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Jet of Blood

by Antonin Artaud(1925)

Opening Night: May 15th 2014

Venue: Aberystwyth Arts Centre (studio)

Photographs © Claire Waterfield of Grey Feather Photography

Production Notes

Artaud led a tragic life in and out of mental institutions, addicted to drugs and suffering from acute depression. He died young and unfulfilled - his work was not recognised during his lifetime. It wasn't until 1964 when Peter Brook staged the 'Theatre of Cruelty' season that critics acknowledged his importance.

This is a challenging piece and I am not going to begin to say I know what was going on in Artaud's head.

As a company we have tried to follow a certain narrative structure - including some of the cast's own text.

Make of this piece what you will. Explanations of what is going on are not needed - and I am not convinced I could give them anyway! Enjoy!

- David Blumfield, May 2014

The company would like to thank:
All Arts Centre staff
Run Amok Theatre Company
Claire Waterfield
Maisie Baynham
First Year Text Workshop at TFTS

Cast and Company

Role or Job Name
Actor Roger Boyle
Actor Caroline Clark
Actor Alex Gilbey
Actor Adrian Jezierski
Actor Magdalena Mazur
Actor Dominika Obrebska
Actor Holly Payne-Strange
Actor Katherine Smith
Actor Eliška Šálková
Director David Blumfield
Stage Manager Katie Groves-Bond
Lighting and Audio Gemma Thompson
Visual Effects and Multimedia Gemma Thompson

Fabricated Fidelity, by Eliška Šálková

The stars came loose and began to fall;
heaven tore open its cloudy skies,
and let its frozen light merge with the blackest night.
The ground began to tremble and hell began to rise.

And just as I began to condense into myself,
conform to the feeling,
on the horizon,
the sun melted into the concrete ground,
giving birth to a silhouette,

There -
I saw my dislike.


In the burning sun,
a distant shadow,
a mere smear in my blind eye.

A cold chill buries deep inside my bones,
it grinds between my nerves and along my nervy spine:
slowly creeping beside my abandoned heart.

And as we stood together,
a-lone shadows,
on the edge of our consciousness-
you held my beating heart in a quenching grasp.

In pain my tear dropped to my feet.
I painted the deep depths of the merging skies and oceans:
the bursting pastel rays fighting annihilation,
spits of emptiness battling separation.
And just like dying flesh,
dust settled on the tip of your swollen lip.
In my soul -
my lust melted -
into the cracks,
buried deep inside my skin;
and with my brushstroke emotion twirled within.

My crippled cries echoed through the vacant universe...
but not in my dreams,
not even in my eroded mind,
can I touch the good that's vanishing inside.

And in that moment, lustre ignited my dream,
revived the existence within.
The vile -
sight condemns -
fabricates fidelity with fiction.
And at dusk, the lustre ravages -
drowning us with viciousness.

The beast within,
curls under my opaque breath.

It sweeps through the air like a shady dagger,
wounding my sight with its piercing harbour.

And I breathe again.
Once more,
the only thing I love -
- I kill.