inside the ear and hits the cochlea. This is that specialized tissue I mentioned earlier, it’s essentially a membrane covered with auditory sensor cells. You can think of them as tiny joysticks, when the air particles hit, they wiggle and when they do, they send signals to the brain.

The mechanisms underlying how we get from mechanical energy to an electric nervous signal, are mostly biochemical, and that, so not to say boring is certainly an acquired taste, so let’s just move on to something sexier: neurons. We can find neurons or neuron-like cells in numerous structures all through the body, although it hardly compares with the insane concentration we find in the brain. These cells are interconnected, there are nearly a hundred billion neurons inside of a human brain and they form networks so complex that it allows for a computational system potent enough to support the emergence of thoughts, perceptions, and consciousness. Seeing that music falls under the realms of perception we will focus on how that translates neurologically.

Perception is said to be an inferential process and unless you’re a nerd I doubt that makes sense to you. Let me put it differently: Perception, as achieved by the brain, could be summed up as experiencing what is there and what could be there. The second part stems from an evolutionary attribute we got from our ancestors’ struggle with things that could kill them, so when you look from a distance and you detect something strange, maybe a pixel that doesn’t blend with the rest, to urge you to run away instead of standing there trying to figure out whether it’s a darker bush or crocodile coming to get you, your brain will show you a crocodile.

Another role for this inferential way of doing things is dealing with data that gets lost in transit. When information is missing the brain calculates what could have been there and then replaces it. Of course, to attain an end-product unifying the real and the probable, two different approaches to processing come into play. The first -dealing with what is there- is called bottom-up processing and it relies on two steps: A process of feature integration that consists of decomposing the signal and extracting the lower-level perceptual elements, for instance, the building blocks of music. The other is a process of feature integration, here, since we have distinct elements, the brain deals with each separately, but all at the same time, managing several tasks all at once.

This phenomenon is particular to the brain which utilizes parallel neural circuits. This is also why people with brain damage or a congenital neurological dysfunction might fail to perceive one feature of music but have no problem with the others. This approach is considered as low-level processing and thus handled by structures in the brain that evolved relatively earlier than more sophisticated counterparts that consequently manage higher-level processing. That is, higher-level processing retrieves data from the lower one and crafts a further understanding of what you’re working with, thanks to that we can look at a succession of weird-looking shapes and recognize words.

The second, the one that shows us what could be there, is called top-down processing, it takes place in the frontal lobe. This function gets constantly updated with information coming from the lower-level processes and other parts of the brain so that in the end it predicts what is more likely to happen. In the case of music that information would be what you already heard in the same song, what you remember of similar songs, if not it would be songs from the same genre and style, even information less related to music and more to the environment around you is taken in account.

The reason we are susceptible to auditory and visual illusions can be found in the dominance of the top-down processing over the bottom-down processing, this practically means that the predictions somewhat transpose the perceived reality. What comes out of both is integrated into higher-level processes which give us in the end a constructed perception, in our case music. Exploiting the balance between the predictable and the unpredictable is very important when trying to write thrilling music. The unexpected is associated with novelty which turns into excitement, this only applies for reasonable doses, abuse it and you create something the mind can’t follow and so it becomes irritating.

For the frontal lobe to make a prediction it partly relies on retrieved music-related data from somewhere, implying a storage solution for musical information. This brings us to the wonders of neuroplasticity, to state its fundamental thesis briefly, neuroplasticity refers to the fact that when neurons activate they change, both morphologically and concerning the connections they establish within a network. This means that these so-called networks keep transforming again and again. Memory is said to be a function of those connections. This may not sound impressive said like that but you must remember that a human brain holds 10 hundred billion neurons, so the number of possible combinations you could attain is difficult to grasp.

Seeing that we are talking about the storage of music, I might as well share with you a phenomenon so cool it’s almost unbelievable: Musicogenic epilepsy. Epilepsy is essentially neurons that start firing pathologically, this causes neurological circuits to activate and can cause behavioral symptoms such as seizures. In some rare cases, the faulty wiring in their brain affects circuits where music is stored, causing patients to hear music, in their heads, clear as the first time they experienced it.

To end this article I must express how grateful I am that music exists. It is one of the greatest gifts that life bestowed upon us and unless new evolutionary data emerge it is a rare sign of nature’s unconditional love for humanity. At the risk of stealing a lyric from an old Irish song, » For sinking your sorrow and raising your joys » nothing compares to it, so as long as your brain function is intact and your spirit is alive accept music not as simple entertainment but as a way of interfacing with a reality that we still can’t fully comprehend.

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Culture

JTI 2025: Theatre upon shadows

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Introduction:

The 26th of February was a day to remember for the « Theatro INSAT » club. The famous JTI(INSAT Theatro’s yearly event) took place in the auditorium, marking its 9th edition and adding not only excitement and anticipation to the students but also yet another captivating performance brought to life by the talented members who showcased a remarkable blend of creativity and professionalism. In fact, despite being science devotees, it did not prevent them from thriving in the realm of artistry. Furthermore , this work reflected their passion and commitment to this club. Thanks to their work and dedication, they achieved an astonishing comeback that exceeded our expectations by encompassing a variety of artistic forms (visual art, music, literature, performances, etc.).

Addressing in theatrical form a difficult but unavoidable issue, this little production confronted the horrifying reality of pedophilia, shocking both head and heart. Brazen in theme and refined in approach, the play was significant not merely for its boldness but for the excellent standard of its script, written by the talented student Rayen Nasraoui. Written with sensitivity and courage, the script treated a grim subject with sensitivity, never resorting to clichés but leaving space for empathy, understanding, and thought. Its impact was remarkably lasting. Audience members left the theatre touched, reflective, and talking. All in all, it was a whole unvarnished, unflinching examination of how society deals with the taboo of pedophilia and how it’s brave enough to tackle issues of trauma, morality, and humanity’s capacity to confront the unthinkable.

1st piece:

The play starts with the duel between two yet-to-be-introduced protagonists, which ended With the victory of one over another, it was a full dramatic scene, which was not comprehensible, enhancing the mystery of the play, especially with the good light work, which was mostly wandering between dark blue and black, and the choice of the

heart-pumping music only adding to the thriller, keeping the viewer intrigued, asking themselves what will happen next.

Soon after, this play allowed us to witness fresh, unidentified protagonists who were in the process of saying goodbye to the deceased. The lights went out, casting long shadows. across the faces of the gathered characters. One by one, they took the opportunity to express their sorrow, all in unison ,wishing farewell with eyes pouring liquid utter despair.

Each glance yielded elongated sighs unarticulated in goodbyes, mourning enveloped around straining hearts, cleansing the soul. This moment transported us to an area in which grief turned to poetry, while silence drowned any words the line had to offer, especially with the help of the background music, which expressed their grief perfectly. Afterward, we marked in this scene a shift from dark drama to the complete opposite. It was unquestionably a clever

way of criticizing the issue dealt with in this play, with the help of many indirect jokes that held meaningful messages as a way to express various ideas and criticize this issue.

Later on, we finally got introduced to the characters who were previously mourning their late beloved friend; each character had a unique personality and brought their strengths and

weaknesses to the plot El Omda, the leading personality in the group, instantly takes over the role of the person who is in command. Her domineering nature is evident in the way she talks. and even walks,

always calculating, always manipulating. With either veiled threat or endearing charm, El Omda dominates, obviously showing that she derives kicks from having authority over people both psychologically and socially.

Most directly counter to her is Eregued, a man characterized by his sloth and complete lack of connection to the real world. Apathetic and indifferent, he seems. not to notice the strife around him. His indolence is not just physical, but also mental and emotional. Eregued is the

kind of passive observer who finds it Preferable not to know than to take action, even at significant risk.

And then there’s the Psychopath, arguably the most unstable of the three. His personality is characterized by a combination of violent temper, drug abuse, and emotional instability.

Always on the verge, he is easily manipulated, particularly by El Omda, but he has a certain acuteness that makes him different from Eregued. Underneath his unstable behavior, there are moments of intelligence and consciousness, which make him both unpredictable and

fascinating.

The next scene becomes more light-hearted with a comedic battle staged by El. Omda, in which both Eregued and the Psychopath vie. This scene, while comic at face value, skillfully strips away still more layers of both characters. Eregued’s Laziness is played for comedy,

with exaggerated slowness and clueless responses that speak to his isolation. The Psychopath, on the other hand, arrives at the competition with bloodthirsty ferocity, taking even the most juvenile difficulties and turning them into stormy outbursts. The contrast between the two provides for comic relief as well as additional insight into their personalities, all choreographed under the guidance of the watchful, dictatorial eye of El Omda. This moment, full of physical humor and sharp dialogue, is not only entertaining but also gives us

a further understanding of the characters.

2nd piece:

He steps into the light slowly, a man wearing a simple, white mask that hides every trace of who he is, yet somehow, makes him feel deeply exposed. In his hand, he holds a brush, and in front of him stands a pure, untouched canvas. He entered without hesitation; he didn’t need to speak, as his presence alone was merely enough to prove his confidence.

The music doesn’t start softly this time, but boldly, pulsing with intent. He picks up the brush and begins to move. Every stroke is deliberate. Every step is part of the rhythm. He’s not just painting; he’s performing, commanding the stage with the ease of someone who has done this a hundred times in his mind. He lifts the brush and begins to move. Every stroke is deliberate. Every step is part of the rhythm, and as he paints, the image starts to emerge slowly: a single, dark eye. It’s not just a shape; it’s a feeling. It’s alive with something unspoken. The eye becomes clearer, more intense. As he finished, the music started to fade slowly, yet the eyes of the audience were wide open as they processed the amount of artistry and dedication to perform

such a well-fluid-paced scene. This is no improvisation; this is choreography, precision, and mastery.

As the dark lights went out and the stage became bright again, we found ourselves inside a modest but beautifully arranged art gallery. Each painting seemed to be carefully chosen, and standing at the heart of it all was Abderrahmen, a man in his late thirties and a painter impeccably dressed but with a casual air. His eyes, however, were sharp, a little too sharp. They scan the room like they’ve seen more

than they let on, a warm, golden room filled with lovingly chosen art. Paintings stand like silent sentinels, each one with its personality. The eye, painted earlier by the masked artist, remains a quiet focal point. He is arranging several other canvases, standing on the stage with composure, sleeves rolled up tightly, and a smile . The gallery door opens, and a woman in her late thirties enters with her teenager, perhaps thirteen years old, curious, slightly distant, but very obviously still drawn to the paintings.

They both pause just inside the doorway, absorbing the atmosphere. The woman’s eyes light up as she walks slowly from piece to piece. The teen lingers behind but eventually starts to follow, interest quietly growing.

Abderrahmen notices them and steps forward, his voice low and welcoming.

he says gently. “Welcome.”

The woman smiles and expresses how much she likes the paintings as she looks through the gallery.

They speak softly, easily. She asks about the paintings and lingers in front of the painting of the eye. So does the teenager; as the conversation continues, she expresses how much her kid is fond of art, as much as she is.

The scene ends with the three of them standing in front of the painting Abderahmen, the woman, and her child, each seeing something different in the same dark eye. A quiet connection begins to be formed, not just between them and the painting, but perhaps with something more, something that is about to be discovered.

Later on, a small family enters: a well-dressed man, his poised but gentle wife, and their daughter, a young girl, perhaps in her early teen years, curious-eyed and full of shyness as she follows her mother’s steps all along. They wander in with an acquiescent awe, letting the art pull them from piece to piece.

Abderrahmen approaches with practiced charm. Greeting them with a smile, he gestures subtly toward the painting of the eye.

The family is drawn to it almost immediately. The daughter steps closer, clearly intrigued. Abderrahmen watches her more than the painting, but never too obviously.

He continues speaking mostly to the parents, but his words seem to drift around the girl. Afterward, the man and his wife seem to have a fight over buying the painting, where the wife is completely fond of it and decides to buy it. Her husband doesn’t agree due to his financial problems. Ultimately, burdened by both love and shame, the man approached Abderrahmen with reluctant steps. There was history between them; they had been study buddies in school, and he used that common background

as a key, opening a common memory of poorer, hungrier days. Abderrahmen overheard and, seemingly moved, but his gaze shifted to the man’s daughter with quiet interest. The conversation was brief but charged with unstated realities, which led Abderahmen to finally agree on this deal. Sitting alone with a suppressed smile, he regarded the family with an expression that no one else seemed to catch, satisfied, perhaps, but not quite pure.

Later on, Abderahman visited them, carrying chocolates as gifts to the little girl. The family welcomed him in, expecting a painting deal. But once seated, he announced his mission: he wanted to marry their daughter. The room was silent. The girl, a teenager at best, stood fixed in the hallway, her face slowly crumbling into daze and horror. The mother paled. The father stood, incredulity giving way to rage as he realized what Abderrahmen was. No matter how hard he struggled, could it be hidden anymore that this man is a monster, A PEDOPHILE? The father’s rage broke the silence, a flood of shouting and horror. Abderrahmen tried to justify himself, but his words fell flat, unnerving in their softness. The visit ended in chaos.

3rd scene:

The setting shifts drastically. The play now enters a quiet new era. It is a psychiatric hospital, where everything is stripped to its essence. Abderrahmen, no longer the elegant gallery owner, finds out that the mask he has lived with all along during his life is finally taken away from him.

We’re introduced to a doctor trying to reach his core because he doesn’t fully believe he belongs there. Yet Abderrahmen resists. He speaks eloquently, even convincingly, of being misunderstood as a victim, not a predator. He defines himself in words as someone broken down by others and not at fault for the injury he caused.

But behind the polished words, a tougher struggle brews. When he’s alone, the performance breaks. In one of the rawest moments of the play, he turns inward, confronting his reflection, not in a mirror, but as an inner voice, sharp and relentless.

The voice reminds him of what he’s done, of his victims’ screams, of the silence after the door slammed shut. He tries to argue, justify, and say he never meant harm. But the voice doesn’t let him escape. The ghosts of those he’s hurt live in his memory now, and they speak louder than reason.

In a haunting monologue, under harsh lightning, Abderrahmen is arguing with himself, his inner voice growing louder and crueler, exposing his past and mocking his excuses. Not as a villain seeking forgiveness, but as a broken man searching for answers. His voice trembles not with guilt, but with urgency. “Is it my fault? That my

uncle has touched me when I was a child? That I learned pain before I learned kindness? Is it still me who’s to blame… when I only passed down what I was given?”

The question hangs heavy. There is no answer. The lights fade slowly on Abderrahmen’s face, caught between denial and damnation, a man imprisoned not just by walls but by the echoes of his crimes, destined to relive them in silence for the rest of his life.

CONCLUSION:

It is no small feat to raise such a sensitive and important story in life, but this play accomplished this with maturity, courage, and artistic sense. Approaching the sensitive topic of pedophilia with care and sensitivity requires not only skill but also courage. Rather than relying on shock value, they followed the path of psychological realism, depicting trauma, consequence, and ripple effects of abuse through

generations in terms of deeply developed characters and vividly described scenes.

The musical direction in this production was a standout feature. From the eerie, rhythmic underscoring that had accompanied the dance of the painted mask to the barren sound world in the psychiatric ward, the music was not background filler; it was a character in its own right. It propelled emotion, increased tension, and pulled the audience further into the stage. The sound design proved a keen understanding

of how silence, distortion, and melody can speak what words cannot.

Each element, whether it was writing, acting, directing, staging, or sound, coalesced with professionalism and purpose so much greater than one would usually find in a student production. Most striking, the play did not romanticize nor justify the darkness it showed. Rather, it created space for critical awareness and compassion, employing art as confrontation rather than escape.

By doing this, these students showed us that theater can be socially dangerous and deeply human, an art form that doesn’t just entertain but inspires tough conversations. This was not just a show. It was a statement.

written by Hiba Daghesni.

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