There is nothing whatever natural about the withered figure which floats in surreal defiance of gravity while virtually frozen in a grotesque allusion to the rigor of a tightly boxed corpse. His emaciated features seem to simultaneously sneer and smile in sour regard for his surroundings while his formal coat and stockings were in fashion too long ago. His knobby fingers end in talons, and razor sharp teeth protrude from behind thin lips. His eyes move so slowly that their movement is all but imperceptible, but their glance is always punctual. You sense that his stillness is neither apathy nor torpor — indeed, a scathingly present malevolence lances from his awareness to pin you down for vivisection.