By Maxim Zmeyev
A fence, four meters high. Three things: the artist, a knife and an ear. Outside, 2 degrees Celsius. One second– and a stream of blood, obeying the universal law of gravity, flows down, adding a new color to the picture. The artist, completely naked, will spend the next two hours with a knife in his right hand and a cut-off earlobe in the left. He doesn’t blink, or perhaps I cannot see it. He is silent. He looks, but he doesn’t see. He’s frozen and only the cold air that hits him, shakes him, gives him shivers, brings out a man in him and not a Roman statue that materialized on the wall enclosing the Serbsky State Scientific Center for Social and Forensic Psychiatry. And of course, the blood, still flowing and which I will later see on his leg and his buttocks. A passing pigeon sits briefly next to him, taking a part in the protest – the artist and the wall become one.