All dark stone and stunning high vaults, the church is defined by a narrow-seeming nave, its columns adorned with statuettes.

Art plays on memory in its own way, at its best leaving one with a question, or a thought that cannot be completed, that is failed by words; and so it was with this experience, this day, this lingering sentiment now (and perhaps for a long time) occupying my consciousness: the musical work of a sixteenth century English composer, sung in Latin, arranged by a Canadian artist and placed in the cool white space of an Austrian house of worship, being heard by an itinerant American—art and faith crossing boundaries and centuries