Every January a man arrives at an abandoned fisherman's wharf in the Adriatic Sea, spending weeks to drop a metal box into the water. In February, he sits for hours, headphones on his head.
Scyllarides, deep-water lobsters, are hard-shelled and clawless, subsisting on mussels and being hunted by triggerfish. Every year, the second full moon kicks off their engagement in two-hour activities, during which they bite and consume one another, vigorously alive. Through imaginary lens, one is breaking two of the six segments on another's head; a few others are motionless from lost segments on the thorax. In the background, roughly two thousand broken bodies are orchestrating, scraping shells, and chewing one another's protein-rich meat - without screaming. There are also sounds flowing underwater.
The Symphony of Scyllarides has always been improvised and never recorded.
To human eyes, the full moon seems forever for 3 days, though it's but a moment, exact to the second. In Croatia, in 1900, it arrived at precisely 14:12:46 on February 14th.
"Do you know how rare this is?"
This man responds: "Yes, I think someone needs me to listen.”
On this February 24th, no one disturbs his afternoon with his Symphony of Scyllarides.
The Symphony of Scyllarides has always been improvised and never recorded.
To human eyes, the full moon seems forever for 3 days, though it's but a moment, exact to the second. In Croatia, in 1900, it arrived at precisely 14:12:46 on February 14th.
"Do you know how rare this is?"
This man responds: "Yes, I think someone needs me to listen.”
On this February 24th, no one disturbs his afternoon with his Symphony of Scyllarides.