Right next to them – swinging to the rhythm of the movements, awkwardly large “wings” of the ear-flap hats, mirroring the excessively long shoes.

Worn-out green coats, red noses, plum-shaped and droopy, bewildered faces, looking all alike in their perpetual daze. Gigantic flies, knocking down whatever happened to be in their way; heaps paper snow and an all-consuming snowstorm that no one will escape. In the center of it all – a melancholic and yet funny, a touching and tender little man in a yellow jumpsuit – like a tiny dot of warmth lost in the abyss of the universe – Slava Polunin, one of today’s most known clowns…

And yet once more – there are violins and bows, scores and codas… A step away are some more red noses, oversized telephones and three-meter-large air balloons bouncing around the audience. All of this comes together to be in one show, on the same stage. Classical music and clownery meet here like a white and a red clown meet in a traditional clown act: white clown stands for the beautiful and magnificent, red clown embodies funny and clumsy. But, unlike the traditional exchanges between white clown and red clown, in this show they share a common space – a space of poetry and sincerity.

The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane. Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then she continued her way. On her way she met a copy.