It happens that you are in a city having decided not to be in another, and it happens that on the first day of this lucky year you board a tram, enter one of the few open establishments, take a seat next to sisters who frequent the venue weekly, hang over the side of the balcony and watch a sad clown.  They say the first day works as a sort of spell on the other 364 days in the collection.  It seems fitting that a murderous, pathetic clown was singing himself ragged as this Santozeum agent thought about our first one-artist show – all burnt, lumbering, decaying, arresting, passionately emoting its own non-melodious cries into the ore-source of these island investigations.  We may laugh at the end or come back as the opera-loving twins.  Schedules and stages are set.

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