I look at the curtains in front of the window in my bedroom. They are white with brown horizontal stripes that recur at regular intervals. There are no variations. It is a repetition, a rhythm with brown beats. It is a fairly slow melody, though with clear beats.

My duvet cover, however, is a flow without beats. It is also striped, though in several colors and thicknesses. It is almost as if there are only variations and no repetition. And the shirt hanging in the wardrobe is like a drum roll – you can hardly differentiate the stripes from each other. They move so fast that they merge into a whole.