Decked head to toe in silver and standing semi-nude on a pedestal, Roy Payamal contorts his body in slow motion to the music of AC/DC. One moment, he is still — is he even breathing? The next, his mouth gapes open, emitting a silent roar.
The 52-year-old conveys the impression that he’s from another planet. His message is encrypted, hard to understand. Does he bring us post-apocalyptic cautionary tales? Is he inciting us to riot? He seems to be at once grieving and partying. It is a heretic, disconcerting sight. Some passers-by avert their gaze, others walk away in a hurry.