An unknown object, resting there on the table.
He was just passing by. By chance.
His eyes stop.
It’s strange.
It draws him in.
It’s beautiful.
He gets closer.
Toc, toc. A small sound. It makes him smile.
Then… a hesitation. One gesture too many.
CRACK.
Silence. Shock. Misery.
Well.
Child or adult, we learn. To respect. To repair.
But sometimes, we can’t.
Or perhaps… we rebuild differently.
Not just repair — rethink, reinvent.
A fragile balancing act between lucidity and denial, between falling and taking flight.
We try, we stumble, we start again.
We let ourselves be carried away.
And in the middle of it all — the objects. Silent, yet never neutral.
They carry our gestures, our tensions, our impulses.
They move us, transform us.
What seemed broken becomes a point of support.
What we thought inert comes alive, opens new paths.
They tell stories differently — and sometimes, better than we do
.
All of this unfolds beneath a circus tent we stand for: Free, universal, unclassifiable.
A space without prejudice, without borders between art forms —
where every clumsiness becomes substance, and every mistake, a new beginning.