The figure of the prophet-king stands in the space between loggia and palace, and has stood there for centuries, old in time, young in myth, fresh in body. He stands at the intersection between visibility and invisibility. He also stands at the moment before – the moment before he enters into legend.
Anxiety is etched on his brow. Supreme calm reigns over his face.
From the gleaming light of his body can be sensed the preparation in the fields, the solitude of the hills, the wrestling with demons, the music of the lyre, the eternal youth of the spirit, the happiness with nature, the angels visible in the mountains at night, and the voice of the unnameable in every rock and flower.
From the anxiety of his pose can be sensed kingship and weariness and old age of the spirit, fame and sad wars, temptations into which he will fall, and from which he will rise, life without the music of the lyre, without angels in the mountains, and without the whisperings of the unnameable in the trees and on the wind.
The prophet-king stands between loggia and palace, between visibility and invisibility, never crossing the line, caught in that moment, in beautiful marble, forever.