The plexiglass box is part of the work, it not only serves to preserve it but also determines the limits, from earth to sky of the ancient classical column, which lives and comes alive even though it is suffocated in space, squeezed within the limits imposed by the material. Its history is as heavy as the material it is made of, lead. In the entablature there is a certain movement, something springs up and seems to trap itself: it is a cloud of eyes, presences and witnesses over the centuries of so much beauty. They are the eyes, our eyes too, of all of us, that feed on classicism. The column is suspended on a stylobate which, in Greek architecture, constitutes the plinth. Column plus stylobate, made of lead, are lightened as a subtle energy rises up forming a thick, subtle step of light, allowing one to see beneath the foundation, to suggest looking for evidence of the infidelity of history, preserved in this casket like a secret. This plane crossed by the sharp light makes the shaft column light. The whole rests, almost as if at rest, on a plane treated with silver patina that has engulfed the eye of the moon, the relief in the foreground. Not least because the moon is the most assiduous nocturnal witness of infidelity.