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A country road. A tree.
Evening.
Those are Samuel Beckett’s set directions for his play Waiting for Godot. He once said of his play that it was “written for small men locked in a big space.” In a square of only 800 pixels per side, Fernando creates a space so big that all people are made to feel small.
This is a setting that understands waiting. It doesn’t matter how massive the waiting area is—and this one is very large indeed—all waiting is done in a cocoon. All waiting is about the anticipated (or dreaded) coming of change. The less likely the change, the longer the wait.
We will be waiting here for a long time. Waiting right here. There’s so much here here that there’s no point in waiting anyplace else.
“Well?” Vladimir says at the end of the play. “Shall we go?” “Yes, let’s go,” Estragon replies. And Beckett himself gets the last word: They do not move. And neither will we.
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