More than symphonies, Daniel Keene, Australian writer born in 1955, likes quartets: the dialogue between instruments can as well be infinitely subtle and complex or light and joyful. The same goes for his theater. Scissors, paper, stone, one of his most intense dramatic poems, talks about real life without making it looks ordinary. Kevin, the unemployed stone-cutter, his wife, his daughter, his friend and a dog have faces as familiar and enigmatic than those of the statues in cathedrals porches. The stone-cutter, deprived from what gave sense to his life, even though he loves his family, sinks in an abyssal of questions, failing to understand his link to others and the world. The essence of Daniel Keene theater is nestled in this existential void, until now filled by professional activity. Daniel Jeanneteau and Marie-Christine Soma take part to this project with the same meticulousness they had used last year to reveal the poetry of August Stramm language in Fires, where they showed the underlying desires and drives of this writing. Daniel Keene’s play, far from any miserabilism, shows how a human being, when he’s bare, when his hands are empty, under an as much empty sky, struggles to stay up, and in a way does an act of creation, by creating himself.


