"However accurately a music piece may be written, however carefully all possible ambiguities may be excluded — by indicating tempos, colors, timbres, etc., — it will always contain hidden elements which escape us, because the dialectic of language is unable to define music's dialectic in its entirety.
     Thus, the realization of these hidden elements is a matter of experience and insight. In other words, it is a matter of the talent of the man who is evoked to play the music."

By these words, included in his book Musical Poetics, Stravinsky explains composers' "inability" and interpreters' "selfishness", reminding the, ages ago and until now, mindful's commonplace that between an intuition and its objectification there exists a huge ontological difference, the significance of which increases according to the significance of the intuition. We also know that in our effort to decipher the old musical notation, even the most necessary and innocent renovations of the text, are, according to Fillip Bret, dangerous; beyond these observations, we have to admit that without any kind of text the work of art could not exist at all, and to decide if and under what conditions we could take over that which, whatever its nature is, have been formed by people of another epoch in order to defeat distance. Tradition tolerates all interpretations, or "interpretations", indicating that authenticity is never oppressive; it is in this way that the "resistance and weigh of things" is formed, the difficulties of intimacy, manner: "the difficulties a man is encountered with trying to express something" comprise, as Seferis observes, his manner —"man is manner", stresses, after Boilot.

     THE ABILITIES of technique, the social, economical and historical environment, the overall cultural and mainly the aesthetic manner of an epoch, in few words, the biographical factors, constitute a central field of interest for the authenticists, to the degree that these factors have shaped the composer's work and also to the degree that their participation in this work is provable. The necessity of this study is unquestionable and since the authenticists have given it a particular emphasis, a lot of information referring to the works of the past ensued. The danger is a potential identification of a work with some of the factors which had a share in its creation, either the most obvious or the most deciphered or even the fittest to the interpreter's character, thus transferring to mere interpretations the absolute quality of authenticity. We would understand the ridiculous conclusions to which such an approach leads, if we examined a hypothesis, that whenever a charismatic leader appears, an heroic symphony is written, or that every lesbian in love is Sappho herself. The ridiculous is easily transformed to horrible when we imitate physical traits or caprices in order to feel like the ones whom we admire — Beethoven as gravity, Einstein as slovenliness, and the like. The reduction of this illness to interpretative criterion by the authenticists (the identification of the authentic with the provable) drives them to the utopian effort of recreating some forms of the past in all (the known) of their details, reaching sometimes to obvious extremities, like the usage of piano as metronome or the old hair-dressing and the otherwise stimulating concerts at castles. All of this picturesqueness does not lead to anything else than to an unjustifiable multiplication of forms, a space and time untidiness — the same untidiness that caused the poets' exile out of Plato's Republic; Yet, for what reason the worshipers of form and of all its details do not ask the most simple question: how many things we must imitate in order to fully recall a past time? It is about a question concerning not only the at issue interpreters but the composers, too, us ourselves, and in general anyone who is in danger of giving absolute value to means and methods of expression and communication, particularly to language and the arts.