On Samuel Beckett's The Image as conceived by Arthur Nauzyciel at FIAF Festival

There’s grass on the eighth floor covering the floor people lying on it not smoking it though it smells sweet real one man lying one woman standing facing one standing not facing us as Beckett’s short story projects onto the wall painted three shades of blue next to the wall that is windows looking into the changing sky magical pixie musician in green plays computer pipes motion sensors detecting the growth of the grass for a moment and for fifteen minutes the woman not facing faces and recites The short story en Francais high culture pretention with spit flying onto the grass dancer lying spastic showing off skill for fifteen minutes I imagine he is performing the way he would perform this piece another another or another until he becomes a dog and he’s good with his hand in his mouth barking his high spastic jumps I don’t care wasting my time he finishes and bows never coming together I am mad about the mud not even mud made to Beckett’s nine page short story made out of one long sentence called The Image.

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