What does the smallest thing feel when it encounters the largest thing? What does thought feel when it encounters the Louvre? Is it only a question of scale? What is the scale of my thought as it progresses above the desert, right under the universal dome, through levels of temporary structure that will soon be removed? This gymnastics is quite unique.
To this walk corresponds a thought that is not possible otherwise. Far from being contingent, my walk leads to the absolute itself; it leads to a conception of space that is not possible otherwise. As I looked at the architect while she stood in front of a thicket of beams and scaffoldings, under the extraordinary dome whose edge blends with the horizon, I suddenly realized where she had her eyes set during all this time and what her occupation was. I realized the epoch she was staring at: the infinite dome and duration, the universal museum, its eternity.