At a private dinner in a Budapest living room, Kantor sings a tango and tears the sleeve from his shirt. A moustached man draws blood from his arm, which the artist then sprays across a white canvas. Occasional glimpses of the off-screen guests underline the lack of privacy signified by the violated body. Europe es podrida y America es aburrida. All is clear, all is confused. For Kantor, confusion represents the psychological ideal of existence.
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