An empty space. A flat?
A single fridge.
Three people. A. B. C. A meeting. The same meeting again and again. A mysterious void. A routinely handshake and a desire to connect but with no luck. A deterioration of the self. What are the details of this meeting? How does the brain remember it? Do they create something new every time they're trying to remember a memory by taking small particles of the past connecting them to the present? What are the memories that preserve their identity and who they are?
Who are A, B and C in relation to themselves, to each other and to the world?
Is there any self left? Is this limiting and repetitive routine erasing any personal trait into its eventual extinction? Is the individual that once had a back story, dreams, memories, becoming a machine with no sense of self, belonging, roots? One sure thing is that there is only a fridge shedding light to the here and now that seems a fresh start, but it is meant to swallow all the freshness to eventually make you forget.
“Such a crucial part of the UK theatre ecology… Developing artists and audiences”
The Guardian
