Behold, the humble escape artist...

Moments after he was lowered into the infamous Chinese water torture cell the clock begins whether he is ready or not, and three minutes has he to escape his soaking entrapment, absent of breath. Should he fail, ridicule... Mockery... Sullied reputation... Refunds. And above all else, his life. This is no mere illusion, this is artistry. Not a gimmick, but a true stunt. For the escape artist, the passion for the escape is not in the admiration of the masses, but in the thrill of looming death. He has never felt more alive than in the face of doom. Spectators or no, this is his time. There will be no mockery at his failure, but only silence, for he would sooner drown than surrender. His assistants have been instructed not to unlock the device and pull him out a moment before the clock was up under any circumstances, but also to leave him submerged unless he gave a help signal after the time was up, or fell unconscious. And he would not give it anyway, all the better to him if something took him by surprise. To hang above a safety net would be to rob him of his own dangerous thrills, for he lives only to dance with death. This is his gift, this is his curse. He lives each moment looking for a chance to tease the devil and temp his fate before a live audience. He is an escape artist. But his greatest act? Not escaping chains repeatedly. No, but escaping the drudgery of an average life, a meager existence, a grand escape where his only true audience is himself. For to live a quiet, stagnant existence is death. Only as his life begins to slip away does he truly feel alive. This is the spirit of the escape artist, the man who weaves his canvas from the threads of his own life, who's thrill of his plight becomes a thrill of our own.
Time ticks by, second by second on the big showy clock facing the audience, chains rattle and bubble more fiercely every minute... Time's almost up. The audience grows tense, children squeeze their parents' hands and lone spectators cup their hands to their mouths and pick at their nails. Chains finally give way and sink to the bottom of the tank. But the clock has just struck 3 minutes. No signal given. The world around him fades away as now he has only his prison of water and canvas. Will he come out of this to escape again? Or has the devil come to collect his due at last? Wait and see, the escapist may have one last trick up his sleeve yet. This final terrifying struggle is what he lives for after all. He is not dying... Right now, he is more alive than any of us.

Close-up version: http://sta.sh/01ea9lggsnh9