Sherwood Forest
A couple of years ago, I was sent to film the opening of some trade exhibition at the WVC.
People from the morning a little, everything is boring and unromantic. Each company occupies a corner of three to three meters, between them are partitions.
I go along with them and think: why get stuck?
I look at the computer department, some strange agitation. Man Five looks at the ordinary, gray system block standing on the table.
No, not the usual.
He has a small bunch of multi-colored plastic plates from the barrel, and on the other hand, some sting came out... In the opposite partition of the store, a fine hole, with a diameter of a small coin, appeared. At a neighboring firm, the same hole was made in a beautiful portrait of the family (hole, oil), and opposite in the portrait of the naked (also canvas, oil) I go on. The following merchants had a hole in the mirror door of the built-in closet. Their neighbors looked at the hole in the nork coat hanging on the hangar. There was clearly a secret connection between all these holes. But what...? Finally, I came to the final point of the exhibition, or rather the initial one. In this section, the hole was in a large apple lying on Voltaire’s head. It smells of valerian. Two funny police officers filled the protocol with fun. Nearby wicked men and women passed from foot to foot, crossing their hands on their chest and playing with whiplashes. In the center of the composition was a lean girl, and on her knees was a disproportionately large, death-smelling arbalet with an optical target. Inscription on the wall in Gothic style:
“The Robingwood. Elit arbalets from world producers.
Thank God, the holes were only where I listed.