Richard Bratby

In a glass case at Mozart’s birthplace in Salzburg is a small wax doll. Its eyes look demurely downward, it wears a crown several times the size of its head, and it is clad in a richly embroidered garment that looks like nothing so much as a sumptuous eighteenth-century ball gown. This is . . . . Continue Reading »

It’s about a quarter to ten at night on August 17, 2019, and I’m standing outside the Usher Hall in Edinburgh, smiling. It’s one of those Edinburgh Festival nights when the streets are still crowded but there’s already a foretaste of autumn in the air, a warning chill in the sea breezes that . . . . Continue Reading »