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Some of my favourite books of the past year and the year before are The Diary of Anais Nin, Just Kids by Patti Smith, The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand (with customised covers).

The two beauties by Tim Walker on my messy bed.

I’m looking forward to reading:

Italo Calvino – If On A Winter’s Night A Traveller

You go into a bookshop and buy If on a Winter’s Night a Traveller by Italo Calvino. You like it. But alas there is a printer’s error in your copy. You take it back to the shop and get a replacement. But the replacement seems to be a totally different story. You try to track down the original book you were reading but end up with a different narrative again. This remarkable novel leads you through many different books including a detective adventure, a romance, a satire, an erotic story, a diary and a quest. But the real hero is you, the reader.

Tim Walker – The Lost Explorer

This magical volume is a companion piece to the short film of the same name, which is due to be shown at film festivals worldwide. Long awaited, this is Tim Walker’s first cinematic endeavor. To this fantastical work, Walker brings all the whimsy and elaborate scene-making so integral to his renowned fashion photography. This volume contains the original short story by Patrick McGrath as well as a facsimile of the annotated shooting script. Embark on a memorable journey with young Evelyn as she finds a lost explorer in her garden– and begins a haunting tale of dark adventure.

New Year thoughts

Dear friends,

A new chapter has begun and with it I see the need to let go of memories, sentimental thoughts, reminiscing of what was. I think these feelings will still be present in my art, art was and is a therapy, it’s a way to get things out of my mind.

“We photograph things in order to drive them out of our minds. My stories are a way of shutting my eyes.”
― Franz Kafka

I’m learning to stop putting so much value on the past. I want to make the most of the present moment, instead of idealizing what is gone.

I’m learning the art of letting go. Before I could not part with some tchotchkes, physical reminders of my most cherished events, bibelots from certain time periods like train tickets, old tarnished rings from when I was 12, teenage journals, favourite but broken hairpins, outworn clothes etc. I no longer feel the need to keep such things. Instead of having boxes full of them, I only saved the most cherished ones, a tape with a recording of my voice from I was a few years old, a music box that still works which I received for Christmas many moons ago and some of my books with beautiful illustrations. They all have something in common, they engage senses, which I find brings me the most joy. When I put my oldest camera to my face, it still smells the same as when I first touched it, it instantly brings me back to those moments. The music box has the same power as the illustrations in my oldest books.

It was quite a long process actually but I feel like I finally managed to change my thinking and it’s a much awaited relief. I’m working on new projects that are both exciting and intimidating. I’m also very much looking forward to warm weather and sunshine. I hope you’re well.

M.

M.

Pod skórą bezustannie wędrują oznaki roztrzęsionego życia. Na zewnątrz niezauważalne, w środku całe mrowisko poruszających się, lekkich fragmentów.

Nagła potrzeba mówienia

Nagła potrzeba mówienia, wiesz co mam na myśli.

Uzupełniam ostatnie wspomnienia, przynoszę nowe rozmyślenia do łóżka, śmieci zebrane na zewnątrz, ciemne i mokre od powietrza. Zimne, nastroszone i kłujące po dłoniach igłami wilgoci. Gdy tylko otwieram oczy znika nadbudowany świat, zamykam i oddech staje się spokojniejszy a ja mogę, już nie marznąc, zdjąć z siebie ciężkie okleiny ubrań. Już wkrótce przymierzę nowe, uszyte ze snów i dymu. Widzę, daleko stąd, w cienkiej mgle wzniesienia a za nimi już tylko bezbarwne przestrzenie (do lotu).

Myślę o wszystkich latach, gdy ciepłe miejsca zamieniały się w klatkę i to, co trzyma przy życiu, jednocześnie zatruwa. Jednak wolę zimną samotność niż duszący uścisk.

Chciałabym zatrzymać momenty czystego, dobrego dotyku. Ciepłe dłonie przenoszą między ciałami wiele znaczeń, ile ciszy jest w naszym milczeniu? Zbieram je i przetrzymuję w pamięci. Słowa tylko na papierze i sens wewnętrzny, niepodzielny.

Całe miasto oddycha tą samą mieszaniną półzdarzeń: powrotów i ucieczek. Patrzę na nie z góry. Znów zakwitamy pod ciemnym dachem, ciężki oddech kolejnej krakowskiej zimy a moje powietrze takie słodkie i czułe.

Red flowers

I dreamed today that I was photograhping on black and white film that’s been sitting in my camera for months. The dream was very detailed, light changed and subjects weren’t moving as if they were real. There were swarms of birds and large butterflies in a garden with red, fleshy flowers, a girl in harsh afternoon summer light. My camera was built like a long gun, the focusing ring was at the very end of it.