As the new year approaches, I’m excited to present you another photograph from my yearly “Man In the Internet” series, titled “Third Time’s A Charm”. “Man In the Internet” is my longest-running series, starting all the way back in 2017. These photographs served as my public profile photos all over the web. A long time ago I decided to not share my face online, and these artworks served perfectly as a substitute.
Czwartkowy spacer wzdłuż plant nie byłby w żaden sposób wyjątkowy, gdyby nie zdecydowanie częstsze dźwięki syren karetek pogotowia. Rok temu, w październiku, było tak samo. Karetka za karetką. Tutaj S-ka, tutaj P. Dwie przecznice dalej myka T. Zwykły spacer, z niezwykłym akompaniamentem. Znowu - umiera nas więcej niż powinno. Znowu - SORy pękają w szwach. Znowu - wirus sieje spustoszenie. Tym razem jednak na zewnątrz, poza tym dzielnym, aczkolwiek nędznym światem chorowania i umierania, życie toczy się po staremu.
Sometimes, obstacles appear. They’re not necessarily problems - inconveniences, rather. Things we trip up over. The common approach is to cautiously avoid these obstacles. To look for excuses, signposts showing us a possible detour. In the end, obstacles make us. They are the way to go. Through confrontation we become fuller, brighter. Their unpleasantness shall not deter us.
”New Skin” - On My Way To Me, 2021 Even in darkness there is existence. The imperfections, the pain - they make life fuller. To see the beauty, see the ugliness. — Pink Rabbits by The National. Lyrics: Matt Berninger; I couldn’t find quiet I went out in the rain I was just soakin’ my head to unrattle my brain Somebody said you disappeared in a crowd I didn’t understand then I don’t understand now Am I the one you think about when you’re Sitting in your faintin’ chair drinking pink rabbits?
Sometimes friendships end. The ones you didn’t want to end. At least, end now. There was much still left to explore. Much to experience. A few strong words, a violently shut door. Tensions, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. A string, threaded carefully through time, ruptured. Gone. Your fault? Their fault? These endings are painful; as their sudden nature implies. Yet the pain doesn’t imply a transgression of life’s rules. The shore; a place where land ends.
There’s nothing more majestic, more powerful - yet so subtle and delicate - as the wind. I am deeply fascinated by the wind. It’s the moving force of this world, a hand sweeping its palm through space. Destructive, at times? Of course. Powerful? Always. It’s this volatile, transient energy - sometimes very decisive, others - seemingly undecided. What a beautiful metaphor of life, life as a virtue. It represents motion, towards all directions.
Zrywa się ten wiatr i zrywa. Który to już miesiąc, szósty? Siódmy. Niby długo. A ja jestem niecierpliwy i już nie chce mi się czekać. Na to zrywanie. A może już ten wiatr się zerwał dawno temu. I wieje, popycha nas, sami nie wiemy gdzie. W tej sytuacji do wiatru nie można mieć żadnych pretensji. Jeśli ktoś tu zawinił to my. Wiatr jest bez winy. Wbrew pozorom, kilka miesięcy temu było prościej.