Malcolm Hamilton's new play, Still Life, which had its premiere in Sligo on Tuesday night, is ostensibly about the life of the painter George Braque. He is depicted with his wife Marcelle and four of their close friends: Pablo Picasso, Eva Gouel, Guillaume Apollinaire and Marie Laurencin.

Marcelle is in fact the main character, and it is through her memories that they all are most clearly seen. Braque was severely wounded during the first World War, but lived and worked on for many years, dying in 1963. As the characters narrate memories of their relationships with him, something of the artist comes through - but as much less than a dramatic biography.

The treatment, too - the director is Niall Henry - is anything but realistic. The actors are, as indicated, given pieces of narration rather then dialogue, which minimises communication between them, an anti-dramatic device. They move in sub-balletic mode, as if under water, gliding and twisting, using table and chairs as vehicles. There is continuous music, and literally obscure slides are projected against a white background.

The question soon arises: what is the author seeking to create here? His prose is lyrical, not realistic as speech, and sometimes hard to follow for specific meaning. The choreography is purely theatrical, a visual wooing of the audience. He has given none of his characters other than Marcelle any depth, and she is generally pitched on a distracted, querulous note.

The answer must, I think, lie in the title, and that Mr Hamilton has tried to pin down some essence of Braque - perhaps of any artist - and his creative vision. If that's it, I must confess that I found his journey into the interior a confused safari into a no-man's land of good intentions.

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