Gallery of Saturday excavations with accompanying narration
About the Excavations
’Muuuuuuum, you gotta be kiddin’?’
Yes. I love all flea markets, no-go street vendors, miracles dug in second-hands and small shops discovered during the travels off the beaten track with passion and all the intensity that I can muster. And love is the word. Our white house is dotted with colourful darlings, the kitchen drawer is on the verge of explosion with teeny-tiny bowls on top of smaller bowls on top of larger bowls, all of which I love unconditionally. Just like with mugs of all sorts (you just can’t drink fruit tea in whatever mug, tomato soup tastes best in the one with the painted cat, today’s black tea will require this big one with the cork pad, and the morning coffee will unquestionably serve its purpose in the one with the hand-painted girl all over). Guests in wholesale quantities are no problem, as compatibility of utensils is nonexistent anyway, virtually all combinations are possible: a bowl instead of soup-plate, a porcelain spoon instead of regular, each and every glass will be out of a different parish, the same goes for cups and bah! even cutlery.
The wardrobe is second-hand itself, hailing from a deconstructed clothes shop somewhere in Upper-Silesia, and so is around 90% of its content. Godzuki is also part of the framework, because his wardrobe is generously supported by S. - my favourite neighbour and M. - the best in the world, a half-life-long friend of mine. The ideological/pragmatic background boils down to the question: "why buy a shirt for X0 to X00 złotys, if a bagful of gorgeousness unlikely to be duplicated in the streets of my town, is possible for the equivalent?”. It is true that if you need, say, black jeans, there is a fat chance that they will be waiting for you, a hindrance which has a dubious impact on the plethora in the bag anyway. Pluses? A certain number of: 1. Recycling, 2. Upcycling, 3. One-off itemisation, access to the no-way-I-can-find-you-in-the-high-street, or if I do find you, then you come with an exorbitantly impossible price tag, anyway. If only the money could feed the producers, sweat shop slaveployees, ... but I would say no to feeding the unleashed beast of consumerism. I'd rather not. That's why I would rather 'rewear' clothes, and later exchange them at swap parties or hand them over. Trophies go as far as e.g. a cashmere sweater for 5 złotys and if it manages not to fall victim to a mistaken visit in the washing machine, you can wear it for years on end, residing in the soft cloud of comfort and warmth. Then, rather than reinforce the heap of throwaway goods, with a clear conscience, you can hand it down to another fan of hunted trophies. Nothing gets wasted and everybody is happy. A win-win-win situation.
Flea markets, second hand venues, on par with bookshops and local micro scale beaut artists, will always see me stepping in wherever I am.
And now, a rookie gallery weaving its way to the win-win combination of business and pleasure.
The Three Wise Monkeys
Personification or if not monking then certainly aping of the Japanese proverb: Mizaru, Kikazaru, Iwazaru (見ざる, 聞かざる, 言わざる) - see not, hear not, speak not or see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Mizaru covers his eyes, Kikazaru his ears, and Iwazaru his lips. They are made of glass, as Mr. Andrzej, the weekly supplier of findings at a local marketplace, maintains, and so they appear and weigh. Unless Maciej ventures into an organoleptic verification, I will stick to the supplier’s version (more about Maciej's tests in the Maciej the Cat tab. It is most likely that we are at the point where I can create a separate chapter labelled as: Broken by Maciej).
Fot the time being, the monkeys are living next to the Buddha. They are so much within Maciej's comfortable range that he must be baffled by the suspiciously obvious configuration to the extent of rendering them unbreakable or something.
A fairy tale about an enchanted fish
Not to host anything in its belly, as it is pretty in itself. Enchanted, reminiscent of sea tales, could be used as an illustration in a children's booklet ... that may be how ideas for drawings are born.
The largest Matryoshka is micro-pot, which, although ceramic, can be used on the cooker (as for now, never tested).
The smaller Matryoshka is a bowl, which will double as a starting pot for fat leaves diligently knocked off Maciej’s periodical leave-leave-dropping ceremonies. Crassula is 10 years old, it is already a big tree, an outcome which, with the rogue bastard of a cat on board, speaks volumes about my imminent career of a Crassula-tender.
The smallest Matryoshka is an eggcup - charmingly cracked and beautifully rounded, delicious.