ABSTRACT
A postcard I received a couple of months ago from Alexander Verlag, my German publisher, shows Jerzy Grotowski sitting side by side with Peter Brook. There is a blank wall behind them. They are sitting on chairs that have been placed together, or perhaps they are wooden benches. As in the waiting room of a railway station. But where? At what station? A large, bulging knapsack is lying at their feet. To which of the two does it belong? Brook is wearing a black suit and a turtleneck sweater. His head is slightly bent over, his immense forehead sloping back into the almost bald dome of his skull, with tufts of hair only along the sides. Grotowski is also wearing a black suit, but he has on an unbuttoned shirt and trousers with suspenders. His bare feet are thrust into sandals. For one moment one might think that Vladimir and Estragon have met again and are waiting for a new Godot.
