THE NON-VISUAL AS AN EXPERIENCE I began having fantasies of losing sight as I felt so free walking around in darkness, the moment I opened my eyes my moves were jagged and seeing, acknowledging and assessing felt like so much of an effort. I just wanted to be and float again, blindly… trusting. Not in what I see but what I feel.
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CRICKETING CREATURES
There was a girl that disappeared into the forest. She could not stand the sounds of the roads and the chatter of the people. So she went deep into the woods and layed down on the ground. She let the leaves and soil take her, closed her eyes and lied there for a while. She fell asleep but soon was woken up by a cricketing sound, she tried to open her eyes but all she could see was green and brown. Feeling with her palms she counted four distinct steps that lead through sand and so she followed the four legged cricketing creatures. She followed them to the place so great and vast that the green and brown turned to blue and she saw the tall figures of the cricketing creatures now standing still and with no sound, looking with an awe at the sea. The girl with her new sense of sight could only hear a susurrant beckoning, so went closer and dissolved into the sea.
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Today I lost a little note that I found awfully strange. ‘Become the best writer.’ author unknown. Me? No. I’m a voyeur, forever obsessed with the vision, the image, the looking, the ways of it. I’m an observer. Alone, always watching, expressing myself in images, colours and cave drawings. An Analfabet. Silly. Silly girl. That gives her emotions get over her reason, with no literary ability. I cried over losing that piece of paper. Yet it freed me, allowed me to do all this.
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Circles Green circles There is not much else they do but spin Spin round a bigger green circle Round the circles are zębatki Which get stuck when you touch them Put a finger in between them That would definitely make you scream
Zębatki twojej matki The toothy parts of your brain Can bite your finger off
Be careful! They will make your finger green and then it will fall o f f Toothy parts of your brain of your ma tk i What a nonsense How to turn it around? Slow green zębatki Less green maybe? Maybe seledine? And green? No. you have enough of green!
so loudly
From the top of your lungs From the top of a mountain Where you are born And where you die Let them spin Don’t put your finger in zębatki Maybe they have their own matki? Mothers that make them spin like that And not the way they want to spin at all
Red then and blue. Red of the morning sky And blue of the veins seen through your skin You see you don’t have to be one thing You can play on the wheels like on a tambourine Like plates you can put food on and lick them clean Do you know what I mean? Not all your days have to be green Or seledine Or seen the others make them seem They can go through the hues of white, orange, blue and tangerine
What would happen if they started to spin the other way than before? I don’t know But don’t try to change it It will hurt you You will scream from the top of the mountains lungs that are yours Your zębatki Not your matki are zębatki Zębatki, nie matki Mother language Mother tongue Flaps about repeats those words Tell me what for? What if you change the way of your zębatki not according to your matki? Can you break from the words of your own tongue? Or break into it away from your matki? ...wait Slow down… Slowing are also zębatki Are they going to move again? I don’t think so so so so so
And blue again but like the sea you’d like to swim in, like an orange that tastes different to a tangerine with the nuances even in between the boring green It’s a win win Between green and green Can be a little of seledine And that’s enough to make it less green
They are stuck so
so…
Don’t make yourself feel mean
what now?
if you again make yourself think of green
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Thoughts stole my being again
I was a person…
I’m sure It was a room, with a chair in it
- For me here, but… not like this one I want to stay where I care,
Hope and look for pleasure.
you’re really yourself if a creative part of you will have
a discrete smile of a cat always glad to meet you
and share the way
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Can organising be a creative act? I’m at my parents’ and only a few days in I got myself on the floor with all the pictures from my childhood spread around me, trying to organise them into albums. What a neurotic act, uncomfortable with the feeling of the past. Not sure if by organising them I was trying to fix it but it felt painfully broken.
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visually overstimulated
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IN THE MIDST OF THE VISUAL I SPELLED MY NAME WRONG AND PAINTED MY HAIR GREEN
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we live in the age of cynical care
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Mrs. Inspector,………………inspecting my life…………………………………………..………….….. Life that is not serious enough to grant me stay on this land………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… Oh no, yes, I can stay…………. of course………………………………………………………………… but without a person I choose to love……………………………………………………………………. Shall I con and conform to stay on your land.……………………….……………..…………………..or………………………………………………… Travel to another one………………………………………………………………………………………… That I don’t treat myself seriously in…………………………………………………………………….. Where I serve them drinks and tell them about my dreams………………………………………. And they will pay me in high amounts……………………..…………………………………….…….. but these amounts amount to me more here………………………………………………………….. ………………………………………………………………………………….Because I feel like I belong ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… Should I be serious like you Mrs. Inspector?....................................................How serious would you like me to be?........................................................................................................................................................ Taking the reasoning over my feelings…………………………………………………………………. My should and my shouldn'ts’ set by the others……………………………………………………… My easy routes…………………………………………………………………………………………………. Teaching robots speak so no one has to deal with people like me………………………………. That's the easier route……………………………………………………………………………………….. Also……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….. To call you a bitch…………………………………….…………………………………………………………………………. And do it only when people are looking at me………….……………………………………………. But I can’t………………………………………………………….……………………………………………. Trully……………………………………………………………………………………………………………… Because I do want to believe.……………………………..…………………………………………………………………………….. that you will…………………………………………………………………………………………………….. Sit down tonight in your flat……………………………………………………………………………….. Empty or filled with your family……………………………………………………………………………………………………………… And our short meeting will wash over you……………………………………………………………. Maybe you will think about me something other ………….…………………………………….that you told me………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….. Something that comes from underneath your ribs………………………………….……………………………………………………………………………… Mrs. Inspector, I hope you think of me kindly Maybe you’ll get an image of me in your sleep Because I’m struggling to believe that it only makes sense to me That I try my best to live true to me To this purpose and role I’m granting from myself to me But maybe it’s hard to see You said it all was so incomplete Well you could have granted it to me I don’t want to blame you for it because I struggle conforming even a bit I had a lot of hope and beauty of the moment I lived in And you took this away from me Symbolically, symbolically… I wouldn’t dare to say more than this But that’s how it felt to me 11
I woke up with a heavy heart today got on a train and behind the window saw a tree torn out with a root I thought to myself ‘They don’t even cut trees anymore, they rip them out from the ground with a root’ I saw a river standing still and inside the train guns and explosions What a day to wake up to To be born on To make yourself regretful over something trivial Maybe there is more but I can't see it behind my window
I’m sitting crooked, funny, uncomfortable Afraid that the man next to me is only pretending to be asleep In fact he is reading it Laughing to himself ‘What a useless little girl was born today’
Today Today is my birthday It is no secret but it’s hard to make it clear of all the other days And people wishing you it What do you think, To be my friend sleeping next to me? Happy You are making sounds But it never is but not much sense to me. Clear How I feel To be To be clear
Here
To disappear
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We are misinformed rebels but we have love we have passion and we will
create life for ourselves we want to live in
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This booklet was sparked by, and functions as a documentation for Creativity Unleashed! 2021 Erasmus+ Programme, Creative Challenge. All photos, graphics and text belong to Judyta Daria Potocka.
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