The moral self-assurance of fairy tales is lost in the depths of the dark forest haunted by Manuel Knapp with his projection and recording equipment. He casts filigree white light, the strange calligraphic signals of a digital abstraction, into the existential darkness of a wintry forest landscape under a new moon; and by flashing a kind of writing on branches and tree trunks, he creates a cryptic choreography, a game of concealing and revealing.
