Floating Gardens series of performances marking the opening of the exhibition in Fiskars involved a potted man in his underwear smoking.
A small crowd gathered around Fake Finn Tomasz Szrama as he sat at a red table in someone's garden playing a cigarette-stuffed smoking harmonica. Watching him play was painful enough, and I can't imagine how distasteful it must have been to breathe in the smoke from seven lit cigarettes at once. Regardless, Tomasz played for some time withstanding his inability to breathe for what seemed an eternity. Gasping for breath, he finally stopped. Someone in the audience removed the table, revealing Tomasz in his khaki underwear, partially buried and planted in a terracotta pot. If things weren't already slightly surreal, they were now. Two nearby men picked up Tomasz, carried him to a nearby bridge and then dropped him into the river below where he again smoked, this time from a glass as he went under the cool-climate water. And that was it, performance over. What was it about? Futility, or perhaps our rather masterful ability to oppose common sense?