Green, green, how I'm through with green. (pace Lorca!) This feature is a glorified short bloated with sylvan colors -- decorative, repetitive and interchangeable. Its perception of the artist and the act of creation is impressionistic, not piercing enough, not insightful as it is mystificatory. I prefer Clouzot's The Mystery of Picasso and Erice's The Quince Tree Sun any day.
Soporific. You could hear people snoring all over the theater. And a film with no words should at least have good photography. The photography is poor, and the film isn't at all surreal or experimental, unless you think a rock floating in the air is great art. Based on the work of an uninspired artist. We see him scratching charcoal. I must have fallen asleep during the part where all the furniture got repossessed..