POST SCRIPTUM - October 2019 - English version

ISSN 2633-1292

FICTION

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1/2019

PROSE POETRY

POETRY

VISUAL ARTS ARTICLES ARTWORK REPORTAGE

INTERVIEWS

REVIEWS

My message is that people should look around more often and notice the ones

who need help

- an Interview with Małgorzata Warda - an artist and a writer Ewa Ćwikła Marcin Kurcbuch Darek Marszałek Renata Słomkowska

TWO DAYS OF A WOMAN’S LIFE Renata Cygan, Jarosław Prusiński

a short story about a man who turned into a woman for two days.

OUR SPECIAL GUESTS:

Maja Borowicz HIMALAYAS Malgorzata Joanna NordyńskaWarda Maciej Siembieda Ewa C wikla “People should look around more often and notice the ones who need help”

Małgorzata Warda

I did a lot to not become an artist AN INTERVIEW WITH

MAJA BOROWICZ TWO DAYS OF A WOMAN’S LIFE Renata Cygan, Jarosław Prusiński

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IN THIS ISSUE 4 TWO DAYS OF A WOMAN’S LIFE

Renata Cygan and Jarosław Prusiński An interesting story about a man becoming a woman.

How is he movingin in this world?

10 Małgorzata Warda - an interview with the writer.

14 Piotr Jastrzębski - ABOUT THE FORGOTTEN ERA OF READING POETRY

18 Poems sent by readers 22 RECOMENDED: Marcin Kurcbuch 24 Festivals, rallies, poetic meetings VISUAL ARTS

28 Jarek Prusinski talkes to Maja Borowicz - an artist. a painter,

graphic designer. FLoating between magical and emotional realism.

38 The light of Rembrandt and Vermeer - a photographer Ewa Ćwikła

ENJOY !

interviewed by Agnieszka Biardzka.

46 DAREK MARSZAŁEK - a body as a piece of art (performance) MISCELLANEOUS

52 Joanna Nordyńska - HIMALAYAS 60 A conversation with Renata Słomkowska, a rockband manager the cover: MAJA BOROWICZ

GET IN TOUCH We welcome and value your comments and opinions on the magazine.

Feel free to email us:

pscriptum96@gmail.com

“A last thought about freedom” EDITORS: Jarosław Prusiński, Agnieszka Biardzka, Iwona Niezgoda, Renata Cygan, Robert Knapik.

Translations: Renata Cygan, Magdalena Lesiak Graphics: Renata Cygan fb:post scriptum e-mail: pscriptum.mag@gmail.com

TO READERS

E

mpires were rising and falling apart, and rulers got lost in the past. Nothing is permanent – neither honours, nor power, nor money, nor national borders. Memory erases.

The only thing left by extinct civilizations is Art. Art distinguishes us from millions of species inhabiting our planet (although there is a sea fish, which to get a partner creates beautiful rosettes at the bottom of the sea. This fish grinds in the modes of this beautiful reasoning, but we can pretend that there is no such fish at all.

And even if it exists, it is only an exception confirming the rule).

So, let’s start. Here we go. The first issue of the English-language edition beautifully appears. In this issue there are materials prepared by Polish editors of our magazine. The next issues will host more and more artists from around the world- not only from Poland or the UK, but also from other countries and other continents.

The magazine is paid symbolically, but paid, because we do not want to publish any sponsored adverts. We want to be honest with you. Please forgive this minor inconvenience, but you can’t make a magazine without money. We have costs: internet service, translations, proofreading, or even trips to artistic events.

We are very grateful for every penny or cent. It is thanks to you that we will be able to publish this magazine. It is thanks to you that many unknown and talented artists will be able to find their recipients. We need your support. You are the patrons of art. Thank you!

Now it’s timeTO to begin!

NOW IT’S TIME BEGIN! PS. If any of you would like to support us in any way – send interesting materials, tell us about an artistic event or an artist, cooperate on a non-regular or permanent basis – please contact us. You can also support us financially by paying a small amount to our account.

PS EDITORS SORT CODE: 309626 ACC Number: 57418160 POST SCRIPTUM

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TWO DAYS OF A WOMAN’S LIFE

Renata Cygan, Jarosław Renata Cygan, Jarosław Prusiński

July 15th

I

walk on these damn hills, and my legs bend in all possible and impossible ways. With all the concentration I am trying not to fall on my face. Jesus, girls, why do you do that to your feet? I feel like they are being squeezed in a vice. Women. And your constant desire to look beautiful and the irritation when one admires your beauty. You are so inconsistent, strange, indefinite. All wrong. Give you a compliment – a total disaster – the offence of the majesty of the Queen. Not saying anything – wrong again. You think we are being rude. How to talk to you? What about?

You want people to see the advantages of your brain, but you put all your effort into beautifying your looks. Read a book sometime! This would do more for your attractiveness than this filler, which just starts to melt on my face.

It’s not nice at all. You lose the unique features of your own physiognomy and change into mannequins. Wax puppets. In addition, it is disgusting when it comes to kiss-

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ing. It can put us off. I desire you, but I don’t like you. And I don’t understand you. You tend to be mean, aggressive, arrogant, lofty, inaccessible, distrusted. Guardians of own panties, which you fiercely defend against the enthusiasm of bearish guys but at the same time you are provoking with short skirts and revealed frontage. Women!

A big, shaggy dog jumps towards me with his teeth, but I defend myself with a purse. I’m waving it like a flail and finally get to the taxi. I place myself hurriedly on the back seat, with these hills, long legs (now I can see that it has not only advantages) and two-kilogram, fashionable bag.

Whew. I have been a woman for two minutes and already came close to death twice! I give the overweight, sweaty taxi driver the name of my hotel.

‘Of course, my queen’– The guy smiles sneakily and turns on the engine. I do not like this “queen”, but don’t com-

ment. I am very sweaty, and in addition, I feel moisture between my legs. I don’t know if women sweat there, or perhaps I got a period? I struggle with temptation to check it out with my finger. The taxi driver is staring at me in a rear-view mirror. I nervously check my bag. Women carry pads in their bags just in case, right? Now this is the “in case” scenario. I am still going through my bag constantly poking my breasts. For goodness sake – this is so uncomfortable! Ok, nice, but uncomfortable.

‘What sex do you want to choose?’ – a woman asked me during registration. ‘ I can choose?!’ – The woman pulls a face, as if a child had asked her the most obvious thing in the whole world.

I wanted to be a young, handsome guy so women would find me attractive. But why have the trouble if everything could be at hand? Maybe it would be better to be a lesbian? I am thinking …

I don’t know if I have a period. I don’t think my stomach hurts. But maybe it doesn’t have to hurt? My feet ache so much that I don’t feel my belly. I couldn’t find the pads.

And besides, how do you wear them? The wings are fixed to the skin or the panties? I try to recall the advertisements and after a while I’ve got it. To the panties! I discreetly lift the skirt (or is it a dress? I never know what’s what) and see the first problem. I don’t wear panties! I will need to buy them, but what size do I wear? Damn!

What are the sizes of women’s knickers?!

The taxi driver turns right, then right again. And again.

Makes a circle. He thinks I am an idiot? We stop at the hotel. Through the rear window I see the place he picked me from. He thinks I am a complete idiot! On the taximeter I see thirty-four zloty. – You don’t have to pay – he gives me a disgusting smile, handling over his business card.

‘I finish work at six. Maybe a coffee?’

Coffee at six, you idiot? I’ve been a woman for ten minutes and I have already become a feminist! Do women really come into contact with such guys? I guess I’m beginning to understand what my girlfriends spoke about. I look into his blurry eyes which are wandering around my thighs and décolletage. I feel almost raped in this damn, stuffy taxi. My girlfriends told me stories like that, but back then I just thought they exaggerated, talked rubbish and were simply double-minded. Because how can you want something and don’t want at the same time? To like sex and feel offended when guys want to give it to them?

‘You are a pretty piece of ass’ – the taxi driver vomited out the compliment – ‘I would … between those legs ... I’d make myself very comfortable between them...’

‘You wanted to have a shag for thirty-four zloty?’ – I hand him a hundred zloty with a poker face.

‘Usually I take a thousand’ – The smile is slowly dying on his lips. ‘Oh, you are one of those ...’ – He is trying to find the right word.

‘And you are one of those penny-pinchers, I see. Keep the change – maybe you will find something cheaper? Get yourself a drink on me.’ I also mention something about whores. And wonder if this was not too sexist. Naaah, after all I’m a woman now, I’m allowed! Now he knows that there will be no sex, so his attitude changes radically, he becomes very rude. I try to withdraw my cosmically long legs and a puzzley-sized butt from the taxi. He drives off before I have a chance to close the door. I hate such morons!

In the hotel room I take off my clothes. The irritation at the taxi driver falls on the floor together with my floral dress. I stand naked in front of the mirror and seem to float in the air. I am filled with joy. Women always overestimate the importance of their appearance. And for us guys, sometimes a little imperfect physique is more arousing. But this one is perfect, and it’s all mine! I look at my large, slightly saggy (mmmm) breasts, beautiful butt and smooth thighs. Before the procedure was finished, before they connected me to all the cables, and I started dreaming, I thought of this very moment; To strip naked and check how the female clitoris works. I’ve seen these effects many times: goose bumps all over the body, groaning from half-opened lips, sometimes screaming. And now I can check it all on myself. Wonderful! I put my fingers down and I feel... I feel that I don’t want to. I lost interest.

God damn! I can’t be bothered! I’ve become a female impotent! I need a shower. My good mood is washed out with sweat and all the dust from the street. I want to cry. Over my unwillingness to have sex and the fact that I treat myself like an object. After all, I have a soul for fuck sake! It is somewhere there, under my breasts. I guess I am crying. Don’t know for sure, because I’m still standing under the shower. Okay, I must pull myself together.

It’s probably a hormonal shock. I just stopped receiving subsequent doses of testosterone from the testes and got huge portion of oestrogen. I need to calm down. I stop the water, dry my body with the hotel towel, but my long hair is still wet. I need to buy a hairdryer. But actually, it doesn’t bother me at all. It’s hot anyway. I throw myself on the bed and try not to cry...

I’m going to the sea. I know that Matylda Krzemińska... – no, it’s Krzemieńska – spent the whole day on the beach. In two days Matylda will disappear, and her distraught family will report this fact to the police. On the eighteenth of July in the morning. A week has passed in the real world, but I’m not in the real world right now. I am dreaming along with few others under the control of some artificial, biological super-brain, to which we are all connected with neuro-conducts. Each of us hoping to dis-

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cover something useful for the police and get a fat bonus.

Each of us dreaming our own, independent dream. It is the fifteenth of July.

I can already feel the salted breeze and my mood improves dramatically. The closer to the sea, the more joyful I am.

I used to have a very good nose, like a dog, I could even sense the fertile days in a woman. But that was long ago.

Besides, now I have a different sense of smell, and it’s not mine. The forest is slowly ending, and I see an overwhelming blueness in the distance. I need to take advantage of the tree cover and do one more thing. The beach toi-toi is the last thing I would consider using. I squat down, pull my dress to the waist and pee. It’s not too successful, because some goes on my thigh. Lack of training. I will learn.

But fortunately, it doesn’t spoil my good mood. Something else interferes with my good mood. I don’t have any wipes! Guys don’t need them, so I didn’t think about it.

What a disaster! Shall I do this with a leaf? Again, I’m close to tears...

I lie on the sand with my eyes closed. I breathe in salty, moist air, and the hum of waves swing me to sleep. What bliss. Somewhere close I hear people fencing themselves in, as if they had paid for those few meters of the beach, as if the beach belonged to them. In the distance children scream, dogs bark. Someone is calling, somebody runs through my blanket with a kite. And it’s not a child, it’s an adult guy! I am slightly pissed off. The kite man throws me goo-goo eyes and runs away. A kid on the blanket next to me digs a hole, the sand particles end up on my breasts and belly. It could be really blissful if it weren’t for those people. Noisy, embarrassing, demanding. They want to have it all, they think they deserve it after a year working in a dirty factory. Now they are able to grab a piece of what they think is theirs to grab. They have fierce, grim faces. They are waiting for an excuse to explode, to unload the frustration they accumulated during a whole working year. However, the father of the hole digging kid doesn’t look at me with anger. Rather... Damn! I still forget that I am a woman. Surely the guy stares at my breasts with this ridiculous smile on his face. I’m starting to understand what my girlfriends spoke about. Guys tend to be so emmmm, randy. On the other hand, I can understand this, but why is he staring at me? Why not the other women! Anyway, this is ridiculous, I’m not gay. I move my eyes towards Matylda. She lies down as before. Like dead.

As soon as I think that, it makes me feel uncomfortable. I hope that in the real world, she is still alive and well. I look at the kid’s father. He is no longer staring. He is busy putting sun cream on his wife’s back and shouts at his little digger. The kid stops digging. Good, because if he did it for a bit longer, I’d be buried alive.

Someone is observing Matylda. Pretty handsome guy (did I really think that?) in orange shorts. He looks like a res-

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cuer from that stupid series with Pamela Anderson. He stands still and looks. I turn onto my belly to see better, but actually there is nothing to look at. The lifeguard spots me, gives me a smile and goes off. I guess I was smiling too! God! That’s disgusting. I feel a burst of anger. At myself, at the guy in orange shorts, and at my neighbour and his son, who likes to dig holes like a dog. I’m watching Matylda. I look at her slightly opened, nice, tanned thighs and feel a rush of lust. Fortunately, I’m still hetero. Though in these circumstances, I’m rather a lesbian. Anyway, I still like pussy. This thought makes me feel better. I close my eyes and give in to the noise of the sea. It’s good. Nothing is going to happen today. I am floating away…

July 16th In the morning they appeared again. They overruled me, overwhelmed, rotted, and squeezed like a wet cloth.

Dreams. Nightmarish, breath-taking, penetrating the deepest, most hidden corners of the subconscious. And this familiar fear. Fear for someone, about something, about the closest person, most valuable treasure. This dream comes back to me every now and again, usually when I am in a seeming consolation, when I am close to sorting out my life. Then they strike with double force. I mostly run away. I’m running, or rather trying to run, because even though I arrange my legs for running, my whole body stands still in one place. I’m extending my steps, I try to jump, I use my hands, I try to crawl, I start to move like a frightened animal. I’m like a cougar on a chain, caged lioness, a swallow with broken wings. I move a millimetre after millimetre, but the chasing enemy is right behind me… At this point, I usually wake up. This morning too. Despite the panic and fear, my sweated body and my heart pounding I really wanted to dream it to the end. I wanted to stop this image, to finally find out what’s happening next. But I was unsuccessful again. Again, I couldn’t find out who is so keen to capture me, who or what is luring on my life, health and soul. As always, I wake up before the alarm goes off. The ringing noise always stresses me. It is 7am, it’s warm, though still a bit crisp, but it already feels that it will be a hot day. I open my eyes, try to come back to reality. The memory of the sleep races slowly become blurred. First thought: I’m still a woman. I’m a woman. I repeat it again – I am a woman! With blood and bones, with all the attributes and randomness. I am an attractive woman; good looking and very feminine. I am a woman; a woman, a girl, a female, aware of her beauty and the power. I am surrounded by this mysterious aura; I know how to use what nature has given me in its extraordinary favour. It’s a great feeling. I have this astonishing power, it fills my body under all the expensive clothes I discovered in the hotel closet. It’s great. Doubts go away, now I only

think about the fact that I feel very sexy. And I thank the fate (?) that it gave me such a beautiful coating. Well, I could, after all, wake up in an unattractive woman’s body; with dry hair, bad skin and unshaved legs. I smile at my own thoughts. The nightmares disappeared.

I’m going to this beach, but differently. Not only because during the transformation I lost a good few pounds. I’m walking with love, as if the act of moving my legs alternately, was kind of a mission. As if my walking served a higher purpose. Kind of rocking-swinging steps. A dance or something similar to a dance. I must admit that I like this seemingly prosaic act. I mean it was prosaic, when I was a man. Now it has gained some magic. This situation makes me feel happy, I begin to arrange my feet on the sand, gently pull my toes, while admiring my perfect pedicure, hips slightly swinging, they become rounder, arms and hands co-play. My neck pulls up, my chin travels slightly upwards. I’m graceful, I feel like a butterfly. I’m light and airy.

A pleasantly delicate sea breeze plays with my fragrant hair, further enhancing this airiness. I smile. For the first time, with full consciousness I feel that I like being a woman. For quite surprising reasons, not because I have unlimited access to tits (I hate the word!), or the parts below (suddenly I have problems with obvious naming?). I hope I will not become too prudish.

I can’t keep up with my own brain, I have no idea what it hides under the skull (and soft, bright hair).

The thought of sex with a man is no longer disgusting, it is actually quite pleasant. I feel like dragging my hands through my body, from breasts to rocking hips. I don’t do that, but I feel a sensual pleasure at the thought. I’m very sensuous, I think of a silk kimono touching my tanned body. The word ‘sensualism’ has something sensual in it. Sounds like a caress, it’s like a blossoming rose, a velvet chocolate mousse on the palate. It’s a gentle brush, a swipe that wakes up hunger at the very moment of saying it. A dragonfly, sea breeze and a cloud. What the hell! If it goes on like that, I will start writing poems!

I wonder why this new situation feels so normal. Where did I get this knowledge of female world? Only yesterday I had problems with my long hair, my legs got tangled trapped in high hills, going to the toilet was full of puzzles and traps. And now, somehow my world has changed

dramatically. Suddenly everything became so clear; I discovered a new world that had been hidden from me, but it was always somewhere close, within the reach of my own hands. Déjà vu? Axis Mundi? I feel that I’ve been reworked. Maybe there are parallel worlds out there? Does that mean that I’m immortal? Am I a part of a multiverse suspended in space? Is there more of me? Me-women, me-men or even me-trees? Maybe these countless, alternative universes are inhabited by countless copies of me? Maybe here and now I am the best example of the fact that the sister universe, the third side of the page, is lurking right next to me? But that’s not relevant at this moment. I need to concentrate on here and now. I need to go back to the case, focus on observing Matylda. I walk confidently, already knowing where to find her – for a few last days she goes to one place, a little aloof, a bit away from other people, but not too far to be completely isolated.

I can see her already. I see this unpretentious young, fresh and perfect body. The body, that accelerate pulse in men, and make women jealous. I am not an exception.

Once again, I conclude that she is perfect. Perfect is everything in her – a firm body, a flat belly, a curvy buttock (without a gram of cellulite), not too large breasts, bright, shiny hair, proportional face. She is not a classic beauty; she doesn’t have this empty nothingness in her face like most models from magazines. Her facial features are a bit too sharp, enhanced by very dark eyebrows. The lips are a little too narrow, against the current fashion of “fish mouth” But in my opinion, they are beautiful. Everything in her is perfect. It drives me crazy. But I quickly fight this attack of jealousy, pull myself together, and with a stoic calm I occupy my piece of sand, from which I see perfectly my light-haired ward. I see the sea, the beer and ice-cream shop, and the main path along the dunes. I can keep an eye on everything. I unfold my towel, remove my tunic, fix my bra, tie my hair. Moisturising my body with a filter cream, I constantly observe Matylda.

The lifeguard from yesterday appears. He came out from nowhere, as if he lurked somewhere nearby. Was he waiting for me? Still deadly handsome and still incredibly delicious. He looks at me and this is not a good look. It’s not nice at all. Rather deadly. It’s kind of a lizard gaze. Although I turned my head away, I still feel the intensity of

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this look. Because this is not just an innocent sweeping with eyes, I feel like I am being undressed and touched.

And it’s not pleasant. There is some element of strangeness. My feeling is irrational, I cannot completely explain it, but I feel that something is definitely not right. Female intuition. I don’t believe it! I am really experiencing this!

So, this is the thing! This is the secret weapon, this unique, animal, undefined, irrational ability to sense things!

‘It’s nice of you, but unfortunately, I have plans for today.

I’ve got an appointment. Tomorrow and the day after too. I am busy till the end of the summer actually.’ I said this a bit too fast but have no energy to play nicey-nicey.

I am disappointed, angry at myself, feeling ashamed for my stupid thoughts and simply, I don’t want to waste my time. Then, I turn around lazily. The lifeguard throws one more lizardy look on my legs and embarks.

I look at him again. And once again, I see this impeccable body of a young, healthy, attractive male. And he is still staring, giving me goose bumps on the whole body, even my nipples hardened. But not pleasantly. Rather like two swords ready to attack. I feel anxious, and this is a concrete sign. Although everything is boiling inside me, I try to keep calm and think clearly. But what if I am wrong?

Maybe all this is just my imagination? It’s probably stress.

I’m too tense, need to relax a little. And why not to relax with him? Once again, I throw a look at this strong, beautifully sculpted male body. And suddenly I change my mind. And I am starting to think that it could be nice. After all he chose me, it was me who caught his attention, when around there are so many beautiful, eager and younger women. And he is delicious. And I am free. It could just be a coffee or a movie. All I want from him is some brain as I would not stand a cretin. A bit of intelligence, he doesn’t need to shine with erudition, nor to be a brilliant thinker. All I want is a nice, noncommittal conversation. It can even be about nothing. But it has to be interesting. And then we’ll go from there.

Matylda is lying on her belly, her bra is undone, her back is burned and very red. If an egg was broken on it, it would easily turn into an omelette. Through my head go thoughts that after such an intensive sunbathing, in ten years, this beautiful body will turn into a wrinkled prune. I smile internally, there is a gentle burst of satisfaction, but I quickly pull myself together. I am thinking about the last few hours. How did it happen that in such a short time I managed to possess most of the feminine mysteries? I’m moving very easily around in this world, I feel it intuitively, I did not have to take any lessons, I didn’t need any instructions, everything took place naturally, without too much shock. It’s a big bonus because I thought I would have to learn my life again.

I guess I fetched him with my thoughts. He walks towards me. Springily and confidently. This is a very beautiful walk, though a tad exaggerated, as if he played a part in a video.

I’m smiling to myself. Egoistically and with satisfaction. He sits down on the sand next to me. On his forearm I spot a tattoo – a blue anchor. This is probably the symbol of seafarers? Maybe he previously sailed on commercial or passenger ships? He could be a very interesting man.

‘And you are here all alone?’ – Well, that’s it! The air thinned, the hopes withed, the colours faded, the day got grey. A jerk, unfortunately... Stupid question from an idiot.

You can see that I am alone you moron. His attractiveness has faded in the blink of the eye. Gone with the wind. Too bad... Such a disappointment. Actually, it was not only about the stupid question, but also about the expression on his face. And these eyes of the dead fish. No! ‘Such a beautiful chick shouldn’t be alone’ – the lifeguard didn’t extinguish the smile on his lips, ‘I am finishing soon, coffee maybe? Or an ice-cream?’

Oh Jesus! Seriously? Again, I feel this stare of a lizard. I’ve got an impression that in a moment he will throw a rolled tongue at me, wet, sticky and slimy and then without a blink of an eye, he’ll eat me munching. Brrr!

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The only thing I cannot cope with are the toilet issues.

Stupid need for peeing grows into a serious problem.

Guys just need to find a secluded place (or not such secluded), and then just do it. A woman needs a clean loo, wipes, running water, soap, etc. Well, right now I am in the centre of such problem. As I said, the beach toi-toi is out of question. I could go into the sea, but the thought of it gives me chills. I imagine those wild crowds; hundreds, thousands of women, men and children entering the water mainly to cultivate urine tourism, human swarms splashing in this warm, common soup – brrrr! So, I am back to the woods behind the dunes. But I have to get ready: need to remember to bring my handbag, cover my clothes and cosmetics with a towel, take wipes. My bladder hurts. Why am I always waiting till the very last minute? As if the need for peeing would go away. I put my feet in the flip-flops and rush towards the woods.

A strong punch knocks me to the ground. I don’t understand what’s happening. Trying to get up, but I am tangled in the purse strap. I want to turn my head to see where it came from. My cheek pulsates, the hair stuck to my sweated face, I am trying to move it away and... there comes another punch. This time around the temple. My left eye feels like it’s going to explode. I cannot see who attacked me. It’s all happening behind my back. An arm is squeezing my neck. I am choking. I feel hot, accelerated breath on my neck. It smells of pickled cucumbers. The other hand goes on my thigh. It travels under my tunic: higher and higher. I still cannot see the attacker; all I see are trees and bushes in front of my eyes. Green. Careless.

Will this be the last image of my life? I spot a tattoo on the

attacker’s forearm. A blue anchor. I want to scream, but I can no longer bring out the voice, I cannot call for help, I desperately try to grasp some air...

the woods. But he waited patiently and finally got her.

On July the seventeenth. No matter why he did it. Maybe he just likes the suffering of women. Maybe he is a freak, a sociopath, sadist. He strangled an innocent girl.

Me. Bastard! charms and took a walk with him Matylda. to the woods, or maybe she

Now

just went there to pee? In any case,We he attacked her, and thenone by one. Still sleepy, beare leaving the room he buried her body in the sand. He waited a bit longer for her cause chemicals are yet circulating in our veins. We and did it the day later. He waited likethe a vulture.

Circulated They woke us up the day before the end of the mis- walk like zombies. I let her go before me in the dooraround her. It is possible that on the sixteenth of July she used sion. On July 17th, in the the beach real world, world,scared wayher andfrom our the eyeswoods. meet. But And this face! She is... She is toi-toi.in Orthis someone Matylda Krzemieńska vanished. were supposed he waitedWe patiently and finallytogot her. seventeenth. me!On It’sJuly the the feminine me, of course. I see it in her eyes. he didTestosterit. Maybe he just the suffering of She also understands it. I find out what happenedNo to matter her. I’mwhy in shock.

Eyes of likes undetermined colour. women.

Maybe he is a freak, a sociopath, sadist.

He strangled one rush feels like a kick in the testicles. I am bending. dreamed her dream and she dreamed mine. This is how an innocent girl. Matylda.

The policeman smiles with understanding.

His eyesMe. say,Bastard! gender conversion is done. It turns into a cross-sleep‘I know what you feel, dude.’ He opens his mouth but ing. The people behind us are trying to pass by. But says nothing about my testes. He looks at all the awak- we are still looking at each other with disbelief. I know e are leaving the room one by one. Still sleepy, because ened, who are equally stunned like His voiceare is loud what she right We now,walk because I know her body and theme. chemicals yet circulating in feels our veins. and powerful: like zombies. I let her gomind. before me in the doorway and our eyes meet. Eyes of undetermined colour. And this face!

‘The mission has finished!

23It’s wasthe found a slight crump SheMatylda is... Sheaged is me! feminineI am me,feeling of course.

I see it inin the lower abdomen, and dead in the woods, five hundred meters from the her eyes. She also understands it. I maybe dreamed hertingling dream between and she the legs. Pulsating, warm. even dreamed mine. is how gender conversion done. It my turns beach. She was raped and strangled.

WeThis already have a She probablyisguessed reaction. Hypersensitivity of a cross-sleeping.

The people behind us are trying to pass by. suspect who confessed into to the crime...’ the testicles, as if they were gently stroked by her hand But we are still looking at each other with disbelief. I know what around she feels right now, because got I knowsomewhere her body and mind.the prostate area. She got red, real‘Lifeguard!’ – I say spontaneously.

The policeman silent for a while, and then exchanged a look with a col- izing the same thing as I did. I don’t know what to say, my thoughts are running like crazy. Somehow, we need league. kill abdomen, the embarrassment am feeling a slight crump in thetolower and maybe with some conversation.

‘The details of the case musteven be kept secret at the the mo-legs.There tingling between Pulsating, warm. She probis an intimate bond that has been established beably guessed my reaction.

Hypersensitivity of the testicles, ment”, I hear hesitation in his voice, “For the sake of our tween us. That’s because of the mutual awareness of as if they were gently stroked by her somewhere around And there is no time. Mayinvestigation.’ thehand physiology of our bodies. the prostate area. She got red, realizing the same thing as I did. be three seconds, maybe five? When the seconds are know what to say, ‘Did he have a tattoo onI don’t his forearm?’, I asked, ‘a my bluethoughts are running like crazy. over, she will turn around and disappear. She probably Somehow, anchor?’ The cop cringes, as if he we got need a kicktoinkill thethe nu-embarrassment with some conhasthat a husband, or even a lover and a cat. I can versation. There is an intimate bond has beenchildren established cleus. Not everyone believes in “sleepers” and in those between us. That’s because of the mutual of the sense that awareness she wants and doesn’t want to talk to me. I new investigative methods.

This one doesn’t physiology of probably our bodies.

And there is no time.

Maybe three know this. and right now is experiencing cognitive dissonance. seconds,a maybe five?

When the seconds are over, she will turn around disappear.

She probably has a ifhusband, childrenstupid? or I know that I hit the right spot. and I even know where the What I did something Step forward and kiss even a lover and a cat.

I can sense that she wants and doesn’t body was, but I won’t tell him. It makes no sense. The her? The first and, perhaps, the last time? Touch her want to talk to me.

I know this. case is closed. This is the end.

I now understand why lips with my mouth? Feel her breath? No. I immediately the killer has attacked me, not Matylda. Heisenberg’s give up this idea. It would be very awkward. Everybody Uncertainty Principle. The test affects the object being has left. There is only us, two policemen and a lab womhat if I did something stupid? Step forward and kiss tested. I didn’t exist in the real world.

He The wanted an who us up,Touch injecting her? first Matyland, perhaps, thewoke last time? her something into our veins. da, not me and it was her who he attacked in the woods.

Some drug.

Like the one that we got to go to sleep. I lips with my mouth? Feel her breath? No. I immeMaybe she was smittendiately by his give charms and idea. took aIt walk up this would be verywe awkward.

Everybody know must leave.

One of the policemen clears his hasmaybe left. There is only two to policemen a lab who with him to the woods, or she just wentus,there throat,and giving uswoman the understanding that we should go woke us up, injecting something into our veins.

Some drug.

Like pee? In any case, he attacked her, and then he buried away. one that got for to go sleep. I know we must leave. One her body in the sand. Hethe waited a bit we longer hertoand of the policemen clears his throat, giving us the understanding did it the day later. He waited a vulture.

Circulated that welike should go away.

Then I feel her hand in mine. We go toI feelWe herdon’t handneed in mine. around her. It is possible that on the sixteenth of July gether through a glass door.

We say Then nothing. to. We go together through a glass door.

We say nothing.

We don’t need to. [PS] she used the beach toi-toi. Or someone scared her from

W I

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My message is that people should look

around more often and notice the ones who need help Which passion is closest to your heart? What motivates you and what calms you down?

Painting and sculpture both give me joy, but only whilst writing I know that I am doing something important. Of course, I do love to put colours on canvas, get my hands dirty with clay, or to figure out the person whilst drawing his or her portrait. Books, however, take me on a more unusual journey: I can be any of the characters I create, so that I live many stories, I speak on the most important issues to me and it absorbs me, makes me feel fulfilled.

When I look at your photos, I see a happy, confident, romantic optimist. Do you agree with this?

I am far from being the optimist and even further from the romantic (laughs). In my novels I work on difficult, emotional topics such as: kidnapping children, disappearance of loved ones, domestic violence or complicated love between father and daughter.

While working on such stories, I do a thorough research: I search for people who have similar experiences to the characters in my book, I work with the police, with psychologists. When talking to raped women or a boyfriend who lived in a violent home, it’s hard to be optimistic. Working with the police also opens my eyes to statistics on crimes and people dis-

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appearances in Poland. To keep my balance, I try to see beautiful things, I focus on them and I laugh a lot.

You run creative writing courses for beginners. Is it easy to guide the participants so that they can learn how to use words?

I come from a family of teachers, so I probably have it in my blood. My mother taught Latin, and my father was a tutor for troubled teens. Teaching creative writing is a great pleasure for me, I love to ignite students’ imagination, share my knowledge with them, turn their texts upside down and point out easier paths. When my advice leads to the creation of a good book or a story, I genuinely enjoy it.

I must admit that I closely follow your business page on Facebook and I am pleased to see that you run creative writing workshops in libraries. How do young people react to your actions?

Youth is fantastic. I already have experience working with teens, because I used to teach art in secondary school.

Even then I was able to inspire them to be more creative. At that time very creative projects were made during our classes. Young people do come to the workshops ready for action, with open minds. Often, however, they are

not convinced of their ideas or are embarrassed to talk about them in a group. I am working on making them aware that there is no such thing as ‘bad ideas’, they can all be good if we work them out well. It’s nice to watch shy people break open, and at the end of the class their eyes shine because they’ve created something really cool.

Do you like meetings with authors and book fairs, where you have direct contact with the reader?

I love them! Meetings with my readers give me energy to create and help me believe that I’m following the right path. I had a few moments in the past when I wondered if what I was doing made sense, and it was the readers who helped me making the right decisions. At the book fair, you know, there is less time to talk to everyone, but I have made friends with my readers that last to this day.

What makes you happy? What is happiness for you?

Happiness is my family, which thank God - is still intact. Happiness is travelling, which I try to do often, despite my very tight deadlines.

And my books, I love to write them, so it makes me happy to hear that the readers are waiting for them.

Do you have your life motto that you follow?

It will sound trivial: just do your job!

What are you trying to tell your readers? What message can they find in your books?

Each novel is on a different topic and each time is set in a different world.

I would definitely like to speak on behalf of traumatised children, people who have been through a lot, or those who are excluded from society. My message is that people should look around more often and notice the ones who need help. However, I do not want my novels to be hard to read, so I dress up my stories in the form of a novel or a thriller.

In what situations do you get inspired? Where do you get ideas from?

I get ideas from the first pages of

newspapers or from people I meet. It happened with the novel ‘’The One I Know’’, the story was born after I met a woman who was raped and decided not to tell anyone then. After many years it turned out that no one wanted to listen to her anymore. The novel ‘’The Girl from the Mountains’’, so warmly received by the readers, (I am currently writing the second part of it), tells about a kidnapped child. That novel was born in my head long ago, when I watched an interview with Natascha Kampusch, a girl who was kept captive by a kidnapper for many years. When I’m hooked on the topic, I have no problems getting inspiration.

Have you got a favourite place for writing or any habits in relation to your writing, e.g. drinking a cup of tea, playing background music, or you don’t mind?

It happened to me that the action scenes in the youth novel ‘’Five Seconds To Io’’ were created with loud

music in the background. However, I do prefer silence. Absolute silence. No radio, no background conversations and ... have mercy, my dear neighbours, I don’t really need any drilling either! (laughs).

A cup of coffee is essential. Plus a laptop, my favourite desk and ...

You love winter sports, right? You are great at skiing. Are there any other disciplines that interest you?

Oh, this year for the first time I tried skiing with my writer friend Maria Zaczyńska and it was a great experience! At the same time, I already know for sure that skiing is not my thing.

Hiking the mountains is something different - it’s a real pleasure. Recently, I was with my husband under the Olympus massif in Greece and I have to admit that the summit of Olympus, which we were not prepared to enter at the time, now is in my head instead of the charming Greek beaches.

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What does Małgorzata Warda dream about?

I want to achieve a peace of mind. From many things that bother me unnecessarily.

Do you plan any tours? Is there a chance you’ll visit Łódź, where I live?

I visited Łódź last year and I remember that those meetings were very nice. This year I will be wandering in Podlasie and the Pomorskie Voivodeship, I also plan to visit Kutno and Braniewo. There are more and more meetings planned so the year looks promising.

ic and dazzles. I remember my grandmother, wearing an apron, setting the festive table. Mum and dad in the kitchen – so young, younger than I am today. I remember my sister – then a teenager, I see myself hastily finishing a chapter of a book in a hundred-page notebook. And I see our home: candle lights, Christmas tree, the atmosphere of waiting, the faith that magic will make gifts appear under the Christmas tree. I hope my daughter will have similar memories of her childhood Christmases.

Thank you very much for the conversation and for your time. And I wish you, Małgorzata further successes in fulfilling all your passions. [EK]

If you had the opportunity to decide on your screening book, which one would you choose and why?

I would love to see ‘’The Girl From The Mountains’’ and the ‘’City Of Ice’’ on the big screen – these novels, in the opinion of many people, look like ready movie scripts.

My dream would also be filming ‘’Five Seconds To Io’’, but I do not know if in Poland we have the technology and money required for such a large filming project.

Tell me, please, what are you working on now? Maybe a Christmas book or a story?

At the end of October, my newest novel for children, ‘’Sylvia And The Planet Of Three Suns’’, which I wrote in cooperation with my eleven-year-old daughter, will be published. This is a very important thing for me and I look forward to it, especially since the novel addresses a difficult topic. In December, I hope to finish the second volume of ‘’The Girl From The Mountains’’ and send it out to the world. In the near future, a fairy tale for children will be released, illustrated by a talented artist, Asia Grudnik. It was ordered by Gdynia City Hall and the story is about a beautiful monument standing on Kaszubski’s Square.

Would you like to say a few words about your perfect Christmas? Which one would deserve the name and why?

I try to make every Christmas perfect, but the warmest Christmases were celebrated in my childhood. The world seen through the eyes of a child was full of mag-

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Ewelina Kwiatkowska who runs the blog Zaczytana Ewelka talked to the writer Małgorzata Warda

I would definitely like to speak on behalf of traumatised children, people who have been through a lot, or those who are excluded from society.

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13

ABOUT THE FORGOTTEN ERA OF

READING

It was so recent Piotr Jastrzębski Piotr Jastrzębski

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T

here was an ice age, post-glacial age, an old era, a new era, illiteracy, widespread reading and secondary illiteracy. Let’s imagine that a group of people are sitting at a table in a café, each with a nose in their books instead of a smartphone. Incredible, but not so long ago the world was just like that.

The book was put away during the conversation only because it was difficult to focus on reading and talking at the same time. If it was possible, it would not surprise us that tourists in Venice riding on gondola, instead of admiring the surroundings, are browsing Facebook. If you could simultaneously read a book and admire the architecture, such pictures would not be bizarre. Only instead of paper books, they are replaced by eBooks.

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Books are only half of the trouble, the world is dominated by gossip portals, where people read only the titles and base their opinions on them. Despite the fact that the content is completely different.

And when they are done with the world of celebrities, they go to Facebook or Instagram. Then they look up at the surroundings to choose the best place for selfies.

S

o, this is the era of selfie. Before that there was an era of wall units furniture. The apartments in the blocks were almost identical. The same floor plan, similar mentioned wall units, the difference was only in the series of books resting on the shelves. Some of them were only “Tigers”, “BKD” (Battles, Campaigns of the Commander), or History in a nutshell, plus detective stories from the Key or Dachshund series, but above all in the main place, necessarily behind the glass, four-volume PWN encyclopedia. And “Polish History” in countless volumes. In some apartments, however, the choice was much wider, and the quantity of books outnumbered those that are now in municipal public libraries. Those apartments were a paradise for bookworms. Their owners collected books for years, and getting each position had its own story. That’s probably why most owners decided to sign them. Borrowing books was a ritual, an excuse to stop by for tea and talk about neighbors and about the book.

It was possible to combine gossips with popular science literature, detective story or romance. But even where there were only Key series, or only “Tigers”,the owners really read them which is hard to believe. I know, I know it sounds stupid, but the average PRL man (who lived under the communist regime – translator’s note) had such broad general knowledge that he was able to talk on almost any topic without making too much factual mistakes.

T

he idea for this text were forgotten books from before 1990. That is, those published in the PRL, where some books were genuine pearls, and lowbrow literature also had its fans. Then the Harlequin romance

books time arrived, and then the revolutionary invention called the Internet killed even those short love affairs.

L

et’s go back to reading bandwagon. Once there was something like that. People visited each other and exchanged information about what is currently on top. That’s how I met Cortazar or Marquez. There was a trend for Latin-American literature at the time and those who did not know “Hopscotch” or “One Hundred Years of Solitude” were not very socially attractive. The basis of a good novel is in its atmosphere. If it evokes emotions such as nostalgia, joy, sadness, anger, gloom, it’s a good novel. If it brings laughter - it’s very good. But if it can take us to the depth of its content, puts us closer to the characters described, it’s perfect.

I

remember only some snapshots from my holidays when I was young. At the age of fifteen, it wasn’t particularly important to me where I was going to. All you needed was a fairly clean lake or a piece of beach and a kiosk where I could buy “Youth’s World” magazine and other newspapers. It was not easy, because magazines weren’t available everywhere, but if the local kiosk had them in stock, I immediately ‘set up a folder’ with them. Yes, they used to keep folders where the newsagent put away booked magazines.

Then there was “Together” and, of course, “Reporter’s Express” magazines. The last item was rare because of the editing cycle. In popular weeklies, books’ episodes were printed, and their content and level of articles beat those printed today, even Kąkolewski. Despite the magazines, where both columns and reportages, as I mentioned, were engaging and exciting just like modern films, there was always a book sitting next to it on my table. It was not just any book, a book specially selected for the circumstances.

So in the winter in Bieszczady Mountains I read “All the Brightness” of Stachura and “Next to Paradise” Hłaski; after returning to the city I choose Witkacy, but I sensed the falsehood of pre-war bohemia and fake exaltation.

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he only book of that time that exposed it to some extent was “The Last Bohemians” - I don’t remember the author.

n those autumn evenings I read, in fact I still read it occasionally, “Luny w Bieszczadach’’ by Jan Gerhard. It may seem ridiculous, why I read a book that I already know by heart? Or even ‘books’, because there are more items to which I return at least once a year, but more on that later. I don’t really know, there is one sentence, phrase, a thought, which in itself, taken out of context, does not have such firepower as when reading a book, i.e. entering the atmosphere to get lost and become an active participant instead of a passive reader. Like Alice in Wonderland, When I open the book, I go to another world and get angry at anyone who brings me back from

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there. Especially if it is “Bad” by Leopold Tyrmand, because I’m always there, ready for any threats, and full of adrenaline. So I can react impulsively before I realise that I am no longer at the kiosk of Juliusz Kolodent, waiting for the thugs with whom the tram driver is to kill the murders, but I am in my apartment and someone wants to tell me that he has a new smartphone application. How can you prevent me from waiting for the killers of Kuba Virus, a young journalist? I’m not a fan of detective stories as such, but the “Bad” mentioned above is a book that combines many genres, and its biggest advantage is that when I start reading it, I always get dressed appropriately for the weather and take a bat or other tool with me - of course in my imagination. The worst thing is when I find a fragment about how two friends open a gouda vodka bottle. I feel awkward as the third non-drinker. Similarly, reading Gerhard I put on shoes that are suitable for the mountain hiking, and with “All the Brightness” I buy cigarettes and tea. It’s a type of conscious schizophrenia that I also consciously feed. This is how books used to work. Pretty strong, isn’t it? Probably no game works so hard on the imagination.

I

only described a fraction of my favorite books from years ago. Although there were many more, they did not take my time and I did not read those at the expense of playing football, hiking in the mountains or long travels.

Every time I opened the book, I opened the door and I entered. Many times, I could not accept that they have an end. One would like it to last forever and the world contained in them waited for me until I came back from reality.

T

he PRL period was grey only for those who could not colour it with literature. Two public TV channels were not tempting us to watch a movie, so it was also a plus.

Now I will tell you something that you probably won’t believe me. During lessons, classes or whilst doing my homework, I wrapped the book I was reading in the cover of the textbook so that everyone was convinced that I was studying. It used to be this way, probably these times will never come back. However, I must honestly admit, that while writing this text I moved back in time mid-eighties for a while.

I

wish today’s young generation to experience such impressions which are now so difficult to recreate.

I won’t even mention reading books with a torch under the sheets or in the tent, because it’s time to start up the time machine and come back to send this text.

O

h, and such a conclusion: most of the books of that time, even the most thrilling ones, would not have a chance to appear on the publishing market today. It is a pity, and I really feel sorry for the modern generation. At least we do have some memories...[PJ]

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POETRY Organ donors *** The rooms we live in they change how many furnishings crushes you one night reposition in bed moving a point cloud outside the window your body taken into consideration by someone who rules here introduces order by blurring the traces after past hugs laughs and separations when the tongue bleeds and can’t say what kind a bird is and where it flies carried away by the wind

Barbara Gruszka-Zych translated by Andre Woz

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The pastor at the pulpit said on Sunday: We are not giving up ambitious plans We will buy a new instrument Everyone, without the risk of life loss can become an organ donor

Marek PorÄ…bka translated by Renata Cygan

***

I got from you Mother a few life verities and I spent a long time unravelling them and started to understand what it means to be a person and to have a beautiful life until you were in hospital when it turned out that a person can consist of a name and surname and a list of diseases and to be a person as long as the machinery of intensive care allows later you can have a nice funeral and be a snapshot in memories and you know what Mother? the flowers on your window-sill are blooming with health

Agnieszka Jarzębowska

translated by Marek Marciniak

Reverse Show me just one tear you tough man I asked

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let me know that it hurts moves makes happy makes sad harms you used to say: this is so difficult I now beg you show me dry eyes you tough man you say: this is so difficult

Wanda Dusia Stańczak translater by Renata Cygan

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I am I ama Troubadour a Troubadour I don’t havehave dreams about the the dead.

I don’t dreams about dead.

I don’t convoke them.

I don’t convoke them.

Let Let them hang in the clouds, as happy as white swans. them hang in the clouds, as happy as white swans.

Sometimes I am a troubadour.

Sometimes I am a troubadour.

In my sleepless brain In my sleepless brain I goIthrough the memories of those whowho are are gone. go through the memories of those gone.

Although trying to keep my dreams completely clear, Although trying to keep my dreams completely clear, The dead are always with me.

The dead are always with me.

Through sorrow to tears.

Through sorrow to tears.

I don’t dream about the perished. dream about the perished.

WhyI don’t to torment? to torment?

TheWhy emptiness is empty, see-through like a veil.

The emptiness empty, like a veil.

Nothing can fulfil it,islife goessee-through on like a mourner.

Nothing canthread fulfil it,you life cannot goes onstitch like athe mourner.

With a spider’s broken rail.

With a spider’s thread you cannot stitch the broken rail.

Renata Cygan translated

by Renata Cygan Renata Cygan

translated by Renata Cygan

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Lone Instrumentalist Ghouls sit quietly in the front row, Coldness rolls over, Drizzly weather, Scent of matthiola and lavender, The piano shines like precious stones, Lethargic lighting slowly blinks, And among sounds as soft as feathers, Sits a lone instrumentalist.

Some scary vampires, Ugly witchcrafts, And the ghosts dance in pantaloons.

The stressed musician licks his dry lips, Surrounded by the noise and laughs.

The sound gets tangled with the glee, The echo is wild, The hall is empty, But at the very end sits... she Nocturnes get louder calming the stress, The room gets lighter, her heart softens.

His eyes meet hers in deepest darkness, She is wearing hopes and a silk dress.

And when he sees her by the door, Suddenly feels so hugely blessed, ‘Cause he’s got someone to play for...

Renata Cygan translated by Jerry Umys and Renata Cygan

She the Emigrant Casting myself into corners of the world; The same wind blows, The same moon rises now and then.

I am floating in the midst of distant poles, Trying to settle down somewhere between them.

A shrunken globe reveals unclosed gates, Exotic languages don’t scare me (nor new places).

I collect colours, I absorb flavours, I read faces.

Sometimes suddenly wicked fears afresh arrive, Throwing grains of sand into my tired eyes, The sorrow grabs me, Grief is taking a well known path, And it rocks me side to side like a sinking boat.

The emptiness swells like a lump in my throat, To ascend the hills to cosy nests of storks.

Open spaces still distort the right directions, The bread smells so different, I am becoming huffy.

Growing fragile inside, Though the surface’s happy, Am I looking for enchanted dreams on crossroads?

Separated by few rivers rocks and borders, Love my place so much.

For everything, And nothing.

Renata Cygan

Translated by Jerry Umys and Renata Cygan

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POETRY

POETRY

RECOMMENDED

P

MARCIN KURCBUCH

In today’s poetic corner shines Marcin Korcbuch. I met Marcin in 2018, at a poetic meeting in Cracow – it was a promotional event of an anthology in which he participated. During the evening I listened to better and worse poems, but it was Marcin’s poetry, that straightened my back, touched me and intensified all senses. This was undoubtedly something else, another level, and it was a good thing. I congratulated him after the meeting, I said that he was the star of the evening and bought his latest volume “Spring Intensification”. Money well spent. Marcin Kurcbuch, despite his young age, already has his own style, extraordinary feeling for words, which he uses cleverly; he can play with them and is aware of their power. His poems touch a wide variety of issues, are full of lightness, maturity and empathy. He is not afraid of controversy, but although he likes using strong expressions, the final material is always very tasteful. Marcin, in his verses, clenches and releases, juggles and manipulates. He is chasing the bunny, to let him go into the woods. And that’s the point. I am looking for such things in poetry and I expect this from poets, and from artists in general. Nowadays, there is no certain fashion in poetry, there are no frameworks or trends, but unfortunately the overwhelming majority writes in the same manner, or at least very similarly. There is rarely a situation of sudden glare, a thunder or surprise. And in my opinion, that’s precisely what we have here. I can recommend Marcin’s poetry, because although he is still young, his writing is mature, thought through and has this special spark.

Undoubtedly, it is still evolving, so there is a lot of potential, and something to wait for. And am waiting for more.

Marcin Kurcbuch – a poet, Polish philologist, born in Łódź on 3/12/1990. He has written and published four books: Cleansing, I Am Watching, Operation Sky and Spring Intensification. A lover of psychology and its practical uses in life, leads his profile on Instagram. In addition, he is passionate about photography.

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Renata Cygan

Marcin Kurcbuch Universe My name is heaven I have everything that’s needed I am the moon and the sun Natalia Przy bysz I have a word so vast to fit all the planets In my eyes there is enough space to perceive every feeling and the stellar dust which remains after a human I have a head without borders flowing through it is the Milky Way I have implanted the sun and I love everyone with it

History uncensored Adam tempted Eve you know with his penis, with testicles ripening in the Sun she did with apples which were not so keen to jump into the basket.

mostly Earthlings. doesn’t matter that love burns because in six billion years I will breathe with the cold I will become a punitive God bloodthirsty at the birth of a star nothing will be beautiful but that’s fine After all, you – aesthetes of the pen lovers of movies art connoisseurs will be long gone

the fruit in the mouth melodies sound when they fall into the ear seducing and rocking is their paradise rocking is Adam on the womb of Eve rocking is Eve on Adam’s chest

when you smile

rocking is their paradise the Earth also swings nervously

when you smile the sun is rounding in me when I smile the tree in you is blooming faster

strange tangerines bloom with time to the garden another snake will head on wrapping the dreams with nectar.

share your smile give it to the city, village, bus top, the office let the bus not ride hungry

there is a temptation at some point loins and arrows. of crossbow straight into the heart.

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Festivals,poetic rallies, meet-

I am often asked, whether such gatherings of poets are useful, whether they serve a larger purpose (besides patting organizer’s and participant’s egos), whether they are needed at all. I personally think they are. At poetic festivals in Poland and abroad (often distant) I tend to be regularly.

Have been for a good few years now.

So, what do these meetings serve?

Primarily it’s about presenting poetry in a different geographic dimension, sharing it with people (because we do not create just for ourselves), to absorb some exotic air, to exchange good energy. For me, most important are always people; new contacts, precious acquaintances, unexpected friendships. Because this is not about reciting one’s own poetry, but about interactions and integrations. Indeed, such meetings also often result in further artistic cooperation – we translate poems into different languages, we publish common volumes of poetry, anthologies, etc. And yet another important and serious matter – promot-

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ing Polish poetry beyond the borders of our country. It sounds like a mission, but I think it really is a kind of mission.

I have known Rozalia Aleksandrova for many years. She has attended poetic festivals in London and Poland, our paths crossed here and there. I once received an invitation to the International Festival “Spirituality without Frontiers” in Plovdiv, Bulgaria. Spiritus Movens of this event is Rozalia.

Rozalia is an employee of the Medical University of Plovdiv and belongs to a dynamic group of quantum poets. Yes, yes, I was also surprised.

What is this quantum poetry creature? The process of shaping the idea of this poetic genre began in 2003, and in March 2006 an informal group called “Quantum and Friends” was formed. It focuses on poets, physicist, musicians and artists.

Quantum poetry, according to a very loose definition, is a poetry of the Spirit, poetry of angels, poetry of goodness, love and light. It is being born spontaneously at the very

moment of the author’s unity with the universe. Because the physical universe is made up of pure energy, which can be transformed into another form of energy or matter, without any loss during transformation.

The geographical place of the festival is not irrelevant, because Plovdiv has very interesting and rich history. This is one of the oldest cities in Europe (and some sources say that it’s the oldest), located among seven hills, and as we know, seven is a magical number. In addition - under the actual city, below the feet of passers-by, a few meters underground, there is an ancient city created by the Thracians, whose origins date back to six thousand years before Christ.

This fact adds to the atmosphere and energy of this place, as well as to the quantum poetry itself, and art in general. You can literally feel the power of the ancient times, at the intersection of the present and the antiquity, the power of the ancient history of the Thracians and ancient

Plovdiv 2019

spirit. Probably Spartacus came from Thrace, there are Thracians in Homer’s poetry as the people allied with the Trojans and related to them.

The inhabitants of Plovdiv cultivate the memory of the size of Thrace, and the Thracians who created the foundations for our Latin culture. In contact with ancient civilization, in Plovdiv we can touch the fragile remits of the ancient world. Add to this the narcotic aroma of linden and acacia, the stone streets of the old town, small cafes, roses bringing Bulgaria fame, and the friendly atmosphere, and the picture draws itself. In this environment, poetry is born, and in this environment, artists are formed and wading, magic is born there. On the curves of the sidewalks climb poems, the Sun smiles, pictures paint themselves, and cherries burst with sweetness.

In 2019, Plovdiv was awarded the title of European Capital of Culture in a duet with another thousand-year old town, Italian Matera. It also added some flavour and uniqueness to our poetic encounters.

Individual events of this year’s festival “Spirituality without Frontiers” took place in some magical places: Festival Gala in the Centre of Culture Trakart, full of treasures from thousands of years ago, an extraordinary concert by Mihaella Stoikova and Samuil Genev (Oh my god! The way he played guitar!), In Belozem – an astonishing mecca of artists owned by Ganu Ganev Ghandi. I will not even try to describe with words the magic of this place, you must be there to feel it on your own skin. In such entourage we read poems, stunned by the uniqueness of places full of history, pictures and music, we integrate with Bulgarian poets and artists, being welcomed with extraordinary hospitality.

I am glad I could be part of this unusual event. In this place I will you into a secret, because for me this year’s festival in Plovdiv was very special for one more reason – I received a beautiful statuette (created by a Plovdiv artist-sculptor Rangel Stoilow Bacho), the most important prize; Grand Prix of the festival “Spirituality Without Borders”. For my poems (which the quantum poets found to be quantum), translated into Bulgarian by Rozalia Aleksandrova and Teresa Moszczyńska-Lazarova (festival’s good Fairy), but also for many years of cooperation with preparations of the Festival Almanac. I designed covers and created illustrations. A great honour and a huge distinction.

My next poetic trips are festivals in India, Russia and Poland.

And next year, hopefully Plovdiv again, because there I get the Sun. Something to wait for, a reason to write new poems. [RC]

Spirituality without Frontiers

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Visual Arts 26 POST SCRIPTUM

VISUAL ARTS

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T

here was a man once, his name was Copernicus. It’s his example exam ple that shows us that sometimes, it actually is the

whole world that is wrong, and

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one person can

be right.

I did a lot to not become an

MAJA BOROWICZ

artist an Interview

M

aja Borowicz is a painter, graphic designer, and an artist. She paints using the oil technique in the surreal trend, bordering between magical and emotional realism. All her works are created through combining imagination, talent, and traditional craftsmanship. In addition to perfect craftsmanship, the viewers can see a deep mysticism and emotion in her works in her works, which creates an impression of their souls being taken on a journey through time and space, where they can experience the story of the characters depicted.

She has had many individual and collective exhibitions in Poland and abroad. She has received prizes in numerous international art competitions, including Art Revolution Taipei 2014 in Taiwan and Spectrum Miami 2018, USA. POST SCRIPTUM

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I must admit, it was very important to me to have you with us today. I carry images within me, which I try to paint with words. Some of your art pieces are what I carry in my heart and mind. You miraculously found those images and brought them to life. Please accept my sincere respect and admiration for your talent and sensitivity the nature gave you.

Thank you for the invitation and the appreciation. But I don’t think I have any special talents. Because what is talent? As you have written in the past, and I think very similarly – it’s a vector composed of small traits, such as patience, way of thinking, manual skills, and maybe the sensitivity you mentioned. My sensitivity is like a tsunami. It comes, slowly traversing the seas and oceans, gain speed and height, until they destroy everything in their way once they reach the shore. There’s no man-made dam that can stop a tsunami… And I don’t have one either. This sensitivity can be

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a gift and a curse. Those are the traits Nature gave me, but it’s the hostility of the world around me that caused it to manifest in such a way, and I’m not surprised that my works mirror what you carry in yourself. Fate has decided to throw us into a place that’s similar both culturally and historically.

I often experienced the works of artists from different corners from the world and I concluded that the creators from our own cultural circle have an exceptional sensitivity and a skill to creating symbols, figuring out and telling outstanding stories. The only problem is, we don’t really fall into the international trends with our unusual messages. Having said that, I say “it happens, I can’t do it differently, what can I do about the whole world being wrong...” There was a man once, his name was Copernicus. It’s his example that shows us that sometimes, it actually is the whole world that is wrong, and one person can be right.

I wouldn’t go that far with Copernicus. Even ancient Greeks and some

earlier civilizations knew the things Copernicus stated thousands of years later. Epicurus wrote in his letters to Herodotus (4 centuries before Christ) about the infinite universe. For our astronomer from Toruń, the universe started and ended with the Solar System. But it’s true, Copernicus had the courage to go against the mainstream that was in force at the time.

You received so many international prizes that it’s hard to list them all.

Which one of them would you say is the most important to you?

That’s right, it’s quite a bunch. The most important one is the one that made people see my works. That was Art Revolution Taipei, in Taiwan, 2014.

First time I have publicly shown what I paint, and to my surprise, people liked it. Up until then, I was convinced that I’m not creating anything great, everyone could think of it and paint it. That moment was unique, it turned my life 180 degrees. Earlier, I did a lot in order to never become an artist,

and people and events surrounding me cemented my view that being an artist isn’t a good way. Artists are peculiar, can’t deal with life, you need to have a steady job and build a family!

I wasted the better half of my life on that, and I got nothing out of it. From the perspective of time, I can say that I was going against Nature. Seeing main streets of multi-million Taipei decorated with flags with my painting on them, posters, billboards, people touched by my works, waiting in line for an autograph, I had to admit to myself that I am an artist. This was a huge twist in my life, one that gave me a feeling of freedom. I stopped trying to fit the norms, started asking difficult questions and rejecting things forced upon anyone by anyone. Additionally, I had a chance to experience the Taiwanese culture. It was such a

high culture that I was astounded. I admired that. It was like a breath of fresh ocean breeze – I suddenly understood, that my previous knowledge of the world is nothing. From then on, I started to meet completely different people than ever before in my life. I felt like a freshwater fish that has just been removed from a salty ocean and put into a Masurian lake.

On your website, you have written that Nature hasn’t given only given you good things. As it usually is with Nature, it can be nasty. What can you say about your condition?

Is Nature nasty? I wouldn’t say it like that. People can be nasty, not Nature.

Nature is… accidental, but its intentions are pure. Nature tries different forms and combinations to survive. A

conversation about my conditions and my life would take up a whole book. I won’t go on about every time I heard a diagnosis and how they influenced my life. Though that influence was extreme. One of the most important things I got from Nature is my hereditary gluten intolerance. However, because I was born in the dark backwards times, no one could diagnose it. So I got to know life from the side of hospitals, clinic, sanatoriums, pain and constant health problems. If we add times of socialism and changes after 1989 to that, meaning unskilled doctors that demanded money, hospitals and sanatoriums looking more like prisons than institutions created to save children lives – that’s how you get a scenario for a good film drama.

If it wasn’t for the fact that we’re talking about my life, maybe I would be

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happy to watch that film. Sometimes I laugh and say that I’m just another link of evolution between man and something that lies in the future. My organism treats gluten like arsenic, like a poison, even in trace amounts.

Most people don’t know that currently, gluten (that is, particles of wheat flour) is added to almost everything as an “improver”, e.g. cheese, jellies, juices, sausages, spices, etc. Therefore, I am forced to discard almost all products that can be found on supermarket shelves, so I will definitely not allow food companies to get me.

These days, when apparently every good is available, such restrictions teach you to be humble. I discovered that I eat to survive, not live to eat. I also discovered that equality and justice don’t exist. And that the only right and best way I to accept responsibility for yourself and your actions. My needs are so unusual and individual, that there is no welfare program that I could be bought with. I’m proud of that. I also know that it’s people (and not Nature) who put me through so many bad experiences and put so many weird labels on me that it’s hard to count them all. I spent most of my life in therapy, learning to look at the word through eyes of others. I took that to heart, often gaining admiration for my personality, as if I was the most normal person in the world, with whom everyone wants to be friends!

It always amuses me, because I don’t know anyone with a bigger mental healthcare baggage than myself.

A while ago, we talked about your way into professional painting not being the easiest. Have you ever tried to get any grants from the Ministry of Culture?

My way to painting professionally started rather early, when my application to an art high school was rejected. Then I understood that being an artist is more than just talent. It’s an art of fulfilling certain social roles, the ability to fit into certain frames. I also understood that I would not be part of this framework, and thus understood that I would never be an artist. Then I did everything not to become one.

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And I almost succeeded. Were it not for that one day in 2014 when recipients loved my paintings. And here is one of the things that I will never understand in society - many people give me support, they want to see my work, they want me to paint. But on the other hand, we’ve created a society system that rejects individuals like me. We are rejected using our hard-

earned taxes, which means we are our own sponsors. The fact that people are rejected, segregated and written off; this is incomprehensible to me, it just does not work! Yes. I have been looking for support in the system for my artistic activities many times. Especially when winning competitions or in contact with other artists and organizations. Both at the local and the

highest level (I mean the President of the Republic of Poland). Regardless of the awards, exhibitions and quality I create, I have never received support from any state institution dedicated to artistic activities, and there have been at least a dozen or so attempts.

This taught me that the only value is support from individuals and individual initiatives. For example, I have a

friendly Foundation called Your Heritage, which deals with the unique Polish Culture and which supports me whenever possible. I also have a growing group of collectors, gallery owners and recipients who also show me great support. In this way I understood that individual people are more important than the institutions that we are forced to sponsor through tax-

es. And I wish that in the future our money used to sponsor these institutions would remain in our pockets.

I believe in the wisdom and freedom of people. I believe that the recipients themselves know what they like, what they want to read and watch and do not need any top-down institutions to show them what they should admire and what they shouldn’t.

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Before I sit down to write, I often set up scenes in my head. They come to me by themselves, I just try to remember and describe them. How is it for you?

I think it’s similar, though I don’t need to describe them.

There is a theory concerning how every one of us sees the world. Some people “see” it with words, others through images, and others as a series of connected events, and others through what they hear, etc. I see everything as an image. When I feel anger, I see an image in my head. For example when I see the written word: “horse”, I immediately see a picture of a horse in my head – without that, the word doesn’t mean anything. So my head is filled with images, my mind is filled with photos and illustrations for everything. As you say, they come on their own. But I don’t need to describe them anymore. What I have to do is get them out into the light through painting… and that’s when it clashes with reality, because I still consider my skills to weak to truly reflect what I see in my head. I think that you said something similar about your creations. I accept that with humility and I’m still learning how to improve.

In addition to traditional oil painting, you also try other techniques. What is Giclee?

Giclee is not a special technique. In a nutshell, it consists of reproducing the image on canvas with pigment paints using a suitable plotter. Artists use this method mostly to obtain limited series of prints of their paintings.

It’s primarily the business of specialized printing shops.

What occupied and occupies me among all traditional techniques were my most beloved pencil or ink sketches, oily pastels and acrylic airbrush painting, allowing for perfect tonal transitions. However, I had the pleasure of working on animated and feature films. This is the real space for new techniques! To work on films, I had to learn to use specialized tools such as: Wacom graphics tablet and complex programs for drawing, modeling, generating special effects, assembling and animating drawings in recordings, etc. The world of film and what is created there to delight the viewer is such an adventure! But to participate in it you need to have a huge imagination, see the images before they appear on the screen, have an experienced eye and an equally experienced hand, and know how to use specialized programs that only people from the industry know about. Now this is what you can call “another technique”.

There are painters who use their own blood or excrement in painting, to shock the viewer. What could Maja Borowicz do to shock? Is it worth it to choose that path? Art should shock, but should it do so at all costs?

I don’t think art should shock. I thought about that a lot (I always think about everything a lot, I analyze, and I think that’s the only proper approach to things) and I reached the conclusion that the role of art isn’t to shock. Its role is to speak about things that are important and relevant, to make the viewer stop for a while and think. The role

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of art is to play the most sensitive strings of the receiving person’s feelings so that they remember what they have read or watched, hopefully for the rest of their lives. In the times we live in, people think that we remember the shocking. So, everyone tries to shock: advertisements, headlines, so-called celebrities. So shocking is the set way that most people are used to. But the world keeps going forward. If you ask me, we need something more to truly touch human hearts and minds.

And as to “painting” with your own blood or excrement, that’s nothing out of the ordinary. People have been doing so for thousands of years, since prehistoric times, our planet is overfilling with blood spilled in one way or the other, similarly to our excrement. But our wise ancestors never had to call it art. On my way to my work I met several people who pointed me towards some things.

One of them is such truth: “Never create something that can be done by someone else and never create something that has been long created”. That’s what I steer myself with, because I can see that it’s worth something – why should I use my own blood to paint if anyone can do it, and people have done so for thousands of years?

There’s a lot of similar examples around the world. I try to stand on the sidelines and always ask myself the question: “Why is this person doing what they’re doing?” If a creator can only say one thing about their art, that they “want to be shocking”, that’s not an answer – that’s something a director of a cheap ad might say, but not from a creator that aspires to be among names such as Michelangelo or Leonardo da Vinci.

I don’t think

So, I don’t try to be shocking, I don’t aim to supply cheap entertainment. My thoughts and my life are too precious for me to be wasted on such things. I try to create a safe space for me and my viewers, one that we can use to live and discover the basic, but most important values in our lives.

There are ideas which I don’t let out into the daylight, for example the second part of the Sumerians story, that would show their approach to erotica in detail.

Do you have some sort of image in your head that you don’t have the courage to paint?

Yes, I do carry images with me that I haven’t painted, and I don’t know if I’ll ever paint. But it’s not a matter of courage, but of the fact that I haven’t yet found the best form to convey them. For example: I have images in my head that show difficult feelings of frustration or anger. But they’re banal. I have yet to find a way to show those feelings in a sophisticated, wise and non-obvious way. So, I’m far from painting them. It ties into our conversation just a moment ago – it’s not art to just splash some red blood onto the canvas when you feel frustrated in a given moment. Art is putting it in a form that will make viewers unable to take their eyes from the result, despite the dread they feel. So that, when they look at it, they can feel those hard feelings in a safe way. So that it doesn’t urge them to do wrong but that they see that they’re not alone in those feeling, that everyone has the right to feel and that there exists a safe space, an allowance to experience them in a beautiful way, without hurt, without shock and without being offensive. I

art

think it’s a very difficult challenge, because our times don’t allow for rebellion, anger, or aggression. And they’re normal, human feelings, that also need a space for expression.

We got lost in tolerating everything so much that we are ashamed of admitting difficult feelings, because we fear they might offend someone, and we’ll be socially branded.

Creating a beautiful safe harbor for such feelings and emotions of the viewer is a huge challenge for me, one I don’t know if I’ll be able to conquer. By the way, I wouldn’t consider erotics something abnormal, or something people don’t know, something that should be feared, quite the opposite.

Beautiful eroticism is art. Maybe art lies in threading the fine line between eroticism and just normal sex, and here I’ll agree that it can be a huge challenge for the creator.

Who is Mara Borowicz in her private life? I apologize, but our readers would kill me if I skipped this question.

What would you see in an ideal partner? Aside from the main requirement of toughness.

Heh! A great question, one I’ve been trying to answer… for the last 30 years or so. I think that my privacy only matters when it impacts my art. So, it matters a lot. There wouldn’t be paintings without my private experiences.

Every day, I’m just a normal human being, but one that fails to fit the social norms. Through most of my life, I attempted being normal, to fit into groups, institutions, do full time job, have friends, a house, a family, etc. But that road only led to despair and breakdowns. For a long time I couldn’t understand why I’m trying so hard and nothing

should shock

works out. And one day, just after winning that competition in Taiwan, I thought that maybe I’m simply not normal and that’s why normal doesn’t work out. Simple as that.

When I let those thoughts in, it just so happened that I met my husband, who is undoubtedly (horror!) an artist, and an exceptional person that can understand me like none other. He’s my ideal and my best friend. He doesn’t require me to be a mother, a cook, a maid, beautiful, or normal. And whenever I need, he patiently explains everything I don’t understand. I never required him to be “tough”, and as an experienced man, he carries a lot of scars within himself, exactly like the characters I paint.

How long does it take you to paint something? Does it depend on the motivation, or do you simply have it in your blood, and you can paint wonders like the one on the side here even in the middle of the night? I heard that customers might wait a long time for one of your paintings.

“Motivation is a sudden feeling of inspiration and an urge to create something” - following that definition, it’s different for me. Of course, as a child I always had the urge to draw.

It did come suddenly, I painted and drew everything, with different methods: people, animals, still life, flowers, architecture, etc. It was the worst while in school, during class, because drawing completely cut me off from the surroundings, always and everywhere. I couldn’t control it. But with time, I started to prioritize and build a hierarchy of things that are more and less important. I taught myself to analyze, to make conscious choices, and take responsibility for such choices. Which, in part, let me create a sort of system that allows me to verify what I should spend time on painting.

I carry images in my mind that I look at, I analyze their emotions and message. I judge them strictly – do they have enough value to show them to the world? If the answer is “yes”, I calmly accept the role of a craftswoman that works day after day, creating an image of an artist’s mind. And, as this craftswoman, I need to sleep at night in order to work at day. One painting takes from 4 to 8 weeks, depending on the size, the theme, etc. It’s hard to find a compromise between the craftswoman and the artist that always yearns for perfections, despite lacking perfect work tools.

And if you got an order from, let’s say, Vatican City,

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would you paint a religious picture? Michelangelo wouldn’t have been famous if it wasn’t for sacred art. And many wonderful artists have been forgotten, because they wanted to be faithful to themselves only.

What’s your viewpoint on compromising between art and sponsoring? Would you create to appease a government, like for example Majakowski?

Haha! Certain sources told me, that I already created religious paintings. Which, obviously, shocked me slightly, because it was never my intention. But I humbly accept interpretations of the viewers. But I understand that through your question, you meant working as a commission artist, and not just religion. I generally try to avoid that. Usually, when I let my mind generate visions of what I want to paint, the work goes quicker and easier. But I also find time and space for a bit of compromise that the other side must agree to as well. Though maybe compromise isn’t the right word, because in a compromise, both sides sacrifice something, and both are unhappy with the result. There’s no place for that here. That’s why I would call it certain limits. I state what I can agree to within the limits of my painting, and the commissioner either agrees or doesn’t. Those are clear and fair rules. Limits don’t require anyone to sacrifice anything.

Would I create to appease authorities? (laughter) For me, it’s the individual people who count: art merchants, collectors, private initiatives, like the aforementioned foundation, who exchange their time and work for my images, give me living space, as well as all those people who want to hang my works on a wall or come to a gallery to see them. It’s those people who deserve my respect and every stroke of a brush on my paintings. But I can’t even appease them. I create in harmony with my own soul. The fact that sometimes I happen to conquer their hearts is just a happy bonus coincidence.

I think it’s more often than just “sometimes”, Maja.

Thank you for this conversation.

I thank you as well

[JP]

This interview with Maja Borowicz was conducted by Jarosław Prusiński

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Selected exhibitions and awards:

12.2018 - Exhibition and distinction, The best of the Show - Expo Spectrum Miami, USA; 05.2018 - Collective exhibition, J. Malczewski Museum in Radom, Poland; 04.2018 - 1st place in the international Artavita competition, USA; 12.2017 - Collective exhibition, European Parliament, Brussels, Belgium; 12.2017 - Palm Art Award 2017 - Certificate of Exellence, Germany; 09.2017 - “The Last Sparks of Hope” - 1st place in the Futurism category, “Counted time” - 1st place in the Surrealism category, American Art Award, “Sensitivity of destiny” - 2nd place in the Male category, American Art Award, Hollywood, USA; 07.2017 - “Counted time” - 3rd place in the “Femininity” international art competition, Toronto, Canada; 09.2016 - Individual exhibition, Fantasy Festival of the Fortress in Giżycko, Poland; 06.2016 - Individual exhibition, International Fantasy Festival in Nidzica, Poland; 05.2016 - “Kuźnia” - 1st place in the international art competition “All scapes”, Toronto, Canada; 04.2016 – Collective exhibition at the international “Expo Art New York”, USA; 10.2015 - Distinction, international competition “Mind, Spirit & Emotion II”, USA; 05.2015 - Collective exhibition at the international “Expo Art Revolution Taipei”, Taiwan; 04.2014 - 1st place and group exhibition at the international Art Competition Revolution Taipei, Taiwan; POST SCRIPTUM

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O

Ewa Ćwikła

riginally from Poland, but from the early eighties living and working in the Netherlands.

Her earliest experience with photography dates to teenage years when she lived in Poland.

At the age of 15, the old Zenith camera found in the house allowed her to experimenting during a school photographic course. That’s how, slowly, she has developed her vision of photography.

When Ewa was 22 years old she moved from Poland to the Netherlands, where she started working at a photography shop in Schagen. In 1985, after three sleepless nights she made a decision to buy shop and photography studio from a local photographer. During the following years, Ewa perfected her skills and became an extraordinary photographer. In 2014 she ended her commercial activity and focused exclusively on work in the studio and the artistic photography. Since 2015, 90% of her photos are creative photography, and 10% are portrait orders for individuals. Ewa focuses primarily on imaginative work – work in its unique style and its own exceptional atmosphere.

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Hello Ewa, I recently discovered your style. I was captivated by the climate of your photographs and wanted to introduce it to our readers. To start with, please tell us where your love for photography came from? And when did you start your adventure with artistic photography?

In 2014 I decided to abandon the commerce and stop selling cameras. I closed the shop and said to myself “I’m just doing photographs for me.” Now 90% of my creations are for me and only 10% are orders for clients. And it gives me huge pleasure. I can’t imagine working without people, I must contact them every

day. I would like to be non-stop with people in the studio – it’s a feast for me! I really like to do it. I have tons of unfinished ideas. I am now reading Leonardo da Vinci’s biography, he also had 20 projects started at once.

Why is portrait the main theme of your work? What inspires you, body or soul?

When I see the model, the main inspiration is their look, the appearance. But when I start taking pictures, I deal more with the soul. It never happened that I fulfilled exactly what I had planned. Unless the model comes for the second

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I have been photographing for 25 years, but only when I discovered the light of

Rembrandt Vermeer at home and

I began to feel “

time, then I already feel their energy. For me, everything is done at the level of feelings, not just vision. It is very hard sometimes because the models come in different mental states... And I feel it. Because of that, there is a close contact between the me and the model, and that’s why my portraits have a soul. Because this soul is present when these pictures are taken. So ultimately, I’m inspired by the soul.

Your photographs are like 17TH-century paintings by the Dutch masters, Vermeer and Rembrandt. Does choosing such a style have any connection with the fact that you live and create in the Netherlands?

I have been photographing for 25 years, but only when I discovered the light of Rembrandt and Vermeer I began to feel “at home”. When I look at my photographs

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”.

from the past, from the time perspective I see that it was a commercial photograph. I am glad that my clients liked my work and were delighted with the pictures, but only now, when I stopped the commercial and started creating photographs with the light of Rembrandt and Vermeer I feel fully satisfied. When I look at the model in my studio I see every piece of light, all the details. And it is incredibly beautiful to me. The fact that I live in the Netherlands may only have the meaning that I have come to the painting of Dutch Masters more quickly. But I also dream of taking photographs in the style of Jan Matejko. I really want to do it. Recently I received a book from Sophie Weiss about paintings of her grandfather, Wojciech Weiss. His work is so beautiful! As soon as I finish what I am currently working on, I will concentrate on Wojciech Weiss’ paintings. So... I do not know if living in the Netherlands has an influence on my art. I do not know what would have happened if I lived in Poland.

How long have you been living in the Netherlands? How did you come to move there? Does the atmosphere of that country, in your opinion, help to create works of art?

I’ve been living in the Netherlands for 33 years… a long time. I left Poland in search of a better life. If someone told me to do it again, I wouldn’t have, as it was really hard. But I’m in the Netherlands and I’m happy here. I love this nation. I feel free here and I have a lot of friends.

But I also feel good when I’m in Poland. I think that the work a person creates is not connected to the country of residence. The Netherlands surely helped me to be freer and more independent. Dutch people are very direct,

and so am I. That’s how I always was, and it wasn’t well received in Poland. Here, that’s normal, and I feel in my element here. I can speak my mind, though of course I’m still careful to not be impolite and not to hurt anyone.

Does the atmosphere of this country help in creating art? I don’t know. I don’t think it matters. I feel like there’s many more wonderful photographers and artists in Poland than in the Netherlands. Maybe living here offers easier access to some things, maybe the Dutch have more spare money to pay for shows and exhibits or buying large prints. In Poland, not everyone can afford it.

But I sometimes think that I would’ve achieved more if I stayed in Poland. Overall, I don’t think it matters where you live and work. That’s just my opinion, of course.

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Do you often organize exhibits of your works?

I have only started showing my photos in exhibits this year, because I thought I didn’t have anything to show.

So, exhibits are a fresh topic for me. I have exhibited my works in Paris, London, and in Poland, of course – in Kraków, in the Zofia Weiss gallery, and now in Szczyrk, in the Bator Art gallery. I’m currently negotiating with galleries in Warsaw, Berlin and Hamburg. So, things are definitely happening on that front. I would love to exhibit my works in New York City.

You’re a master of your field, do you organize any workshops or classes for other photographers?

I would like to thank you very much for calling me a master, I don’t feel like one myself. I have always thought I still have much to learn. Like every artist, I have days when I feel like I can do anything and that I’m great, but other-times I can’t escape the feeling that I can’t do anything and I’m miserable… But I always hear from my photographer friends that they feel the same, so… I think that’s a healthy way to think of work (laughter).

What I have learned, I try to pay forward in my workshops.

I prefer 1 on 1 workshops, because then I have a good connection with the person I’m teaching. I only make an exception once a year, when I go to Złodziejewo, a town near Bydgoszcz. There’s a beautiful palace there, watched over by Marcelina Oczkowska. It’s an ethereal place, I have also attended workshops there once, and my sentiment still lives on.

Where would I go if I wanted to buy one of your pieces?

You can buy them directly from me. I also have agents in Poland, and in the Netherlands. I point them towards interested people, and they take care of all necessary things.You can also buy my works in the TON gallery in the Netherlands. No galleries in Poland sell my works right now, but negotiations are ongoing, and it might change in the near future. [AB]

When I see the model, the main

inspiration is their look, the appearance.

But when I start taking pictures, I deal more with the

soul.

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DAREK MARSZAĹ EK Graphic designer

Artist painter

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Poet

Performer

a means to be

Being an rtist yourself, to be the

creator

of your own

A graphic designer, an artist painter, a poet, a performer…

Which one of those roles is the closest to you and why?

Graphic design (own digital images, and cooperation with photo-advertising agencies) is my basic source of income at the moment. But my beloved form of artistic expression is painting – that’s my life calling.

life

think that everything in life is art. What you do, what you wear, the way you speak, write, drink your tea and love. How you decorate your home, what you surround yourself with and how you feel. Life is Art. What does it mean to be an artist? It means to be yourself, to be a creator of your own life.

Artistic work – what does that mean for you? What does it mean to “be an artist”?

During your creative process, what’s your inspiration.

Spiritual experiences, emotional moments, or just mundane everyday life?

Currently I don’t differentiate between everyday life and art. For me, everything is a part of a whole and I can say, that I do the art of life. Someone once said: I

My inspiration is limitless imagination and Life as it is, along with everything it brings in every moment. I once put it in such poetic words: “Touch the stars as you

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walk on the earth. May your thoughts, as if colorful butterflies, drink the magical dew of the flowers of life”…

If the above is too broad, I will say that my greatest inspiration are people that appear around me: friends, family, artists, shamans, yogis, and to be more specific: Martyna, the love of my life, Salvador Dali, Alex Grey, or Bob Marley.

Your artistic action DMTWALKER touched me. I watched the movie that recorded the project. It’s very moving and dramatic. You, as a living image full of colors, walking among hurried, grey people preoccupied with their mundane lives. What a stark contrast!

(Please tell our readers, what caused the idea for such a performance to be born, what did you want to say through the action, and why DMT?) DMTWALKER is a multimedia project, an alchemist crucible that combines painting, performance, body art, shaman rituals, photography, video and music. It’s somewhat of a self-portrait, a tale of passion for life, of love for art, and of places that are close to my heart. When I prepared myself for this project, some friends suggested I set out on a journey far to the East, find the so-called “places of pwer”, and record the video there. For me, a place of power is where I live everyday. The project

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was realized in the intriguing alleys and main streets of Bielsko-Biała, and the opening and closing sequences are the landscape around Lipowa, a picturesque village near Żywiec, where I was raised until I was eleven.

More about the project, its message and DMT (dimethyltryptamine) can be found in my article: http://www.taraka.pl/dmtwalker_bohater_tysiacu_twarzy, which I invite everyone to read.

What is your dream as an artist?

An artist’s dreams are simultaneously plans for the next years: video-project AURATUS (dancing, body-painting, and music), painting exhibit in ENTHEON - Sanctuary of Visionary Art that is being built by Alex Grey (www.alexgrey.com) on his property near New York, and a series of visionary paintings GREAT ARKANA & THE HERO’S JOURNEY (my own version of the first 22 Tarot cards).

Thank you very much for this conversation, and I wish you everlasting artistic growth.

For our readers that would like to get to know Darek’s works closer, here is a link to his website: www.valcari-art.com [AB]

Agnieszka Biardzka

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H IMALAYAS The

HIGHEST Challenge of the World

Joanna Nordyńska sailor

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traveler

film producer

HIMALAYAS... the highest,

literally and figuratively, challenge for many people. Peaks of dreams, peaks of emotions, peaks of audacity. For those who managed to conquer them - also the heights of happiness and satisfaction.

My fascination with the mountains began, like for many others, in my early childhood, as soon as I learned to read. I was raised by my father, who was my greatest authority and my guru in many areas of interest, with artistic lead of course, as he was an artist himself. He shaped my sensitivity to beauty and nature, but also taught me humility in the face of fate and the ability to deal mentally in difficult situations. I gained the confidence that I could deal with any situation, no matter how difficult. Probably my father’s great merit in igniting my imagination was

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giving me appropriate books, not only about art, but also about natural history or historical. There were also a lot of books in our house, donated by friendly authors - sailors, travellers, mountaineers. Among them were such titles as People In Front of the Wall, Repentant Snow and Everyone According To Dreams of Andrzej Wilczkowski - mechanical engineer, lecturer at Lodz University of Technology, inventor, mountaineer and alpinist (among others the expedition leader to the mountains of Ethiopia and Hindu Kush) and co-founder of the Students’ Satire Theatre Pstrąg, whe ich my parents were also engaged with. I remember conversations about Wilczkowski’s expeditions and other friends from the Lodz Mountaineering Club.

I would add that my parents themselves were also people with a sports fervour, which inevitably passes from generation to generation. The amount of stories, books read and films watched, including articles by Jerzy Surdel and Szymon Wdowiak, gave a nice conglomerate of interests. There was even such a moment that under the influence of these reports I wanted to become an expedition operator - a rather irrational dream at the time. My father, who started his career as an operator himself, quickly led me away from this idea. In those days it was a long and quite uncertain path to the goal, especially difficult for a woman. I gave up.

For the lowlander, contact with the mountains is usually sporadic, so there was no natural temptation to hike or to climb them up. If we went to the mountains, it was rather for skiing holidays in winter. However, once happened that my father sent me to the winter camp in the The Kraków-Częstochowa Upland [also known as the Polish Jurassic Highland – translator’s note] . There “I felt the call.” Children’s imagination, as you know, sometimes suggests stupid ideas.

Once, together with three friends, we slipped away from the group, wanting to penetrate the cave in the rock wall.

We tied together four knitted scarves (they were so fashionable at the time), and we used such a set as a safety rope. It was a miracle that nothing happened to anyone.

In addition, a moment later I slid down on a small scree and accelerated so dangerously that through the eyes of

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my imagination I saw my miserable end in a stone crack.

And this time the scarves came in handy. This event was so exciting to me that it stuck in my mind for a long time as a warning. For many years I watched the mountains through someone else’s lens, or from the ski slopes. There wasn’t much time for hiking in the mountains, because in the summer we usually sailed. I read and watched a lot about mountaineering, but I didn’t have enough determination to hike. In the end the time has come for it, but I won’t climb any of those really high mountains. I have no such imperative and I am put off by the need for very good preparation, as well as many inconveniences, such as cold.

The lower parts of the mountains, however, are certainly still within my reach and willingness. My husband and I have just returned from the Dolomites, where there are many mountain routes of varying difficulty. We also have next plans. Probably Ladakh.

Returning to the Himalayas ...

Every year several hundred people try their hand at climbing the highest mountains of the world.

So far, the highest 14 peaks (ten of them are in the Himalayas), were conquered by approximately 25,000 people, of which only Mount Everest – by 5,000. However, since the first successful climb in 1953, this mountain claimed about 300 victims. ‘The Mountain of Mountains’ attracts more and more daredevils, and unfortunately there are a lot of people in this group who do not really know the limit of their skills. Other peaks are also the goal of climbers and their climbing ended tragically for many. It is difficult to assess whether it is reasonable, if the travel agency ensures you that it offers everything that will be needed to reach the summit - porters, food, oxygen, medical assistance, etc.

Obviously, tragic accidents can happen even to the best climbers, but the number of accidents is growing rapidly among people well prepared. The braver ones get up from behind the desk and after paying the appropriate amount, they queue up to the climbing adventure. Such climbers are practically carried up to the summit (if somehow their body can withstand it), and it still counts for a successful climb. The mountains are merciless, they de-

serve the highest respect. It is hard to imagine climbing in such difficult conditions whilst sitting in a cosy home. No film, nor any photos, will fully capture the power of the mountains or the conditions prevailing there. This must be experienced personally. If this is a passion developed over the years, then you probably go through the subsequent levels of initiation and are prepared to face the highest mountains, but if not ... then the best method to get closer to them is to choose the “level below”, i.e. trekking.

The most popular route is the transition to the base under the Everest. Currently, it is overcrowded by tourists, although taking into account the specifics of the Himalayan climate (the best trekking seasons are in April and October), it is still a fraction of one percent of humanity. It is a relatively simple route, requiring nothing more than good physical condition, and the only real obstacle to health here is altitude. The disease associated with it usually manifests itself over 3,500 meters, but some may be affected at more than 2,000 m.a.s.l., which in practice means that from the beginning of the expedition, because the airport in Lukla is located at 2,860 metres above sea level. It should be added that the airport itself already, to some extent, verifies one’s courage, as it is in the first place in the ranking of the most dangerous airports in the world due to the location between the mountains and a very short runway (only 400m, inclined at an angle of 12 degrees). There is a bit of exaggeration in my opinion, as in bad weather conditions planes simply do not fly.

What happens then? Well, there are three options. First one is to wait, but no one will guarantee that you will get on any flight, because all of them are usually fully booked, and you hit the end of the queue. The second option –

to get there by helicopter, which, although the weather threshold is slightly higher, and the price also high, and the third one – to choose land route, which takes about 4 days - partly by jeeps, but a large fragment, however, would be on foot. If we have already reached our starting point, i.e. the beginning of several trekking routes, we can collect the last practical advice from returning tourists who eagerly share their experience. Loaded with good emotions, we set off on the route and after 2 days we faced one of the most beautiful mountains in the world - Ama Dablam, which in translation from Sanskrit means a Mother’s Gem-Necklace, by default the mother of the mountains. From that moment we go among the snowy mountains, whose charm and power ... well ... one would like to say that they are breath taking, but it is responsible for the thinner air with altitude rise. The return trip to the Base Camp on average takes 14 days, including 2 acclimatization days. If we do not want to go back the same way, we can make a circle around the Solo Khumbu valley by choosing, for example, a route through three passes Kongma La (5535m.a.s.l.), Cho La (5420m.a.s.l.) and Renjo La (4790m.a.s.l.), apparently the most spectacular in the World, but also quite difficult. Maybe not technically, it’s more about endurance. Those who climbed Zawrat- can be calm. Three weeks should be allocated for this route, but they will undoubtedly be one of the most beautiful weeks in life. The route can be completed in both directions.

However, remember that climbing is only half the battle, because going down can be just as difficult. In addition, we may be surprised by the “own life” of the mountains, and more specifically – the glaciers. If you want to go through the glacier, you may be surprised by the creation of a new lake, which will prevent you from walking along the chosen

The mountains are merciless, they deserve the highest

respect

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route, and we will have to make the roads to circle them.

This happened to us after leaving the Kongma La Pass, when we traversed the Khumbu Glacier. The village of Lobuche seemed to be at hand. We followed the shortcut, but as a result of encountering water and having to return to the right trail, we arrived much later than we planned.

There are also places where you have to be especially careful, because ice melting during the day ceases to be a binder for stones and they can move or fall.

This is the case, for example, at the Cho La Pass, where you should be getting to quite early during this reason.

rels inside the room freezes. One day in the morning I reached for my backpack with a drinking water bottle ... but I didn’t satisfy my thirst. I looked at the window and the beautiful frosted stained-glass windows on the inside.

One should also appreciate the fortitude of the Sherpas who live here, living in extremely difficult conditions, and yet nice and smiling. However, this is a topic for a separate story.

So, going back to hygiene, it’s often limited to wet wipes. Now imagine sleeping in a tent and peeing at -40 ° C, and often a gale or snowstorm. The shower is a distant dream and falling asleep in such conditions is a feat.

This said, I should like to make a small digression about the ascent and descent. Even if we have a small height difference to climb during the day, before we get from point A to B, we will actually do 2-3 times as much, although our guide said it will be almost flat. Then of course, when it seems to us that we are already reaching the coveted summit, in a moment the next, often even higher one, will appear behind it.

I really admire everyone who climbs up even higher, regardless of whether for the love of the mountains and the unrestrained imperative of reaching the summit, or for the ignorance and desire to test themselves. At this point, I can only invite you to see some photos that can arouse the imagination, but, as I mentioned earlier, they will never give the impression of personal contact with these beautiful mountains. [JP]

In the lower parts of the mountains we still have to take into account the frequent stops forced by the mule and yak cavalcades. Meeting such a laden animal could be very painful, so it’s better to get out of their way. The rule is that we let them pass “outside” so as not to be knocked down.

They also have absolute priority on the countless narrow hanging bridges. Pressing to the handrail may cause, for example, ribs to break. One should also realise the scale of this transport. Everything that is needed for life in the mountains, except for small crops, is brought by porters and animals, or imported by helicopter, which is unfortunately very expensive, in addition to the entire inventory of all expeditions. In addition, they provide fuel and supplies for an increasing number of tourists. TONNES of tourists!

These three weeks are associated with one more challenge, quite serious for some. There are no toilets on the route and poor running water supply, not to mention hot water. Basically, there is plenty of water around, but there is a snag - it freezes. It happens that in shelters called English lodges, even the water standing in bar-

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all the photos were taken by Joanna Nordyńska 58 POST SCRIPTUM

Climbing up is only half the battle, because going can be just as

down

difficult...

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n’t d e

and m

m

one y fo

r it ”

Renata Słomkowska

“I do

A conversation with Renata Słomkowska, a

rockband manager

How does one become a rockband manager?

Hmm… I guess you have to be famous for being talkative and resourcefulness (laughter). For me, that happened a bit differently. In October of 2017, I saw an ad saying that a boy named Dawid looks for a bass player to create a band. I had one bass player “on hand”, so I reached out. Very quickly, on the same day even, 3 boys came by: Dawid – the vocalists, Przemo – the guitarists, and Kamil on the drums. That’s how it began (laughter). I interrogated them on the way they want to create the band, what they want to play, where do they get their lyrics, etc. They just wanted to play. So I took care of the creation – from the band name, through the logo, the repertoire, and, of course, lyrics. It wasn’t hard for me, as I’ve been writing poetry since forever. That’s how Now Me was born. Of course, I’m evil (laughter), so I immediately dragged them to work. After a month, we played our first con-

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cert, and it was successful. During the next few months, our members came and went, since the boys had their own lives that interfered with our numerous rehearsals. All original members went. The second band was created because a friend asked me. He wanted to sing works of Niemen. But that’s not something our young, Włocławek musicians would play. But what was created was Heaven Rock, a cover band playing good rock songs from bands such as Lady Pank, Wanda I Banda, Perfect, Oddział Zamknięty, Bajm, or Manaam, which I let out onto the market equally quickly. Young people play in both bands, and they can be quite breath-taking (laughter). Along the way, I got a few offers of becoming a manager for well-known Polish bands, but it’s not something I want to focus on. I find joy in helping the young and talented who need the help. Sadly, if they don’t find a person that

Renata Słomkowska, born in the 70s (second half) in Włocławek, where she lives and works today. Her day job is being a pedagogue, psychologist and a speech therapist. Music has been accompanying her since childhood – it always played in the house somewhere. As a little girl, she started to play the piano, and that lasted for quite a while. Then it was the flute, and then the bass.

Other than music, she explores the widely considered spiritual development. pushes them out from the nest and into the world – most of them will just keep playing in a garage forever.

Can one make a living out of it? Is anything in Poland that can make you a decent living?

I don’t think there is. The manager takes 20-30% of concert earnings. Aside from disco polo, look at ticket prices for well-established bands, such as Kobranocka, Sztywny Pal Azji, Proletaryat, and others – and we grew up with them. In Poland, artists are not appreciated.

People think of them as rich, irresponsible youngsters, and the reality is often brutal. A rock lover will hesitate to pay 50pln for a ticket, but disco polo can charge even 200pln. And me? No, this isn’t a way to earn money for me. I don’t demand money for it, the important thing for me is the satisfaction, that those people have a chance to shine. They often argue, and then I joke that I’ll charge them once they’re filthy rich rock stars (laughter).

My line up?

They’re like family. Both bands are friends and spend a lot of time together. As I already mentioned at the start, Now We, is a band that plays their own rock. How do we do that? The boys come over, set up their instruments at my house, and start playing. One comes up with a riff, another one catches onto it, then the others, music is created. And I write the lyrics. Sometimes we write lyrics that are ready for music, and sometimes – as with the bar girl or nice boys and naughty girls – I hear the music, the riffs, and something lights up within me. I grab a piece of paper, a pencil, and write the lyrics as we go, when the boys are already playing. Heaven Rock is different. It’s a rock cover band. The band doesn’t need much initiative on my part, though they like it when I’m with them (laughter).

The thing that makes me good in manager’s shoes is the fact that I know many established musicians and bands, and I have communications skills, and, fitting for a women – when someone throws me out the door, I come back through the keyhole.

Musician excesses?

Now that’s a topic we could spend the whole day on, and a quite controversial one at that. I could point out hundreds of excesses of various bands. But, contrary to the popular opinion, they all grow up with age and most of those naughty boys become adults, and after the concert they come back home to their wives and children. How do I find myself in the middle of that? Not at all. It’s not fun for me. Maybe it’s my age, maybe it’s self-awareness… and a different culture. I respect myself and I don’t dabble in such company. Of course, I’m tolerant and if someone needs to spend time after a concert in such a way, I understand, but I won’t participate. With us, it’s different.

From the very beginning I make sure that all my proteges know that one doesn’t need an excess of substances to create and celebrate success. Our rehearsals are always alcohol-free: that’s not up for debate, and they know well what a drunk concert can bring. I often take them to concerts of different bands and they can see the ones where the musicians come on stage more or less drunk. You can both see and hear it. My musicians are a far distance away from that, and I believe that they will carry those lessons into the future. After the concert, things are of course different. We celebrate, but in moderation – of course only the ones above drinking age. We either organize an after party at my place or we stay where we played and have a smaller circle of people. A nice beer and we talk about the concert, what was good, what was botched.

Right after it happened, while the emotions are present. Heh! Just a clarification – they drink their beer, and I drink water, because I’m usually the bus driver (laughter).

My dream?

Hmm… professional dreams concern the bands, of course. I want them to be recognized, to be successful, but I would also like them to keep their heads. And privately…

That’s a tough question. My private life has been non-existent for a while. It’s sad, but it is what it is – I’m available for communication 24h a day, I take care of band stuff, I organize concerts, recording albums, etc. Contacts with other industry professionals, most of them men, don’t make pri-

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Many

young musicians

are fascinated by rockstars’ life that they see on TV and online.

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vate life easier, as you well know. Yes, I do dream of something stable, a safe harbour. That’s why I’m not taking on any new bands. My “children” are already self-reliant, so I will be able to leave them soon. To find my safe harbour.

Hahaha! Tell you something spicy, you say?

There’s no such thing. I’m as cold as ice and as hard as a rock. But seriously, I don’t allow myself to get piquant. If someone doesn’t treat me seriously just because I’m a woman, and tries something, I quickly bring them down to earth. I’m not funny, you see. There’s a story going around the net, one that I tell often. When someone asks, what does a band manager do, I always answer: organizes a concert, grabs the money, and runs off with the frontman’s girlfriend (laughter). Of course, most people don’t understand, since the story concerns male managers.

Talent?

Only selected few have talent. Many young musicians are fascinated with the life of rock stars that they see on the TV and in the web. They don’t know the reality. They grab an instrument, learn to play, create a band and think they’ll make it. And some do. Why? You need to know people, both the musicians and the manager need to. That’s how one-season bands are born. A one-time boom, and then silence. I prefer to take it slowly, baby steps, but towards a long-term goal. I am well aware that my musicians still need a lot of training, coordination, and experience.

How does my day usually look like?

They don’t

know the eality.

r

It’s usually my day job, and only then I’m the “manager”. Although it’s often been the case that I needed to take care of something in a hurry, e-mails, phone calls. But it’s not bad, contrary to how it looks at first glance, I also have a lot of free time. I’m well organized.

My sons don’t suffer because of it – I think. I take care of the music business in-between other tasks. Of course, it requires constant contact through a phone or laptop, but you can put everything together if you want. Rehearsals and lyric writing take up the most time. There, I have to be physically present and exclusive. It’s hard to organize any private vacations during the concert season too. This one was plentiful, I only had a single weekend to catch my breath. But now I’m looking forward to a long rest. What’s next? Time will show.

Thank you for the talk. [JP]

The interview with Renata Słomkowska was performed by Jarosław Prusiński.

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Maja BOROWICZ, “Ostatni dotyk ostatni szept”

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