Graduated from International Affairs at Warsaw School of Economics (Poland), student of Institute of Creative Photography in Opava (Czech Republic) Member of People You May Know collective.
Cold winter wraps around the shoulders of passers by, crunching the show with every step they take on their regular and irregular routes throughout the land. Feet planted, granted with the feeling of discovery and seeing the mountains and houses with their own eyes, not through a screen. Presenting the sights of crunchers, passers and new feet embracing the ground transport to the digital screens of clickers gone by awaking from their slumber and sleep. This is not real.
Peeping from the covers, warm and wrestless, leaving us out in the cold through voluntary steps, the people begin their aimless journeys through mystic ground.
These passers by are merely people, inhabitants of the places that the photographer passes through. Without the steps of the maker, there is no record. Awaking from the blankets, out into wilderness of natural wonder and beauty. The cold keeps them warm as their clothing preparation makes it possible to maintain a normal existence between the cloth of hats and clothes, made colder by the process of photography.
Breath shivers as the sky roams and stamps its feelings upon the night sky. Lighting the mountaintop from the angles it creates. The shutter clicks, off, and the unknown reveals itself through liquids and chemicals in a dark place, much like the location the moments have been nurtured from. The way to survive and maintain an existence in the sheets of white, blank, snow, slowly drifting into the holes made by other water particles frozen on the surface. At the point of contact we establish something within the way we navigate borrowed land. Utterances between strangers and friends, lovers and making ammends for the temperatures endured. Photography is a glorification of what we really see. This is not a real representation of the land, but the sight of the photographer, secluded to a frame. We know nothing of what is around the edges, because flat images cannot render the sensation of place. The images confined within 72dpi pixels placed on a web page, bound by their medium of presentation.
This raises a few questions about vision and how we can share it in the most organic way. The limits of photography are what make the medium a series of aesthetic choices, to make meaning later. A documentary, if you will, of the surroundings make it possible to make the first contact. Transport us, please, to these lands through large prints on walls and allow us your vision, dear maker. This place does not exist like this and the photographs merely transcend us from our locations to an idea, their idea, of the place in question. Drifting in our sheets, affected by colour, texture, grain and silky screens we process it all within. Artificial presences light up the location, affecting what we really see and what we ultimately mean. It is pitch black there, always, until the sun rises and shows us the land we could not see. But mere lights in the background, dotting and locating people from a far, indicate life is present here.
Sat in lounges and windows, processing their own lives, but the land rules the people as a form of visual dictatorship. Donâ€™t be ill equipped when the sun doesnâ€™t hit the skin of the people involved. Be ready for the wind and the water droplets that formed the white blankets that make this location so magical.
Tradition, exotic sensations, teach me how the world is, because I am not there, but photography gives us a chance to experience from wherever we may be. I cannot be cold here, because the bed sheets keep me warm. Just like the early risers, making their way out to their white land of sheeted water. Crunching, crunching, till they make their way home, to the warm. Rest another night, for another day. This is not what they see each day.