Mega*Zine Lost & Found #9/2014 ENG

Mega*Zine Lost&Found #9 Expectation

ENG # 9


Mega*Zine Lost&Found # 9 - EXPECTATION

TABLE OF CONTENT

003_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Christian Martin Weiss018_ POETRY SECTION - Bo!ena NeLa Wiesio"ek019_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Danuta Radek - Pankowska036_ PROSE - Mehmet Çekirge039_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Sarah Louette049_ POETRY SECTION - Anna Zielazny050_ ALLIES - Last Rites Gallery056_ POETRY SECTION - Agata Atka Cichy057_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Thomas Dodd070_ POETRY SECTION - Angel Tears071_ METAPHORS OF MEMORY083_ PROSE - Emma Ernst086_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Magdalena Franczuk106_ PROSE - Adam H. A. Michniewicz107_ PRESENTATIONS - Ja#mina Stysiak117_ POETRY SECTION - Aneta Mla#118_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Karen Wiseman124_ POETRY SECTION - Dionizy Sikora, desperat-zine125_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Jarek Jarema129_ POETRY SECTION - Izabela Monika Bill130_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Matylda Borczy$ska137_ POETRY SECTION - Joanna Ma"oszczyk138_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Robert Wypiór - Finus153_ PROSE - Angel Tears154_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Maik Wöll168_ THE ART OF... - Plant feast183_ PROSE - Mehmet Çekirge186_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Marco Rea193_ PROSE - Angel Tears194_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Corwin von Kuhwede209_ POETRY SECTION - Katarzyna Kowalewska210_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Ula de B.217_ POETRY SECTION - Mieszko Rybi$ski218_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Sylwerstr Stabry"a233_ POETRY SECTION - Nina Ja#nikowska234_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Ilona Celina Rorzkowska243_ PROSE - Angel Tears244_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Joanna Skurzewska - ASHKA253_ POETRY SECTION - Piotr Stró!yk254_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Alan Uchoa II267_ POETRY SECTION - Jacek Mas"owski268_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Daria Endersen278_ PROSE - Anna Zielazny281_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - %ukasz Zagraba293_ POETRY SECTION - Dorota Karin294_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Cristina Georgescu301_ POETRY SECTION - Leszek &uli$ski302_ GALLERY PRESENTATIONS - Bartosz Jakiel315_ PROSE - Adam H. A. Michniewicz317_ COMIX - BezKostusze320_ PRESENTATIONS - Katarzyna Bonda330_ COMIX - Ga"'zia331_ ALLIES335_ (out)RODUCTION

Cover photo by Christian Martin Weiss - „Passion”


Gallery Presentations Christian Martin Weiss

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Christian-Martin-Weiss-Photography/462315397183462

http://www.christian-martin-weiss.com/

„love extract“models: Annika Liebe / Krohnsan

http://www.christian-martin-weiss.com



http://www.christian-martin-weiss.com



„cor“model: Felicitas Molnar



„feeder“model: Julia Saikonnen



„rigor“model: Ola Bosche, shoes: Katarzyna Konieczka

https://www.facebook.com/KonieczkaCostumes?ref=stream




„sensor I“model: Annika Liebe



„sensor II“model: Annika Liebe



„passion“model: Nicole Kaminsky



„stiletto“model: Ola Bosche, shoes: Katarzyna Konieczka





„in my time of need“model: Julia Saikonnen



„omophag“models: Annika Liebe / Krohnsan



„miroir“model: Sitt



„2lips I“model: Sitt



„2lips II“model: Sitt



„transition II“model: Annika Liebe



„perlen entrollen“model: Annika Liebe


Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Bo!ena NeLa Wiesio"ek

"Ballerina"

I could have too manyreasons to be happy

if I did not become a ballerinaand was dancing in the Russian school of dance.

I could stand over the abysson the thin line.

I chose the stillness.

Come on, I'll show youhow to stand on solid ground.


Gallery Presentations Danuta Radek - Pankowska

Danuta Radek - Pankowska

"Painting, like writing is my secret passion, escape from the gray, grim reality, this is my asylum, oblivion, part of my soul."

Using paints, pencils and eye shadows she creates portraits of women. The works presented come from the exhibition "Self-P o r t r a i t o f a W o m a n . Decons t ruc t i on - S tud ies - Transpositions."


































Prose Mehmet Çekirge

Homeward Bound

“Did I do something wrong” Foam thought, barking outside the gates of his old house. He could see no light inside, but still he kept on barking. “No, they wouldn’t leave me out like that, I love them, and they love me. Maybe they’re lost” he thought, sniffing through the air to find a scent.Out of all his family, he loved Zack the most, the little kid who he’d grown up with, was now 7. He remembered 4 days ago before the house went dark. He, Zack and their father had gone outside for a walk. It was a happy, sunny day, but somehow he could sense that Zack was unhappy and their father was not at ease. At home he could hear them talking in a language which was yet able to understand, but it was something his mother said that had made the final decision.



He could remember words like “Zack (has grown) up, and we (have to save money, we are earning as little as it is and) we can’t (keep) Foam. We (have to. Move) out (. And Leave) the dog here”.He caught a faint scent, and it was getting closer, it was not off Zack or his parents, it was from the stray dogs that walk around in a five-dog pack with no family, the ones that give him angry grins whenever they passed him by. “Were they coming to play? Maybe they know where my family is” thought Foam. As the scent came closer, Foam understood playing was not in their intentions. He had to run away, or things would get ugly. He started running away, the dogs started chasing and barking behind him, their scent and their barking were getting closer. He was too hungry and thirsty to continue running so he headed to the empty abandoned house where he had been staying for the past 4 days, and hoped that the other dogs would just quit the chase. He changed his course and headed to the street where the abandoned and ruined house was. The pack of strays stopped barking and their scent started to fade away. A strong scent mixed with piss and garbage and dirt and shit and blood, and anger and fear, and loneliness: disgusting and horrifying at the same time.Foam started walking slowly, he was winded after that sprint to safety, and saw liquid debris. He came close to it and sniffed the liquid. It smelled like rain water and exhaust smoke. ”Rain water is good,” he thought, he licked all he could, then went near the garbage bin. It might have been his luck but there was a feeding cup filled with food at this time of night every night. He could smell love and warmth and perfume along the side of the garbage smell. He ate all he could and went into his new home, marking the entrance he used to enter.It had been a month, and every day of this past month he’d made it his routine to get up and out of the abandoned house to go to his old house and start waiting for his family. When he came across the scent of the stray dogs closing he would and run away, before returning and sneaking around to check if the scent of strays had passed, before returning to await his family’s return.Not to feel lonely, he hung around kids of Zack’s age, sensing the same feelings that he’d sensed from Zack only to be shouted at or chased away by the father. He’d had rocks thrown at him by other little kids who he sensed were willing to harm him or feared him. While walking on streets he would sometimes smell the loving warmth of good intentions and pure feelings of lovers, so he would lay close to where they sat. Remembering his good old days. He was so lonely now he would cry at night howling for his family to hear him, and get him back “I am sorry” he would say, although not knowing what he did wrong. One night he was woken up in the middle of his sleep, by the sound of tires screeching. He smelled the air for a scent and found a woman’s smell, the smell of his friend who he’d never met.He rushed out in excitement to see who this person was. He was hungry, and could hear the cup getting filled. The two met for the first time. The woman was surprised when Foam appeared on the door in a loving rush. She was staring at a stray golden retriever, covered in mud. She could see the fleas jumping on his fur in the headlights. Foam was covered in scratches and had bruises and scabs all over him. Traces of how pretty he was were gone.She became angry at how Foam’s owners would leave him out in the streets. She cursed under her breath for all those dogs sold in pet shops that ended up in the streets, trying to survive hoping for their owners to return. As a young kid, her parents had made her leave her dog just as the owners of Foam had done. She’d never known what had happened to her old dog. But this one had a chance.She reached for Foam’s collar to learn his name then told him to come over. She patted his head and waited on him while he ate and spoke to him lovingly. Foam could tell that she was a sweet person by her tone and he could also feel her vibe. She told him to hop in the car. Hungry for attention and the warmth of love, Foam hopped up at the back seat.



While the car was driving, the woman kept on talking softly in a reassuring way, her scent and smell was loving and caring, Foam felt loved for the first time in a month and started barking happily. The woman laughed as Foam barked, with tears of joy in her eyes. They reached a Vet Clinic. The vet recognized Foam right away and started talking to the woman. Again, Foam could make out some words but he didn’t understand. The conversation was about something sad concerning him and his family. Then he panicked because he heard the word “injection”. He wouldn’t normally panic if his family were here, but there was no one and injections hurt. He started barking but he was tied up. The woman saw Foam panicking and approached him with a loving smile. She started reassuring him again, and somehow it was all good.He stayed at the Vet’s for 5 days. He was well fed and his scars started to heal. At the end of the 5th day, the woman came back and took Foam to her home. He didn’t resist.He had a new friend and she loved him as he loved her.

Photos by Mehmet Çekirge


Gallery Presentations Sarah Louette

Sarah Louette

French fine-art photographer. Through her artwork, she means to unveil what our relation to the world can be. Her photography often depicts the land like a mere stage while the figures are restricted to an undefinite movement. Likely, the colors are sweet but a sense of melancholy and awe pervades through these pictured emotions. We can understand then that nothing is quite definite, neither the form, nor the meaning, and life seems to be a delicate moment that will vanish, leaving behind us an endless mark. Sarah Louette is represented by gallery Photo-Originale in Paris. She has won the Correspondance Visuelle of magazine Compétence Photo and is currently exhibiting in French festivals.

https://www.facebook.com/sarahlouette.photography

bunch coco







bunch coco closeup



another umbrella



attendre en vain



chutes d’o



nowhere home



Trace d’hiver 2



Trace d’hiver 3



windy news



spring reading


Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Anna Zielazny

"Time Travel"

In the brightness of cloudsCrammed the pigments of the sun

Swinging of trees and hipswhen she danced for you

in websbetween shrubs of

gooseberries and mirabelles

Salty tears and sour curranttaste of iron on the fingers

dry mouth

When in the summer winterdecided to

replace all of my early lifewith all my futureOur Whole Now

in words, sentences, poems

Old books leftIn Foreign Cities

Betraying our secretsAnd traces of ink on a white dress

They tell sad storiesAbout us, in us, without us


Allies Last Rites Gallery

Casting aside our own interest and standing up for others’ objectives and interests is a sublime act – it is especially important when someone acts for a minority. A well known gallery in New York is taking up and supportign artists belonging to the dark art movement: this is the Last Rites Gallery, established by Paul Booth. What controls a man – an artist himself - who encourages and provides support to other artists with similar attitudes? What appreciation could a gallery working for a subculture gain?In this interview, we are going to introduce this gallery, which stands by the dark art movement and its artists.



Established in 2008, Last Rites has become a premiere gallery for the Dark Art movement and a haven for artists who prefer to explore the ominous, uncomfortable, and eccentric in their work. The gallery creates an atmosphere where the artist can harness limitless expression and the observer can reflect inwards, inspired to understand that which resides in us all. The exhibition schedule rotates. The Last Rites Gallery is located at 325 W 38th Street, between 8th and 9th Avenues, New York, NY. The Last Rites Tattoo was conceived as an entity in 1991 by Paul Booth and has made its mark all over the globe ever since. In 1998, after two years of working in a private studio in New Jersey, Last Rites Tattoo Theatre opened its doors in the bustling city of New York. Over the years, Last Rites has developed a strong cult following for its focus on dark imagery and acquired a number of awards and accolades from around the world. In 2007, in order to bridge the gap between tattoo art and fine art, the Last Rites Gallery was born. Last Rites is infamous for its décor and aesthetic as well as having been a home for many world-class tattoo artists. The theatre continues to be a home for notable guest artists from around the world. Last Rites has been featured in much of the media including CNN, MSNBC, Discovery, A&E, TLC, Arte, Fuse, MTV, VH1 and Rolling Stone Magazine.

Anita Kovács talked to Erica Berkowith, the Director of Last Rites Gallery.

[L&F] The Last Rites - the story began with the Last Rites Tattoo in 1998 and the idea of opening a gallery came in 2007. Could you tell a few words about this?[Erica Berkowith ] The owner of Last Rites Tattoo Theatre and Gallery, Paul Booth, is a fine artist as well as tattoo artist. The idea of opening up his own gallery came from his experiences visiting other art galleries in NYC and finding their environments austere and uninviting. Through his own career, and those of his contemporaries, much opposition was also met when it came down to galleries exhibiting darker subject matter. Booth wanted to put a stop to both of these oppressive tendencies so many of these galleries presented to both the artist and gallery go-er. Ergo, Last Rites Gallery was born. It is of utmost importance to Booth that artists who exhibit with us are not limited in subject matter and have the artistic freedom to visit the darkest corners of their minds and hearts. Further, the gallery itself strives to be a friendly and inviting space that encourages our guests to contemplate the work, engage in

Close-up, front detali of Julie Zarate work, The Magician



dialogue with others and most of all, have a unique experience they cannot find anywhere else.Booth also opened up a gallery in his ongoing attempt to bridge the gap between tattoo art and fine art. Last Rites Tattoo Theatre only offers the best artists in the industry, many of which, are also talented painters and draftsman. Booth encourages his artists to work and explore in other mediums besides tattooing and provides an environment where their work can be exhibited.

[L&F] How did you get in touch with art and the dark art movements? Is there any connection between music and the gallery? [Erica Berkowith] Paul Booth has actively been involved with the music industry for a number of years. He has many friends and clients who adorn themselves proudly with his tattoo work. In addition, Booth is also a musician and has published a series of ambient albums. Music is extremely important to Last Rites Gallery and Tattoo Theatre. We see our environment as an immersive experience – everything from the dim lighting to the music sets the mood for our guests. Booth has been creating dark images since a very young age. It is a way for him to confront and exorcise his own demons.I have been following many of the regular artists at Last Rites Gallery for a number of years. I was also an active visitor of exhibitions at the gallery prior to my employment. My early college years birthed a fine art student. Through the prerequisites of being a studio art major, I took my first Art History class and dropped the paintbrush for a pen. Analyzing and writing about art that inspired, stimulated and captivated me became my true passion. I found myself never feeling more engaged. Art continued to be a part of my life and always will be.

I am particularly drawn to darker images and themes. All my life, I have been intrigued by the shunned, taboo and uncomfortable. My curiosity led me to a place of comfort that has yet to be.

[L&F] What can you say about artists creating in this genre in NY? Do they have a „normal” job or are they able to life off of their art?

Gallery Director, Erica Berkowitz on Natalie Shau Forgotten Heroines Opening Reception, Photography by Paola Duran



[Erica Berkowith] We exhibit a combination of seasoned and young artists. Some of them do have to work full or part time, others not so much. Even if a „day job” takes up a lot of their time, they still devote all they have to creating art.

[L&F] What do you think: is Dark Art only a trend, I mean with well-known and very popular artists like Tim Burton, Mark Ryden, Giger (RIP), Beksinski etc., or it is a real and appreciated genre?[Erica Berkowith] Besides for us, there are no other galleries specializing in „dark art” in NYC. Our patrons very much appreciate the art and aesthetic we provide and are a pivotal aspect of our community and existence. Newcomers to the gallery and genre have received our darker aesthetics exceptionally well. Last Rites has quickly become a return destination for many. Our selection of artists has been respected by a variety of people and our refreshing gallery space for those predisposed to less friendly ones has been well received.

[L&F] How do you select works and artists to be shown and introduced? How do you help your artists?[Erica Berkowith] Although we are not taking new artist submissions at this time, we are always aware of our surroundings. We have a very large pool of talent we actively exhibit at the gallery. It is of the utmost importance that our artists explore dark content and themes. Of course, what is dark to one, may not be dark to another. We respect the subjectivity of art and embrace each and every work of art that comes through our door. In addition to being dark,

Last Rites Gallery, Photo by Paola Duran

Logan Aguilar art fusion, Photo by Paola Duran



we look for work that is deep, emotive and technically sound.

We see our artists as more than just artists. They are our friends, our kin and our teachers. As much as we hope to help them, they usually help us just the same in return. We are always here to consult. We make time for them and do everything in our power to guide them honestly (when needed) and provide them with everything they could want and ask for in displaying their artwork.

[L&F] In Hungary, a gallery like this could be only exist in the underground field. Do you have connections with contemporary art life (I mean here the „traditional” fields)?[Erica Berkowith] Last Rites has a very dedicated patron and viewer base. We have guests that have been with us



since our fruition. Others that have come aboard as we continue our journey. Most recently, since we moved our location to a storefront, we have seen an influx of new visitors. This has greatly enhanced both our gallery and artist presence with appreciators of art. We offer very different art from the bulk of NYC galleries and we are being noticed more and more for it.

[L&F] Looking at the photos at your facebook site I can always realize the rollicking atmosphere and conviviality of the opening ceremonies - does the gallery have a regular visitor’s group, or every exhibitor has a separate audience?[Erica Berkowith] Our opening receptions are wonderful. Yes, we have our regular guests, who have become our friends very quickly. It is our hope that they see Last Rites as another home or sanctuary. On the other hand, with every artist, comes new people as well. We hope they f ind the same comfortable environment we strive to uphold here and return to us again for future events.I’ve worked at a few other galleries prior to my role at Last Rites Gallery and will admit that I detested working opening receptions. This was mainly due to the pretentious and superficial nature of the attendees. Since I begun at Last Rites Gallery, my perception of people at opening receptions has drastically changed. I’ve come to really enjoy them. We have a very warm crowd of beautiful people that do not judge one another, but instead, embrace the common ground that is shared amongst one another. We are very lucky to have such an amazing group of clients, supporters and friends.

[L&F] Are there any future plans or innovations ahead for Last Rites?[Erica Berkowith] As we just moved to a larger and more prominent location, there are no major plans in the works just yet. But that does not mean to say that the gears in Paul Booth’s head aren’t turning. That man is always thinking, designing and innovating the Last Rites brand and keeping everyone on their toes.

Thank you for the interview, Erica!WebFacebook

Shawn Barber, the portrait of the artist Paul Booth

https://www.facebook.com/lastritesgallery

http://lastrites.tv/

http://lastrites.tv/

https://www.facebook.com/lastritesgallery


Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Agata Atka Cichy

"Chepri"

do not crythe sorrow as a state of the soul

the tears as an effect of an impulse in the brainpainted emoticon on loneliness

the parchment of the skinfrom under her tibiasand the jaw twisted

in the grimaces of smiles and sorrowssticking in spite of mortality

you'll never be more with memore with you I won’t be

always one step behind to each other a stepbecause there is no way to leave

Atum is not sleepingwe will reborn

despite all

20.09.2013


Gallery Presentations Thomas Dodd

Thomas Dodd

a visual artist and photographer based out of the USA who has originated a style that he calls "painterly photo montage" - a method he employs in editing software in which he crafts elaborately textured pieces that have a very organic and decidedly non-digital look to them. His work often has mythic and quasi-religious themes that pay homage to Old Master art traditions while at the same time draws from psychological archetypes that evoke a strong emotional response in the viewer. Although his artwork resembles pa in t i ngs , h i s p i eces a re en t i r e l y photographic in nature, fusing many images into a cohesive whole. His larger works are often presented in a mixed media form that adds a depth and texture that complements the photography beautifully.

https://www.facebook.com/ThomasDoddPhotography

Thomas Dodd on "Expectation"

I chose to be part of this particular issue because "expectation" is a HUGE part of the story-telling process in my work. A good photograph should be like a movie that unfolds in one frame - it should not only suggest a "back story", but it should make you anticipate and wonder what is going to happen next. Each of this images suggests an expectation of an occurrence that will happen in the very near future. But I leave it up to you the viewer to decide exactly what that occurrence will be…

A Little Bird Told Me







Brainstorm



Dogma



Expecting To Fly



Girl In A Chair



Hedge Mistress



Hope



Night Flight



Passion Of The Christ



Pierrot



Serpentine



Undine



Wraith


Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Angel Tears

slowly I cover with duston the shelf of indifference

you skip the common placesas infected with bubonic plague

I still have a few tears leftsoundlessly they drop

fill the void with saltinesswhen the last will fall

it will be too lateto reach out

May 2014

somewhere out therebehind a thin curtain is lifepompously called normality

I will not reach out my handsenclosed in my own spacetime

staying stubbornly clung to the remnants of humanity

where "to be" is more important than "to have"and "you" means more than "I"

I want to stay hereswaying fears in my arms

I'll wait for a better tomorrowand if it does not come

I will die happybuilding my own small

world

April 2014


Metaphores of Memory edit. by Gizem Karayavuz

„Euneirophrenia”(„The peace of mind that comes from having pleasant dreams”)

The human brain is perhaps the most complex living structure known in the universe. Although it has the same general structure as the brains of other mammals, it is over three times as large as the brain of a typical mammal with an equivalent body size, and much more complex. This hugely complex organ, with an estimated 100 billion neurons passing signals to each other via as many as 1,000 trillion synaptic connections, continuously receives and analyzes sensory information, responding by controlling all bodily actions and functions. It is also the center of higher-order thinking, learning and memory, and gives us the power to think, plan, speak, imagine, dream, reason and experience emotions. Memory is the total of what we remember, and gives us the capability to learn and adapt from previous experiences as well as to build relationships. It is the ability to remember past experiences, and the power or process of recalling to mind previously learned facts, experiences, impressions, skills and habits. It is the store of things learned and retained from our activity or experience, evidenced by modification of structure or behavior, or by recalling and recognition. Etymologically, the modern English word “memory” comes to us from the Middle English memorie, which in turn comes from the Anglo-French memoire or memorie, and ultimately from the Latin memoria and memor, meaning "mindful" or "remembering’’. Memory is our ability to encode, store, retain and subsequently recall information and past experiences in the human brain. It can be





thought of in general terms as the use of past experience to affect or influence current behavior. When you want to remember s o m e t h i n g , y o u r e t r i e v e t h e information on an unconscious level, bringing it into your conscious mind at will. While most people think they have either a "bad" or a "good" memory, in fact, most people are fairly good at remembering some types of t h i n g s a n d n o t s o g o o d a t remembering others. If you do have trouble remembering something, assuming you don't have a physical disease, it's usually not the fault of your entire memory system but an inefficient component of one part of your memory system. But we have souls… We have some small definitions about how our bodies work, and we can stay alive or continue breathing… But we have feelings as well, and these do not have certain explanations. We are like metaphors of body & soul. Metaphors help us to read the unknown language of bodies. The soul needs to breathe, too. We need to stay alive! But how? When the body is tired of breathing, it says to us, „Close your eyes, imagine and move your body to another world which you can create, dream and feel, and decide if it is worth living in that imagination. If yes, continue to expect and make it real with hard work!”

To remember or forget. You can have a scar on your body. Your body







never forgets how it happened and by whom it was inflicted. It can even be likened to a calendar. It seems timeless with its colors, the pain that it gave you… But maybe your soul would prefer to forget, and this is how we are perfectly balanced to stay alive. Even you don’t organize yourse l f , your body and sou l understand it before „you” help, and make „you” strong enough.

On the other hand, the body can warn you about not wanting to feel pain anymore. And your soul prefers to remember and protect you again. Sometimes remembering is better, sometimes forgetting. But most times, EXPECTING. To create new memories. Imagination makes it easy to expect and dream a new world. It prepares us to make real memories, great memories! In these times our perfect brain helps us. The brain may or may not use information that our eyes provide. W e a r e b l i n d w h e n w e a r e dreaming… We do not need our vision to see light if we have no light inside. Such blind people have no light in reality. Expec ta t ions a re needed, especially unwanted feelings in our lives. It is like breaking bad memories and escaping from the now to create good ones. It’s easy to escape from the blindness of our reality. Expectat ion is def ined as believing that something is going to happen, or believing that something





should be a certain way. Dreaming new moments can need supporters too, „dream helpers” create scenes even you wouldn’t dream. Someone else’s secret heaven scenes can be of help to you. Art is the best way to make all imaginary worlds real, to revive a life that has stopped breathing.

Art is pictures of souls healing endlessly, like magical helpers of hard t imes . I t makes memor ies o f expectations. Even it is about real pain or real happiness. You change the colors of reality with every touch, your brush or pencil above the papers or hands above the screen, always trying to change the real scenes according to your soul’s eyes. Even if you make realistic art, it is painted on a screen viewed through your soul’s eyes, and watched after it is finished, by another soul’s eyes. And we put it in our memories as an encouragement. Art helps us to stop and take a breath in the hardest of times. It calls us to come and feel this dream; it is your turn to expect yours! If you are an artist, you can make your dreams come true, your art can be a trailer for what you will do. Or you can treat life like a canvas, and make it real. Most of the time, we need miracles in our lives. You need to say goodbye to your bad circumstances so you are free to start again with a new life. A real farewell can happen only if you are able to deal with these







circumstances. You must be brave and stand face to face with your problems. And if you succeed, the past can be the keystone of your life. But if you cannot succeed, and choose not to face them, you become weak, and fainthearted, and have no chance to deal with your problems. Art can be our herald. Art can be v icar ious. Exper ienced in the imagination through the feelings or actions of another person. When you see an artwork, you can remember past memories or future expectations.We need to have a clear page in our minds to create new memories. In a struggle, our brain needs to escape to a gentler state, because our souls need to feel elegance, like your body resting in a beautiful dream while sleeping. When we wake up all we should feel is happiness inside. Art makes you dream while you're awake. And expectations make you stronger about dreaming, even in hard probability. Organization is the soul of happiness. The soul needs to be taken away with beauty. When the soul asks for help, it says, „Expect, dream, and show me a new way to feel! Make art. Create an object or something I can hear, touch, see…” Finally make a reality even you can see. Show it so others can see there is a shelter from sadness. Vicariously, your art begins to break bad memories of other people also.



In conclusion, this is the time to create new memories with what you expect. Trust me, your brain may not use the information your eyes provide. But if you dream enough beauty, and let it take attention in your heart, you will have a big smile inside! And what is your dream? Are you ready for new great memories? If so, expect and do it! If you need help, art is always within you.

Photos by Gizem Karayavuz


Prose Emma Ernst

The Hand

It was one of those days when everything seems possible. Shopping centres were selling dreams that lie on the shelves wrapped in colorful papers and just waiting for customers to reach out and toss them into the basket. The Naughty Girl woke up rested, got out of bed briskly and went up to the window to worship the world and say hello to the sparrows on the windowsill. Parting the curtains, she saw a small hill on the grass, which she at first took for a molehill, but quickly decided that her dog Cynic, a sworn enemy of the moles, would never allow one to grow so unceremoniously on the ground. There was no time to think about it any longer. The whirlwind of ordinary events of everyday life, this eternal carousel snatched her and The Girl rode it until the evening having overcome dizziness. She returned home late, and as she closed the window before bedtime, she noticed that the strange elevation on the lawn had greatly expanded. Maybe some exotic plant was trying to rise? Promising herself that she would look at this closely in the morning, she went to sleep. She had, in fact, that unfortunate habit of sleeping through too-difficult questions. Sometimes, however, the Dream would leave answers under the pillow and that was exactly what she hoped for. That night, the folds in her brain turned into train tracks, over which the train rode over and over again without a specific purpose, the clatter of the wheels filling the entire space. The same as always. The phantom train destroyed what was to be destroyed long ago, but still came back and circled the lunatic trance, until the consciousness switched the points and sent a locomotive to the siding. Maybe it was waiting for her? The girl woke up on a pillow wet with tears. The river of oblivion flowed through her sleeping mind, wanting to take both the train and the tracks. Why, then, has it not taken them? Asking herself this question, the Girl cleaned her swollen eyes with cold water and walked to the window to scatter the crumbs of the Dream for the long-feathered birds. Peering through it, she suddenly felt numb. On the site of the small hill in the grass grew a hand! It was of remarkable size and resembled a tree. The forearm was the trunk and the fingers were branches. The Girl ran out immediately, wanting a closer look at this strange phenomenon. The hand seemed alive and well, ischemic, and the fingers resembled a tulip bud. The Girl looked at it as if hypnotized. Finally she broke away from this amazing view, and ran for old Mrs Den, wanting to show what had grown under the window. However, Den could not help her. Together they established only that the hand belonged to someone living, but as for the owner, Den didn’t want to or could not say. Or maybe she really did not know? She only nodded her head sadly and said, enigmatically: ‘It seems a difficult task is ahead, Naught Girl.’Having said that, she decided to keep her lips sealed and went to water her weedbeds.

Over the next few days, the Girl awaited some new events. Meanwhile, the hand grew and soon was the size of the Girl. Watching it every day, the Girl noticed that the hand responded to her emotional states. At times when she felt sadness, finger-like branches hung sadly, and when she rejoiced, they were moving briskly. This puzzled her to no end and made her wonder whether the hand was in some mysterious way affiliated with herself and apparently arose from the matter of her own soul. To finally unravel the mystery, she came armed with a shovel with the intention of unraveling the roots of the tree, because it was the only way to get to know its essence. She dug a shovel next to the trunk, helped herself with her leg and was soon convinced that it was a fatal decision. The hand curled convulsively like a sparrow-hawk talons and its fingers mounted on a flexible rubber-like arm grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up. The horror left her breathless and she could not even scream. A thought flashed through her paralyzed mind; the


Prose Emma Ernst

Emosystem had just registered a huge dose of her fear, so Paper Balls Clan had surely began to locate its source and move to her aid, but the flow of information could take a while. Meanwhile, she needed help immediately, as she hung immobilized almost two meters above the ground, the fingers slowly curling up, squeezing her like in an iron hoop. She began to struggle, kicking wildly, but the only effect was that she dropped her shoes. She noted that Cynic had come back from his daily reconnaissance of the area. With an effort she called the dog, and it began running confused around the shoes, and when she desperately pulled up and screamed, feeling more and more painful pressure, he raised his head, saw her and sunk his teeth in the trunk without hesitation. It was rare to see him fight, but once this happened, he turned into an angry beast, ready to rip his opponent to shreds. He bit at and run over the hand so fiercely that in the end it opened and released the Girl, who fell curled up like a paper ball. In the form of a ball she rolled across the grass on the other end of the garden and returned to human form. The dog almost wound up captured like her, but she managed to summon him. It was not so easy, because the fighting Cynic was deaf to all commands but in the end she stopped him from further fighting. They both sat down, panting. Girl surrounded the dog's neck with her arm, as he still trembled warmed up by the fight. ‘Now what, Cynic? Shall we look for a new home or are we going to do something about it?’ said the Girl, trying to catch her breath. The hand had apparently sustained no injuries, it had simply put its fingers in the shape of a tulip, as it would do at night. They both observed that expecting the worst, but this time it was over. The tree began to shrink and collapse. After a moment, only the freshly dug earth on the lawn marked that anything had even grown there and its recent existence was a reality, and not some bad dream. Surprised, the Girl looked in amazement and could not believe their luck. It had disappeared! It was finally gone! After a few days of the oppressive presence, waiting and watching all her movements, the girl felt a huge relief. She laughed loudly, still not believing, and Cynic immediately ran to this already empty space to sniff it. Overpowered by an unexpected turn of events, the Girl sat still, trying to make sense out of the whole situation. She did not see that behind her a small hill had appeared on the grass with crooked fingers springing out. In a split second she’d been grasped and pulled into the ground. There was no chance of escape. There was no time to scream. There was nothing. Only Darkness and Emptiness.

She regained consciousness and looked around. She was in a room resembling a cave. It was dark, the air felt damp. The only sound was the dripping water and the drops falling on the stony ground. She felt someone’s presence intensely. ‘Who are you?’ she dared to ask.‘I was expecting that question,’ she heard the answer said in a bitter voice. ‘I know you! I know your voice!’ she called out surprised, trying to locate her interlocutor.‘You have known me once. I used to be so close, on the other side, where sunrise and sunset mark the passing time. Now I am here, in the Land of Eternal Shadows’. The Naughty Girl saw the dark, familiar silhouette emerge from the darkness. The man held a torch over his head, the light so weak that it was only a lighter stain on the dark background. The polaroids full of memories began popping out from the back of her head. The shots full of those promises.‘You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have gone to the Land of Eternal Shadows’. ‘We’re all allowed to do whatever we please with our lives, aren’t we? I merely used that possibility. I had a right to do it, don’t you agree? But the loneliness became too much to bear. That’s why you’re staying with me.’


Prose Emma Ernst

‘you want me to stay with you in the Land of Eternal Shadows?’ she asked, unsure. ‘But they’ll be waiting for me there… they’ll be looking for me… besides, I love sun and there’s none here! Not to mention I still have some affairs up there and no one will take care of them in my stead’. With more and more power she spoke further arguments, but the demon approached, and when the Girl fell faint glow of the torch on her face, she began to forget that the sun, flowers, strawberries or singing birds existed, anything other than that dark place. She felt that all the Polaroids with the memories of her life on the surface began to fade and blur, and only those with a demon remained. She could not oppose it and was beginning to lose the desire to return. He's right... she should be here to ease his loneliness. He must suffer greatly... Someone should be with him... Suddenly she heard barking just above her head, which triggered a powerful desire to return in her. She regained the memory of the sun. She heard Cynic trying to dig to her like crazy and she felt soil dropping on her head. She jumped to her feet and cried:‘If you had the right to die, then I have the right to live! We’re all allowed to do whatever we please with our lives, aren’t we? You’ve said it yourself!’ Later, the brightness entering the deep pit dug by Cynic blinded her. Taking advantage of the ability to move as a mole, the girl dug her way up. The dog went wild, barking, wagging his tail and bouncing and licking her face. She buried her fingers in its red fur and placed her face against the dog's snout, looking in her pet's eyes with gratitude. Later she picked up the discarded shovel, stood over the hole in the ground and cried: ‘Don’t you dare to grow on my lawn, you hear me?!’‘You hog most of my polaroids anyway,’ she added grimly.Silence was the only answer she got. The Girl started to fill up the hole. She decided to ask old Mrs Den for some strawberry cuttings; the soil was freshly dug up, so they should grow nicely. No more nervous waiting for crooked fingers to come out from the ground. Now she shall wait for the sun to ripen the strawberries and tan her skin. In the meantime Cynic has already forgotten the whole ordeal and returned to hunting moles. Everything was back to normal. The Girl looked around and realized that this was her place. She felt Joy. A great Joy.

Translated by Aleksandra „Gingers” Ginter


Gallery Presentations Magdalena Franczuk

Magdalena Franczuk

A photography student at the Film School in Lodz. In her photographs she creates the world from the border of reality and fairy tales. She strives to make her work influenced the different senses of the recipients - to have their temperature, taste, smell. Her inspiration comes from, among others, paintings by old masters, photographs from the late nineteenth century and devotional articles. She's talking about herself that she cultivates the "knickknack" photography that in the dust has its beginning and continues to attract dust. In addition to taking pictures, she is dealing with a theory of photography and conducting workshops.

https://www.facebook.com/magdalenafranczuk.fotografia










































Prose Adam H. A. Michniewicz

The Dementia Chamber

Death is great.We are in his keep

Laughing galore. When we deem ourselves deep

In life he dares weepDeep in our core.

R.M. Rilke

None of us had mentioned the possibility of saving ourselves. True, Our Prison seemed sturdy enough and that is why (we thought) we found ourselves in a stalemate. Of course, that does not mean that it was the case. No one simply decided to get up and do something. Something, anything. Just imagine a week of silence, of closed mouths, a complete lack of speech. A week of stagnation, inertness, sloth, tied hands. Everything was so dry that the air seemed to brittle. Just me and them: Us and Our helplessness. There is one more detail that is worth mentioning: The-One-By-The-Wall had been incredibly tired and overwhelmed by whateverness. He even ignored a pain in his thigh caused by some hard object. The said object was, as you may have guessed, a key to the abundant doors of Our Common Dungeon. The Key to freedom. But that is irrelevant now. We all died anyway.

Translation by Aleksandra „Ginger” Ginter

_________________________________

Jakub Wywio": I am a graduate of PJWSTK in Bytom. Currently I am finishing graphics on arts in Cieszyn. The illustrations were made in watercolor pencil. My main interest I direct towards graphic design, workshop (artistic)

graphics and painting.http://urwij.pl/wywiol

Illustration by Jakub Wywio"

http://urwij.pl/wywiol



Presentations Ja#mina Stysiak

Ja!mina Stysiak was born in 1988 in Warsaw, where she still lives. She is – in her own words – a person universally ignorant, has no certificates or finished collage, and beside a very short period in her childhood, she has never learned about the arts. Yet throughout her (short) life, she has sought forms of expression of herself. She started with drawing and later discovered photography. She returned to drawing, as in the next stage in her life - she intends to make movies, she plays the drums and is intermittently writing her first novel. She believes that the ability to use multiple means of expression is the key.

[L&F] How was your art born? What do you create?[Ja!mna Stysiak] My creations were born of the constant need to express my own feelings, thoughts and experiences. I've done it ever since. As a child, I drew a lot, at the beginning simple things, then more and more complex pictures. At about seven years old, I drew such things as a movie scene of young men fighting with rapiers, a

horse-drawn carriage speeding across a bridge, or Adam and Eve at the tree of knowledge of good and evil. The most important were then to me the details - the e i g h t e e n t h - c e n t u r y w h i t e , dishevelled shirts of the fighting men, or marking every brick in the wal l o f the bui ld ing in the background, the horses, the anatomy of naked people. Surely this passion for detail can also be seen in my works today. I drew a friend my own size too: the female character in Mad Max. I would call it creating the reality in which I would like to exist and operate, characters with whom I would like to create relationships. But above all, I presented my feelings and obsessions, both in photography and drawing. I worked, though reluctantly, on the autobiographical

contemporaneity



nowa aleksandria



i am you



novel in a surreal manner, telling the story of my dreams and childhood memories.However, for most of my life I was very frustrated with the inability to find a suitable tool for expression. My drawing was dead. I really wanted to deal with music, but I had no real talent for this. Maybe I chose a bad medium, because now I'm learning to play the drums, which was my childhood dream and I feel this will allow me to extend my field of expression.Everything changed when in high school, I met my soul mate - a girl who always had a camera with her. In time, I began to borrow it. It was then a completely foreign device to me. It turned out that it was just a fuse, which is always needed. I returned to drawing after years for a very simple reason - the terrible boredom of work. I was then at the

beginning of a crisis with photography, and now I believe that this crisis was needed to get me started in a different direction and that my drawing could begin to live again.

'(...) my head was captured by the night. Never before in any of the internal lives had she broken into me so intensely; I could now feel how quickly she flows through my nostrils, filters into my ear, slowly covering my eyes with a mist; at some point I took a small breath, and then these sparkling flecks, tiny atoms of night actually settled gently on my tongue and teeth, to absorb deeper, to clog my throat, to stop me from screaming. But I didn’t want to scream. My body absorbed this strange substance, completed its deficiencies, assimilating the elements of dark matter necessary for its proper functioning.(...)'

[L&F] Do you assign yourself some limits?[Ja!mna Stysiak] No. On the contrary - to create, to grow, you should still exceed the boundaries: the limits of your capabilities, commitment and interests. Especially if you still have a lot to learn. I hesitated only once before crossing the limits of own exhibitionism, - creating a work which stretched even further beyond the boundaries of my erotic art, which my viewers have got used to. But I realized that it doesn’t

the kingdom of sleepers



at night



insomnia III



matter, it's an artificial limit. You are in this totally, or not at all.

'(...) room - as always - was lit with quiet night light. I did not take off my coat - I did not feel that I came to my own home - and rightly so, because this place has never been my home, but only an uncomfortable waiting room between the sweetness of desperate childhood, and the even more desperate awareness of life of an older teenager.My eye caught the two faces shining among the luminous dark – these were the faces of my great-grandparents’ marriage of Jewish noses, although the absolute right to such could usurp only one of them. The picture of these two stands there even today, in a wooden frame with an Art Nouveau ornamentation broken from one side. I watched so these two, completely unknown to my people, but my attention began to flow elsewhere. I began to see that I had to come to the wall, and so made an unprecedented move; a crazy thought sprung to mind,

telling me that behind the w a l l t h e r e i s a r o o m belonging to the house, one which I had never seen.With the momentary anxiety about the sober state of my mind, the absolute certainty that it was to right thing to do faltered. So I chose the most appropriate place and laid a hand on it, feeling the rough texture of the white surface, I pushed it gently, and it – to my astonishment - slowly but surely gave way . (...) '

I let love in to my kingdom



[L&F] What occupies your thoughts?[Ja!mna Stysiak] I live in my own world. This is actually probably more often disseminates "disease", right, and so always known to the art people. In my mind I’m mostly experiencing situations which I want, but which have never taken place, or relationships with people who do not exist. There is a lot of admiration for beauty, delight, living conditions, emotions and dreams in my thoughts. A lot of thinking about people - I celebrate the details of their behavior, appearance and views. Still revaluating my own views, I try to take bites of them from different angles. I also think about all the things I want to create, and how exactly should it look.

[L&F] Who are your characters?[Ja!mna Stysiak] The subjects in my pictures are different from those of my drawings. In the pictures, it is almost always myself, in the bodies of various models. Me, or my states, emotions or needs. With the drawings, however, it is a bit different. There is more space on the abstract, appealing to me, or striking me visions.

she’s a flower II



'(...) I was standing in a narrow corridor whose walls were covered with rows of doors. A force slowly moved me forward and held out my hand to one of the handles. I found myself in the stairwell of my old house, in a high-rise apartment on Belgrade Street. My eye caught a giant mailbox whose presence now filled all my consciousness. I had not been here for at least eight years, I wasn’t sure that the letter in the box was addressed to me.I reached into my pocket, where I found the keys. I slid one of them - the smallest one - to the tiny hole in the sheet metal door. The doors opened and suddenly stacks of envelopes gushed out at me - small, large, thick, thin. All showed my name. I opened one of them, the first of them. On a sheet, which I pulled out from the envelope - there was written date: 18.VI.2003. The letter was from someone who I doesn’t know, but everything pointed to the fact that it is different: it looked as one of many in a long over confidentially and full of kindness correspondence. I should have read it years ago and answered, but it did not happen. What had happened to that person, where was she? What did she think about the fact that my message never arrived, and was she sorry because of that?I found many more such letters from people I never knew, and with whom I had exchanged friendly letters. I almost lost my consciousness. So I sat on the stairwell, sprinkled with a pile of envelopes and postcards around me, and I don’t know how much time I stayed there. No one came to disturb that sudden and unexpected, but so long-awaited experience; no one was in the elevator, no one rang the intercom. I was alone. (...) '

deeper and deeper II



[L&F] Do you like these characters?[Ja!mna Stysiak] Yes. I need them. They become characters living in my private world.

[L&F] What does "expectation" mean to you?[Ja!mna Stysiak] Expectation for me is continual survival. Experiencing ideas of what will happen or will not. Creating alternative opportunities and confronting them, assimilation, testing, desire, fantasizing. This can be a wonderful thing, it can also be a nightmare, depending on what we're waiting, and how we see it.

[L&F] What do you expect?[Ja!mna Stysiak] Changes in my life. I expect this from myself and from fate, whatever that fate is.

[L&F] And what are you waiting for?[Ja!mna Stysiak] For these changes. For a deep relationship with fascinating person. For beauty. For things that never happened to me, and they should.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/ja#mina-stysiak-the-art-of-nightly-experiences/153284591444644

childish dreams II

https://www.facebook.com/pages/ja%C5%9Bmina-stysiak-the-art-of-nightly-experiences/153284591444644

https://www.facebook.com/pages/ja%C5%9Bmina-stysiak-the-art-of-nightly-experiences/153284591444644


Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Aneta Mla# - Touanda

"Serving Size"

About four in the morningI rave

in the language of silly soap operaI dust for the hundredth time

I plan to pluck wild ducksThis will be the last such dinner

I am counting freckleson the angular shin

they frighten me with carcinoma againThoughts like a flock of dirty children

Time for a bath, the sacred dutyeven the air

has here its caloriesI enumerate every breathAbout four in the morning

the body is lighterand freckles shine on the transparent skin

then I like myself a little

"The fruit"

My nothingnessessare my Everything

The World of The Seven Lakesthat I have to

cross nowBefore will flow from the hair

the last dropI sow at the bottom

a seedWhen the time comes for me

I'll bake an apple piefor two plates

My nothingnessesscrumbs of plates

This is my Everything


Gallery Presentations Karen Wiseman

Karen Wiseman

Figurative Mixed Media Artist.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Karen-Wisemans-Open-Studio/154994317888797

Pearls, Collage 60 x 90 cm





This Time, Collage/Mixed Media on stretched canvas 30 x 60 cm



Mixed Media on Stretched canvas 90 x 120



Balance, Collage 60 x 90 cm



Fly with Me, Collage 60 x 90 cm



Expectations in offering, 60 x 60 mixed media on stretched Canvas


Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Dionizy Sikora - desperat-zine

new road

in the dark streets of my citylife is born close to the fall

morality of man dies in himself the new is born in pain and despair

carnal lusts overcome feargiving in our hands the superhuman strength

and our eyes are blocked with dried still warm bloodthe many prophets sends us signs

pointing us to the right pathhowever, I see on their hands the blood

and in their eyes malicious intentwhich I am afraid of

nobody tries to break free nobody asks what is wrong with usthis prison is my home

and the time is the biggest enemy


Gallery Presentations Jaros"aw Jarema

http://www.jaremaphotography.com/

http://www.jaremaphotography.com

http://www.jaremaphotography.com








Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Izabela Monika Bill

"Longing"

I look at the picture of the windowwith pigeons in the backgroundthe frame blooms in the spring

melts in the summerhoarfrosts in the autumnand sparkles in the winter

only pigeons stay the samebored with necessity of

seeking for breadthey look into the picture

from the other sideworsebetter

I do not knowI'm starving at full refrigerator

made bedwarm ovenI am waitingnot for bread

only formy dove

"Evening without you"

I’m counting thoughts in the constellation of ceiling

the shadows on the wall in the theater of silence

I destroy the room’s order with movement of the dress

with bare feet

love cracklesfull of splinters

I reach out my hands to Father Moon

I am waiting

I roll into a corner I shrink going blind

inertial mourner

I am waiting until finishes

the evening se[a]nce

without the tragedy of words in the silence of mouth


Gallery Presentations Matylda Borczy$ska














Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Joanna Ma"oszczyk

***Only I

Stand between you and the eternityLonging a gray mist in the corner curls

The ocean is calmHe washes the rus away from my soul

Politely we drink the teaBehind the blue sky in your eyes hidden

I breathe in the salty windTells tales

You're so very pale my loveAnd you turn your eyes awayYou're looking at the ocean

In this tiny cafePasses the second day year

My life passesThe lanterns were lit

They cast a warm flickering glowsAnd in the back of the jukebox

Live dispassionately thieves of metaphorsAnd take in possession

All of my worldsWe won’t drink up, my love, this tea today

Nobody will comeI admire the grace of coagulating moths

With the wings from a pale pink lace


Gallery Presentations Robert Wypiór - Finus

Robert Wypiór - Finus

I'm a total amateur. Photography interests me for a long time but unfortunately it is not associated with my profession. In the usual gray day I am a teacher.

https://www.facebook.com/FinusFotografia
































Prose Angel Tears

Short parable of the flower

! The flower was very peaky. Small, pale, with a fragile stalk. He grew up in a beautiful garden, between the flower beds preen in bloody red roses, peonies puffed with an immensity of florescence, lilies of mesmerizing scent and sunflowers overwhelming with haughtiness. He was so tiny that initially the other flowers did not even notice him. Preoccupied with bragging before the other flowers, they didn’t notice a minor plant which had grown up quietly on the edge of the lawn. When they finally noticed the new inhabitant of the garden, they all burst into derisive laughter.- How pale, you don’t even know what that color is! - mocked the roses. - What kind of petals are they! Grains of sand? And only one cup! - screamed the peonies. - It cannot be a flower! He doesn’t even smell! – the lilies roared with laughter. - It is not a stem, it is a blade of grass! And an extremely fragile one! It is so small that even the butterfly did not notice him! – the sunflowers shook their heads, choking with laughter. The small, pale flower was very sad. At night, when other flowers in the garden slept, he wept quietly. He was ugly, lost and unwanted. Why was he not born as a beautiful rose, peony, scented lily or huge sunflower? Why is he so small, frail and ugly? He wished to disappear from the face of the earth, to never have been born...Nobody will ever love such a peaky flower...

One sunny day a couple in love came to the garden. - I would like to give you the most beautiful flower on earth - said He - because I love you most in the world. They walk around the garden for a long time admiring and smelling beautiful flowers. - Have you chosen one, dearest? - He asked. - Yes, please give me this flower - She said, and leaned over the small, puny, pale flower. - This? - He asked incredulously. - Of all the wonderful flowers you choose this one? - Yes. - Why? - Because all of these beautiful, fragrant flowers are the same. This one is different, unique. Nowhere else have I seen such a flower. And because it is unique...


Gallery Presentations Maik Wöll

Maik Wöll

40 years old German photographer, deals with photography from 5 years in the areas of fashion, beauty and erotic. He prefers to work on the ideas on the open air. He likes to work with people and catch their stories.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Maik-Wöll-PhotoArt/178399412210692

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Maik-W%C3%B6ll-PhotoArt/178399412210692































The Art of... edit. by Adriana Lisowska & Marta Sulkowska

Plant feast

We invite you to a vegan feast! We recommend muffins with homemade rhubarb jam, muffins with parsley and cardamom, chocolates with green tea, dandelion fruit jelly, wholemeal biscuits with daisy syrup, bread with raisins and rosemary. For refreshment we serve dandelion wine and rhubarb compote. Becoming acquainted with the vegan diet and discovering the wild plants of the meadows and forests, hereto forgotten in Polish cuisine, may be for you the beginning of a new adventure. In anticipation of our next meeting, we proudly present some portraits of multiannual orthodox, incidental, declared, instantaneous beginner and initiate herbivores, who we have hosted so far at our table. *

In the meantime, find a recipe for self-collect, cook and bake.



Wholemeal biscuits with daisies syrup.

Daisies syrup:

250 g daisies (capacity about one large gherkin jar) lemon 300 g of sugar 800 ml water

Harvest a quarter of a kilogram of daisies in a lovely clean place (not on the street and away from dog walkers). Try to tear off their heads only - you'll have less work at the "peeling" part. Spread the harvested flowers, deprived of their stems, on a cotton cloth. Wait one hour until all the creatures have had time to evacuate. Rinse the daisies thoroughly



under running water. Scald the lemon, cut into slices and put them in the jar along with the flowers. Submerge them in 800 ml of boiling water, cover and wait until morning. Strain off the daisies and lemon slices. Pour the liquid into a pot and boil with the sugar for about an hour. Foam may appear on the surface of the syrup during cooking, but do not pay attention to it. Pour the syrup into a steamed jar or bottle, spin and place upside down. Wait to cool.

Wholemeal cookies: ( kg wholemeal flour ( cup of caster sugar 2 teaspoons of potato starch 1 flat teaspoon of baking soda ) teaspoon of fine salt * cup of oil (preferably sunflower) ( cup of water (needed for kneading the dough, so you need to use it a little less or more)

Mix all the dry ingredients. Add oil and water. Knead until it has the consistency of shortcrust pastry. Shape into a ball and put in the fridge. Wait 15 minutes. Warm the oven to 160-180 degrees. Prepare a large baking tray and lay baking paper on top.Remove the dough from the refrigerator and roll out to a thickness of 3-5 mm. For dusting, use white flour or potato starch. Prepare two different molds in different sizes but with the same shape for cutting cakes. With the larger mold, cut two pieces - one will be the cookie bases. Use the smaller cookie cutters to cut the "frame". With water stick it closely to the base frame: the daisy syrup will be later poured into such a "mold". If you have scraps of dough, try to lightly moisten them with water and knead again. After drying, the dough is quite difficult to handle, but it should help.Bake the cookies until golden brown: 15 minutes at 180 degrees should be enough. Remember that every oven is an individual and you might need to extend or shorten the cooking time accordingly.After cutting and baking the cookies, and letting them cool, very gently fill them with the daisy syrup. Now for the most difficult part - lock cookies in a box for at least two days. Arrange them in a way they can’t stick together, and the syrup can’t leak out. Hold on for 48 hours, and eat immediately after. Enjoy!

If you have not collected enough daisies on time, wait again as they can be easily found.

* [The first part of the “photo-edible” project was held on 24. May 2014. During the Open Studios activity in the building at St. George's, all the visiting inhabitants of Lodz were treated with vegan sweets. We met many old friends and got to know lots of other interesting people. The conversations about food and plants (and even poisoning) lasted into the late night hours.]



























Phoenix (Falling asleep to rise again)

Miles was restless, as he gazed up on the balcony where he and his ex-wife used to dine together. He was replaced. There was a young and well-dressed man in front of Sandra. She picked up the salt and started to salt the meal that she hadn’t tasted. Miles saw a faint look of disappointment on the young man’s face “he probably cooked the meal” thought Miles. Being a cook by profession, Miles cursed after all the people who put salt on his food before tasting it but he felt no remorse for this guy. Glasses of wine clashing as if they were celebrating in the house that Miles bought and lost at the divorce. Most of his savings and property gone with just one decision. Fifteen years of hard-earned cash soaked in the smell of deep frying oil and grilled meat.Miles, tipsy from all the drinking he’d done before he got to his old house, took another sip from his flask, a gift from Sandra for his 25th birthday. They were wild like that back in college. Both had a flask with their initials engraved, roaming through the country with only a chopper and a tent whenever he found time from work and his studies.“Until this moment, I never truly understood what I had lost” he thought, while taking another sip spying on the couple at the balcony. Neither of them mattered for a long time, he imagined he might see them getting back together, and “everything’s gonna be alright” just like the song. He would build a new successful job from scratch and then she would realize what a fool she was and their true love and the life they built together would come back together, resembling the ending of all classical romantic comedies. Until this moment.The man at the balcony stood up and landed a big kiss on Sandra’s lips. Sandra responded with another, and things started to heat up .The scene was getting unbearable for Miles, the flask was half full but it seemed like it was Miles’ only ally in facing this moment. As he watched, Sandra got up, still engaged in the kiss, helping the young man take his jacket off, while the man found the zip to Sandra’s lovely black dress. The dress she’d bought with Miles, to attend his sister’s wedding, where at the end of the night they’d stolen a bottle and gone to a dark corner only looking at the stars, holding each other like there was no tomorrow. The couple went inside and closed the door behind them, the candles on the table still lit; a half-empty bottle of wine with two glasses nearly finished and a meal nearly untouched.Enraged with the thoughts of what was going to happen inside, he could literally see himself bashing the door and beating the guy to death as if he were the cause of all of his problems. Then again, he would be trying to bash in a steel door: he’d probably just end up breaking his shoulder and causing a big, ugly scene.He still had control over his body and mind and he needed to get away. Just walk far away from that place. He started walking.Miles had known he needed a change, even before he got to his old balcony, stalking his ex-wife, and the change he hoped for was in bed with what she hoped for stating that it was never happening.A half-full flask of bourbon, a 2003 model Harley Roadster and a 60 m flat was all he had left in this world. Unemployed for a year, he’d nearly drained the money from his bank account. After the divorce there was nothing left anyway. Several hours had passed since he started walking, he’d taken his last big sip from the flask maybe 30 minutes ago, but he still carried it in his hand. There was a liquor store up ahead. Miles looked down at the initials at the flask. “I



guess this is goodbye, old friend” he said to himself and threw the flask with all his force. The flask bounced at the lid of the garbage bin, Miles knew it hadn’t gone in but he went in the store anyway, not looking back.He needed the smell of the sea to think. He needed to think to make a change and he needed to drink to forget what he’d witnessed.When he reached the seaside, he was halfway through the bottle of bourbon he’d bought. It was about 6 am and the sun was about to come up. The cold chill of dawn made Miles shiver. He wrapped himself in his arms to warm up, then he felt something in the inside pocket of his jacket. It was a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, looking at the horizon and he stood up. The sun was about to rise, yet it was windy. It had been quite some time since he’d last smoked. It was Sandra who’d nagged him out of smoking after she quit. “You never do anything for me” she would say “you never even quit smoking and you are getting older and fatter every day, while I’m getting prettier. Why the hell I’m with you and not a young healthy guy, I don’t even know” she would say, and that would lead to a really big argument where



in the end they both apologized. Before the divorce, for the sake of the marriage, he did finally quit and started working out. And that was his last pack that he never got to finish. That fucking bitch meant what she said all along, he thought. Then went on thinking of all the fights he had with his ex-wife: all that energy that they spent yelling and shouting then trying to make up, all the time they’d wasted in the name of love, and with the expectation that everything would be fine the next day, that they would work it all out. “Just a big waste of time” he thought. He could concentrate more on his life for now that there was no going back, Sandra had quit on the relationship a long time ago. And he was done wasting time It was a new day tomorrow, and he had been intoxicated enough through the night he now could make out the silver lining in of all this shit he’d been through “I feel sorry for you, young chap” he thought while referring to the men who’d cooked for and kissed his ex-wife. There was one thing that was left for him to do. He only needed to fall asleep and to rise again. Tomorrow was a new day.

Photos by Mehmet Çekirge


Gallery Presentations Marco Rea

Marco Rea

Born in 1975 in Rome, where he works and lives. His artistic research considers two different points of view: Street art and Pop Surrealism, keeping his works recognizable and original with a unique provocative dark style. His new and original technique - spray painting on advertising posters is combined with a really personal sensibility that gives his artworks a sense of melancholy and dark sweetness. Marco Rea’s work begins with appropriating a glossy image, created in order to sell a product, full of messages of desire and fascination, which stir people to material fetishism for mass culture products. He removes the product from this image and the atmosphere totally changes, the subject is bent to his will, the subject becomes other from himself. His favorite models are women in their intimacy, lost in their thoughts, dreams, caught in their mental spaces. He transforms commercial corpses into living ghosts.

http://marcorea.tumblr.com

https://www.facebook.com/marcorea.art


















Prose Angel Tears

And when that day has come…

I will always love you. Even for a thousand years. Even when the sun fades and the Earth stops. You will always be for me the most beautiful, even when a mesh of wrinkles have appeared on your face, and your body loses its flexibility. You'll always be my entire world, everything that I need to live.

Over the last 10 years I have often heard these words. I hear them almost every day.

Yesterday he packed his suitcase. - I'm leaving - he said flatly, not looking me in the eye. - Why? He was silent folding and stacking carefully in a suitcase last shirts. - Why?

He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed his hands over his face. For a moment I had the impression that during the short time he had aged a good few years.

- I do not love you. I do not love you anymore like I used to... I cannot breathe... I need freedom... and... I'm sick of home meals, family trips to the zoo and the amusement park... I'm tired of explaining - when will I return, who am I going with, what would I do... I would like... I would like to take the car and drive straight ahead, without thinking that I should call you, so you won’t worry... I want to feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my face. Just like that. I just don’t think you would understand...- I love you. If you have to, go. If you want to come back, call me. I’m not promising that I'll wait, but I will definitely answer it.

He left without looking back, as if he feared he would lose the power to go if he did. He did not ask what I felt or what I wanted. He decided to leave and he did. Just like that. I was sure I would die of despair. I was sure it would break my heart. I was so sure... When his car drove away from the front of our house, I turned my face to the sun and... I breathed with relief...


Gallery Presentations Corwin von Kuhwede

Corwin von Kuhwede

Active practitioner of the art of creating images with the use of photographic equipment. Some have an eye for art. Others an instinct for business. Corwin von Kuhwede has an eye for stories and another one for images. Together these make him a storyteller who tells stories for the eye. His preferred motifs – regardless whether it involves nudes, portraits, or products – are primarily those behind which stories are concealed. In an unrepressed combination of craft and inspiration, necessity and creative impulse, in his images von Kuhwede is able to simultaneously make the logic and absurdity of the subject visible and along with the objects themselves to show the objects behind the objects. With a credible diversity, under his eye in a narrative heartbeat, art merges virtually unnoticeably with commerce, and commission with need. Into a story which the eye is eager to follow. Corwin von Kuhwede is a imagecreator with an eye for the essential. Even when it is inessential. Get your own picture of his work and have your picture taken.

www.merkesdir.de

www.facebook.com/CorwinVonKuhwede

http://www.facebook.com/CorwinVonKuhwede

http://www.merkesdir.de/

http://www.merkesdir.de/

http://www.facebook.com/CorwinVonKuhwede






























Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Katarzyna Kowalewska

"Postscriptum"

From bed to bed you moved the illusionwhich I was feeding with. Have fun unborn

with sleep in a dark forest. Pick up the stone,into which was pounded my everything. From the leftoversof Christmas Eve lights I will scratch your name, imprinted

on unfulfilled. On the water, which stoppedwith the face of death in the window. I deserted

from giving birth in the middle of the sea, between the fingers,staring at a dead end.


Gallery Presentations Ula de B.

Ula de B.

Her art reflects the concept of disintegration and reintegration. Influenced by Dadaists, she takes elements from life, often minute details, people’s looks, her thoughts, situations, emotions, and then she combines and distorts them to put these separate images out of context to create a feeling or momentary puzzlement. She turns the viewer into a teenage kid suddenly surrounded by a different language, a reality like they never saw before. She has finished MFA in 2007 at the University of Central Florida. Following, the old tradition of sharing art knowledge with artists, she has decided to embark on the PhD in Leadership and Education. Where she is currently a doctoral candidate and working on her thesis.

https://www.facebook.com/1UladeB

update 001





15 points



Humility



Night 009



pond



Post cat, 2013 october



viva 011


Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Mieszko Rybi$ski

Mrs A. Every morning she id coming to the harbour.

Her eyes wane when they won’t manage to find, The familiar whiteness of the sail.

She sold all the jewels and approachesThe moment when she will begin to sell off herself.

Sailors whistling at her. Rough hands and filthy intentions.

Who dare to abandon You princess? Who got tired of Your closeness

Here at Naxos, the first passion is Expectation.

Astrology, however, the very first of the arts.

***so longso far

from here to thereuntil now

I light the candles in the gardengray-blue grass

cats are coming and screamingso close

to tomorrow


Gallery Presentations Sylwester Stabry"a

Sylwester Stabry"a

Lives and works in Sanok, where, together with Jan Szczepkowski leads studios called "+luza". He participated in many collective and individual exhibitions in the country and abroad, he is a winner of prizes and awards, among others the Grand Prix "Matter Medicinalis, Matter Artificialis". Author of works which are forming in extensive cycles: "From the History of Submarine", "Big Boys", "Kitchen Stories". Using the realistic language of expression, he creates paintings thoroughly personal and intimate, making use of the iconography and themes trained in earlier periods of art. The protagonist of his paintings is primarily a human - the material and the actual, full of emotions that afflict him. In terms of psychological portrait in his paintings the great themes are hidden in simple motifs taken from everyday life.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sylwester-Stabry"a-Painting/489630334489029 www.sylwesterstabrylagallery.blogspot.com/

www.sylwesterstabryla.wordpress.com

Zabiegi Rozwi,zywania Sporów, olej na p"ótnie,120x 200 cm, 2014 r.

http://www.sylwesterstabryla.wordpress.com

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sylwester-Stabry%C5%82a-Painting/489630334489029

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sylwester-Stabry%C5%82a-Painting/489630334489029

http://www.sylwesterstabrylagallery.blogspot.com

http://www.sylwesterstabrylagallery.blogspot.com

http://www.sylwesterstabryla.wordpress.com



Wybudzanie, 120x140 cm, olej na p"ótnie, 2013 r.



Wa!na Rozmowa, 110x130 cm, olej na p"ótnie



Underground, 120x140 cm, olej na p"ótnie, 2013 r.



To!samo#-, 50x40 cm, olej na p"ótnie, 2014 r.



Szachowy Pat, 70x100 cm, olej na p"ótnie, 2013 r.



Liczenie Ptaków, olej na p"ótnie, 100x90 cm, 2014 r.



Schody do Uniesienia, olej na p"ótnie, 140x120 cm, 2013 r.



Portret skryty IV, 70x50 cm, olej na p"ótnie, 2014 r.



Odjazd Punktualny, 120x140 cm, olej na p"ótnie, 2014 r.



Mój Ma"y Kucyk, olej na p"ótnie, 50x40 cm, 2014 r



Majsterkowicz, olej na p"ótnie, 110x130 cm, 2013 r,



Lekcja ta$ca, 100x80 cm, olej na p"ótnie, 2014 r.



Lalka, 100x90 cm, olej na p"ótnie, 2014 r.



After Party, olej na p"ótnie, 50x40 cm, 2014 r.


Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Nina Ja#nikowska

"The fullness of understatement"

I am looking for pathsswollen with your understatement

asynchronous gallery of lightblenching with edge of the dunesborder of unassuaged corridorsburied by the hastily of the day

stroke of luckhung in vacuo

most lasting monumentof Humility


Gallery Presentations Ilona Celina Rorzkowska

Ilona Celina Rorzkowska

Educated MSc. architect, artist and photographer by heart. She won scholarship of Jolanta and Aleksander Kwa#niewski Foundation, also received Award of the Rector of Wroclaw University of Technology, Art and Culture Scholarship of Marshal of Lower Silesia and Artistic Scholarship of Mayor of Wroclaw. She is a winner of many awards in the field of art, a participant of dozens of open-air painting workshops, and several solo exhibitions of her own photo studio and atelier. She runs her own photo - design company. She shoots mostly fashion, cooperates with other companies and modeling agencies, though not shunning from artistic photography and reportage; in the center of her pictures there is always a person. Designing different things; is co-owner of clothing brand MIMO. In her photographs and works is visible the love for analogue photography, collage, illustration, fashion and design, as well as that painting and drawing are the cornerstones of of her work.

https://www.facebook.com/IlonaCelinaCom




















Prose Angel Tears

Little Angel

! The girl was small and pale. She might have been 10, but just as well could have been 6. Slender, like a young plant of the rising spring. Blond hair, pale face and huge eyes. Eyes like two lakes. Eyes in which you could see the reflection of the sky. I have never seen such eyes in my life.Despite her frailty and paleness, she was incredibly cheerful. Her rippling laughter could be heard in the farthest corners of the hospital. Everyone loved her. It was impossible not to love such an amazing creature. She enjoyed everything. The rays of the sun piercing through the feathery plicas of clouds. The small colorful birds that squatted on the window sill and tilted their heads curiously peered inside.Most of all, however, she liked to listen to stories. She absorbed them like a sponge, it was hard to believe that all these stories were able to fit in her little head. Most of all, she liked to listen to stories about angels and asked a lot of questions about them. She wanted to know how they looked, what their wings looked like and if they ever appeared among people. She wondered what they ate and what they did in their free time, when they were not taking care of people. I loved to tell her different stories. I loved to see how greedily she seized every word as if they were the best candy or strawberry ice cream. I visited her every day. Every day she was paler and smaller. Every day with greater avidity she was listening to my stories.Especially for her, I invented the adventures of little Anne. Every time I saw her, I created a new story with her. Anne was a brave girl, who could fly and who helped young children in trouble. One day I found empty bed in her room. I tried to convince myself that she had probably gone to the bathroom, even though I knew well that for several weeks she could not get out of bed. I tried to convince myself that there was a miracle that her condition had improved and she returned home.- She died this morning - the nurse stood behind me - HIV won, she didn’t have a chance. She left it for you. I spread the sheet torn from her notebook. A drawing of an angel and a few words written with a trembling hand: "From today I am your angel." I would like to believe that it happened that way. And that she’d got the most beautiful wings.


Gallery Presentations Joanna Skurzewska - ASHKA

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Joanna-Skurzewska/200185763371872

http://www.ashka.pl/

http://www.ashka.pl



http://www.ashka.pl



[…]

Expecting (death) Some three years before I made these drawings, my world was turned upside down.



At that time I was a fourth year student of law (third year archaeology and second year history) at Nicolaus Copernicus University in Torun. I had just returned from the United States to continue my studies in Poland. Everything seemed to be normal. During the week I would stay in the city, attending lectures and classes, struggling with my busy schedule. But when the weekend came around, I was always back in the countryside, to the family home where I could recharge my batteries, play with my parents’ dog and relax. Family rituals - especially the weekly visit of my grandparents (my mother’s parents) were for me an important part of reality. This is how my life used to be ever since I remembered.Everyone thought we were a normal and quite friendly family. My parents ran a small farm, very similar to those around. In addition, each of them owned their own little business. Everything seemed quite usual until one Easter, when my mother, and then, soon afterwards my father suddenly left the country and everything they owned behind.At first I believed I should not question anything and simply trust that my mother and father meant well. I knew many families where at least one parent would stay permanently abroad. The economy was bad and many people were forced to emigrate. But these folks would usually stay in touch with their relatives; call them or write to them every day. In my case things were different. There was no significant communication at all. My parents wouldn’t speak or write to anyone, it was as if they wanted to disappear. All of a sudden all the family rituals no longer existed.[…]Despite all the warning signals, I preferred to believe that this whole situation was only temporary and everything would eventually return to normal. Through it all I tried to live as I had before. I went on excavations, I studied for my September exams. I visited my Grandma and Grandpa. I played with my parent’s dog. The summertime farm, usually full of workers, seemed totally abandoned. For the first time in my life, when the season came along, there was no harvest. Nature started reclaiming my parents’ land. Everything grew wild.When I returned to University, I knew that I would no longer be able to deal with so many classes. I decided to give up Archeology and History, and get a qualification in Law. Apart from limiting the hours spent on studying, something else changed a lot. I couldn’t return home for the weekends anymore. After all there was no one there. The house was dark and lonely. Animals, including the fish in the aquarium, had to be adopted. Now my family life was reduced to a daily phone call to my grandparents. I tried to make up for my parents’ absence and their lack of interest by showing them as much care as I could. But I knew I could never replace my mom and dad for them; especially as we had to prepare for our first lonely Christmas. During this time however, my parents did show us a little attention. They sent a text message from abroad. Two words: “Merry Christmas”. No questions, no explanations, no apologies at all.My grandmother was seriously ill. She had struggled with dementia and atherosclerosis for years. This meant that she needed 24-hour care; which included assistance with feeding, washing, toilet, etc. She was constantly under medication, hardly getting up of bed. My grandfather was the one who was looking after her during all this time. […]One day, my grandfather finished our daily long conversation in a quite unusual way. He suddenly said that he was phoning from the hospital and was going to have an operation. I got in a panic, because this meant that Grandma was left at their house all alone. And there was no central heating, no bathroom, and no toilet there. She wasn’t safe. Fortunately, it turned out that one of my “long time not seen” aunts and her brother agreed to take care of her for the duration of his stay in the hospital. I felt relaxed, but I knew, that after the surgery, both he and my grandmother would need care. Therefore, I immediately started to think how to organize help for them.





The hospital staff suggested that I should get a certificate of my grandparents’ health from their family doctor, to initiate all the “getting help” procedures. Fortunately it turned out that the doctor (lovely lady) knew perfectly well our family’s difficult situation, as my grandparents must have mentioned a few things to her on the occasion of some other routine checkups. She decided to help me the best way she could with organizing a Hospice nurse. She said that we would have some six weeks. After this time, I should be expecting death.At first I didn’t understand what she meant. It seemed to me that I would be getting an ordinary nurse, who would be coming to both my grandmother and grandfather, to give them medicine, etc. It turned out, however, that my grandfather was not in the hospital for some minor surgery. He was suffering from cancer and the Hospice nurse was for him. The only thing the doctor could have done at that time for Grandma was to issue a certificate, which then I'd have to attach to the application for a nursing home. Grandfather was the one who had six weeks left. I only had this much time get this sorted.These las t s i x weeks o f my grandfather’s life were filled with hard work: piles of laundry, washing, feeding, walking to the toilet, etc. I felt tremendous fear every morning, as nobody could stay with them



overnight. There was neither space nor conditions. Therefore, if during the night one of them would try to get out of bed and suddenly collapse, this is how they would be found on the next day- totally helpless and motionless, sometimes in the dog’s, sometimes in their own excrement. Those were truly terrifying and heart breaking sights. We could see death was coming. It was getting closer every single day.[…]These drawings were created during the last six weeks of my grandfather’s life. They are very important to me. At the time I desperately needed to document everything what was happening, as if I was taking pictures of it, but without actually taking photos. I wanted to capture the atmosphere of their household, and all the most elusive aspect of their everyday life. Those six weeks were also a very important experience for me for another reason. I was looking at the people who were still alive, but at the same time I was planning for their funerals, literally behind their backs. I was wondering, for instance, how will they graves or coffins look and where should I bury them. I had so many questions to ask and I knew that there will be no other time like NOW to find out the answers, there will be no other chance to hear what they have to say. I felt a strange uneasiness, facing death and expecting it to take my beloved ones. I was not sure how to deal with it. I knew that soon everything would change. That most things would be thrown away, and all their little



customs, as, for example, the way my Grandma or Grandpa held their favorite mugs will be forgotten. And at that moment everything seemed absolutely unique and worth remembering. Because in a few weeks there will be nobody to care for their stuff in the way they did. Nobody will put away the dishes back properly, as they would like them to be stored and all of their favorite clothes will be trashed without any consideration of how carefully their owners treated them previously. I think that in a way I wanted to freeze time and reality with those drawings. Not just document everything. I wanted to stop death.



These works have been very difficult to publish. I introduced them in just a few places and they would always make a strong impact on the public. I made several versions of the same scenes. Some of the copies were sold, other simply went missing. Perhaps the Top Gallery Art in Torun is still in a possession of some of them.

Translation by Joanna Skurzewska - ASHKA




Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Piotr Stró!yk

"In waiting"

before the fog comes, I have to findplace for myself in the landscape of thinking

in focusing on myselfnot from selfishness needed

as oxygen essentialto the true view of THE OTHER

not recognizing THE OTHER blurs seeingof myself

of everything


Gallery Presentations Alan Uchoa II

My name is Alan Uchoa II, 21, and I'm from Brazil, I'm a fine art photographer. I study Audiovisual and New Media at University. I discovered the world of photography only after my 19 years old. But it was still in my childhood that I realized that I would be an artist and would use my creativity to express myself. Son of divorced parents, I used to visit my father only on weekends. He owned a movie rental store, which allowed me to dive into the world of fantastic stories. Everything functioned as a small "hero's journey". "I feel like my creativity is like Dorothy's shoes; able to take me to other worlds." Have tried other languages like theater, music and literature. In 2011 I got my first camera and since then I never stopped. I've always been fascinated by the tragedy in the sense of greek theater. Among the most discussed topics in my images are loneliness, sadness, death, rebirth and mostly escape from reality. I like to identify my style within obscure themes, my landscapes are always timeless forests or areas, accompanied by characters who seem to wander through time. "Discovering the backyard of my house hides a forest full of secrets to tell me, is what makes me a photographer." These photos are part of my inaugural series; "The springs of the little self." ALL PHOTOS ARE SELF-PORTRAITS

https://www.facebook.com/alanuchoaphotography

Where Secrets are Hidden





The Ball



An Ode to Fidelity



Over the Rainbow



Power Decay



The Eve of Nothing



The Keeper of the Lonely Land



The Poet



The Son of Fear



What Comes Next



When the Best of You Needs to Leave



When Youth Dies



Where is Heaven


Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Jacek Mas"owski

"Youmyselfs"

In heaven there is no mentioning about us.So what are we waiting for?

Who will give us the lastdrop of water?

Who are we favor to?

Until now, I was convincedthat our actions aim at

certain final and they will be,the culmination of all these

efforts, treatments, sacrifices,

I had hopedon a definitive settlement,

summary in any formand now,

this our life balance

appears to be a chaotic raceahead, without a logical

sequence, the random swirl,monster without a face,

the sum of sum;

Here the multitude of barren routineof mornings and evenings,

latchedat the confusion of the flowing time.

Well, so it is?Sometimes the story at this point

starts,and sometimes ends.


Gallery Presentations Daria Endersen

Daria Endersen

Photographer, digital artist and model, based in Oslo, Norway, Daria Endresen draws her inspiration from her most intimate, personal stories. As a reference to her images, she often quotes her favourite painter Frida Kahlo : "I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best". Observant and sensitive, Daria creates surreal dream scapes, drowned in icy atmosphere and laden with pain and mystery. Her works have been featured in numerous publications and artbooks in Europe and overseas, and she participated in a few shows across the world, namely in the United States, Poland, France, Sweden and Germany

https://www.facebook.com/dariaendresen.art

dead angle





kevlar



my lover



protection



to have



to release II



unravel II



untitled III



untitled VIII



zuwarten


Prose Anna Zielazny

Atlantis (excerpts)

The sun licked its own glass reflection greedily. The rays that fell into the room caressed me, enticed me to get up and begin typing a sad story full of hope. A tale of a city that is not mine. Of a city that is not beautiful. Of a city that makes me feel lonely. Of a city that is myself. Of Atlantis floating in the dreams, without jolly laughter, smiles or mossy obliviousness, and with memories as sad as the sunrise that never came.

The butterflies had been dying inside me as I was leaving my family home years ago. The moths grew in the terrible darkness that overtook my heart. I cried as I was leaving, devoid of any hope that I could ever change. Only later did I understand that the Land of Childhood was a real oasis compared to my experiences in the Rat City. I often return to this Land in my sad thoughts full of fears and void.

1. Pinwheels on the Old Market

For a moment I was afraid that everything had died. I was terrified. It turned out later that it was simply that season. And that now nothing and no one dies over the statistical number of casualties per minute: One hundred and eighty people.

I took a deep breath. I had a moment to observe this strange, confusing suspension. There were souvenir booths on the square. I remembered buying them in the past. They stood on the shelves for a while, only to later land in a trunk with useless junk. They were old, just like the memories, and I am still young, naïve and quite often completely stupid... There were colorful, glittery pinwheels attached to the booths. They mesmerized me. They turned fast, but melancholically. They awoke my dormant memories. (…)

The magical shimmer of conversations filled the air. It fascinated me as I stood there, waiting for God knows who or what. I didn’t expect the next events. As it later turned out, I didn’t expect anything the City was to present me with. To put it frankly I embarked on my private Odyssey with a luggage full of terrible experiences, but I expected fate to go easy on me.

However, the tangled ornaments on the facades of the old tenet houses were covered by the unexpected turn of events.

2. The Returns

The sleepy trains disregard the sunrise. It was raining today. The winter is coming and nothing can change that. Yesterday everything was richly dressed in gold. Today every square millimeter reeks of death.

The scent of horses and wet leaves reminded me of my places, the sheep burdened by wool seemed full of warmth and love. Nothing implied the abundance, yet it was all so colorful. The periwinkle sky and water, ochre and burgundy leaves, green grass. All the colors were fake. I missed the hills, where the time stood suspended in the air, rich with beauty. I stood there atop my hill, longing for the wind that had once been in my heart, for the space around


Prose Anna Zielazny

me that fueled my every action. For the expression that allowed me to influence others impressionistically. And yet I was here, in the Rat City.

The air was poison. There was no home. I missed my wasted opportunities. I choked on the poisonous air thinking of love and beauty.

3. The Lost Feelings

The apples fell right on time, ripe and sweet like first love. Some were rotting and damaged, others seemed unaffected. These would rot only during winter. Some words were said at the wrong time and winter had already arrived.

I saw him everywhere in the City, though he was already gone or had not yet arrived. How sad it is that we scratch the scabs that were never supposed to heal. We try to tend to them, but they keep festering. And we can’t let go, until one day we finally do. But then it hurts like hell.

I hate this City. It’s not mine, though perhaps it’s supposed to be. After all, I have my school, my stuff, my flat, my body and, what do you know, thoughts here. I read Wolfllin. Then I took a long walk in search of beauty. The city is by no means picturesque. Everything is flat and dirty in this nouveau-riche way. I haven’t even noticed the moment I became a part of it, grew into it. Or perhaps it grew on me. I feel tired all the time, as if something sucked all the joy and energy out of me. This city torments me. I sleep four hours a night, because it wakes me up with its wretched ringing silence. I started to fear murmurs. This city is full of whispers and murmurs.

I had a beautiful dream, but I woke up too soon. Tired all the time, with sinusitis and stomachache caused by regret. I was lying in my alien flat for no good reason. The air was warm, my knees weren’t freezing. But when I put my feet on the floor, I felt a terrible cold. Tiny needles started to pierce my feet. I imagined millions of them, jabbing my poor feet, one by one, slowly and deliberately like inquisitors. I wanted this pain. I often encountered such visions in the Rat City. I could find peace in the pain or impression of pain. Because I waited, waited still. I still do, to no avail.

(…)

6. Empty and Quiet

You can never see more than three or four stars in the city. The Rat City was just like all the other soulful cities in this matter. When I was little and someone died in the family, I would look up and see the stars. I hoped then that they were special, that they blink up there to give us the feeling of intimacy. There were four stars now, reserved for my grandparents. No star for him. Where was he then, if not there? Where do atheists go if not there? But we believed, always. No matter how they labeled us, we believed. We believed God than the people who have failed us and proved untrustworthy. But we believed God in whom we did not believe.


Prose Anna Zielazny

Then if my star is no longer here nor in the sky, where has the heart that loved with all its might gone? You gave sense to this crazy city of ours.

I dreamt about our Christmas yesterday, I was so happy that everything would change, that you would be closer, that we could be happier. That it would be like in the old days. Everyone together... for so many years.

I believed that everything was getting better. I even got birthday wishes, and his wonderful warm voice seemed so happy. I believed that everything would be fine. Why then has it all gone so very wrong...

I looked with contempt on the Rat City, pouring all my anger, frustration and tears on it. Then I could no longer cry. The rats could not see my weakness. I was slowly becoming a rock, alive inside, the fire burning me so much that I thought sometimes that I was dying. To die in this town, as he died in that town – a fortress ... That would be the worst thing that could ever happen to me. That's why I pull myself together and ignore the flames. Play well, live long - you can believe it. Finally, at the end, forever. I believe that you are waiting.

(…)

Translation by Aleksandra „Ginger” Ginter


Gallery Presentations %ukasz Zagraba

My name is %ukasz Zagraba, I'm 26 years old and live in Wales. My adventure with photography began some six years ago from a photo of "Harry Potter” book that I found at the dump. I had a simple digital camera back then, which was always with me and I was documenting everything surrounding me. From 2-3 years I’m trying to do it more thoughtfully (which I do not always manage to), and with a little more professional equipment, but I think it's not the equipment that takes pictures, but man. I haven’t chosen the direction in which I would like to go, for now I'm studying photography on own or someone else's mistakes. I hope that someday I will make such a picture that will impress not only viewers but also me.

https://www.facebook.com/LukaszZagrabaFoto


























Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Dorota Karin

"Anew"

we will give ourselves the twists and turnswill rent from Cossacks steep sides

Tatars will lend us their bowsand unforgiving glances

humanity will admitthat no place for her here

so we beginmy dear

anew


Gallery Presentations Cristina Georgescu

Cristina Georgescu

I am a 22 years old girl who likes and enjoys all the beautiful things in this world. I remeber that in my childhood, my favourite item to play with was my dad’s old camera, a Smena. Even if he was hiding it far away from my hands, I still managed to find it and use it until the day it was broken. I used to photograph everything I saw and ruin so many roll films. Today I like to photograph people because they always hide some stories. Street photography and landscapes are also on my favourites list.

http://gcaphoto.wordpress.com http://instagram.com/gcaphoto/

In the dark

http://instagram.com/gcaphoto/

http://gcaphoto.wordpress.com

http://gcaphoto.wordpress.com

http://instagram.com/gcaphoto/














Poetry Section edit. by Piotr Kasperowicz Leszek &uli$ski

sooner or later you run into her on the road,do not stop, go

however earlier empty your pockets,get rid of everything that unnecessarily you gathered over the years

stand in front of yourself naked and trembling,trust in brightness of space and in the world,

which will be after you;leave just books, the ones that evoked

wind in your soul, caused tremors of your heartand clenched throat with a lump of shake,you can also take a small pebble, an opal

of your hope that eternally was fading

go!

on the other side of the Gate there will be the noise of the world;at your fingertips the ideals of his youth, words,

that you could not pronounce, deeds,which recklessly you hadn’t done, faithfulness,

which had caused the wounds, omissions and misdeeds,which had been a bubonic plague of your Conscience

go like the othersand like the others rise up.


Gallery Presentations Bartosz Jakiel

Bartosz Jekiel

He was born in Poland, ra ised surrounded by ubiquitous surreal images of Polish theatre posters. He communicates with the world using simple tools like the pencil or pen and ink, trying to reveal his subjectís state of mind or soul; be it a dreamless void or melancholy, scratching on the surface of the 'real'. Bartoszís artwork has found a place in private collectorsí houses and has recently had the privilege of being accepted for the 159th Open Exhibition at The Royal West of England Academy. He has been an active member ever since. He currently lives in Bristol with his wife Joanna and son Noah and has just published his first graphic novel called STORIES IN RED.You can find more information about the book at

www.treslettres.com https://www.facebook.com/treslettres

After Silence

https://www.facebook.com/treslettres

http://www.treslettres.com

http://www.treslettres.com

https://www.facebook.com/treslettres



Child Across The Sky



Displaced Memories 02















Exquisite Corpse panel 1









Uncomfortable Truth



Untitled 01



Untitled 02



My Beloved Deceased

[…] and yetHow nice is the thought

That the world may die a littleWhen I die […]

H. Po#wiatowska

Once I reach the other side as well, I shall marry you again. If I only could, I would have already escaped, but it will be better if the yearning brings me to the light. Wait – for you it’s a mere second. I will do what I can to leave our children a spiritual inheritance we would have loved ourselves. After all, God rewarded us with our dreams coming true, so that the only thing we should worry about is finding each other in the end, and the end shall come soon. For we were rewarded with immortality for renouncing it. Death was never an enemy, either, we never had to pray to be delivered from it before sleep. Jesus, how happy I am for all those dreams, lullabies, dinners, suppers with hot chocolate leaving mug stains on the table… You didn’t take it. Thank you. And you, My Beloved Deceased keep begging your Employer so that we should never ask anything again. How sweetly he shall punish us for staying true to our ideals. We love each other and we love you. Goodbye. Old age may be an unstoppable storm. The greatest hero would be hit if he in his foolishness and arrogance tried to stop a train which runs over the lame. And yet the young play with it as if it were a toy train from their grandpa’s attic. In their minds, time is stopped by the frequent trips through the looking glass, old wardrobes, mysterious doors, ponds and rabbit holes. This is the only way out. But isn’t it already too late for all of us? Was it ever not too late? It is an individual truth, not a trend or phenomenon. I’m lucky, I have a gift and I pity those who had rejected it willingly or otherwise. Life – do you know how to play this game? The old shall be young and the young shall be old. The humble shall be exalted and the arrogant shall be humiliated. Do we all play this game? It Illustration by Jakub Wywio"



seems so… I listen content to the stampede of the raindrops arriving regularly as of late. They thump like wild horses while I enjoy the memories of things yet to come – it’s like turning back the clock, playing a melody in reverse. Instead of sucking the oxygen out, the flames grow bigger with every passing second. This is why we will not fade away, why I will keep loving stronger and stronger… This. Ambiguous, yet strong. The strength of bit lips, of drawn blood which I lustfully drink from the lips that give life even after the heart stops. Even without heartbeat, something worthy of everyone’s envy flows in my veins: your soul, the missing link that cheats the natural order and revives the dead. It was given to me, hiding in the shadows. Finally. This movement almost drove me insane. I was on my way to yet another tete-a-tete with destiny, which never took us, though it most certainly affected us. Whether I was lucky or not is unimportant. Definitions are pointless here – I am happy. So happy it’s a sin. Dark and anxious – serenity and calm. In my soul, the evening shadows fall. It is 6:40 A.M. I am coming. To desire all or to desire nothing. In the end we all get the reward we deserve. With temporality in mind we build houses with white walls, whose beams wouldn’t be moved by hundreds of oxen or horses. No matter what I may see after the leap into the obsidian deep, I proclaim with a confidence of a hero: here dies the happiest man in the world. Leaving along with his friends – Her, the friend and Death. I am preparing a speech for my own wedding and I smile with every blade of my grassy hair. As if it was to be said at the funeral. Using terms from folk wisdom…

What you want to do, you may.Death will get you anyway.

Translation by Aleksandra „Ginger” Ginter_________________________________

Jakub Wywio": I am a graduate of PJWSTK in Bytom. Currently I am finishing graphics on arts in Cieszyn. The illustrations were made in watercolor pencil. My main interest I direct towards graphic design, workshop (artistic)

graphics and painting.http://urwij.pl/wywiol







Presentations Katarzyna Bonda

With Katarzyna Bonda I talked exactly one year ago. This year, with the release of her new novel and new series, I decided to see what changes have occurred in her life and what she expects from her books, from hefself, from the readers... In the meantime, another author’s meeting took place, and I managed to get there, it was connected with the tour promoting the first part of a tetralogy about profiler Sasha Za"uska. I will not tell you the contents of the book, I encourage you only to reach for it because it's worth reading. If you read some of the reviews you will understand that there are more people who think this way.

[L&F] They speak of you "Bond’s girl", "Polish 007" and recently you have been appointed "Polish Queen of the Crime" - how shall I to call you not to lose life in strange circumstances?[Katarzyna Bonda] Call me Kasia or simply Bonda, which, moreover, from elementary school were most common. I didn’t get any nickname, I had too good name. And life is too short to waste it for no reason. As for the royal honors, I won’t be angry if you just encourage to read my books this way. And definitely remember to tell that it is a joke. The book - especially crime story, that is the story of that perfect world which has smashed to pieces and the reader along



with the main hero must again piece it together - is precisely for us to experience emotions. That we together with the hero overcome our fears, terrors, and fulfill dreams. First, it happens on paper, and then we have the courage for it in reality. I want to be that kind of guide for each of you. This is my dream. That a man holding my book and reached into it, when he feels bad, sad or bored. I want to be at the heart of the reader, on his shelf, permanently, not just for a while on the day of the premiere. How to call me is less important. If I could be a "queen of your hearts" - deal.

[L&F] You name it. From today you will be Bond’s Girl, the Polish Queen of Our Hearts... and of the crime story. And quite seriously, are you not afraid of such labeling? Didn’t get a nickname in school, maybe now also you shouldn’t?[Katarzyna Bonda] I shouldn’t - of course. But modesty has never belonged to my advantages. Unfortunately, pride is also not. I know my value and my own place in the book market. I'm here for too long time to not to see that the quality is the key. And I'm a professional, I know the seams and I work on shortcomings, because they are still some, and I see them. Do not worry, I won’t become cocky. Although since I was hailed as the "Queen" I've made a little haters although not yet enemies. Just waiting for me to fail (meaning: I will write another book, but not as good as the previous one). Unfortunately they will stay disappointed, because I don’t used to let down my readers. It'll be fine. I know how to do it. I only need to toil hardly, the book doesn’t write itself. With such experience it is hard to burn the action.

[L&F] Recently on your fanpage you wrote that there are three moments in the life of a writer, for which he is waiting and that they set him in an euphoric state of mind - the beginning of work on a novel, the completion of it, and when ready story turns into a tangible book. What do you think about the moment when the book begins to live its own life - as in the case of the "Polish Murderers"?[Katarzyna Bonda] With a book it is like with a kid who you once wore in the abdomen, later it was born (for me it always happens in pain), later it grows until it finally goes away from home and lives on their own account. There is no need to think about it. I am a prolific mother, and I know that onde day they leave, but I care about it that my "children" were well prepared for their own expedition - that the story could defend theirself after many years, because they touch the emotions of characters, and thus the reader. Fortunately, sometimes they return home and they need a hug. I think my "old" books no longer belong to me, but to the readers. Some are more successful than others, but for all I have the same warm feeling.

[L&F] So far, your main character, who you were giving to solve the crime puzzles in your books, was a man, what made you to reach for Sasha, a female character? Working on the "Florist" - in which appears a profiler woman - did you decide to give her some more pages?[Katarzyna Bonda] When I started to write about profilers, I had to break through the wall of disbelief that this method of investigation work is effective. No one then knew who the profiler was. I did not dare then to give the reader a double risky character. The fact is that I matured and I wanted to write from the perspective of a woman. Indeed, more and more women are going to work today in the police. And there will be more. When I checked stats - in 10 years the number of women admitted to the police increased by 60%. Can you imagine? Women more often want to work in the police than the guys. What can it show? The fact that the androgynous woman is no longer the exception, this is a norm. And it bears a lot of problems between men and women. Certainly Lena Paw"owska from the "Florist" showed me that I can afford it, I will manage. And if it worked for a supporting character, I thought it was time for the grand



entrance of Sasha. I also wanted her to be a completely new character - a symbol of the modern woman. Strong, independent, having an appropriate age, so she is already established professionally and socially, while the current problems that are very popular. For Polish market, women are rarely heroines of "hard" crime. I thought that this should be finally changed.

[L&F] And what is actually "hard" crime story?[Katarzyna Bonda] Hard is properly designed, conceived and written. The sex of the author is of course not important, but the fact remains that women are more prone to walking on shortcuts in solving the drama. I have allergy to this, I hate when the character at the end pulls the solution as a rabbit out of a hat, he discovers the mystery using hunches, intuition, conviction (emotions) and worse of all, he succeeds everything. I also try the cases to only catalyzed the action in my books, but then the puzzle must be complited as a well-planned mechanism - women have to learn it longer. Just like boys more often in childhood play with blocks, pipes, cables and guns. This does not mean that girls do not have such interests, but basically dolls are leading. When I was little I was good at sewing clothes for them and not for cooking or cleaning houses, and designing, cutting and sewing clothes is already inventing job, similar to imagening of criminal scheming.

[L&F] Returning to the topic of women, or androgynic women... You mention that the number of women who come to work in the police has increased by 60% in 10 years. I'm not sure if this is an issue of androgynous, or just the fact that we are just able to do it (although restrictions on the appearance of the police woman, greatly restrict access to this kind of work for me). And I realize that recently awakened many of these, who would love to push women to their homes and deny them the right to work, but despite their verbal declarations I don’t think anyone could stop this machine. Hence my question - for what kind of future you count for women, how do you see them in, for eg., 100 years?[Katarzyna Bonda] Sexmission. You know? It will be that way. Guys already withdraw, they form enclaves. They are afraid of strong women (even if only subconsciously, or



simply don’t admit it). It's not my idea. And while women will increasingly compete on the professional floodplain and will be great in this, it will be harder for them to find apropriate - stronger than themselves guy, who won’t like to break them, but will respect their strength and give theim support. It's important. A woman needs a rock, and the guy needs to be a rock. It is difficult for him when the strong (sometimes seemingly too strong) woman castrates him emotionally. There will also be more homophobes and gays. It will be polar. There will be no middle way, hence will result in trouble in relationships. Probably also people in general fail to marriage, to be together for years. It is rarer for the lifetime relations, on what - watching it - I regret. I have nothing against gays, I have a lot of good, close gayfriends, I know their problems. It is not easy to be in Poland someone who doesn’t fit the Catholic norms. I have my view on this and I don’t agree to the intolerance, but it will be so that "even Copernicus was a woman", or could be. Luckily I will not live enough to see this, and so I can have a life of successful women, when the look of a blonde and strength of a blonde have some value, and the guys don’t run away.

[L&F] A year ago we talked about the writer's workshop, about the crimes and joy (weight) of creation. Today we celebrate the release of the first part of a tetralogy of Sasha Za"uska in the lead role. What kind of expectations do you have from her? (I do not ask about the plans, and do not want to spoil the surprise to the readers.) What do You expect from her?[Katarzyna Bonda] A very difficult question. With Sasha is different than with Meyer. Those books were created on the fly. The adventures of Sasha are completely planned. I know what will be happening to her in each volume, and her biography sets the story, the main thread. I look now to outline of the series, which I wrote over three years ago and I can reveal that it has evolved much since then. I want it to be an example of the classic character, as in a the western series, where the author is attaching readers to form, so that when you run out of her adventures, you just missed her. That's my dream, but we will see. It is certain, however, that the elements: air, earth, fire and water do not appear here by accident. Through their symbolism I want to show what happens to Sasha, how she's dealing with her own history. And so accordingly will have to face the abstinence ("Absorbent") Volume 1, Air; in the second part - earth ("Bespectacled"), it will be prudence, in third part, fire ("Lantern") - justice and in the fourth, water ("Red spider") she will prove bravery. Sasha is Amazon. Many women of that kind I know in reality. I'm sure you and I belong to this group. Although, fortunately, we have no such problems in life.

[L&F] So for us, the readers, there will be a quite interesting adventure. But what happens to us and our commitment to Sasha after tetralogy? Have you thought about this?[Katarzyna Bonda] Yes. I know what will be later on. I will not tell you. It'll be fine. There will be surprises. You'll see. I'm preparing something special. But first I want to give her a chance to shed her skin and be born anew. Every woman - at least three times in lifetime - should do that. Once when a girl becomes a woman, later when beauty passes and you need to keep the class, and then - for the third time, when she reaches the level of the witch. Old age is not terrible. Witch - from "the one who knows", and not from the nasty hag. A hag is a stupid woman who did not accept her old age and do not have the knowladge, she just doesn’t understand. Women have an advantage over men because they are smarter and can change. Therefore, these wise to death can shine with their own light, (not reflected) and some call it beauty. And it's just knowing that you know.



[L&F] Do you expect that the story of a woman profiler also begin to live its life?[Katarzyna Bonda] I'm counting on it. It is already happening.

[L&F] Standard rewrites in the books says that "the book is a work of fiction. Any similarity of characters, events, circumstances is not intended and can only be accidental." We both know that in this case of "Absorbent" (but also in your other books) this is not entirely true. Nothing is random. Reality is used for inspiration - you cut it into pieces, mix and apply in your own way, for the sake of the story. But most of your characters are real characters that differ from the original with some additional features coming from other people. How is with the inspiration and processing of fact by Katarzyna Bonda - a writer?[Katarzyna Bonda] I write both fiction and documentaries books. I was for years a journalist, had an affair with television and film. They all are apparently very different stories, but it is all time the same story. I believe that crop rotation is good. I do not exclude that between the earth and fire (subsequent volumes of the series of Za"uska) I will not write the next document. Important for me is something else: "The credibility of role-playing. The magic of the story. Structure." Whether you read my "Polish Murderers" or "Absorbent” - you will find these three key elements. It just causes, that when people "fall into Bonda", they read all my books. I invite them into my world and I lead. I'm such a writer who is a voyeur, I watch and I collect what interests me. But it is not enough for me. I sometimes wear rubber boots and go on a trip to the swamp. Not because I like adventure (I hate them rather, as well as surprises), but the survive certain events visually, which I need to construct the plot. I write crime stories, in a literary sense, but like every girl I played with dolls in house and so naturally my interest do not touch the matter "for boys". So I have to ask someone, what it's like, not to expose myself to ridicule, that I wrote something I do not know and just because I have blond hair. The second thing is that I like to tell stories, that have not yet been told, and then you need to investigate before you begin to describe it. If I was still working on my bowels, telling how it is hard for me because I make, because the life of an artist is not easy, because she feels more and understands more, probably I would focuse on





those emotions and showed off the virtuosity of the language. But I do not write that way, because I disgust such literature, because only a few succed (very few, and I give them the tribute, but most of those I admire in this matter is for a long time dead). I cultivate craft work, my story is contemporary and completely cut off from me, I just tell it, I stand to the side and see what I see, but to expand the field of view and show the reader the world from a different perspective than he knows, you need to check some things firsthand. I do not believe in writing crime novels with help of uncle google. When it comes to mixing facts and fiction that I can not explain how I do it. I just posses this ability. I'm going from reality and reflect on the level of fantasy. The effect I leave to the reader. I want him to have fun and to believe me that it could happen. Because it doesn’t really matter for him if that really happened.

[L&F] You give incur the imagination, both in life and in writing? Are you trying to control the situation?[Katarzyna Bonda] All the time I try to control the situation and always lose. Writing resembles from the one hand, algorithm - precise science, which has its own rules, but the process of writing is already metaphysical. I like to use when writing both hemispheres of the brain. That's the key to knowing when and how to work on it. Generally in life, I am an unbeliever, a skeptic and a malcontent who laughs a lot, but always is wary. Maybe that's why I cultivate crime story, not romance. While I write, bears me astray, it can be seen especially in the first of my books. Now I know how to discipline. I know how to cut off and enter into the story calmly, without exaltation. I think I have just solidified in the writer meaning.

[L&F] You enjoy crime story, I’m closer to para-scientific studies. Sometimes I even think the shedding of the ideas on paper (even if electronic) could have very negative consequences. Now you know how to discipline yourself, but in the beginning you didn’t, when deciding that this was the moment that you go on writing books and leave behind journalism, weren’t you afraid that your inner darkness takes control? That instead of crime story, you create a horror novel?[Katarzyna Bonda] I never have the need to write horror novels, but the question appears again. I have a rule not to worry in advance. Anyway, I like challenges. If I took it for a cool idea, why not? I see no problem in it to measure also



the matter of true darkness. For now, I'm not ready, I do not have such leanings. We'll see what time will tell.

[L&F] The fate of Sasha you planned of the four elements symbols. We have had the air - the relevance of olfactory codes and odor book in which you describe one of the investigative techniques. You mentioned that the next element is the earth - what will it entail?[Katarzyna Bonda] They skull reconstructions, projections, georadars and geographic profiling. Sasha will also be confronted with the truth about her history. From the "air" will emerge cold and unemotional "earth" - as I symbolically discribe her story. I do not want to sell here spoilers, so readers had the joy of discovering adventures of Sasha for themselves. It will be much darker. Earth will be written also with more economical language but with biting humor. And because this is the earth, there will be finally, a personal element too. Sasha will stand firmly on her feet, and she would like to be loved. So much for that.

[L&F] In the "Absorbent" appeared a dog who plays a very important role, but there is also a cat, squint and red cat... your characters appreciate their company, even if sometimes a little complain about the nature of their four legged partners. Do you like animals? Where did you get inspiration to describe them in book? They have their prototypes too?[Katarzyna Bonda] People who do not like animals, do not breed animals, arouse my suspicion. I believe that any man who can take care of the animal and bestow it with a feeling is better than those who prefer the purity and mask. Yes, I wrote it specifically because the animals tend to be dirty but always sincere (though sometimes they try to be cunning). Yes, all animals occurring in my books have their prototypes. This is my personal tribute to them. The dog osmologs I called Muffin, because of my private amstaff. She is 15 years old and I'm afraid that every day she can go to the land of eternal hunting. I want her to stay forever that when my daughter grows up, she could read about her, that my friends had fun, because they know Muffin and although she is not a wolf, she just behaves that way. And as for the cat? There is such who lives with a police officer, my friend and he really has such name. Flippancy I also depicted him faithfully. People tell me that their cats behave similarly although have no squint, so I can just describe one animal to show the correct feature that will win the hearts of readers. Cat of the policeman character appeared unexpectedly. I had not planned him so carefully. I just was in the house of my friend, when I was writing this scene, and I saw his squint, as it like to be described. I thought OK., stay on this page. In the end, the police officer character is a cool guy, so he must have a pet. Simply.

[L&F] You let Mega*Zine Lost & Found appeare on the pages of your new book - except of much thank you’s Queen, I wanted to ask you about your vision for the development and future of such a magazine like Lost?[Katarzyna Bonda] Thank you for the opportunity to meet the creator of the magazine. It Impressed me so much that I made up for it the appropriate place in the story. Not only as a reference, but functional - I recommend your readers to read the "Absorbent”. When I like something, I think it is worth to keep it forever. I believe that literature is also on to show the real gems of our world, that they would not have dissapeared in the huge amount of information, which are face every day. And what happens next? I think that more than once Lucja Lange and her magazine will appear in the tetralogy, but not in the second part. It will also be crucial role, however, though perhaps more controversial. Thank you for your courage and wish you many success. And now I smile, because I'm not sure who to speak - to interlocutor, or





maybe the character, who, as I know induces very extreme emotions, from sympathy dominant against controversies, like Liz Salander. And I consider it a compliment. Do not know how about you?

[L&F] So I will appear in the future again... And I will raise controversy. Just got used to that. But to be honest exept for one response on my actual existence I haven’t met others yet. What applies to the person with whom you're talking - I do not really know. Theoretically, both have only a few common features and pieces of clothing... but these are two different people, at different age, with different life experiences and different taste in terms of men. But the thought of bifurcation of the self beckons. Participation in your project (I am pleased that you thought about us - me and the magazine) is an amazing experience precisely because it refers to some issues that are in my mind for a long time - for example, where are the limits of creating yourself; whether we create ourselves (more or less consciously) or others do that; what are the consequences of this, and no other way of creating yourself? If I will deduct anything, I will probably share observations - at this stage it is a "work in progress". My participation was not due to my courage, but curiosity. As almost everything in my life... Can you share the knowladge whether by the next time, I will also have a chance to kill someone or at least I would try?[Katarzyna Bonda] I cannot tell. You wouldn’t want to read the next part of the adventures of Zaluska. But I will refer here to the subject of creation. I see this as a literary form. I don’t believe in creation from scratch. There is no such thing. The writer needs a "meat feature" must "jump" from something on the level of imagination. But I need inspiring people, I talk, collect, analyze, think about what would happen if it was turned over, get them something, give force to act if they are passive, pick up power if they are active. It's a fun matter. The character is a man. Just a man. Such a piece in the heart of the reader, who, after all, is also only a living man. That's why I hate all this chatter about afflations. Because all writers, characters, and readers are just people. Time to strip literature of all those Werters, with Kordians and give a place in the literature to a normal human, of flesh and blood, without ornaments and embellishments. The reality is enough for me, the observation, delight, horror. This is our world and we describe it as it is. Lucja Lange - literary character is a character invented, it is not you, but you really need to impress me, that I would like to take from a real person so much energy, visuals or sense of humor. The rest is the story. Everything to me may be the storyline. Because it is so. And crime story is a great literature!

http://katarzynabonda.pl/

Photos by %ucja Lange

http://katarzynabonda.pl

http://katarzynabonda.pl



Allies

Waiting for a change

… I’m your enemy

I’m aware of subjects that have no clear solutions, that cannot be reduced to the simple form of a "yes / no" answer, because they will always come down to "maybe". I decided, however, to incorporate my views into the discussion, although it means absolutely nothing. I have no causative power, I’m not a manager of any zoo, I have no influence on issues related to prohibitions and injunctions, I do not set any nutrition standards, or cultural tradition. I am one of many people (I hope) - I do not want to digest my questions and answers in silence. Internet law gives voice to everyone. But it is not my goal to create a storm in a teacup, just because I'm thinking something, and someone thinks differently, so it’s the time for throwing stones – he who has a better aim and luck wins. Yes, here it is not about the accuracy of arguments for or against - it's all about getting to the heart of the matter, and for that you need luck. What I present below is a record of my inner journey born of anxiety and the inability to find the only correct answer, because for all intents - everything can be called into question. How to deal with a feeling of powerlessness?

Difference

Some time ago the behaviour of the Copenhagen Zoo managers aroused massive public disapproval - killing a young giraffe named Marcus, quartering his body in the public eye, and feeding the lions. Before this discussion about giraffes and zoos began, people had been hunting dolphins and other sea beings in Japan and Scandinavia for many years (I write beings, as in India, the dolphins have gained the legal status of persons, they have rights - not only animal rights, as they have the right to self-determination). Entire bays ran with their blood, and petitions concerning the prohibition of such practices circulated on the internet. As I’m trying to understand, even if I do not support something, I wanted to write a text about the cultural differences that make something acceptable in Poland, but may arouse terror and horror in other countries. And vice versa. Reindeer are eaten in Finland. The same that are in Santa Claus’s team... Dogs are eaten in Asia. The same that sleep in our beds.Cultural differences makes us look at the same issues differently. We have different eating habits, we live in a culture of murder, also practice ritual murder - all in the name of tradition and its preservation in the age of the global village and proclaimed as part of local identity. Is anyone asking questions about what it means to be a European or Asian person? Is anyone pondering whether if, for example we eliminate the ritual murder and influence the culture we will lose our identity? Is being a human is not enough? While eating your breakfast, do you wonder what kind of diet we should have?I am afraid that on the occasion of my questions there is one more difference arrising - not cultural, but the ontogenetic. Because everyone will see the world from their perspective. How to find in such a case, the common denominator? Is it even possible?


Allies

Evolution - Revolution

Man began to pay attention to Ecology when he began to demolish the base of his tradition - recognizing an inconsistency in the culture of the book. There are many theories regarding the origin of man, but it was Darwin's theory of evolution that destroyed the orderliness of mankind.It was still a culture of superiority, considering man as a perfect being and set on the highest place on the "ladder of beings", but... the origin of other beings meant that they became interesting enough to know. Dogs or cats gained the rank of friend after accompanying man for centuries. Not only suffragettes benefitted from this expansion in male culture - animals were granted certain rights too. The stereotype changed slowly, but women continue to have more patience and compassion to care for creatures in need. Hence, another stereotype - an old lady with a cat, old ladies with dogs (not mentioning crazy cat lady). To this day, this kind of division can be seen - the majority of temporary homes for homeless dogs and cats is run by women, the majority of workers in animal shelters are women. Man only by losing his male status, becoming an outcast, a vagabond, or a beggar can have a friend in the dog. Otherwise, he was considered as eccentric or an artist. Because cruelty - according to this stereotype - belongs to men. So you cannot spoil your image.

Animal - man's best friend

And when the animals gained the legal rights thanks to mankind, when there were opened zoos to protect species that poachers (also people) were killing, or circuses, in which the animals were shown as great and wise beings, it suddenly became clear... the animal is man's best friend. Doesn’t judge, loves selflessly, has emotions, thoughts. Today we even have such a thing as animal studies and we let the animals have not only the soul but also personality, so we consider them as creatures with the psyche, which can be studied. We reflect on species differences, the ability of animals to create metaphors and symbols... Although we are confident still that that are only human qualities, however, there are evidence that exist such monkeys - if learned the sign language, they can communicate complex contents of their mental states, tell their dreams, make art... metaphorical art. Whether only monkeys can do that?Most of the actions that take human towards animals result still from gazing at the ladder of beings. The man above all other creatures. And what if the perspective is not correct - and it is not just about the political correctness in discussions with representatives of vegans? What if a culture of murder, complement the culture of power, organization and money? What if, from birth to death we live in the confidence of our good intentions, but we are stuck deep in double standards?

Human - sounds proudly

Contemplating a few months ago the content I wanted to write - I started from cultural differences. During a discussion with friends I came to the conclusion that difference does not only stem from the tradition, but from an individual approach - so before I ask anyone for understanding for the Danes, I need to ask for forbearance and understanding for other people in general! All the time I notice undermining of any argument and undecidability of each issue of human - animal relationships. Powerlessness. How to lead a discussion with the knowledge that no argument -


Allies

fortunately on each side - is the only correct one? Are there such contentions at all? Is just this topic so difficult? Or maybe just I have a problem with it, because for more than twenty years I don’t eat meat because I cannot (genetic modification) because my own physical suffering which doesn’t allow me to? Maybe I just have a problem because I'm not an ideological fool (with all due respect for vegans) and do not feel uplifted - that I, the human decided not to hurt animals and because of that I became better person and I have also better arguments in the discussion... I'm sorry... My body decided for me. From time to time it also demanded fish or dairy products (cream, eggs, cheese), although each of these products is not perfect for me. So I am not a vegan, who can happily proclaim causing no harm to other creatures. Consciously I don’t hurt them for sure. But I have leather, fur, wool clothing... There is more! I think (perhaps perversely) that wearing a dead animal fragments (fragments of dead people, unfortunately I do not have, which I regret) is paying them tribute. That is my memory of the dead... So if I reached a certain level of fanaticism, maybe I should find a better arguments? But what does it mean "better arguments"?

Human - the enemy of the animal

I decided to go to a lecture on moral attitudes towards animals. I permanently strive to feel concern over the issue, I concluded that ethics can come with some help in finding the key to this problem. And it helped. That what I did not want to name, has gained a name. That what I could not cope with, have appeared brighter. Still, I wouldn’t count on the one and only correct settlements.So let us return to the question of the Danish Zoo and killing Marcus. Not everywhere has been written about this, but this case has more pages compared to a medal. First - the question why there was no other place found for Marcus, in another zoo for example, although some zoo managers across the Europe announced in public that their application had been sent both to a coordinator for breeding of giraffes and to the Copenhagen zoo as well. Answer - Marcus had supposedly "bad genes" and therefore was intended to be killed anyway. What does it mean "bad genes"? I have no clue, because for this statement can cover a lot of things. But are "bad genes" eligible to murder anyone? Can people with bad genes also be killed in public and handed over to the zoo as meal for predators? Oh, I'm sorry, I have forgotten - people are not included into this game. So I go further to the second question, which was considered for so outrageous, but results from cultural difference - why Marcus was quartered in the eyes of the children and their parents? It's very simple - in Denmark there is a conviction of conscious education - obvious truths: lions eat antelopes for example, Danes do not hide it from children. They show them everything even if it is brutal. This is how the world is designed. We in Poland believe a woman's breasts are not allowed to show the public... of gender we made ideology and often we do not see the difference between the words pederast and pedophile. What does it have in common? Well - each country has developed a certain local belief (not to say stereotypes), so if the Danes did not push through on us in terms of our imagination, we should not act as the wisest with counsel, to advice them how they should educate their children. Some people call it "tolerance"... and I call it "double standards". Fortunately, in the third point on the occasion of already mentioned double standards I can breathe easily, because it was the first issue on which I hung my mind at the moment of the public debate on Marcus - why is it such a controversial event for us: feeding lions with a giraffe; and not the fact that these lions themselves are fed every day with sheep, goats and other animals that are also dismembered in front of children and thrown to the lions? Is it... because the giraffe is so cute and pig is not at all? Forgive me please, but I know very charming pigs. I know also cows, sheep and goats (although the last arouse


Allies

my fear) that are more cute than Marcus. So what is it? You can feed lions with a cow because you eat cows? And if people ate a giraffe instead of cows? Then the outrage would not even take place?A few weeks after killing Marcus, the same zoo in Copenhagen killed the entire lions family to make room for other lion personalities. Were that the same lions which ate Marcus? Maybe they become ill by those "bad genes"? Why still none of the coordinators for the breeding of the species in zoos did not take part in the public discussion? What happen behind the eyes of the public? The next week brought the death of the little bear in Swiss zoo, where the joung bear was killed "for his own good" because he was attacked by his own father. How many more of such revelations are there? Do we need zoological gardens at all? Are they properly managed? Whether they are for animals (and their protection), or for people (and their pleasure)?In the recent time I heard about the triumph of animal rights in terms of circuses with live animals - a total ban (somewhere). Maybe it's time for zoological gardens? If we consider, now in our generosity that animals are aware, that we can talk about the psychology of animals, that part of animal species manifests behaviors we would never assign to animals considering that only humans are so unique, and are able to create, to think abstractly, that only human invented something like funerals and mourning, fun, laughter and tears... Maybe it's the time for breaking down the ladder of beings, on which we are placed above other species, and finally recognize that the world is not a pyramid or ladder, the world is based on equal opportunity, and cyclicality. If we consider ourselves wiser, let us witness the wisdom... because so far we witness only hedonistic economical thinking.

Demolished order

And here comes the problem - if we deny the present order, what will happen to humans? With creature feeding on other creatures? Creature which doesn’t want to be considered as food, because it's sacrilege...Demolition of order causes reimbursement to ethics. Because arranging the world anew, we must ask questions about what is good - and just to be clear - something like gradation of good or evil has no right to exist. You are acknowledging injunction "do not kill"? Great! Let's stick to that. But this means that we will not kill either animals or humans. Otherwise it makes no sense, because at the base of the created order stuck a lie, and scheduling, deviding for better and worse creatures - for those who can be killed and those who cannot, is not allowed. You know the next statement and discussion associated with it. Man is a carnivorous creature. No. Not only different mutations (such as mine) indicate that, but also this huge amount of vegans, vegetarians and others around the world. Meat diet is cheaper. No. But paid with the huge amount of victims that makes me wonder how I dream not having nightmares... Meat diet is healthy. No. Anyone who becomes ill of cancer will learn about products that need to be excluded from the diet because they caue the progression of the disease. And one of the heaviest caliber arguments "because I like it"... I agree. I also like a lot of things. There are also those people who like to kill other people (also for culinary purposes), or just to bully them, does that mean that I support them? No.Therefore after so many years of listening to my organism I decided to exclude more products from my diet. Because I believe in animal consciousness. Because I believe in equality in the world of nature, and therefore that consciousness does not allow me to cultivate a tradition of double standards. I am conscious animal caretaker. I’m trying to be a good person. I do not kill. While I’m still collecting corpse (bones) for art purpose. I do not eat friends, or enemies… I bury tradition to create a new one. This doesn’t mean that it is the right way - even if it is the only possible way for me. I expect that you will understand.


MEGA*ZINE LOST&FOUND #9 - EXPECTATION

(out)RODUCTION

Two years ago I didn"t expect too much from this project. I just wanted to create a

magazine which would have meaning. And apparently it does. We are changing constantly. New people come and go - this is the beauty of free projects. There is a lot of work. You need to a lot of strength and be able to organise your time to do this job, and it is not such an easy task. That"s why with some indulgence I accept the personnel changes, only if I can expect the honesty in return from the people I cooperate with.We continue our work. We evolve - we have new thematic sections, new editors and co-workers. Our reach grows wider, and with it, we can show more. I would like to give my thanks to all the people who"ve joined us - for your faith in the magazine, for your dedication and hard work. And I would also like to thank our readers - for your trust and your expectations.

! This issue features our new format, with new sections and new authors. We offer you an exploration of “expectation” – as something connected with either time and waiting, or with needs, requirements, desires and dreams. We investigate the many aspects of this word as an introduction to the next issue, a special edition about the “Time Machine”, which will be published a little later in September. The following month, we invite you to investigate our issue on “Fetish”. As for now, though, we are waiting as always for your submissions, for your texts and pictures. Your presence gives our work meaning.

Happy reading!See you soon!

Our website:

http://lostandfound_megazine.vipserv.org/

Our fanpage:

https://www.facebook.com/LostandFoundmegazine

___________________________________________________________________________Editors:

Preparation and selection of texts: Piotr Kasperowicz, Agnieszka Engel, Adriana Lisowska, Anita Kovács, Gizem Karayavuz, %ucja Lange

Proofreading: EdTranslations: Aleksandra „Ginger” Ginter, %ucja Lange, Joanna Skurzewska

Preparation and selection of visual: Marta Sulkowska, Gizem Karayavuz, %ucja Lange





Documents

Mega*Zine Lost & Found #9/2014 ENG